chapter 1: making my move

"That'll be $33.94 please!"
The voice that rang out in front of me was crisp, clear, sweet. It rang out more melodically than a choir of angels, and I could practically feel my heart melting into a puddle as it grazed my ears.
"Uhh, yea ok," was the contrasting gruff response of the man standing in line in front of me.
It was 6:15 on a Wednesday evening and I was standing in line at Finoli's, a mom-and-pop pizza place that was a little out of the way for me; it was about two blocks over from the route I normally took during my evening jog. I wasn't a particularly big fan of eating out, especially not the cuisine here; I was on the track team at my local university and keeping in shape was a pretty top priority of mine. Sure, Finoli's might have been delicious, I'll admit, but this stuff was rich. It was no exaggeration that the food here was just about the most fattening stuff you could get your hands on in town, and I was in no mood to eat anything so heavy just a few days before a meet.
The man in front of me clumsily fumbled for a few bills in his pants pocket while I silently waited my turn to order.  God, was he the exact example of what I was desperate to avoid  in my life. Even from behind him, the view I had of his body flat-out repulsed me.
The difficulty that the man had reaching into his own pockets came from his own love handles; his side flab was getting in the way of his meaty, useless arms. I smiled, confidently flexing my biceps under the sleeves of my hoodie.
Fat Guy lumbered forward to the counter, his breathing labored and audible. Did he know what kind of food he was in line for? Anybody who wasn't even in good enough shape to stand in a food line should have really been paying more attention to exactly what kind of food waited at the end of it. And this food wasn't particularly expensive either; the price of his order told me that this fat failure hadn't even had the health sense to get something small.
Heh, did he eat so much because he was always a pig, or did he look like a pig because he ate so much? It was a chicken-and-egg type scenario that I silently pondered to myself with a chuckle. But only for a moment. With Fat Guy finally turning to get the fuck out of the way, it was finally my turn to place my order. A salad and grilled chicken breast, most likely. Never much of an eater, I wasn't really all that hungry to begin with.
No, there was an entirely different reason I was here. And as the gruff, annoying  fatso in front of me got his receipt and lumbered off to take his seat and wait, that reason came into view.
"Hey Davie, how ya doing today?" 
This time, my heart actually did melt.
"H-hi Katie," I stammered.
There she was... Long, brown hair, those almond-shaped green eyes, her full, chubbyish cheeks and, God, that smile...
Katherine Iaccone was a solid 10 out of 10. A little bit on the curvy side, sure... But that wasn't always something to complain about. Her plush cheeks did a lot to fill out her otherwise slim and angular face and forced her bright emerald eyes into a very slight but very sultry squint.
Her arms were like her face: soft and full, tan, plush without being too plush...
And the rack on this girl...
Even as modest as her employee shirt was, a plain black polo tee with the restaurant name on the back, her breasts pressed heavily against the front, speaking to their fullness and roundness beneath the cotton fabric.
I did my very best not to stare, choosing to focus on her eyes instead and doing my best not to get lost.
"I'll just get my usual," I said with a casual grin. "To go."
"Mmhmm," she said, with a knowing smile. "Grilled chicken and basic bitch salad, right?" she looked up, her smile curling into a jovial grin.
"I mean, if that's who's making it," I fired right back.
This had been the routine since I first started coming in a couple of months ago. I had been a bit nervous at first, but our flirty banter was finally down pat and all that was left was for me to make my move. That was the only reason I had really kept coming to Finoli's at all, but she was a damn good one, if you asked me. I had never laid eyes on anybody so gorgeous. Even if she was just the slightest bit on the chubby side... that was definitely something we could work on together. If she agreed to date me.
"Oh, you're so clever dude," she said sensually, leaning on one arm while she gazed at me. I noticed her not-so-subtly look me up and down once or twice and silently cursed out of frustration that I was wearing one of my baggier hoodies. The crisp, biting wind of a March evening in New Jersey certainly wasn't allowing me to wear one of my more revealing tank tops; I wanted to give her a better look.
"Well, I gotta be at peak condition for my track meet on Saturday. We're going up against Northeast State and somebody has to carry the rest of the entire team," I joked in a hopefully subtle "humble" attempt to highlight was she was missing.
She rolled her eyes. "I hear you, Marathon Man," she replied, using her other nickname for me. She licked her lips as she said it. "I obviously have gone in a different direction in life," she held her arms out, gesturing to her curvy physique and silently giggling at her own sense of self-deprecation.
God... no joke, she was the absolute definition of "full-figured". Her breasts, although not "huge" in the traditional sense, still had more than enough heft to jiggle enticingly as she chuckled to herself.
I stood there with the same "casual" grin on my face, speechless and feeling hotter by the second.
Katie only looked up and smiled. "That'll be $8.69, babe," she broke the silence for me. "Can I get you anything else?"
"Nope, that's it," I breathed.
"Okay. Just give it a few minutes," she muttered, punching numbers into a touch-screen computer wired to the register. I pocketed my change and took a seat on a wooden varnished dining chair on the other side of the dimly lit restaurant space. My order was likely to take less time than whatever one-person smorgasbord Fat Guy planned on wolfing down, so I likely had a precious few minutes to regain some composure before I made my "move". Katie might have had the kind of down-to-earth personality that made her easy to talk to, but she was absolutely stunning in the looks department and that alone made her unnerving. She had a beautiful face with slightly tanned, Mediterannean skin to go with it. Her breasts were soft, full and inciting of lust and virility. Unfortunately, with that obtrusive counter in the way, I had never gotten a look at anything lower than about mid-sternum. Not that that mattered; I was a boob man through and through, and Katie's were more than enough for me.  I really never cared for a girl's ass, honestly, the smaller and firmer the better. I wasn't expecting Katie's to be "firm" exactly, as she was a little more on the plump side, but, from the looks of it, most if not all of the extra weight that she did carry had settled very nicely up top.
"Greek Chicken Salad!" a heavily Spanish-accented voice shot out from the kitchen in the back. So much for "authentic Italian".
"Coming!" my dream girl replied. She slowly pushed herself off of the counter with both arms, letting out a cute "huff!" and making her way to the back. The counter was the sort that ran all the way around, so even at this angle I could only see her from about elbow up, her chest bouncing ever-so-slightly as she took her time making her way to the kitchen. She, of course, returned just a few seconds later with a plastic bag, looking over in my direction with her soft, inviting smile.
"Greek Salad for Mr. Marathon," she sang out.
I gulped. Easy, David. You got this.
I trotted back over to the counter to pick up my food.
"Thanks," I smiled.
"Anytime," she smiled in turn, "can I get you anything else?" she asked innocuously, slowly twirling her straight brown tresses between manicured fingers.
Now or never.