Felicity shook her head. “You think like a bodybuilder. I think like an artist.” She veered toward the bakery section, grabbing a six-pack of chocolate chip muffins the size of softballs. “The key to a belly stuffing is variety . You can’t just dump bricks of carbs into your stomach. You need strategy. Sweet, savory, salty, repeat.”

“That’s the sound of victory,” she groaned.

The cashier raised an eyebrow. “Party tonight?” “Something like that,” Nikki replied, sliding her debit card. “It’s a scientific experiment.” Back at the apartment, the coffee table became a landscape of indulgence. Plates were stacked. Forks were sharpened. A pitcher of water sat between them—for hydration, not cheating.

Felicity took a different approach. She ate slowly, savoring each bite of muffin and dipping the pieces into hot fudge. By minute twelve, she had consumed three of the six muffins. Her belly, softer and more responsive, had swollen into a visible roundness that strained the fabric of her oversized hoodie.

Felicity had switched to a tactical retreat. She was lying on her side, slowly spooning vanilla ice cream mixed with crushed Oreos into her mouth. Her stomach had become a shelf. When she rolled onto her back, the mound rose like a small hill, pushing her hoodie up to expose a strip of pale, taut skin.