Samantha:I didn’t maul you! And you’re right, we need a conception story. I never want to hear the words: bathroom and plumbing from your lips again!
I can almost see her cheeks flush crimson through the screen.
Samantha:Conception Story: artificial insemination at a clinic.
Toxic:As if a baster could make you scream like I had.
Samantha:It appears my lapse in judgment has greater far-reaching consequences than I could have ever imagined.
My mind returns to the conversation we had when she was pretending to be Trista Kinney, smiling at our witty banter.
This should be the start of our conception story.
Toxic:We met at a Star Wars event. You made a snarky remark at the BB-8 tee-shirt I was looking at. It escalated, and we were both thrown out of the event.
Samantha:It’s…acceptable.
Toxic:We bonded over Rogue One, which led to hate fucking.
Samantha:Hate fucking?
Toxic:We’ll leave that out when we tell Baby BB!
Samantha:To think, I ALMOST didn’t hate you.
Time to stake my claim.
Toxic:Mark my word, you’ll grow to love me.
Samantha:I’m snorting with laughter.
Toxic:Were you snorting with laughter inside the hotel room earlier today?
Samantha:Updated Forbidden Word List: bathroom, plumbing, hotel room—BB-8!!!!
This is definitely a better conception story than little droid’s mom faking a plumbing issue to get laid in a seedy-looking bathroom.
Smiling, I surf Etsy and search ‘Star Wars baby’ and look through the merchandise that comes up, putting over a dozen items into my cart, including several BB-8 items that are too cute to pass up. I know there’s a bigger selection on Amazon, but I enjoy shopping at mom and pop places that help smaller folk.
I use the address in the portfolio to deliver the items to. I’m tempted to send Samantha a picture of my haul, but decide it’s better as a surprise.
It’s nearly three a.m., and I don’t much like the thought of Samantha being up so late, so I fire off one last text before turning in for the night.
Unfortunately, my mind keeps spinning with possibilities of what my future will look like now that I’m about to become a father.
But with every joyful thought comes a dark needling worry, because as much as I already love my little droid, there’s no telling whether their mother will ever love me.
Samantha
I reread Toxic’s last message for the twentieth time, wondering if he realizes he’s made A Game of Thrones reference.
Toxic:Sleep well, Mother of Droids.
The answer is he must. He may be a Hunk, but he plays professional poker and has geeky interests. Of course he knows about A Game of Thrones, just like he probably enjoys Dune, anything Marvel, and, no doubt, Magic The Gathering.
He’s an alpha nerd, like that beefcake actor, Joe Manganiello, the wall of muscle who married a bombshell and starred in Magic Mike, all while sharing his love of Dungeons and Dragons on various social media sites.
Few hold such status, because most men wouldn’t be secure enough to flaunt their geeky pursuits. Aside from Joe, the only other alpha nerd I can think of is Henry Cavill, who’s rumored to have built his own computer and serves as a verification of source material on film sets.
