Then, I search for more prey and eat from Toxic’s plate. He has enough sense not to say anything, watching with what I can only describe as a relieved expression.
The table next to me has just been served tiramisu for dessert, and for one manic moment, I consider taking it from their table.
It’s Toxic who stops me, placing one hand over mine and raising the other in the air to tell the server that we’ll have what they’re having.
Afterward, when he looks at me, he lifts a brow, and we burst into giggles.
“I was afraid you wouldn’t eat,” he finally says.
“If you’d brought me anywhere else, I probably wouldn’t have. But fuck me with a breadstick, I can’t say no.”
Toxic picks up a breadstick and waves it in the air. “I can arrange for that…”
The cake is dropped off, and I can feel the weight of the server’s judgmental gaze as she watches me unhinge my jaw to gobble it down.
Most women feel overwhelmingly modest around food. Not me.
Flashing her a wide, toothy grin, I say, “If you’d like to see more, you’re welcome to subscribe to my mukbanging channel.”
Her cheeks flush with color as she forces a smile to her thin lips. “I’m glad you enjoyed it.”
“You know, I like this side of you,” Toxic says once the waitress has left.
I arch a brow. “What side of me?”
“The goofy side. The one that isn’t flaying flesh from bone with their tongue.”
“Do you know what side of you I like?”
“Do tell.”
“The side that wants to pound me into the mattress.”
He doesn’t smile like I’d expected him to. He looks…sad.
And then I remember that for him, this isn’t just about sex, no matter how badly I want it to be.
We’re growing a droid.
A droid he seems to desperately want to help care for.
Panic rises in my chest. I try to quench it with water, but the tendrils of worry do not abate.
They’re cruel and twisting, changing with every logical thought I throw at it.
“Hey,” Toxic says, tilting his head and looking boyishly at me. “What do you say we move on to second dessert?”
“I guess I could go for the chocolate lasagna. Do you think?—”
“I meant sex,” Toxic says loud enough for the surrounding tables to hear.
An older lady at a diagonal table rushes to put on her glasses, as though we’re about to put on a show.
This is what I get for getting knocked up by a stripper.
Not that I’m complaining.
Grabbing my purse, I give him a seductive smirk. “Well, when you put it so eloquently, how could I say no?”
