At least he’s not a Trekkie.
I’m truly impressed, and a little disgusted, by the amount of meat he consumes. Almost every day he posts pics with plates full of sausages, burgers, ribs, chicken, and bacon.
So much bacon.
My stomach twists, and I swear, I can smell the meat permeating from the screen, making me nauseous.
Am I about to be sick?
I put my hand on my stomach and suck in a breath, holding it for a minute before releasing it.
The odd sensation settles, but it’s still there.
I can’t be having morning sickness. It’s too early.
A quick Google search tells me: no, it is not.
I wait for the stirring to pass, then go back to Toxic’s Chatter account.
There are dozens of pictures of him with the other Hunks, and I even see Natasha in the background of a few of them.
Just the sight of her makes me want to vomit—and let me be clear: it’s because of her andnotthe stomach situation.
If the whole Natasha fiasco hadn’t happened, I wouldn’t have hooked up with Mr. I Like Sausage and Star Wars.
And I wouldn’t be in the situation I’m in.
I’ve never been one who clings to denial, but I wonder if I could make it the entire nine months without even thinking about the stomach situation.
I look down at my flat tummy and give it a little pat. “I’m sorry. We had a good run, but Sausage and Star Wars was hard to pass up.”
As if to signal her disdain, my stomach twists again.
“Oh, that’s how you’re going to act after all the years I’ve fed you filet?” I snap.
Wow, I’m really going over the deep end.
I bring my attention back to Toxic’s page, trying to figure out who this man is. What makes him get out of bed each day?
What if he has a girlfriend?
My heart races in my chest, though I don’t know why. It’s not like I’m actually going to see this man again. I’ll keep track of him, as I should, but he’ll have no part of my stomach situation.
Still, the thought deeply upsets me.
From what I can tell, he doesn’t have a girlfriend or any children, but it could just be that he just doesn’t post about them.
Why do I even care?
I don’t.
Not one bit.
Against all better judgment, I hit theFRIENDbutton. I double down on my bad decision when I hitCHAT.
Staring blankly at the text box, I wonder what I should put.
He probably gets messaged dozens of times a day by women, so it has to be something that stands out.
