Page 88 of Stay Toxic

“I, uh…” I searched for a believable excuse and might’ve come up with one had my stomach not betrayed me and let out a loud, grumbling gurgle.

Which, of course, caught his attention.

His eyes went from my face to my stomach.

Then the frown lines disappeared from his face as he leaned back into the chair once again.

“You have lactose intolerance.”

I frowned as another gurgle swept over me. “How do you know that?”

He studied me for a long second before he rocked my world. “I know everything there is to know about you, right down to what bra size you order from Victoria’s Secret, and how many rolls of toilet paper you buy in a month.”

My mouth dropped open, and a vicious cramp stole my attention, making my eyes squeeze shut.

There was nothing else I could do.

I got up and hurried to the bathroom.

By the time I’d come out over an hour later—yes, lactose intolerance was the fucking devil—I fully expected the apartment to be empty.

I mean, what man in his right mind would stay in the home of a woman that couldn’t control her bowels?

But, surprising the hell out of me, the first thing I saw when I walked out of the bathroom was Shasha on my couch, covered in my ghost dog lap blanket I’d gotten from Target in October, watching a soccer match on television.

It was loud, too, so I’m unsure how I hadn’t heard it before.

My face flushed when I saw him there, and I wondered if I could toss my body down the garbage shoot in the hall and die on impact.

“Do you like football?” he asked curiously.

I was so surprised by his question that I didn’t think to curb my tongue.

“Uh, that’s not football. It’s soccer,” I pointed out.

“It’s football everywhere else but here, and when you have friends and family that refer to it as football and football only, you kind of adopt their language.” He paused, glancing over his shoulder at me, taking me in. “Everything come out all right?”

I opened my mouth and closed it, gasping in shock.

He’d gone there.

He’d really just gone there.

“Uh, yeah.” I hesitated. “Just great.”

He winked at me, then patted the couch. “Does that happen often?”

I reluctantly took up a seat next to him, but not completely going into his body because I was still stunned.

He pulled me into him, threw his arm around my shoulder, and I did a face dive into his hard abs.

If I had to die, this would be the best way to go.

“Does it happen often?” he repeated.

I sighed and closed my eyes, giving in. “Every time I eat dairy.”

“I felt like Chinese would be a good bet since it wasn’t cheesy, but didn’t think about the eggs,” he admitted.

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