Page 21 of Man Flu

“Nope,” he says without further explanation.

He hands her the money she didn’t ask for, but she pushes his hand away. “It’s on the house.” He drops the money anyway and moves down the counter to where I’m waiting.

“These kids act like they’re so privileged nowadays,” he says to me.

“How old are you?” I ask him. I’m sure that’s against another corporate policy, but I’m not at work, and I’m curious.

“Ms. Pierce,” he addresses me. “I’m pretty sure that’s a human resource violation.” He’s grinning, so I don’t think he’s serious.

“You’re right. I don’t know what I was thinking. I need to get going,” I say, pointing to the door.

I take a couple of steps away when I hear soft laughter mixed with a breathy sigh. I’m the joke of everything. Everything. All the time. I press my palms into the door and force myself out into the brisk winds of winter in New England. I make it to my car when I realize I don’t have my goddamn coffee. I’m not going back in there. No way. It’s bad enough I have to see Logan all day and play the role of his boss.

I hit the button on my key fob and open my door just as a decorative Styrofoam cup is dangled in front of my face. “Forget something?” Logan asks. His voice is deeper than the passing wind, and the sound thuds against my chest, causing everything inside of me to reverberate.

“Kind of,” I tell him.

“You were going to leave without your coffee?”

“Kind of,” I say again.

“You know I was just messing with you, right?”

“Kind of.” A smirk presses against my lips even though I try to fight it off. I was out of line by asking him his age. It shouldn’t be something to smile about.

“You know my age can be Googled, right?”

Why didn’t I think of that? Why? Because I shouldn’t be thinking about him after work or before work, period. So, at least, he knows I wasn’t crazy enough to start Googling him. I should Google him. “Of course, I know that. I know what Google is, in case you were wondering.”

“I wasn’t wondering,” he replies. “And I’m thirty-five.” He’s older than me by two years. I’m not technically an old hag to him. Though, he might think I am since he doesn’t know my age.

“You’re thirty-three, right?”

“Did you Google me?” I ask playfully, with shock ripping through my words.

“Kind of,” he plays back.

“My age is on Google?” Why would my age be on Google?

“Facebook, actually,” he says.

Crap. I thought I disabled that. I shouldn’t be allowed online.

“Do you get that a lot?” I ask, pointing at the front door of the coffee shop? “Recognized, I mean?”

“Sometimes,” he says. “It hurts more than it flatters me. I miss baseball.”

“I can imagine.” Stop getting lost in his bluish, greenish, grayish eyes. He has very pretty eyes for a man.

“Oh, how’s the little princess doing?” The way he says princess in his gruff voice makes me want to giggle like a young girl, but I control myself and clear my throat.

“She’s pretty sick. I left her with her father for the day.”

Logan presses his lips together as they curl at one side. “Poor thing. You probably just want to be home with her, huh?”

I’m struck with awe that he understands this. Not that it’s hard to understand, but I kind of assumed that because he doesn’t have kids, and since my ex-husband can’t grasp the understanding, that no man would get it.

“Home with her is the only place I want to be today,” I tell him.

“I’m sorry,” he offers. “I’m sure she’s in good hands, though.”

The laughter flows freely. It was funny. I can’t help it. In good hands. “Let me put it this way. I would have been better off leaving her with the cashier in the coffee shop.”

“Ouch,” he says with a snicker.

“Thanks for asking, though, really.” I slide into my seat and place my almost forgotten coffee down into the cup holder. “I’ll see you in a few minutes.”

He waves silently before heading off in the opposite direction, which gives me the opportunity to stare at his butt that fills in his blue dress pants very precisely. I am officially a pig. That’s a funny realization, considering my opinion of Rick.

The office is in the next parking lot over, but I feel the need to compose myself for a few minutes before making the fifteen-second drive. I cannot be looking at Logan’s ass anymore. I cannot ask him any more inappropriate questions. I need to forget about his looks and charm, oh, and the way he was with Cora yesterday. It should all be forgotten. I’m his boss. Boss lady. That’s me; I stick to the rules.