Page 25 of Man Flu

“I wanted a child,” he says.

“Why didn’t you have one?”

“I did.”

That’s all it takes to make my heart stop thundering in my chest, followed by a heavy silence that drowns us within the truck. My gaze drops to my lap, focusing on my intertwined fingers and the redness blushing at my fingertips from squeezing so hard.

“I’m sorry,” is all that comes out of my mouth. I’m complaining about something he lost. I couldn’t make this worse if I tried. “I’m one of those people who have chronic foot-in-mouth disease.”

“Where did that saying even come from? Have you thought about it? It never fails. Whenever someone says that to me, I imagine them with their foot in their mouth.” The image of myself or Logan doing such a thing forces the rollercoaster of a conversation into a fit of laughter.

“Turn here,” I shout as I almost forget to tell him to turn again.

The truck jerks to the right and I skid halfway across the bench, bringing the seatbelt with me. Shouldn’t that thing lock or something? I guess not when fate wants me grabbing this guy’s junk. Of course, it takes a solid ten-seconds to realize where my hand ended up. “I think this might be grounds for a sexual harassment complaint.” I whip my arm around, grabbing my hand as if I accidentally touched something scorching hot. Then again, the analogy works here.

He doesn’t laugh after his statement, and a moment of fear pours through me. “It was an accident,” I assure him.

“It’s a good thing. If it wasn’t, it would definitely be sexual harassment.”

By the time Logan parks the truck in a spot outside the cafe, I feel like I have sweat dripping down the back of my neck, yet I feel like I’m standing inside of a freezer at the same moment. This has been the craziest ride I’ve ever experienced.

“Logan, is this a joke to you?” It’s rude, but I’m honestly concerned about my job. Sexual harassment isn’t something to joke about. It could ruin my career.

“A joke? No, I think I might be missing the whole job security fear tactic thing though, and I apologize if I’m making you nervous.”

At least he’s honest. “Is this what you do?”

“Take sharp turns into parking lots, so a chick grabs my dick? Not usually, though I can’t say I’m upset at the way it turned out.” Holy crap. How did we get here? He was as sweet as pie yesterday when helping with Cora, and now he’s this … this … devil in a baseball player’s hot body.

“No, I mean job hop and hit on women until you get fired.”

“I can’t say that’s the case. Before this job, I was surrounded by a lot of dudes every day.”

“So, it’s just me? And you just pretended like you don’t know where to get a sandwich when you live five minutes away from the office, didn’t you?” I remembered that little tidbit of information as we were flying into the lot. He was pulling a fast one on me.

He holds his hands up in defense. “Okay, okay, I wanted to have lunch with you. Sue me. I’ll quit being nice, okay?”

“That isn’t what I asked,” I tell him.

“Do I find you attractive and think it’s kind of sexy that you’re my boss? Yeah, Am I a little worried you’re going right to Human Resources when we get back so you can report me? Only a little. It would get out into the news, and I’d have reporters at my door. Then it would get messy, but I’m a player. I play to win, and I know how to deal with striking out. What can I say?” He’s cracking himself up, and I’m stifling the same feeling.

“A player?” I question.

“A game player,” he corrects me.

“A game player where women are your bases?”

He raises a brow and quirks his lip a touch. “No, where bases are safe, and the only balls getting hit are the ones flying out of a park.”

“Jesus, what kind of women have you dated?”

“I’m hungry. I say stupid things when I’m hungry.” He hops out of the truck and rushes around to my side. I hadn’t opened the door yet because I’ve been caught up in my thoughts, trying to figure out what the hell he’s all about. I catch my reflection in the side mirror briefly before the door opens, and I honestly don’t get it.

He offers me his hand this time, and I not-so-gracefully jump down. If he weren’t there, I probably would have gone head first, but he saved that play too. “Thank you,” I tell him.

“Sure, so, while we’re eating lunch, can I ask you a favor?”

I glance over and up at him, along with the serious expression masking his face. “Okay?”