Page 31 of Man Flu

He places his hands out before him as if I were a scared dog. “It’s okay, just relax.”

“Don’t tell me to relax! I know what you just saw!”

“It all happened so fast, I didn’t see much, if that helps,” he says. He’s lying. He’s lying. He got a good look at everything.

“It doesn’t help that you touched my panties.”

“So what? I’ve touched jock straps that don’t belong to me. It’s just clothing.”

“First, why would you be touching someone else’s jock strap? Second, it’s not just clothing.”

“Look, I wanted to help you out. Clearly, you’re having a rough time, and I didn’t think I would be making things worse.”

My head pounds a little harder, reminding me of its ever-so-apparent presence. “I’m sorry, I’m overreacting,” I tell him. Am I, though? I don’t know him all that well, and I’m his boss. I suppose anyone trying to suck up to their boss would do what he did today, maybe, but then again, probably not.

“How can I make this better?” he asks.

As if there’s a way to erase the last couple of hours, my thoughts are instantly swayed into a different direction. I’m going to vomit again. With a tight hold on my blanket burrito, I jump from the bed, making it halfway across my room before I trip, landing so hard on my boobs that the pain itself purges the vomit from my stomach. I look like an avocado that’s been stepped on. All I see is my vomit decorating my white comforter beneath me.

“My heart is literally breaking right now, Hannah,” Logan says as he jogs into my bathroom, quickly returning with a wad of toilet paper. He gently cleans my face up. “What am I going to do with you?” He laughs quietly, not at me, but with me, if I had the energy to laugh.

I don’t have the energy to even speak, so I just watch. How is it fair that I spent so much time with a man who couldn’t care less about me and then meet someone who is willing to clean up my vomit within a couple of days of knowing me? I didn’t think there was this type of kindness in the world. It doesn’t matter, though. I was destined for dicks like Rick. Yeah, I know; calling him Dick got old a long time ago.

Logan cleans up as much as he can, covering up what’s remaining with the extra blanket. His hand drapes over my forehead, and the scent of soap soothes me. “You’re really pale. We might need to get you to a doctor.”

“No,” I croak out. “I’ll be fine. I just have to get up and start moving around—get my mind off vomiting.”

“You’re burning up, though.”

“I’m just embarrassed,” I tell him, honestly. “I don’t feel like I have a fever. I don’t remember the last time I even had a fever.”

“Do you just want to lie here for a bit, maybe?” he asks.

I know I said I want to get up and start moving, but his idea sounds better. “I think so. “He lowers himself down, bringing his knees to his chest. That doesn’t look comfortable. He’s in dress slacks and a fitted shirt. “You don’t have to stay here,” I tell him.

“I know,” he says.

“You don’t have to feel bad for me, either.”

“I know that, too.”

He stands back up and looks around the room before heading to my nightstand and grabbing the remote to my TV. Unsure of what he’s doing, he powers it on, so I slowly twist my head to the other side, watching as he flicks through the channels until he finds a soap opera. “Yes, or no?” he asks.

“No,” I tell him, trying not to laugh. “Not my thing.”

He passes by a few more channels and finds HGTV. “This?”

“Yeah, I like that.”

* * *

Three hours of HGTV and no more vomit. It’s a win. Logan is still next to me, sitting quietly, watching the shows as intently as I have been. The silence and calm cause a storm of thunder in my chest when the doorbell rings. I look at the clock on my nightstand, finding the time to be past five. “It’s probably Rick with Cora.”

“Let me take care of it,” he says.

“I want her to come home,” I tell him. “I haven’t seen her all day.”

“Of course. I’ll stick around and help with her. It’s no problem.”