Page 39 of Man Flu

“Then just say it, Logan. What have you figured out about me while watching me puke my brains out? I’m honestly intrigued.” By the anger searing through each of my words, I doubt he believes I have any sort of curiosity about what he might say, but I do want to know where this crazy assumption is coming from.

“You don’t want anyone to care about you,” he says. “Just as men act like they don’t want to be cared about, it’s never the truth, so I can only assume you do want to be cared about. However, the big difference between men and women is that women still have a sense of nurturing even when pushed away. Men don’t have that sixth sense, so if they think a woman doesn’t want to be cared for, they may walk away.”

I open my mouth to snap back with something, but nothing comes to me. No thoughts. No words. He just described me, but did he describe Rick’s actions too? Rick never struck me as the type to want to feel needed. He’s always been the one who has the needs and wants.

“I—” I still have nothing to say.

“Look at Tiana as an example,” Logan says. “She clearly needs more attention than the average woman. I mean, I heard her tell Rick at least once last night that she needed some attention. I wasn’t a huge fan of the baby talk that accompanied it, but I kind of thought … wow, it’s nice to just be told what she wants instead of making a man play the whole guessing game. I can safely assume that Tiana is just easy.”

I laugh because he hit the nail right on the head with that one. “That, she is, Logan.”

He raises a brow and looks over at me briefly. “I’m serious. I mean easy as in simple, not high maintenance emotionally.”

“Well, too bad for me, then. I am who I am, and if someone doesn’t like it, they can go find another Tiana.” I cross my arms, feeling defensive for the way I am, even though I don’t care—I’ve never cared about what anyone else thinks.

“Look, don’t get me wrong. I’m not saying you are the reason for your divorce, but I’m telling you it’s okay to need help sometimes, and no one is going to judge you for it.”

“Okay, thanks for kicking me when I’m down,” I tell him. I don’t want this conversation to continue. I’m even more uncomfortable now than I was when I got into the truck.

“For the record, I think it’s hot when a woman can take care of herself, but there’s still a time and place to lean on help when it’s there. Sometimes we men need to be needed.”

I let him help yesterday. I don’t understand why he’s being so pushy about this. I was helpless, as a matter of fact. Rick had to have filled his head with so much shit, I can’t even process what he must know about me.

Did he just say it’s hot to be independent?

I inhale sharply and set my gaze on the side window. “I’m like this for a reason. Everyone has reasons for the way they are.”

“You’re right,” he says quickly. “and I’m pushy and forward, so because of that I’m taking you out on a date tonight.”

I whip my head around. “Excuse me?”

“Yeah, I’m taking you out for a nice dinner. I might kiss you. I might even try to persuade you to do more, and I might break that sneering little look in your eye too.”

I’m having a hot flash. Is that possible at thirty-three? “What?” I’m a little blunter this time, but seriously, what the hell is happening?

“Now’s the part where I either say I’m kidding, or I reply with … is there a problem?” He clears his throat, pulls into the parking lot of the coffee shop, parks, and looks directly at me. “Which one do you prefer?”

What kind of question is this? Obviously, it’s the latter half of his assumption—or whatever I’m supposed to call it. Obviously.

“Are you propositioning your boss?” I reply.

“Am I?” he questions.

Answer him, Hannah. “I could have you fired for this.”

“Could you?”

“Yes,” I snap.

“Then fire me.”

“I liked you better before we had lunch yesterday. You were such a kiss ass.”

“I can kiss your ass if that’s what you like.” I should slap him. How rude is he? Who says that? Stop picturing him kissing your ass, Hannah. “Although, it all depends on whether you get tea or coffee right now,” he says with a chuckle, obviously amused with himself.

“Why did you pretend to be so sweet yesterday?” I ask him. Really, my brain feels like it might explode. Either he has multiple personalities, or he fooled me more than I’ve ever been fooled.

“I wasn’t pretending.”