Page 69 of Man Flu

Chapter Nineteen

Sunday is for balls … err

LOGAN DECIDED TO GO home yesterday as I was opening the Google browser. I don’t need to wonder why, but he is the one who suggested I go look. He told me he’d see me at work on Monday, so I didn’t say a whole lot because I was caught off guard. To be fair, he was at my house for almost two days, so maybe it was just time for him to go. It didn’t take me long to realize I don’t have his phone number, and he doesn’t have mine. Therefore, our unorthodox date that lasted way too long must have ended up being one of those kinds of dates—one where we pretend it never happened when we run into each other—or in our case, see each other at the office tomorrow. This could be an interesting, and awkward, week at work. What was I thinking? Maybe the flu virus I had impaired my ability to make rational decisions. Yeah, that must be it.

It never fails, the one day my house is quiet, I’m up by eight and ready for a full day of errands and Sunday have-tos. Why can’t I sleep in? I really need the rest, but my brain is in overdrive.

After debating it all afternoon and night yesterday, I still haven’t decided whether I should I Google Logan or just let the story slide. My imagination is already doing a number on me, so I’m kind of hopeful that what I’m assuming happened is a lot worse than what happened, but I know there’s only one way to find out the truth. It’s inevitable that I’ll eventually look, so I might as well get it over with.

I sit down at my desk up in my loft and wait for the laptop to boot up. I have my fourth cup of coffee of the day, a blanket, and quiet, the perfect components for taking the time to reflect on this past week of my life. Last Sunday, I was hustling around to get the grocery shopping completed, laundry done, and the house clean. My life was normal and lame as it always has been. If I knew what the week had in store for me, I might have called out sick from work for the week.

“Come on, hurry up, you damn laptop.”

My fingers stumble across the keyboard as I type his name into the search bar and watch the little circle thingy spin while it searches the Internet for a lost ball.

Pages and pages of Logan Grier pop up, and I can’t imagine how I managed to miss hearing about this. There are articles and videos on all the major news and social media outlets, including Facebook and Twitter. I’m a loser.

I open the top link since it’s apparently the most popular, and I’m greeted by this headline: