Page 71 of Man Flu

Chapter Twenty-One

Nothing like a good cup of Monday morning to get you moving …

I’M SITTING IN THE parking lot with my coffee mug from home. I’m a little early, but rather than go inside and get to work on all the shit I have to get done before I leave tomorrow morning, I’ll just take a few extra breaths as I watch snowflakes falling from the dark sky.

I decided to avoid the weather channel this morning in fear of what they’ll say is coming. I wasn’t ready to face it. However, the sky is basically black, and I can pretty much assume what we’re all in for. School will be canceled in three hours because no one knew a storm was brewing, and we need to make sure everyone gets home safely before the buses can no longer get up hills.

Rick will be too busy to help, and the world knows he had Cora for an entire day and a half. That’s like an eternity for him, and he needs at least a day’s break before he’s forced to parent for the rest of the week while I’m gone.

I’ll also have to figure out how to clear a path in the driveway tomorrow at five in the morning so the airport shuttle car can pick me up. There will be delays flying down to Orlando, and I have a layover in Chicago, so there’s that excursion to look forward to. So yeah, cheers to you, fracking, dark sky. I hold my mug up and tap the windshield. FML.

I kick my company’s door open without a care that I am not dressed professionally today. I’m probably getting fired anyway since I molested the temp in his sleep. Is that a felony or just a slap on the wrist? In any case, today called for knee-high boots, holey jeans, and a flannel blouse.

I swing the glass door open and barrel through the foyer like I’m on a mission. If I get fired, I don’t have to come to work anymore. I won’t be able to pay my mortgage, which means I’ll have to sell the house, and between unemployment and child support, an apartment will work out nicely. I’ll be away from Rick, and there’s a whole lot less cleaning to do in a smaller place. I can do a little freelance editing and marketing, and bam—life is perfect. Why haven’t I done this before?

I walk past Brielle’s empty cube, Logan’s occupied cube, and close myself into my office. I toss my coat onto the guest chair and drop down into my seat.

In an attempt not to destroy my day today, I answered some emails yesterday afternoon, but with the event tomorrow, my inbox is full again. Somehow, I’m supposed to prepare to leave while also answering every minor question in the world. It would be awesome if we had a facts and questions page on our website, rather than tossing all the questions to me. Plus, sales can’t be bothered. They’re too busy planning for their parties and dinners.

A blur walks past my door, and I can’t see what it is because the glass has ripples to make sure no one can see anyone having sex inside when the doors are closed. Seriously, I do wonder if that really happens in offices. It must. If not, there’s no real purpose of having windows that aren’t see-through.

A tap on my door startles me a bit because I’m trying to figure out how two people would have sex in an office this size? It doesn’t sound like a good time. I think the utility closet would probably be a better option.

The door opens even though I didn’t invite anyone in, and Logan is standing in front of me in a pair of gray slacks and a white button down. “Do you have a minute?” he asks.

Without waiting for an answer, he closes himself inside my office before I say anything. “I’m sorry for leaving on an awkward note like I did. I realized when I got home that I didn’t have your number, so I figured it was a sign that I should just keep quiet until today.”

I shift my weight around in the chair because I’m super uncomfortable. I didn’t think he would bring this all up so quickly, or at all for that matter. Men are usually experts at avoidance, but he must not be one of those men. “You have nothing to apologize for. I was out of line,” I tell him.

He looks down and drops his hands into his pockets, and I notice his hair is perfectly styled with product, which I find hot because Rick never knew how to take care of himself. I had to do his hair before he left for work in the morning, or he’d leave with it sticking straight up in the air.

“Yes, you were kind of out of line,” he agrees. “However, I should have been upfront with you before things got as far as they did on Thursday night.”

“It’s none of my business,” I tell him, feeling ashamed of my behavior. I most definitely owed him this apology at the very least, plus I’m sure I screwed everything up.

“Is the video as bad as everyone says it is?” He hasn’t watched it? I guess I probably wouldn’t want to watch myself go through that either, but I also don’t understand the people who enjoy watching their own sex tapes. I’d end up critiquing myself, and it doesn’t sound like a healthy situation.

“I don’t know,” I tell him.

“You didn’t watch?” He seems surprised that I had the willpower to stop myself from watching his incident.

“I couldn’t. I saw you step up to the plate, watched the first ball fly, and my heart started to race. You have a lot of fans, huh?”

“I did.”

“Anyway, I shut it off. I couldn’t fathom watching you go through that, and I’m positive I don’t ever want to see it, so I’m glad I stopped.”

“My friends watched it over and over. I didn’t understand why they wanted to, and it was all they would talk about, so I cut them out of my life. I cut everyone out of my life, actually. I don’t want to keep reliving that damn accident, but it’s a part of me now, and rather than just living with some stupid scar, I feel the need to warn people, so I don’t have to deal with the aftermath over and over.”

“People? Have there been a lot of people since your divorce?”

“Just a few who ‘wanted to see it for themselves.’ That hurt. One girl actually got up and left in a fit of laughter before we—you know.”

I recoil at the thought. Who the hell would act that way? Who the hell would try to look down a man’s pants while they’re asleep? “I guess I’m no better.”

“You didn’t run away. I did.” He does have a point there. “I’m kind of like a bull in a China shop sometimes. It’s like I haven’t figured out how to make this dating shit work, and I just go at it full force.”

“That’s kind of hot,” I tell him.