Page 17 of Single Mom's Guide to Love

maeve

I’m a dirty,filthy whore.

That’s the only words I can think of as I board the airplane and take my seat in first class. The second I hit the leather, I feel the tidal wave of the last day wash over me. And none of it is good.

That’s a lie. My body feels more relaxed and sated than maybe ever in my life. I’m also thoroughly exhausted because the sex was nothing short of earth shattering. And the orgasms? Out of body experiences. Apparently when you don’t have sex for five years, your orgasms are triggered a little more easily than you remember.

I’ve also never had two in one night. I didn’t think my body could do it, hence why I dared Logan that task. I figured it was an easy win. But apparently even my own orgasms stood no chance against Logan Matthews. That was further proved sometime in the middle of the night when I was woken up by Logan’s face between my legs. I think I came in thirty seconds.

Who was that woman? It’s like I was me—I mean, I felt every single thing he did to my body—but I was an alternate version of me. A version who begged a man to fuck me. Who got fingered in an elevator. Who enjoyed getting spanked while getting fuckedfrom behind. All by a man seven years younger than me who I saw on a magazine cover at the airport with a model as they were entering a club in New York.

Seeing that cover made me feel more at ease about my decision to sneak out this morning. I knew I couldn’t face him sober in the harsh light of day. What would I have said? “Thanks for the orgasms! You win!”

I was already humiliated by my actions enough, so I did the smartest thing I could do—I crept around in the dark looking for my clothes, realized I didn’t have any underwear, got haphazardly dressed, went to the front desk to ask for my bags that they were still holding and got changed in the lobby bathroom. I then did the walk of shame to the airport and got here way too early, all because I didn’t want to make eye contact with the man who made me see literal stars.

“Can I get you anything, ma’am?”

I slowly nod at the flight attendant. “A Diet Coke. Please.”

Seconds later it’s in my hand and I’m nearly chugging it. I already had my hangover cure this morning of bacon, egg, and cheese on a bagel, but the familiar fizz is hitting the spot.

My eyes are heavy, and I let them close as the rest of the passengers filter onto the plane. Luckily, this is a direct flight back to Nashville, so the goal is to let the exhaustion take over so I can be alert when I get home tonight. I haven’t seen my son in more than a week, and I need to relieve my sisters, who’ve been pulling shifts to cover me during my custody time.

My guess is that Jayce will want to stay up tonight, and because I’m a guilty mother who’s been away, I’ll let him. The problem with that is the morning will still come at its normal time—promptly at 7:14 a.m., when Jayce will wake me up to pour him his juice and cereal so he can eat while cramming in an episode of Paw Patrol before school. I could go back to sleep after I drop him off. But will I? Absolutely not.

Which is why I need to catch as many Zs as I can now. Between the tiredness from travel, and my body being exhausted from last night, I should be able to sleep just fine on the flight. If I were currently in my bed, I might actually sleep for more than five hours. That would be a new record.

I’ve never been a great sleeper, but as I’ve gotten older, and the stress of being a single mom and running my own business has grown, there isn’t a pillowcase, blackout curtain, or melatonin dosage in the world strong enough to get Maeve Banks into a REM cycle. But judging how I’m already feeling like I’m dozing off, and I won’t be self-conscious as there’s no one sitting next to me, maybe the trick all along was a healthy dose of dick—specifically of the tall, handsome, and British variety.

No brain! Stop it! You’re a dirty whore, and you need to stop thinking about him!

I turn my head toward the window as I try to shake the thoughts from last night. My brain has always gone a mile a minute, but it’s usually with things about work, or Jayce’s schedule, or what is going on with my family. That’s another reason why I swore off sex. I didn’t have the capacity to deal with dating. And my days of hooking up were over, both because I was a grown-up and they just weren’t good enough to bother.

Then again, if I’d had sex with Logan before I made this declaration, I might have been singing a different tune.

“Passengers, if we could have you all find your seats as we begin the in-flight announcements...”

That’s the last thing I remember hearing before I’m in a full slumber. I somehow block out the takeoff. If there’s a baby crying in economy, I wouldn’t know. Because somehow, I’m currently falling into the best sleep I’ve had in ages while I guiltily think about Logan’s tongue between my legs…

Ding! Ding! Ding!

The sound of the airplane call, combined with a shake of turbulence, snaps me awake. Which is a fucking shame, because I was in the middle of a dream where Logan was fucking me on the glass dining table of the penthouse.

I’m thrown by a huge bit of turbulence that sends my head into the window, which also causes me to drop the glass of now-melted ice and Diet Coke that somehow I’ve been holding the whole time.

“Shit-mother-fucker-bitch!”

I try to look around for a napkin or something to wipe the cold liquid off my lap when a familiar chuckle turns my blood cold.

No…it can’t be.

“Here, Love. Let me help you.”

What in the literal, actual, and metaphorical fuck is happening?

I freeze at the sound of the voice that’s coming from next to me. I know it’s him. There’s no other voice like that in the world. But I refuse to look to make sure. Between the spill, the dream I was just having where I’m not sure if I was talking in my sleep and called out his name, and the unknown of whether I have drool on my chin, it’s best I stay facing forward.

“Oh, come on, Maeve. Aren’t you happy to see me?”

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