Page 18 of Single Mom's Guide to Love

I reluctantly turn my head and if I had another drink to drop, I would.

Yup. There he is, in all his sexy, British glory. The man who made me beg. The man who made me scream. The man I can still feel inside me.

The man I was banking on never seeing again.

“What the fuck are you doing here?”

I don’t know what about my tone just now made him smile, but I want to wipe the smug grin off his face. “Flying to Nashville.”

I shake my head a little, because obviously this has to be some sort of dream.

“Aren’t you a billionaire or something? Why are you flying commercial?”

He shrugs as the flight attendant comes over to hand me a napkin. I should thank her—or at least make eye contact with her—but I’m too confused and a little angry by my current situation.

“A private jet just seems wasteful,” he says. “Plus, you never know who you’ll sit next to on a plane. It’s an experience you can’t replicate.”

I feel ridiculous thinking about this, but I need to ask it to ease my mind. “Did you get on this flight to see me? I didn’t tell you where I was going.”

This gets a laugh out of him. “I wish that was the case. But sadly no. This is pure serendipity.”

“Really? This is coincidence?”

“It is. And a pleasant one. Since we didn’t get to see each other this morning, this can serve as our goodbye.”

I feel my cheeks turn beet red. How dare he call me out with the truth. Rude.

“I wanted to get to the airport early,” I reply, my defensive tone telling him exactly how much a liar I am.

“I didn’t know it was open at five in the morning.”

Shit, he knew when I left? I thought he was asleep.

“But no matter,” he continues, since I’m still too stunned to speak. “I still got the experience of sleeping next to you, even if only for a little bit. Your snores are adorable, by the way.”

I audibly gasp. He did not! I mean, I probably was, but you don’t say things like that out loud to strangers. Shit, you’re probably not strangers with someone who you’ve seen naked.

“I was not.”

I try to ignore the flirty smile and his dazzling green eyes behind his black-rimmed glasses. The whole look is sexily unsettling, especially when I can still see that face buried in my pussy.

“You tell yourself whatever you need to, Love.”

Ugh! That fucking name!

“I wasn’t snoring. And quit calling me Love.”

He shakes his head as a small laugh escapes. “Can’t. We made a bet. And I believe I won. Twice. Or was it three times?”

The audacity of this man…how dare he use things I said and did against me?

I could blame the booze. Say the gin was talking, and I wasn’t aware of what my body was doing under the influence. But that would be a damn lie. I knew every second of what I was doing. I felt every delicious thing he did to my body. And now I have to pay the consequences.

Which apparently is him sitting next to me for the final forty-five minutes of our flight.

In maybe a more frustrating move than him calling me out on the bet, or the snoring, or calling me Love, instead of waiting for me to respond, the bastard turns away, focusing on something on his phone while I’m left slack-jawed and still wet.

From the ice.

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