Page 6 of Single Mom's Guide to Love

The woman screams in control and in charge, both in conversation and appearance.

And as a man who thrives on a challenge, it only makes me want to crack that exterior even more. Call me crazy, but I’d wager my first-edition Pac-Man arcade game that somewhere in there is a softness she doesn’t let out often.

Because the conversation has paused, Maeve takes the opportunity to look back to the lobby desk. The line might be longer than it was before.

“Can I ask you a question, Love?”

She turns to me, a little bit of fire in her eye. “Can we be done with the ‘Love’ stuff? I’m not a nicknames kinda gal.”

Now I’m all for consent. No means no, and the women always call the shots. But pushing her buttons a little is getting a bit of a rise in me. Just that one little word, which until tonight was as generic a word as anything, is making this pretty terrible travel day a most enjoyable one.

“Would it feel better if you had a nickname to call me?” I ask. “I feel it’s only fair, since I have a habit of calling you that.”

I see the wheels start to turn in that beautiful head of hers. She bites her lip slightly, clearly thinking. Is she doing that on purpose? Can she tell that with that little action my pants are tightening in a way that is not conducive to sitting on a bar stool in a suit? I try to subtly adjust, but to no avail.

“I’ll admit, I did call you James Bond in my head when we first met.”

“I like that,” I say, sitting up a little taller at the mention of one of my favorite action heroes of all time. “The martini feels even more fitting.”

She nods, but the glint in her eye tells me she’s not done.

“You are. But I don’t know… I don’t know if James Bond is fitting.”

“What do you mean?” I gesture to the custom suit I’m wearing. “This is one step away from a tuxedo. I have the accent. Not to brag, but I’m no stranger to a gym. And I have a definitiveorder of who was the best actor to ever play Bond. I feel I’ve earned the name.”

She shrugs coyly. “I don’t know. If you’re not going to use the name I’d like, which is Maeve, because that’s my name, I shouldn’t use the one you want either.”

I know she’s about to fry me, but seeing the sparkle in her eye, I’m ready to get burned.

“What are you thinking?”

“I think asshole has quite the ring to it.”

I throw my hand over my heart and let out a dramatic gasp. “You wouldn’t. That’s just cruel.”

She gives me a wicked smile before signaling to the bartender for another martini. “That’s what you get.”

Any other man would be insulted. And it might say something about me that I’m not. But more than anything right now, I not only want to crack that shield she has firmly in place, but I want to hear her scream my name while I do it.

Hell, she can scream asshole for all I care, as long as I’m feeling her against me.

“Okay, if that’s how it’s going to be, how about we make a little wager?”

She slowly turns her head toward me, that sparkle still in her eye. Is she competitive? Oh that could be fun…

“What kind of wager?”

I signal to the front desk. “If your room is ready first, I’ll quit calling you Love and you can forever call me an asshole. But if my room is ready first, it’s Love and Bond.”

She thinks about it for just a second before extending her hand. “Bet.”

I return the gesture, and it’s probably the alcohol talking, but I swear a dash of heat just crossed between us.

Maeve looks back to the lobby, which is now packed to the gills with people trying to get rooms, before looking back to me. “So what do we do until then?”

The bartender sets two martinis down in front of us. “We drink.”

“What do you think about them?”

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