3. Maeve
3
maeve
His lips are right there.
Inches away from me.
If I moved ever so slightly, they’d be on me, touching me in a way I haven’t been in such a long time.
Can I do it? Should I do it? I told myself years ago, after my divorce, that men weren’t worth it and I needed to focus on my son. So I did what any single mom would do—I swore off the opposite sex and everything to do with them.
That means sex. Dates. Anything. They were out of my life until an unknown future date and time.
Is that time now?
No…can’t be. When I made that rule for myself, I figured it would be when Jayce was at least a teenager, not the first grade. And until this night, I’ve never even considered ending my self-made sexual hiatus.
But I’d be a fucking liar if I said I wasn’t attracted to Logan. Or how I want nothing more than to feel his lips on mine.
Or on other places…
But just as I’m about to move in ever so slightly, hoping he comes in the rest of the way, my phone vibrates loudly on the bar next to me.
The buzzing snaps us both out of the spell and I quickly grab it, hoping it’s the hotel telling me my room is ready so I can leave this situation before I get myself into a lot of trouble.
Except when I look at the phone, it’s not the hotel. It's a FaceTime from Jayce.
“Hey, buddy,” I say, looking around to see if there’s somewhere quiet. “Hold on one second, okay?”
I lower the phone and signal to Logan that I’m going to step outside to take the call. It’s still raining pretty hard, but luckily I see an awning that appears to be keeping the rain out. I take a deep breath as I hurry to it, allowing the air of the storm to cool me off from the stuffy bar and hotel.
And the presence of Logan.
“Okay, I’m here,” I say as I lean against the building. “Getting ready for bed?”
Jayce nods as he holds the phone with one hand, but cuddles the blanket that he’s slept with every night since he was born in the other.
“Yeah. Aunt A-Mae just tucked me in.”
He switches over the angle of the call so I can see my younger sister, who he calls A-Mae since her name is Ainsley Mae and that’s what he grew up hearing us call her. He calls my other sister Tella, but that was because he couldn’t say his “s” sounds. “How are you? How bad is the storm?”
“It’s a madhouse,” I say. “Every flight is canceled. I’m supposedly waiting on a room, but it’s so insane I wouldn’t be surprised if they gave it away or never had one to begin with.”
“That stinks,” Ainsley says. “But don’t worry about us. We got pizza for dinner, did bath time, and Jayce even taught me how to play SpaceCraft. I must say, for a first timer, I’m pretty good.”
“She made it through five levels, Mommy! She’s better than you!”
I laugh as I look back into the bar at the inventor of said game. I smile as I watch him casually sit at the bar, phone in hand. I wonder if he’d be impressed with Ainsley’s accomplishment? Or that Jayce is probably his number one fan in the world? And what would Jayce say if I told him who I’m sitting next to? More importantly, what would my sister say if I admitted that I met a man who is tempting enough to make me consider ending my self-imposed dry spell?
“Why are you smiling, Mommy?”
I jump slightly at Jayce’s voice. “I’m just happy you called.”
That was a shitty recovery, and judging by the look from my kid and sister, neither are buying it.
“I call every night you aren’t home,” he says, clearly wondering why he has to explain this to me. “It’s story time.”
“You’re right.” I let out a breath and square my shoulders. “You ready?”
He nods and cuddles himself into bed, Ainsley holding the book that we read together every night.
I’ve read this book to him since he was a baby. I memorized it a long time ago. He probably has, too. Age wise, he should’ve outgrown the book years ago. But it’s our thing, and I’m grateful my baby still wants this time with me. I know one day he won’t, so I’m not going to miss a minute while I still have the chance.
We say goodnight to all the things in the book—the socks, the balloons, and the people. We go on for the six minutes and thirty seconds it takes to read the book. We go back and forth on the parts we perform—my very particular son is insistent I only voice certain pages and he does the others.
Then when we say “the end,” it doesn’t stop there, because Jayce has to say goodnight to everyone in his life that he loves.
“Goodnight Mommy, Goodnight Daddy,” he says. “Goodnight Aunt A-Mae and Tella and Quinn. Goodnight Emmett and Winnie the dog. Goodnight Uncle Simon, Aunt Charlie, and baby Lainey. Goodnight Didi and Pappy. And goodnight Rosie.”
I was ready to tell him what I normally do after his goodnights, but his last one throws me for a loop. “Who’s Rosie?”
“My girlfriend,” he says, a big yawn coming from his tiny mouth. “Goodnight, Mommy.”
I stutter a bit, wondering how my son could drop this bomb on me then just go to sleep. “Sweet dreams, buddy.”
Ainsley gives him one more kiss on the cheek and promises to do some recon at drop-off in the morning, so I hang up the phone and I make my way back into the bar.
“Everything okay?” Logan asks, standing up and giving me his hand as I climb back onto the bar stool.
I grab my martini and finish it in one go. “I think my son has a girlfriend.”
This makes Logan laugh. “How old is he again?”
“Six,” I say, setting it down and ordering another drink. “I wasn’t ready for this yet.”
“Oh, the days of primary school,” Logan says with a touch of nostalgia in voice.
“Let me guess, you were the cute boy with dozens of girlfriends?”
He lets out a loud, singular, laugh. “You’re hilarious. Quite the contrary. A girl didn’t give me the time of day until Year Twelve, and that’s only because I was doing her homework for her.”
I find that hard to believe. “Really? You weren’t the flirt of the school? The cute boy everyone wanted to take to the dances?”
“The complete opposite,” he says. “I was a shy, nerdy boy who’d rather play with his video games and build Lego sets than play outside. My glasses were thick and my know-it-all was thicker.”
“That I can see,” I say, though I do wonder when the shy nerdy boy found his way to a gym. “When did you move to the States? Or are you only visiting?”
Was that me prying a little? Yes. But did I do it cleverly? Also yes. I guess I haven’t entirely lost my game.
“I actually came here from Birmingham for university,” he says. “That was eleven years ago and I’ve been here ever since.”
I know I’m drunk. And math has never been my strong suit. But I’m staring at him, and if he came here for university at eighteen…and that was eleven years ago…
Carry the one…subtract the smolder…
“How old are you, Logan?”
A blush creeps on his cheeks. “I actually just celebrated my twenty-ninth birthday.”
“Jesus fucking Christ,” I whisper, all but snatching the fresh martini from the bartender’s hands and take a big gulp, nearly finishing it in one go.
“What’s the problem?”
I shake my head so much it might spin off. “Now you really can’t call me that. I’m a creepy old lady.”
I’ve been fantasizing about this man all night. I wanted him to kiss me. Dare I say I’ve even been flirting with him in my own way.
And for what? For me to find out that I technically could have babysat for him, if I would’ve been in England?
“Not creepy at all,” he says. “I like to say I’m a good judge of character.”
I shoot him a glare. “I’m a thirty-six-year-old single mom, Logan. There should be no world where I’m talking to, or being called Love, by a man in his twenties.”
“Late twenties.”
Did he just make a joke? This isn’t the time for jokes.
“Logan, I’m closer to forty than thirty. No way should I be drinking with a man who still has a two as the first number of his age.”
“It’s just a number.”
I give him the same look that I give to my son when he’s being ridiculous. “Are you going to tell me next that ‘you’re only as young as you feel?’ Oh wait, I know. You’re going to tell me how mature you are for your age. And you said you weren’t cliché…”
I check my phone again, really wanting there to be a message from the hotel about my room, when I feel Logan’s hands on my legs, turning me toward him. As soon as I’m stopped and facing his direction, he jumps up from it and holds out his hand for me.
“Dance with me.”
“What?” I look to the pseudo dance floor, where no one is dancing. And you can barely hear the piano over the crowds of the guests at the bar.
“Come on,” he says, jerking his head toward the piano. “I need to stretch my legs and you need to get out of your head. Plus, asking you to randomly dance in the middle of a hotel bar is the least cliché thing I could’ve done.”
I look to the makeshift dance floor then back to the man who is apparently not only young, but slightly delusional. “I’m not dancing with you.”
“May I ask why not?”
“Oh, let me count the ways!” I hold out my hand for extra emphasis. “One, no one is dancing, and we’ll look ridiculous. Two, we’ll lose our spots at the bar, and this is prime seating. Three, it’s one thing for me to mildly flirt with you. It’s a whole other for me to dance with you. That’s a step toward Cougarville I’d rather not take. So you can stand and stretch your tree-trunk legs and I’ll sit here and finish this martini.”
The sexy smirk that forms is not the reaction I was going for or expecting. “You’re flirting with me?”
“Not the point.”
“Oh, but it is,” he says. “Now we really have to dance.”
He doesn’t say anything else as he flags down one of the bartenders. “Mate, will you make sure our seats are safe so I can take this lovely woman for a dance?”
“Absolutely, Mr. Matthews,” he says, pulling out reserved signs and setting them at our places.
“Good man.” Logan holds out his hand for me again. “As for your first point, who cares if no one is dancing? We’ll be trendsetters.”
“Or people will laugh at us.”
“I doubt that. If anything, people will wonder how I got so lucky as to dance with the most beautiful woman here.”
“Your lines aren’t working.”
My snark doesn’t seem to scare him off. If anything, it seems to turn him on.
“As to your last, and most important point—if you were mildly flirting with me, then I should be clear that I was majorly flirting with you. I think you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met, and this is probably the only night I’m ever going to spend with you. So, will you do me the honor of a dance?”
I have to blink a few times at his monologue. Who just comes out and says things like that?
And why is my body reacting to it?
Why am I giving him my hand? Why am I walking behind him to the dance floor?
I should be at home tucking in my son and preparing for a busy week. In fact, I have a huge meeting on Tuesday with a mystery client who has promised a large commission. That is, if they don’t cancel on me again. That’s what I should be focusing on right now—not talking with a younger man, getting drunk on dirty martinis, and about to dance when no one else is.
None of this makes sense.
Yet, I can’t seem to stop myself.
The only night I’m ever going to spend with you…
He’s right. This is only one night. I’m never going to see him again.
So you know what? Fuck it. Maybe this is the gin talking, but I’m going to enjoy this night. I’m not going to be Jayce’s mom. Or Mama Maeve to my siblings. Or someone who has to check my phone every five seconds. I’m even going to forget who Logan Matthews actually is. Instead, I’m just going to focus on how his hand feels on my back, his scent surrounding me, and how for the first time in a long time, I’m just a woman enjoying the company of a man.
“There we go,” Logan says as he pulls me in, our clasped hands resting between our chests. “Now just follow me. Find the calm.”
I try and ignore the crowd around us, but it’s easier said than done. I want to relax, but all I keep thinking about are people staring at the cougar and her younger date.
Oh my God! Are people playing Hooker, Home wrecker, or Housewife with us?
“Relax,” he whispers.
“I am.”
“Liar.”
I don’t bother arguing with him. We both know he’s right.
“Do me this favor,” he says as he brings me in a little closer. “Lay your head on my shoulder.”
I don’t want to, but between the liquor, his voice, and his overall demeanor, I can’t fight it.
Plus I think his cologne has magical calming properties.
“There we go.” He doesn’t say anything for more than a few seconds, and somehow, even though I know the bar and hotel are still packed, the noise dies down. Soon all I can hear is the ballad from the piano and the sound of his beating heart.
“That’s it. Now just sway. Block out the chaos and just breathe. Even if just for a few minutes.”
It takes me a second to truly relax, but when I do, it’s a peaceful bliss that feels foreign. The song has changed to a popular ballad I’ve heard a few times but never really listened to just the music behind it.
It’s gorgeous. Melodic. And the way the man is playing it on the piano is almost lulling me to sleep. I don’t remember the last time I’ve not thought about eighty-thousand things at once and just sat back and enjoyed the moment.
Yet here I am. In a hotel bar. Dancing with a stranger. Finding the calm.
“That’s it,” Logan whispers, pulling me in even closer. “You’re doing so good, Love.”
His praise of something so simple sends an unexpected zing through me. When is the last time anyone told me I was doing good at anything? Usually it’s clients demanding more from me without saying thank you, or my family asking me to do things that they thank me for on the surface, but also know I’d do even if they didn’t.
“How do you do that?” I ask.
“Do what?”
“Get me to relax.”
I don’t know how, but without looking at him, I can feel him smile.
“I want to say ‘there must just be something about me,’ but I know you hate clichés.”
My smile is instant. “So what would you say, you know, that’s not typical?”
He stops our movement. I pull away slightly, but just enough so I can look up into his warm eyes.
“That in some strange way, we were meant to meet tonight. And if it’s just one night, then we’ve changed each other for the better.”
“How do you mean?”
He removes the hand from my back and lets it slowly stroke down the side of my cheek. The goosebumps are instant as he slowly traces my jawline.
“Well, for me, I’ve recently been set up with women who I grinned and bared it for the cameras. But they weren’t my type. And even before that, it had been years since I could spend my time with an absolutely breathtaking woman and just be myself. And so, from now on, when I’m out on a mind-numbing date, or being set up with a woman my publicist thinks is good for my image, I’m going to remember that there was at least one woman I could spend an evening with who could make me feel alive.”
My body flushes with his words. This man, if my memory serves me correct, has been out with legitimate runway models. And he’s calling me breathtaking? I’ve never had self-confidence issues, but holy shit…
Logan is making me feel…I don’t know what these feelings are. They’re foreign and exciting, and I’m on pins and needles to hear why he thinks he’s changed me.
Because he has, even if our night ends right here. I know this night will live in my memory forever.
“And what do you mean for me?”
He leans down ever so slowly, placing the softest and warmest, kiss on my cheek that I’ve ever felt. But he barely moves away, leaving his lips right next to my ear.
“That whenever you’re starting to get into that beautiful head of yours, or your control freak is coming out a little too much, I want you to remember this night. This moment. How you were able to take a step back and find the calm in the chaos. To dance with a man who wants nothing more than to kiss you right now and make you forget even more.”
Find the calm in the chaos…I like that.
And I like him.
Fuck do I like him.
As for the kiss? I want that too.
And not just the kiss.
I want more. More from him.
I want tonight…
That’s the only reason I can think of as to why I’m pulling him into me, kissing him like I’ve never kissed anyone before. His body immediately responds, pulling me in tight against him as our lips become acquainted.
First kisses aren’t supposed to be smooth or perfect. But this? I don’t know how it can get much more perfect.
Just as the kiss starts to deepen, I pull myself away. And it’s not because I want it to stop.
It’s because I want even more.
Five years ago, I declared that I was done with men, dating, and anything along that avenue. I was going to be a business woman, a daughter, a sister, and a mother. Therefore, I couldn’t fit in another thing.
Figuratively and literally.
Until now, I’ve never wavered in that decision. I’ve never thought that there was something missing.
But as Logan holds me, our bodies swaying together with the music, his heartbeat thumping against my chest as his strong hand holds me against him, and liquid courage in the form of gin martinis rushes through me, I realize I want this. And him. Frankly, I probably want this too much from a man I just met and am never going to see again.
I’m never going to see again…
“Logan?”
“Yes, Love?”
“Is that room ready?”