Page 1 of Mister Mom

1

Vance

The wheels of the jet land on LAX’s runway and anxiety causes my heart to pulsate in an unsteady rhythm. Escaping to my hometown was a nice vacation from reality, but now that I’ve returned to the City of Angels, who I used to be in this town is at the forefront of my mind.

Heading back to Climax Cove was a spur-of-the-moment decision. And by that, I mean I packed a bag within five minutes and hightailed it to the airport, paying way too fucking much money for a one-way ticket. Money an unemployed thirty-something guy shouldn’t spend, even if I was rolling in it up until I was fired. I was very successful by anyone’s standards, yes—but it’s not like I was an A-list actor pulling in eight figures a year.

I pull my phone out, strapping my only piece of luggage, my backpack, to my back, and dial up my buddy Jagger on the way to arrivals.

No answer.

Typical.

Crossing my fingers that he didn’t just land some hot piece of ass and forget to pick me up at the airport, I head through baggage claim and out the automatic doors, taking a brief glance up at the dark sky with an absence of stars.

The tall oak trees have been replaced by palm trees, the tranquil scene of the evergreen mountains in the distance has vanished, leaving me with smog-filled air and a shit-ton of bustling people surrounding me.

My footsteps stop when I spot Jagger sitting on his expensive Harley Davidson motorcycle talking to a female police officer who’s probably supposed to be directing traffic, but instead is giggling at something he’s said.

He touches her shoulder and her hand leaves her holster to cover her laugh. I guess it only takes one flirtatious comment from Jagger Kale and someone has an opportunity to strip her of her weapon.

I make my approach and her hand moves to her gun as she eyes me from the corner of her vision. So, I underestimated her. Her attention causes Jagger to turn his head in my direction, his usual smirk splashed across his lips.

“Hey, man.” He pops the kickstand out on the bike and hops off, circling around toward me and sticking his hand out for me to shake.

The police officer still has her eyes on me and I get that I might look a little less put together from my time in Climax Cove, but I still look like I belong in L.A.

I shake Jagger’s hand at the same time as I shake my head.

His smirk deepens, continuing our non-verbal conversation. Me saying he’s an idiot for flirting with a cop and him saying, Look at her tits, how can I not?

Our hands part and I stand there like a third wheel as she texts him her phone number.

“Make sure you use it,” she says in what I guess is her best cop voice. It’s so authoritative that my gaze and my mind flickers to her handcuffs, wondering how well she uses them.

Jagger winks at her, most likely thinking the same as me. “Don’t worry, sweetheart, I never forget to call.”

The cop looks at me and I lower my raised eyebrows. Jagger’s not a total manwhore, he just enjoys the single life to the fullest. At least he stays away from his clients… his very elite list of clients. He’s a top talent agent in the industry and his list is filled with top-grade tits and ass, but in all the time I’ve known him he’s never crossed the line with any of them.

I admire the cop’s physique as her ass sways with her belt around her midsection while she walks back into the middle of the roadway to direct the non-stop rotation of cars.

“Seriously?”

“What?” Jagger holds his hands up, a small smirk on his face. Yeah, he knows exactly what I’m questioning.

“Let’s ignore the fact that your flirting caused the cars be parked four deep and she didn’t seem to care as long as she was in the running to suck you off.”

He chuckles, glancing over his shoulder at the line-up of cars parked, waiting for their loved ones.

“And we’ll ignore that you’re parked in the limo and cab lane.”

He looks around innocently like the plethora of posted signs aren’t visible.

“What I can’t ignore is the fact I’m standing here looking at your motorcycle.”

His chuckle morphs into a full-out laugh. “Hey, I brought you a helmet.” He pulls one out of his side satchel. The hot pink one he makes girls wear when he takes them for a ride along the coast—Jagger’s form of foreplay, from what I can tell.

“Jagger.” I sigh. “Seriously, man, where’s the Aston Martin?”

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