Page 2 of Mister Mom

He straddles his bike, positioning his helmet over his head, and kicks the stand, ready to ride. “It’s at my place in Malibu. I’ve spent the last few nights at my condo in the city. No chance I was driving all the way back to get my car.”

I shake my head in annoyance and stand there in disbelief that he wants my dick pressed to his ass while we inchworm our way through L.A. traffic.

“Stop the drama and hop on. You not secure enough in your manhood to ride bitch?” He hands over the helmet and I bite back a curse while I straddle the bike and click on the helmet, all while trying to keep my dick as far away from him as possible.

The motorcycle roars to life and I grab the sissy bar behind me, using all my strength to prevent my ass from sliding forward toward him.

Jagger does what Jagger does best, going no holds barred as we head through the Sepulveda Boulevard Tunnel.

* * *

What feels like hours but really is only forty-five minutes later, I jump off his bike, thankful to be able to put some space between me and my friend.

“Thanks,” I mumble, climbing the stairs to my second-floor condo.

“Whoa, hold up.”

The loud pipes silence and the stand of his bike echoes in the dark night.

“I’m tired and I want to get some sleep.” I make the excuse before giving him a chance to say anything.

I reach the first landing, now only a few doors away from escape, but Jagger’s footsteps are quickening on the cement behind me.

“What? I give you a ride home and you don’t even ask me in for a drink?” he asks and laughs.

“I don’t even know what I have.”

“No worries, I’ll run down to Leo’s if need be.”

Leo’s our friend, who lives on the first floor of my building.

“I’m not in the mood.” I try the excuse again.

“Oh, come on. We need to talk about how you ran back home to Mommy.”

I stop at the top of the stairs and narrow my eyes. “Yeah, that’s not going to happen. Might as well call the cop from earlier.”

He chuckles, walking backwards past me toward condo number two hundred and seven.

“Don’t do it,” I warn.

He raises his knuckles to the door.

“Jagger, seriously, give me a day and then we can talk.”

He motions to knock and I shake my head, walking over to my own condo door. “I’ll just lock you out.”

There’s no point in rushing. Leo, the owner of condo two hundred and seven, has a key. A key he’s been using the past six weeks to water my one plant and check up on things.

The loud knock of Jagger’s fist on the door bounces down the open hallway as I insert my own key into the lock of my condo. And then it’s the sound of Cooper, Leo’s dog, barking and running toward the door. I can already picture his paws skidding to a stop, waiting for Leo to catch up, his tail wagging with impatience as he waits for his owner to open the door for their guest.

“Jesus,” Jagger says.

I laugh, knowing exactly what just happened. Cooper jumped up and licked his face.

“Can’t you put him through obedience training or something?” Jagger asks.

I shake my head and open my door.

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