Page 88 of Mister Mom

“Whoa!” Leo runs over, placing a hand on my shoulder. “It’s Jagger. You know how he is about anything involving feelings.”

“What the fuck? Don’t you have a fucking heart?” I yell. “Have you ever loved anyone but yourself?” I let him go, although I’d like to see what he’d look like with a shiner courtesy of my fist right about now. Hell, the bastard would probably just figure out some way to use it to pick up more girls.

Jagger stands and straightens his suit jacket. “Then why are you here?”

I plop back down on the couch. “It’s where I live, dumbass.”

“You asked me if I’ve ever loved anyone, but let me ask you a question. What is so important to you you’ll fight until death to get it? You sat on a script for eight years without doing anything. I thought you wanted that, but then you jeopardize it by getting involved with the lead actress. I’m not saying I was right about this, by the way. If you love Layla, then why are you sitting here wallowing on your couch instead of figuring out a way to win her back?” Jagger takes a seat again and leans back, his ankle resting on his knee.

“She doesn’t want to see me. That was perfectly clear.”

“And you’re just going to accept that?” Jagger asks.

My gaze veers to the kitchen where I find Leo standing waiting for an answer, too.

“I can’t force her.”

Jagger laughs. “You really do lack any fight. Do you think I stop making calls after the first person turns me down for something I’m trying to make happen for my client?”

“What the fuck do you want me to do?”

“Don’t accept no. Win her over. You wrote a fucking romance in the middle of that script of yours. Use sweet words or beg. Do anything, but at least do something. Doing nothing is still a fucking decision whether you want to admit it or not.” Jagger’s arms are extended and his face is red, his eyes angry.

“What do you care? You don’t even like her,” I grumble.

His hands ball into fists. “I’m going to beat the living shit out of him.” He’s looking at Leo now. A few more beer bottles clink into the bag and then Leo’s sitting next to me on the couch.

“When you first came to Los Angeles, I remember thinking to myself, how the hell is this guy going to make it? You were so cocky, so arrogant. I thought this town was going to chew you up and spit you back to your small town in Oregon,” Jagger says.

I forgot what I was like when I first came here. Everything was so new, so big, but I remember never showing fear or defeat. Never let them smell your fear.

“I know you came down here to be a screenwriter, but you became an executive producer instead. Do you know how many guys chase dreams like that and end up waiting tables their whole life? You made it in this town.”

Leo places three beers on the table, snatching one up for himself.

“So what if they fired you? Who gives a shit? It wasn’t on grounds of your job performance. It was political bullshit because you pissed off the lead actress you were banging,” Jagger chimes in.

I roll my eyes. “That move has haunted me twice now. You were right, I am an idiot.”

“This is nothing you can’t fix. Get off the couch, take a fucking shower, and win this fight.” Leo sips his beer and taps his leg for Cooper to come over to him. The dog leaves my side and sits by his owner.

“Get the girl. Live the American dream. I mean, I don’t really understand the whole monogamy thing, but you seem to like her.” Jagger looks at me with his usual ‘whatever’ attitude.

“How do I even get her to give me a chance? It’s been a month. You’ve seen the papers.”

I glance at the latest magazine with a picture of Carver and Layla at the zoo with the kids on the front—Via in Layla’s arms and Payne on Carver’s shoulders. That was a sadomasochistic purchase that led to a carton of ice cream being consumed.

Shit, I am a chick.

Jagger scoffs. “They aren’t getting back together. That was a drop-off. The paps just didn’t show the exchange. You know these guys, they’ll spin it however it suits them.” Jagger dips his head low and, unlike the magazine, his information is legit. “She has been spotted out and about though.”

I stand from the couch and nod, my mind racing with thoughts of what I can do to win her back. How can I prove to her she belongs to me?

“Don’t think. Just do,” Leo urges.

“Shower first though. Help the cause.” Jagger stands and pushes me toward the bathroom.

With the first small smattering of hope I’ve felt in four weeks, I march off to the shower, determined to figure out how to make Layla see how much she means to me.

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