Saint Jude: Los Angeles Bad Boys Read online

  I think.

  “Wow,” Cat says. “Are you asking me out?”

  “No. I’m asking you over for that take-out we never got last week.”

  “So is this how you’re, like, paying me for my babysitting services?”

  “Do you want to be paid for your services?” I ask, wondering how close we’re getting to mentioning the post-babysitting quickie.

  Not that it was quick. Or what I would call a hook-up. It was … more. I know it was. But what kind of more, I don’t exactly know.

  “I don’t want to be paid,” she says, laughing again. “I was actually calling to make sure things were okay. I heard Holden mention that you haven’t been returning texts.”

  “You talked to Holden about me? Us?” I immediately wonder how close she and Holden actually are. She wouldn’t tell him about us, would she?

  “Whoa, easy there, Mr. Producer. I don’t talk to Holden about my sex life. But I did hijack his phone so I could get your number.”

  “So what was Holden saying?” I ask, getting back on topic.

  “He was just bitching to Bexley about how you’ve gone off the radar. And then Bexley was like, well, he has a new baby. And that shut him up. But it got me thinking—just, like, about you. And Etta. And,” she lowers her voice, “Rachel.”

  “Oh,” I breathe—relieved, I guess? I mean, clearly I have issues surrounding my relationships, but I don’t necessarily want to start dissecting those right now. What I want right now is for Cat to come over. “So are you on your way?”

  “Is this a booty call?” she asks.

  “First off, you called me. Secondly … do you want it to be?”

  “Depends on what kind of take-out we actually get this time.”

  “Do you have a preference?” I ask.

  “Oh, I have lots of preferences.”

  “Is that a sexual innuendo?”

  “You tell me.” She laughs easily and I momentarily wonder if she’s drunk. Or stoned.

  And then I remember that she’s not Rachel. And that not all women require a high in order to be with me.

  Fuck. I feel so damn weak right now.

  I need to fucking take charge of my life.

  “Yes. It was a sexual innuendo,” I tell her firmly. “And I have preferences too, Cat. Take-out and otherwise.”

  “Good,” she says playfully, with a slight lilt to her voice. The light-hearted undercurrent is exactly what I need right now. “I like a man who knows what he wants.”

  I hang up, adjusting my cock, knowing what I want tonight.

  Chapter 8

  Exiting the guesthouse, I see my brother. He and Bexley are all dressed up and apparently going out on the town. I know saying “going out on the town” is, like, very clichéd or dorky or something, but the fact is they’re going out—and when they see me in boyfriend jeans slouching low on my hips, my patent-leather Birkenstocks, a sweatshirt hanging off my shoulder, and hair in a messy bun, I’m sure all they see is a girl who needs to get a life.

  “Hey, Catalina,” Holden says. “Where you headed tonight?”

  “Oh, I’m just going out … to get dinner.”

  “Want to come with us?” Bexley asks. “Just going to get dinner ourselves.”

  “Thanks,” I say. “But I’m not actually up for a whole thing at the end of my day.” I wave my hand around, indicating their clothes.

  “Right,” Holden says, visibly annoyed. His eyebrows are raised and he gives Bexley a knowing look. He has a more than decent handle on condescension. “Because there was something else you did today?”

  “Do you want me to move out?” I ask. “Honestly, I didn’t move in here to annoy you. And I didn’t move in here to be all up in your grill. I just needed a change.”

  “A change?” Bexley asks. “Cat, not to be harsh … but sweetie, you’ve seemed sort of stuck for six months straight.”

  “Wow,” I say. “Okay. I didn’t realize that you had so much insight on my personal life, Bexley. Just because everyone in your social circle is either Grammy- or Oscar-nominated, doesn’t mean I’m a complete loser.”

  “Cat,” Holden says, “Bex is just concerned. We’re all concerned. We thought you were coming here for film school—a film school you never actually applied to. Look. We want to help you get out of this … funk, but we don’t know how. You don’t let anyone in.”

  “Let anyone in?” I say, trying to temper my annoyance at my brother—because I get it, he’s been really good to me. He’s let me live here rent free, paying for all my food and giving me spending money and paying for my car insurance. I’m lucky. I’m lucky that I can just … flounder.

  “Cat, nobody wants to argue,” Bexley says, softer now. “When we say you don’t let anyone in, it’s only because we want in, because we love you. Everybody wants what’s best for you, and sometimes Holden and I—and even your mother—wonder if watching TV in your bed all day is the best life you could choose.”

  I try to match her tone by looking her in the eye and remembering that she’s not the enemy. She’s actually the best thing that ever happened to my asshole of a brother. She’s a good person—probably one of the best. Which is probably why I’m so completely insecure around her.

  Bexley does everything right. Even when she does it wrong, she does it right. Bexley is amazing. Compared to her? I don’t even know anymore. I don’t think I ever knew to begin with.

  “I hope you guys have a really good time at dinner.” I reach for Bexley’s hand and squeeze it. “You look really pretty tonight, Bex.”

  “I’d say you look pretty, too,” Holden says. “But, honestly, you look like shit.”

  “Holden.” Bexley slaps her hand against his chest. “Don’t be a jerk.”

  “I’m not a jerk. When did being honest become synonymous with being an asshole?”

  “All right, you kids have fun, now,” I tell them as they walk toward the car. I force myself to smile, not wanting to at all. I remember breathe, feeling like I just dodged a bullet, but not quite knowing who pulled the trigger.

  I can tell Holden’s patience for me is wearing thin. I don’t blame him. My patient for myself is wearing pretty damn thin, too.

  Pulling up to Jude’s door, I feel my stomach begin to flutter. I haven’t felt like this for a long time—this sense of something new, something exciting, something forbidden. I park in the driveway, press my freshly glossed lips together, and check my phone.

  Yuri texted. Twice.

  Yuri: I’m going to be in LA, soon. I need to see you.

  Yuri: You owe me, don’t forget it. There are lots of ways you could repay me. You could introduce me to your brother.

  I silence my phone. Pretending I didn’t just read that. Pretending Yuri isn’t actually coming to LA. I don’t want to see him.

  Ever. Again.

  I know so many of my problems right now stem from the fact that I’m not willing to talk about our relationship with my family. I know if I just explained what went down, then they’d understand why I was so desperate to get out of town.

  Being with him meant giving up everything else.

  I couldn’t just break up with a guy like that. I needed to cut ties, get a fresh start.

  Moving here did just that.

  Except he somehow got my new phone number a few months ago, tracked me down—and since then? He keeps calling me. Which is only making my spiral of self-diagnosed depression that much worse.

  I knock on the door, and Jude answers it wearing a smile and a faded T-shirt. Ripped jeans hug his ass, and leather bracelets wrap around his wrists. He doesn’t look like he’s shaved in a week, and it’s sexy as hell, this scruffy look he has going on. His eyes are the same as I remember—still as deep and dark brown as ever.

  “Hey girl,” he says greeting me. “I’m so glad you called.”

  “Really? Not too forward of me?” I say, stepping inside his home.

  “It’s fine. Actually, not fine—great. Man this week has just
been….”

  I look around his house and can quickly determine what his week has been exactly. I’m guessing little sleep, no help, and uh … “Have you been rearranging?” I ask.

  The magazines that had been stacked neatly on the coffee table are now shoved in a cardboard box, the fireplace is surrounded with an ottoman barricade, and his lamps are unplugged and sitting high on the kitchen island.

  “Well, not exactly rearranging. Etta’s learning to crawl. I have a feeling she’s going to be one of those babies that learns to walk at nine months old. This week, she’s gone from zero to one hundred in under an hour. My girl’s fast.”

  “I see,” I tell him, looking around with a different perspective. “So you’re baby-proofing the place.”

  “I’m trying.” He shakes his head, motioning for me to join him in the kitchen. Etta is sitting in a high chair with a handful of Cheerios on her tray, her four teeth poking out charmingly. “Honestly, if there was a professional baby-proofing company, I’d hire them. I’d pay them anything they wanted. I don’t know what I’m doing.”

  “Hey,” I reach for his arm and squeeze it. “Don’t be so hard on yourself. Honestly, you’re doing great. And I can help you.”

  “You came over here because you want to baby-proof my house? On a Saturday night?”

  “Well,” I begin, looking down at myself, “I’m not exactly dressed for anything else.”

  “You’re always dressed in jeans and a T-shirt.” He eyes me appraisingly, and I may be missing something but I actually think he likes what he sees.

  “Are you telling me you’ve been checking me out all this time I’ve been living with my brother?” I feign shock.

  “Hell, yeah,” he says, running a washcloth under warm water. He wipes Etta’s face and hands clean, then takes her from the high chair, effortlessly bouncing her on his hip. “Every guy who sees you checks you out, Holden’s sister or not.”

  “Now you’re just trying to make me blush.”

  “Oh, girl,” he says, slowly leaning in to whisper in my ear. “I’m not trying to make you blush. I’m hoping that soon enough I’ll be making you gush.”

  “Jude.” I shake my head. “That’s pretty damn cheesy.”

  “I’m a stay-at-home single dad,” he says pointing to Etta as if he has a decent excuse as to why he can’t do any better.

  He carries Etta to a Pack 'n Play set up in the living room and puts her down. Instead of fussing, like I’d guess a baby would do, she sits happily and begins gnawing on the corner of a blanket.

  He turns back to look at me, and I don’t shy away from the conversation at hand. I kind of want to know what I’m dealing with before I make a decision about what sort of moves I’m going to make tonight. Or what sort of moves I’ll let him make.

  “So you said you were single … is that true? You and Rachel…” I lick my lips, wondering if this conversation is going much too fast.

  The doorbell rings, and I’m guessing it’s our dinner.

  “Yes,” he tells me. “I am single. Completely. Are you?”

  The question catches me off guard, and the doorbell rings again, putting pressure on the moment. Not that I can’t answer truthfully—of course I can. And of course I will.

  It’s just that the reminder of Yuri, the last person I was with, focuses me on what I want from tonight.

  Last week, when I was with Jude, I felt so wonderful. The rest of the week, back at the guesthouse, I was deflated. But he was like a high—one I want another taste of.

  I need my fix.

  “Oh, I’m very single.” I find his belt loops and let my fingers wrap around them, tugging him close to me.

  The doorbell rings again.

  “Good. Then this is most definitely a date.” He walks towards the door with me in step with him, not letting go of his pants. “And I think our dinner is here.”

  He opens the door. We both look in surprise.

  It’s definitely not our dinner.

  Chapter 9

  When I open door I’m expecting to see a pizza delivery boy—not my cousin Evangeline.

  Her eyes narrow as she takes in the scene before her. Evangeline isn’t an idiot—anything but, actually. She’s solid. And she knows Rachel pretty well, actually. Rachel and I have gone out with her and Cassius tons of times over the past year.

  In fact, she threw Rachel a freaking baby shower before Etta was born. As far as I can tell, it was awkward as fuck—but still, Evangeline has done her best to be there for Rachel.

  Unfortunately, Rachel never reciprocated.

  “Hey guys,” Evangeline says. “What’s going on?” Her eyes dart between Cat and me.

  “Hey, Evie,” I say. “You know Cat, Holden’s sister?”

  “Yeah,” she says, stepping into the house, although reluctantly. I shut the door behind her, but she doesn’t walk farther than the entrance. “Is Rachel around?”

  Cata seems uncomfortable, and I know that this is going to go from bad to worse pretty damn fast if she jumps in trying to address the situation.

  I beat her to it, before she can get a word in edgewise. I don’t need anyone to cover for me. Rachel and I are done. There’s nothing that I need to be ashamed of. I’m not the one who walked away, who left Etta.

  “Rachel’s not here,” I tell Evangeline. “She left a few weeks ago, we broke up.”

  “What the hell, Jude?” Evie says. “Where’s Etta?” She strains her neck to look into my living room.

  Etta’s in her Pack 'n Play, babbling happily to herself. She’s such a good girl … and every time I think that, it makes me more pissed at her mother.

  “I’ve been trying to call her for days,” Evie says. “Where’d she go?”

  “That’s the million-dollar question,” I tell her, my jaw tensing.

  “Seriously? She just left?”

  I look over at Catalina, who bites her thumbnail, eyes on the ground.

  “Yeah,” I say, letting out a gust of air. “She left. But was that really a surprise? I don’t know when she’s coming back, Evie, and I really didn’t want anyone to know until I have a better idea about where the mother of my daughter is at.”

  “Gosh, okay,” Evie says, her eyes twitching with annoyance. “I’m not trying to fight with you. I was just wondering where Rachel went,and I’m not interested in spreading your business all around town.”

  “I’m not talking about running your mouth around town, Evie.” I run my hands through my hair. “Look, I just mean I’m not ready for Cassius or Holden or whoever to know that Rachel’s gone.”

  “And that you’re hooking up with Holden’s sister?” she asks, giving Catalina a thorough once-over.

  “Evie,” Cat says stepping toward her, “I’m just here to hang out with Jude. I was here to help with Etta. We’re baby-proofing his place. But seriously, let’s not involve Holden right now.”

  Looking at Cat, I try to get a better read on her. I don’t know her all that well, and I don’t really know the inner workings of her relationship with her brother. Honestly, I don’t want to get into that drama.

  Hell, getting involved in other people’s drama is what landed me here with a daughter in the first place.

  I thought I could take care of Rachel, help her. But I can’t. I can’t do anything. And standing here now, looking at Catalina and knowing that I don’t want anyone to know about whatever is going on between us, I realize I’m in no place to do a relationship, or even a hook-up, with Holden’s sister.

  It’s just a bad idea.

  “I’m not trying to hide something from my brother,” Cat continues. “It’s just, Jude has a lot going on, and tonight we’re just having fun. It’s nothing serious, and telling my brother about me being here is only going to piss him off. And Jude doesn’t need that right now. Obviously.” Cat gives Evie a knowing look, as if exchanging information silently.

  Evie shakes her head, looks back up at me.

  “Jude, I’m obviously not going to g
o, what, tell Holden that Cat was here for dinner? You’re not in my business, and I wasn’t coming over here to get all up in yours. I was coming here to check on Rachel. I made an effort with her all year and I want the best for her—just like you do. If you talk to her, will you tell her to call me?”

  “Of course, and thanks, Evie.”

  “What matters right now, regardless of where Rachel’s gone, is that Etta is okay,” Evangeline says. “If you need anything, anything at all, let me know, okay?”

  “I will.” I reach for the door handle, open it, ready to get on with my night. “And I know, of course you’re going to talk to Cassius about this, but can you tell him that it’s private? I don’t really want all of LA to know that Etta’s mother left her.”

  Evie tries to clarify. “You mean left the both of you?”

  “No,” I say. “Rachel and I, we were through a long time ago. But, for Etta’s sake, I want this just between friends for now.”

  Evie seems to understand. She nods her head and looks back toward where Etta is in her playpen.

  “She’s doing okay, though?” she asks.

  “We’re hanging in there.” I swallow, because that is the truth of it, the whole of it. We are hanging in there. Hanging by a thread.

  I shut the door behind Evie and turn back to Cat, who’s standing there, watching my story unfold. It feels way too heavy for a Saturday night hook-up.

  “Are you over this?” I ask, looking at the space between us. We’re standing over ten feet apart, and I wonder if we just passed into territory that’s too wide to cover.

  “What?” she asks without hesitation, taking a step toward me. Then another. And another. “You think your cousin is going to scare me away?”

  “I don’t know, Cat,” I say, moving toward her—because damn, right now, I need to be close to someone. “I don’t know you all that well, do I? I don’t know what scares you. I don’t know what makes you stay.”

  “What scares me?” She shakes her head, closing the distance between us with her final step. “I don’t scare easy, Jude. That’s one thing you should know about me.”