Saint Jude: Los Angeles Bad Boys (6 page)

W
hen 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 go, 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.”

I reach for her waist, draw her close to me, and run my hand under the hem of her shirt. The skin of her back is warm against my palm.

“Tell me something else about you,” I whisper in her ear.

“I want you really, really badly.” A smile escapes the corner of her mouth, and I know she’s telling me the truth.

My lips brush against hers, because I’m not going to wait any longer. Etta could start screaming at any moment, the phone could ring, someone else could show up at my front door.

Right now, I’m going to take what I’ve got. And what I’ve got is Catalina in my arms.

My lips find hers, and what starts as soft and slow quickly warms; it’s like were inhaling one another. Her lips part, my tongue finds hers, and I want more of her.

All of her.

Now.

My cock is so hard, throbbing in my jeans. I feel her hand gravitate towards it, as if her body and my body are meant to be.

She runs her hand over the fabric of my jeans, tracing the outline of my bulging cock, and I groan into her mouth, wanting to devour her here and now. She whimpers against me, biting my bottom lip. My hands are in her hair, her hands on my cock, and it feels so good to be wanted.

Then, as quickly as it started, it’s over.

Etta cries out. The doorbell rings.

Our food is here. The baby needs to be fed.

And our bodies—they have to wait.

S
o
, I know I’m a twenty-two-year-old college dropout with no job. I’m not exactly a catch. But here’s the thing about me: I’m not a complete bitch. I’m not totally out of touch with reality.

I’ve just had a rough go of things, and I’m so embarrassed about Yuri that I don’t even know where to start.

Maybe some girls could get caught up with a guy like him, and then recover quickly. But I’m not some girls.

I’ve never been the sort of person who knew what I wanted or how to get it. I think my mom’s focus was so distinctly on my brother growing up—his problems with school and suspensions and scandals—that her eyes were always on him.

Maybe that’s why being with Yuri was initially so appealing. Suddenly,
I
was the center of attention. His eyes, his focus, were always on me.

He was also demanding and judgmental, and furious if I didn’t tell him the where and the when of my day-to-day life. And I learned that the truth is, I don’t need to be the center of anything.

So it doesn’t feel good to say, yeah, I got caught up with this guy who didn’t even let me have a friend, let me have a life, who was demanding of me and manipulated me. Who used sex for power and who used me, the sister of the famous Hollywood actor, for prestige. I was pretty enough and wore short enough skirts that when I hung on his arm, I was the exact sort of eye candy he wanted.

Is it any surprise now that I prefer hoodies and cut-offs to dresses and heels? Is it a surprise that I prefer Bravo TV marathons to real-life encounters? Of course I’m depressed. Of course I’m a mess.

So here I am, standing in the quiet hallway at Jude’s house. Dusk is settling in around us, soft music is playing on a classic record player, and I can’t help but wonder what it would be like not to be the mess that I am. What would it be like if I were the sort of girl a man like Jude wanted for more than a hook-up?

The sort of girl a man like Jude wanted for real?

I watch him carry his little girl to bed, and feel tears prick the corners of my eyes. I blink them away, because they have no place here. But what if they did?

Etta is in his tattooed arms. He’s holding her so completely, with so much certainty, I can’t help but believe she’s the luckiest girl in the world. I didn’t grow up with a father, and I never thought I missed out on anything. In my mind, dads equaled loss. Men who left before they even arrived.

My mom gravitated towards other single moms, and I grew up around women—girls without fathers, and women without husbands—because that was just the way the world I lived in worked. Men were not to be counted on.

And my relationship with Yuri, in hindsight, just drives that point home.

But standing here now, it’s impossible to ignore what I see:

A man who stayed. A man who loves. A man who protects.

Yeah, Etta’s the luckiest girl in the world.

After he lays her in her crib and starts a mobile playing a lullaby, he turns the lights low and he pulls her door shut, leaving it open barely an inch. He sees me watching him and strides toward me, shaking his head.

“I swear, she’s the easiest baby in the world.” He’s holding a baby monitor and I hear him click it on. The green light is bright, and static noise blares as he finds the channel. The sounds of the mobile, soft and sweet, now fill the hallway.

“I think if you keep saying that she’s so easy, you’re going to jinx it.” I raise my eyes as he slips his hand through mine and leads me back to the living room.

“You think she looks like me?” he asks.

I’m surprised by the sentence, not expecting it all.

“Well,” I say, slowly, not wanting to say the wrong thing—because it’s kind of a pointed question. And personal. I mean, the truth is between him and Rachel, isn’t it?

And I don’t necessarily want to get in
that
mix. Not when this is just supposed to be a hook-up. A fling. We’ve slept together once.

E
xcept it wasn’t sleeping
at all. It was against-the-wall-fucking. Plain and simple. So my mind should not be anywhere besides the gutter.

But after spending the evening with a guy like Jude—baby-proofing his kitchen and living room, eating margarita pizza on his leather couch, tickling Etta’s tummy, and putting on different records—it’s impossible not to imagine something more.

He’s … pretty damn amazing.

“Her eyes are like Rachel’s. Blue. And her complexion, it’s lighter than yours.”

Jude nods sharply. His shoulders tense, like he’s uncomfortable.

“What?” I scowl. “You’re the one who asked the question. Don’t get mad at me. And besides, aren’t babies constantly changing and growing?”

“I’m not mad,” he says. When his shoulders drop and his eyes opened wider, I know he means it. I don’t think he’s mad. He’s… unsettled? Doubtful?

Sad, I think.

“So, do you have any wine?” I ask. “I feel like we both could use a drink.”

Jude laughs. He’s not one of those guys who laughs big and broad, getting attention from people. Jude is quiet, contemplative. You know the phrase true blue? That sums up Jude, to a T. He’s not fake anything; he’s 100% real. And he’s not going to bullshit anyone, not going to say something that he doesn’t mean.

W
hich makes
me wonder why exactly he asked about whether or not I thought he and Etta looked alike.

“I need something stronger than wine,” he says. “Whiskey, neat. You in?”

“No way. Whiskey is trouble.”

“I thought you liked trouble,” Jude says slowly, looking at me as he opens the liquor cabinet in the kitchen. He pulls out a bottle of whiskey and pours an inch into each of two tumblers.

“Jude, I said no whiskey.”

“No. You said ‘whiskey is trouble.’ Tonight, Catalina, let’s be naughty.”

I bite my bottom lip, unable to restrain the seductive body language. My body betrays me. I want Jude so freaking bad. Watching him put his daughter to bed seriously turned me on. A man like that is a man I need.

He hands me a tumbler; I take it. He reaches his glass towards mine, and the rims clink. A toast—but to what, I don’t know.

I smile, wanting to keep things playful, not wanting to get into heavy territory I can’t chart my way out of. I need to stay in a safe zone with Jude, because after a few hours together I can already see myself getting lost with him.

Something I’m not ready for. Something he’s not ready for.

“To booty calls,” I say, laughing.

“To hook-ups.” Jude grins, catching onto my game.

“To one-night stands.”

Jude shakes his head. “Wrong,” he says, raising two fingers in the air. “Two-night stands.”

“Touché,” I say. I take a long sip of the whiskey; it burns as it rolls down my throat. I like it, feeling this much. I think I’ve been numb for six months straight. Being around Jude is making me thaw.

He drinks his whiskey in one fell swoop and sets his glass on the counter, meeting my eyes. I don’t look away.

“I want you so bad,” he tells me.

“How? How do you want me?” I ask him.

Not that I care. He can take me, have me, do what he wants to me. Because I remember when my back was up against the wall a week ago. It should have felt dirty; it should have felt rushed. But it didn’t.

Being with him, his cock buried inside my pussy, didn’t feel wrong.

It felt so damn right.

He moves toward me. “I want you now.”

Our mouths collide as quickly as our bodies do. I lift his shirt up, tugging it over his head, wanting to see his bare chest again. He does the same with my shirt, and in a moment we’re once again exposed, our skin touching.

He unbuttons my pants. They’re loose, and I step out of them as they fall to the floor. He squeezes my ass. I’m wearing a thong, and my bare ass cheeks are in his hands. Already, my pussy is on fire, demanding to be stroked, touched. Licked.

A
nd I want
to touch him, too. I remember tracing the outline of his cock at the front door earlier tonight, how hard he was. The memory of that has been taunting me for hours.

And now—now I can have his cock again.

This time I want it in my mouth. I want to suck him until he comes. I want to feel him in me deeper, more. Now.

“Oh, baby,” he says, running his hands over my body greedily.

Good. I want him to want me as badly as I want him.

He takes my hand, leads me down the hall past Etta’s room and into his.

He sets the baby monitor on his dresser, and that’s for the best, knowing his little girl is a few doors down to keep things in check. Because knowing myself, and the way it feels to be around Jude’s body, I don’t trust myself.

Tonight I want to completely lose control. I feel like I could lock the door to his bedroom and keep Jude inside, with plans to fuck for the next week straight.

But I know that is not a reality. What
is
real is right now. This moment. Him standing before me in his dark bedroom.

I kneel down before him, my knees hitting his carpeted floor, and my fingers unbutton his jeans. His boxers are covering the things I am most excited about, so I pull them past his hips.

He’s excited, too, because even now I see his massive rod rising. His hands run through my loose hair. He breathes heavy above me. He smells like whiskey and wisdom and restraint. He smells like a man who knows how to take care of a woman.

I slip off the boxers and his long cock springs to life. I can’t help but let out a soft sigh at the sight of it. My fingers run over his thick shaft, remembering the way it felt in my pussy. I clench my entrance as I look at his cock, feeling juice escape from my folds.

No surprise: Jude’s cock is more than a semen shooter, more than a means to an end, an orgasm, or a baby-making machine. Jude’s cock is a fucking work of art.

I mean it. It’s a masterpiece and I’m inspired. I open my mouth, unable to hold back, and my lips widen around his shaft. My hands wrap around his length as my mouth begins to suck him, be filled by him. All I want right now is to be able to take him fully in my mouth.

But I know I can’t. He’s way too big, and I already feel the tip of his warm cock against the back of my throat. Some animalistic instinct kicks in and I want to gag on him, on purpose. Like, I want to be
that
totally filled with him.

I move my head up and down as I suck him. I roll his tight balls in my hand as his veiny, throbbing cock fills my mouth.

The way his cock pulses to life, I know he’s close. His fingers are no longer running through my hair, and instead he steadies himself with my shoulders, as he thrusts his thickness into my mouth.

It’s warm, and shoots of his release fill my willing mouth. He grunts above me, making me want to swallow his salty, milky release.

So I do. I taste him, drink him, lick every last drop off his massive rod.

I finish sucking and, once he’s done, I pull him slowly out of my mouth, knowing I’ll be filled with him again. But next time it’s my pussy that will be taking him.

“Cat, that was fucking amazing,” he breathes.

I lift my chin; our eyes meet. I want to say so much, but instead say nothing at all.

“What?” he asks as I stand. His hands run over my exposed breasts. My nipples harden under his palms.

“You taste so good,” I tell him, embarrassed at this admission, then realizing it’s stupid to hold back right now. And why would I? This is a hook-up, right?

I owe him nothing.

Yet I want to give him everything.

“Damn, woman. What are you doing to me?”

“I’m fucking you. I think that’s what this is called.”

He laughs, shaking his head. “You’re right, that’s exactly what this is.”

Then he grabs a condom from his dresser, rolls it onto his still-hard cock, and pulls me to the bed.