Saint Jude: Los Angeles Bad Boys (7 page)

S
he rides me
, straddling my body in the darkened room, her tits bouncing as my cock fills her. We both bliss out, coming together, rocking together until we fall asleep. Our arms are entwined, our bodies slick with sweat and sex. Our hearts pump in a way that can only happen when you are giving your body over to another person.

Hard. Fast. Fully.

Hours later, Etta cries.

It happens every night. I don’t jump in surprise, because my body is programmed to wake at midnight, at 3 AM, at 8 AM. This is the rhythm of her sleep; this is the rhythm of my days, of my nights.

I slip from the sheet that’s wrapped around our bodies. Cat stirs softly, but as I leave the room she’s already back in deep slumber. Her body isn’t accustomed to the heightened sense that I live by.

I pause in the doorway, though, and while Etta whimpers from beyond, I allow myself to catch another glimpse of Cat. Her long hair frames her face, her eyes are closed, her body is completely given over to sleep. She looks so damn beautiful.

I go to Etta’s room, pick her up and hold her in my arms. She smells like lavender and buttermilk, the scent of her lotion and diaper rash cream. But I’ve come to learn the scent as
hers
, as familiar, as safety and love.

It’s only been six months, but I already know lavender will always remind me of her. It’s the best damn scent in the world.

With her eyes closed, she sucks her thumb, and I’m glad she never got attached to a pacifier. She’s self-reliant, and part of me feels a certain pride in that. Although she’s only six months old, deep down I believe this girl will be able to do anything.

That’s how hard I believe in her.

Is this middle of the night belief another word for
desperation
? Am I desperate for her to be something that her mother isn’t?

Right now, it doesn’t matter. Right now, all that matters is that Etta’s safe, loved. And damn it, she is. I walk with her into the kitchen, fill her bottle with formula, screw on the cap.

Cradling her in my arms, I pace my living room with the nipple of the bottle in her mouth. She sucks as if her life depends on it. It does.

When she finishes, I put her back in her crib, wishing that everything were different for her. For me. For us. That Rachel was here, not for me—not at all—but for Etta. A girl needs a mother.

I return to bed myself; Cat’s arms lazily wrap around my torso. Taking care of both of them tonight makes me feel good, knowing I’m making things right when it would be so easy to get things wrong. I close my eyes, trying to fall back asleep, knowing sleep never comes easy.

I wish so much were different. And I wonder, if I hadn’t let my brother Nolan out of my sight, would I be a different man today? If I’d been able to save my brother would I so badly feel the need to save everyone else?

But saving people, fixing things, taking care of everyone, is my mode of operation. It’s what I do, trying to atone for my sins.

Some people joke, saying I’m Jude, patron saint of lost causes.

The truth isn’t hard to see, though, if you really look.

I’m Jude. I’m lost. And maybe I’m the one who needs saving.

* * *

I
’m trying
to keep my eyes open. It’s early—eight AM, the time all my days start—but today feels different.

Maybe it’s because my cock could still get hard at a moment’s notice, with Cat walking around my kitchen in her underwear and my T-shirt. Her perky tits so damn perfect, her hair piled on top of her head, and her eyes so wide, alive, awake.

Her bright eyes are taunting me.

“Damn,” she says. “Are you always this grumpy in the morning?” She opens the fridge, frowns.

“I’m not grumpy. I just didn’t sleep well.”

“Well, I slept fucking great. I swear I don’t know if it’s your bed that’s just so comfortable, or the blackout shades. For some reason I really thought sleeping here was going to be a complete cluster.” She tilts her head toward Etta, who’s banging her fist against the tray of her high chair. Cheerios fall to the floor. “But it didn’t suck, like at all. Does Etta always sleep like that?”

“She woke up three times, Cat.” I shake my head, not finding the humor in her deep sleep. I guess the joke’s on me.

“Seriously?” Cat laughs, closing the stainless steel door. “You have no food here. What do you eat? Like, there’s not even coffee.”

“Fuck. I knew there was something I was supposed to do yesterday.”

“No worries,” Cat says. “We can go get coffee. And after, we can grocery shop.”

“Just like that? Making a honey-do list for me?” I shake my head, a grin still spreading across my face. Feels nice to have someone trying to take care of me.

“Hey,” Cat says, but the finger she waves at me tells me she’s all talk. “This is a hook-up. Remember? There need to be some ground rules.”

“Ground rules?” I full-on laugh now, which is fucking impressive considering I’m not a morning person.

“Okay, maybe not ground rules,
per se
,” Cat says. “But maybe we should make some.”

“Oh, yeah?” At this, I narrow my eyes, trying to find her angle.

“Yeah, because I’m sleeping here again. Fuck Holden’s guesthouse. I haven’t slept like a baby in over a year. Your house is magic. Like a drug. I’m hooked.”

“Cat,” I tell her, not letting her words penetrate—because, to be honest, I don’t know if she means it or if this is just a joke. Besides, I’m focused on getting an Americano and an almond croissant. “It’s kind of cruel, don’t you think? To tell me how well you slept, when I was the one actually caring for a child last night?”

“Jude,” Cat says, walking toward the bedroom, where I presume she’s planning on dressing. “Don’t pretend you aren’t already planning our late afternoon fuck.”

“Damn, girl,” I say as I unbuckle Etta from her high chair. “I thought the whiskey was trouble, but I was wrong. It’s you. Plain and simple.”

I lift Etta from the chair, walking her toward her nursery to get her dressed for the day. My pissy mood from getting up earlier than I’d like is already dissipating.

“I’m not trouble, Jude,” Cat hollers. “In fact, I think I’m good for you.”

I don’t answer, not sure what I want to admit. But I know she’s absolutely right.

I
don’t know
what he and I are doing, but I like it. Sure, maybe someone might diagnose my behavior as living in la-la land, and analyze this as some bizarre fantasy where I can just completely escape and fall into someone else’s life. But is that really the worst thing ever, making Jude happy? He’s maybe the most deserving guy in the world.

And besides, it’s been one night. This is not a burgeoning relationship. This is a hook-up, just … extended.

Pushing the stroller, we’re cruising through a neighborhood I’ve never set foot in. It’s different than the kind of neighborhoods Holden hangs out in—a little more artsy, a little less playboy.

I like it. It has a hipster vibe going on, and that makes sense, considering Jude’s an indie filmmaker.

Add that to the list of things I like about him. He isn’t like other guys, the ones who are status quo—wanting their women to be plastic, their cars pristine. Jude drives a classic Dodge Challenger, which in and of itself is sexy as hell. And it makes the fact that I’m wearing yesterday’s clothing feel grunge-chic, as opposed to just plain old sloppy.

With coffees in hand, an Americano for him and a plain no-sugar latte for me, we walk toward the beach. It’s still really early in the morning—I mean, early for me, considering my morning wake up time has been verging on the eleven AM hour.

Okay, maybe it’s closer to noon. But I also don’t usually fall asleep so soundly. Usually I toss and turn for hours, staring at a screen until I eventually pass out on boxed wine and M&Ms.

But Jude is a real grown-up, and I’m kind of getting the impression that if he started asking me, like … say, three questions about myself, he would realize that I’m still a complete fuckup.

Jobless, homeless, pointless.

Instead, I take the handle of the stroller and push Etta down the block toward the beach. The movement puts her to sleep immediately—which, let’s talk about that for a second. Babies seriously have morning naps around ten AM? Why does anyone want to grow up, ever? Etta pretty much has the perfect life.

I’m kind of glad I didn’t say any of that out loud, because Jude might give me an annoyed look to remind me that, while she’s sleeping, her life isn’t perfect. Her mom abandoned her two weeks ago.

“Etta and I go on walks every day,” Jude says. “The house gets stuffy, and I’m not really working—I mean, beyond the stuff I can do online. I’m working on the script in a Google doc. It’s all really remote right now, which is great, all things considered. Still, we get stir-crazy. So we walk. Gives us something to do.”

“That’s great. I mean, walking is on the upswing in general—you know, because of Pokémon Go,” I joke. “I’m a walker, too. In fact, it’s the only form of exercise I can actually get behind.”

“Yeah?” Jude asks. “You don’t do other sports, like soccer or yoga, nothing like that?”

“Yeah, that’s definitely not my style. I don’t do classes. Or leagues. I’m a loner.” I laugh—semi-nervously, but not really. I laugh because I feel like I should, as an explanation for the fact that I’m an introvert. And being around lots of people never gets me pumped up.

Add that to the reasons why Yuri and I were a complete disaster together.

“I get that,” Jude says. He takes a sip of coffee, and we’re quiet for a moment. “Cassius and Holden, having them in my life is actually a good thing. I tend to stay behind the scenes, but those assholes are always going to clubs, dragging me to parties or some show. It’s not the worst thing in the world have a life, or at least to mix it up every once in a while.”

“Holden and Bexley tried to get me to come out with them last night,” I tell him. “I brushed them off, obviously. I had no interest in going to some bar for appetizers and small talk. Besides, those two are in a whole other league these days. Bexley was nominated for a freaking Oscar—I mean, that’s all due to you, but still. An Oscar? It’s impressive. She moved here about the same time I did, and look how far she’s come. It makes me think I should probably get my act together. I have nothing to show for myself.”

“I don’t know,” Jude says. I park the stroller next to a bench; we take a seat. I immediately slip off my flip-flops so my toes can sink into the warm sand. “It’s pretty relative, isn’t it?” he asks. “What you have to show for yourself at some arbitrary age? I mean, look—I’m twenty-eight, and you’re what, twenty-two? Five years ago, I didn’t know what the fuck I wanted. And now here I am.”

“And now you have a baby. A house. A career. A
successful
career, I might add.” I smile, not wanting this morning to become heavier than it needs to be—especially by my doing. “And you have hook-ups.”

I smile again, and he does, too.

It feels good, giving him a reason to smile, a reason to breathe easier—and I don’t even know the last time I wanted to make someone feel better. But when I’m around Jude, all I want is to make him happy.

How could someone do that to another person in the span of a few days? I don’t know. Maybe it doesn’t matter. Maybe just the wanting is enough; maybe there doesn’t have to be a reason.

“You’re different,” Jude says.

“Good different, or bad different? I get both.”

“To be determined.” Jude grins, eyes raised. He eyes my hand, and I know he wants to hold it … and I want to hold his, so I do. I reach for it.

Fuck the fact that we’re out in public. I like being with Jude. I like this morning. I like getting coffee and pushing a stroller, and I like the idea of having a reason to get up every day.

“You’re a real asshole,” I tell him. “Anyone ever tell you that?”

“Yeah,” Jude laughs. “Basically everyone, ever. Remember? I’m a bad boy.”

“So you say. I haven’t seen the bad part yet.”

“That’s because you’re meeting me now, Cat. Not back then.”

“And back then?” I ask.” What made you so bad.”

“Cat, this is a hook-up. Do you really want to go there?”

“The real question is: will your answer determine whether or not we have an afternoon quickie?”

“Oh, definitely not. I don’t think anything is messing that up.”

“In that case,” I tell him, “why were you so bad? And why are you now so determined to be good and help every disaster in this town? To be the patron saint of lost causes?”

Before he can answer, our conversation stops. Now it’s not just Evangeline finding us. It’s Evangeline
and
Cassius.

I didn’t think Jude’s friends hung out in this part of town, but I guess I was wrong.

In fact, I’m beginning to think I’m wrong about a lot of things.