Page 10 of Dirty Dealer
Homesickness, a pang sudden and unexpected, tightens my throat. “I do what I can.”
“Hey, baby girl. Everything okay?”
“It’s fine,” I say brightly.
“We both know it’s not. Especially when you say it is.” I can practically hear his scowl through the line.
“Just been a shitty day. Iron Maiden let me down today.”
He gasps. “Not that hunk of metal!”
“Shut up.” I roll my eyes. “She’s been good to me, or rather was until this morning.”
“What do you need?”
Ten grand to buy a reliable replacement. “Nothing yet.” I try not to sigh, or allow another wave of anxiety to claim the last of my nerves. There weren’t any messages or missed calls from Jude, and though I don’t think he’d leave me stranded and steal my broken car, I don’t really know anything about him other than he’s important enough in Hollywood circles to get invited to red carpet events. Definitely not someone with anything to gain by jacking my car.
But he did promise he’d get back to me by the end of the day, and it’s almost six. He seemed sincere, but maybe I’m a fool for believing him. The thought of having to figure out an alternative ride home causes my temple to pound. “I won’t know what she needs until I hear back from the mechanic.”
“Okay. Let me know if you need to borrow money. I could talk to Logan. I’m sure we could swing a couple grand. I hate that you’re all alone there.” And that right there is why I can’t accept his help. My big brother will always try to rescue me. But I need to make this work on my own. I have to if I expect him to see me as an adult.
Asking our parents is out of the question. They get by, but there isn’t much left after necessities. Besides, my dad is set to retire this year. I won’t derail those plans. Not when moving to Los Angeles was my idea.
“I’m fine. Besides, there’s always public transportation.” It’s how I got around in Chicago, though granted, everything was much closer. I lived in the city, and worked in the same building every day. Here is different. Some of my work has me on set for ten-hour days, like today, and others book me in San Diego for a two-hour photo shoot prep.
“Your roommates wouldn’t come get you?”
“I’m sure they would.” But really, I’m not. We don’t have years of history, or a shared college experience. I’m just some girl sharing a room. I help them make rent. I lean back against the building’s exterior and hold back a groan. Closing my eyes, I allow the evening sun to kiss my face and force a lightness into my tone. “It’s fine, Jared. Don’t worry.” The last thing I need is his concern balanced on top of my own fears. “I’m a big girl, and I’ll pull on my big girl panties.” I’m almost thirty, and in some LA circles that’s practically ancient. Besides, this is part of the reason I moved to the West Coast. To find myself. To prove I don’t need a man, or anyone else, to handle life’s messes. I can deal with a broken-down car, even if it breaks my bank account. “I should get back to work.”
“Wait. You never told me about the hottie. Or why you sent me his number this morning. I am a happily taken man, but damn, sis, that’s some eye candy.”
I think about Jude Lawrence and his devilishly handsome smile. I should tell Jared how he delivered me to work. Or the puppy snuggles. But for some reason I don’t. Maybe because my brother will blow it out of proportion. Make it more than what it is. Plant a seed of hope for more, when I know damn well I have no business pursuing anything with a man like Jude Lawrence. “I’ll fill you in later, but if I end up missing, that’s where you point the police investigation.”
“Cryptic much? You sure everything’s okay?”
“It will be.” I infuse every ounce of positivity into my words. “Don’t worry. I’ve got this. Promise.” Hell, I almost believe myself.
“I love you, Rae babe.”
“Love you too.” Ending the call, I chuckle as it immediately lights up with a string of texts. The photos showcase my brother’s sweater and sure enough, it looks as if someone decided to use it as a canvas for their mouth. When I have the time to listen to the full story, I have to know what caused this disaster.
“So you wear big girl panties?” A masculine voice calls from a few feet behind.
I know before glancing over my shoulder it’s my highway savior, and I brace myself for Jude’s charming good looks before meeting his gaze. Maybe I was suffering from heat stroke this morning. Maybe he’s not as attractive as I remember. Stress does funny things to a person. Maybe when I turn around he’ll have gone from prince to frog.
I lower my cell and yeah, he’s as handsome as earlier. No, scratch that, he’s even more devastating. His hair flops forward on his forehead as if he’s been running his hands through it, and the tie at his neck is loosened. I don’t know why, but seeing him less polished gives off a bad boy vibe.Not good. It’s more catnip. Doesn’t matter that I’m a reformed bad boy dater—I’ve always been a sucker for a work in progress. Bad boys, billionaires, artists. I’ve dated them all. I’ve been what they needed while putting myself on hold. Which is why I decided months ago to abstain from men in general. But seeing Jude all mussed and adorable causes my heart to stutter like it missed the memo.
Straightening my spine and putting on my best game face, I harden myself against his swoony pheromones. At the hint of his scowl, I get a little defensive. He asked me a question, but I can’t imagine he was being serious. Does he think I’m some hopeless girl who needs a big bad man to save her? Of course he does. Well, I might’ve been in distress earlier, but I won’t be his pity project. “And that’s disappointing because?”
“I was hoping you weren’t wearing any.” He flashes a wolfish grin.
God, he’s trouble. “I hope this isn’t how you lure women back to your home.”
“Why’s that?”
Because it’s disappointing to think he gets away with saying whatever he wants because of his pretty face. Because part of me wants him to work a little harder for my attention. I don’t say any of those things, because it doesn’t matter. I will not be doing anything extracurricular with Jude Lawrence. “I don’t talk to strange men about my undergarments.”
“Like you don’t get into strangers’ cars?” His brow rises in challenge.
