Breaking Hollywood Page 2

  He blinks back at me like he was expecting me to argue back. And I swear, I see a spark of disappointment because I didn’t.

  “Of course I can,” he retorts. “It’s an automatic. I only need one foot to drive it.”

  “Your right foot, and that’s your injured foot. I really don’t think you will be able to drive. You can’t even put weight on it. And, if you do somehow manage to drive, you could cause more damage to your foot than there already is.”

  “Are you a fucking doctor now?” he bites. “Of course I can drive my goddamn car. Now, will you disappear, so I can get to the hospital?” He dismisses me with a flick of his wrist.

  “Fine.” I raise my hands and step back. “I’ll leave. But don’t say I didn’t warn you, Hoppy.”

  “What did you just call me?”

  “Nothing.” I smile innocently. “You drive safe now.” I turn on my heel and walk back over to my car.

  I hear the rev of his engine.

  When I reach my car, instead of getting inside, I lean against the driver’s door and watch as he tries to drive his car, which I know he doesn’t have a hope in hell of doing.

  It moves slowly at first and then jerks forward, like he went heavy on the gas. The car stops, then jerks forward again, and then stops.

  “Motherfucker!” he yells, slamming his hands on the steering wheel, which sets off his horn.

  I have to hold back a laugh. “You okay there, Hoppy?”

  He doesn’t even look at me. He gives me the middle finger.

  Asshole.

  But, instead of getting annoyed, I laugh, knowing it will vex him more.

  The engine loudly revs again, and then, suddenly, his car lurches forward and jumps the curb, right in the direction of a street sign.

  Holy crap!

  He quickly swerves off the curb and slams hard on the brakes.

  His hands are curled around the steering wheel, his face taut and angry.

  I open my car door, reach in, and grab my bag. Then, I lock my car up and walk over to Gabriel.

  He’s still sitting there, staring angrily at his steering wheel.

  “I told you—”

  Laser eyes turn to me, cutting me off mid sentence. “If you fucking say I told you so, I’m calling the cops, and then I’ll have them drive me to the hospital while you sit in the back of the patrol car in handcuffs.”

  I bite my lip to keep from laughing. “So, does that mean you want me to drive you to the hospital?”

  “No,” he growls.

  Then, he yanks his seat belt off and jerks open his car door. I jump back just in time to avoid being hit by it.

  I watch, confused, as he hops his way around his car. Then, he opens the passenger door, gets inside, and slams it shut.

  “Are you driving me to the fucking hospital or not?” he hollers from inside the car.

  Okay. Guess I’m driving the cantankerous superstar to the hospital.

  Without a word, I climb in his car, shut the door, and drop my bag on the backseat. I adjust the seat forward, so I can reach the pedals, and then I put my seat belt on.

  “I’m taking you to Presbyterian?” I check.

  “Yes. My brother’s a doctor there. He’ll see to me.”

  I didn’t know he had a brother, let alone that he was a doctor.

  I wonder what kind of doctor he is. Do they look alike? God, I hope so.

  Gabriel might be a monumental asshole, but he’s a good-looking one.

  I’m not holding my breath that his brother is nice though. I thought Gabriel was a nice guy after our first meeting, and look at how wrong I was about that.

  I’m just about to shift the car into drive when I see Gabriel reach into the pocket of his pants. He pulls out a small silver hip flask. He unscrews the cap and takes a drink of whatever’s in there, and I’m guessing it isn’t water.

  “Should you be drinking?” I ask.

  He frowns. “It helps with the pain.”

  “I have some Advil in my bag,” I offer.

  Ignoring me, he takes another drink from the flask.

  “Fine.” I sigh. “Let’s go.” The sooner I get him to the hospital, the better.

  I put the car in drive, and then I double-check and then triple-check the mirrors before pulling off.

  Gabriel opens up the central console and gets out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter.

  I didn’t know he smoked.

  He rolls his window down, gets a cigarette out of the packet, puts it between his gorgeous lips, and lights it up.

  Even though he looks seriously sexy and kind of badass with a cigarette, smoking is gross and really bad for your health.

  The smell of the smoke filters through the car, even with his window open.

  Ugh, God, it stinks.

  I let out a loud, exaggerated cough and roll down my window.

  “Problem, Speedy?”

  “Did you know passive smoking kills thousands of Americans every year?”

  “I didn’t. Did you know that irresponsible drivers kill tens of thousands of innocent Americans in road-traffic accidents every year?”

  He gives me a pointed look and takes another long drag of his cigarette, letting the smoke filter slowly out of the corner of his mouth.

  God, he’s so sexy.

  Stop it, Ava. Focus on the matter at hand.

  “Mine was by accident. And I didn’t kill you.”

  “Just broke my foot. And I’m not killing you.”

  “But you’re purposely putting my life at risk with your cancer stick.” I jab a finger in its direction.

  He puts the cigarette between his lips, leaving it there, dangling.

  Dear God. He looks like James Dean or a young Marlon Brando. All beautifully bad and cool.

  Ugh. Why does he have to look so good with the grossest thing in the world hanging from his mouth?

  “Don’t worry, Speedy,” he says, cigarette still between his lips. “I’m sure you’re far more likely to kill yourself in your golf-cart car than die from the inhalation of my smoke.”

  “Well, if I do die of lung cancer by smoke inhalation, then my death is on you.”

  He takes another long drag of his cigarette and then removes it from between his lips. Holding it between his thumb and index finger, he flicks the ash out the window. “I’m sure I’ll find a way to live with it.”

  Ugh. Bastard.

  “Not when my pissed off ghost comes back to haunt your smoking ass, you won’t.”

  “Did you just make a dirty joke, Speedy?”

  I run my words back through my head, hearing them how he heard them, and my face floods with embarrassment, my cheeks burning.

  “You think my ass is smoking hot?”

  I have nothing, so I do what any grown woman would. I flip him the bird.

  He laughs. It’s deep and sexy, and I feel it everywhere.

  “I’ll take that as a yes.”

  “Take it as a no. A big fat no. Now, will you be quiet and let me drive? I’d hate to have another accident.”

  I flick a glance at him and find him grinning at me.

  “Sure thing, Speedy.” He winks at me. Then, he puts his cigarette between his lips and takes another drag, looking every bit the gorgeous movie star that he is.

  And my girlie parts shimmy in response.

  Uh-oh.

  Ava

  Two more cigarettes, three mints, four drinks from his hip flask, and what feels like five years later, I pull up outside of Hollywood Presbyterian Medical Center.

  Who knew being stuck in a car with my celebrity crush could be so painful? Especially when I was aware of every single thing he did, down to every inhalation of breath he took.

  I bring the car to a stop in the patient drop-off zone.

  I’ll leave it here, help Gabriel inside, and then come back out to move it to the parking lot.

  I take my seat belt off at the same time as Gabriel.

  I open my mouth to speak, but he beats me to it.<
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  “You can just leave my car here. I’ll have Tate move it. And here’s some money for a cab back to your car.”

  I hold up a hand, stopping him. “I don’t want your money for a cab. I can pay for my own cabs.” For now at least. “And, as much as I’d like to leave you here, my conscience won’t allow it. I have to make sure you’re okay.”

  “I’m okay. There. Your conscience is eased.”

  “Funny. I didn’t know you became a doctor in the five years it took to drive here.”

  “That’s weird because, the speed you drove, it felt more like five seconds to get here.”

  “I did not speed! I stuck to the speed limit the whole way. And I got you to the hospital in one piece, didn’t I?”

  He eyes his broken foot with a raised brow.

  “That doesn’t count because it was already broken before I got in the car with you.”

  “Your logic is screwed up.”

  “It is not! God, you’re so annoying.” I glare at him.

  “And smoking hot, Speedy. Don’t forget that.”

  Argh!

  “I never said you were smoking hot! I said I would haunt your smoking ass! As in the fact that you smoke—which is a disgusting habit, FYI—and I was using the word ass as an insult, you ass! I do not think that your ass is hot! Seriously! I would rather kiss a toad’s ass than ever think that your ass is hot! I do think that you’re vain, crude, argumentative, and seriously annoying though!” I break off, breathing hard. I’m pretty sure I have steam coming out of my ears.

  Jesus, I barely know him, and I want to strangle him! No one has ever annoyed me more than he does. And it’s so disappointing because I thought he was awesome. That was before I got to know him, of course.

  “Has my hair gone gray?” he asks, pressing a hand to his head.

  “No.” I frown. “Why?”

  “Because I feel like I just lost twenty years of my life after listening to your little rant. Seriously, Speedy, you should consider getting help with that verbal diarrhea that falls out of your mouth. I know a good vocal coach who might be able to work on it with you. He normally just works on accents and word pronunciations, but he should be able to help you learn to speak properly.”

  “Ha-ha. You’re hilarious. And twenty years? You’ll be lucky to see another ten if you keep smoking your nicotine sticks at the rate you do.”

  “I’ll outlive you, Speedy. The way you drive, especially in that golf-cart car of yours”—he rubs his chin in thought—“I give you two years. Three, tops.”

  Eyes narrowed, I tip my head to the side. “Want to bet on that?”

  A grin spreads across his face. “Oh, I’m all for betting, Speedy. But you wouldn’t like the stakes. And, also, there’ll be no satisfaction in my winning because you’ll be dead, and I won’t be able to claim my win or flaunt my victory in your face.”

  I give him a smart smirk. “You keep telling yourself that, Hoppy. And, as nice as this conversation is, we can’t sit—sorry, I mean, I don’t want to sit here all day with you. So, let’s get you inside and to your brother.”

  “I told you, I don’t need your help.”

  “And I told you, I’m coming. So, unless you want me to take out your other foot as well, you’ll stop arguing with me and get out of the car.”

  “Fine,” he grunts. “Just let me get ready before we go in.”

  “Aw, do you need to do your hair and makeup before we go inside in case you get papped?” I laugh at my own joke.

  “Ha. You’re a comedian,” he says in a droll voice. “No, I need to put on my ball cap and sunglasses just to prevent me from being recognized.”

  I watch as he opens the glove box. He pulls out a pair of Ray-Ban sunglasses and slips them on, followed by a Lakers ball cap, which he fits on over his hair.

  “Ready?” I ask.

  He nods.

  I climb out of the car. When I make it around to his side, he’s already out, resting on his good foot, holding on to the car with his hand.

  “How are we going to do this?” I ask him.

  “If you don’t know the answer to that, then I can’t do this with you.”

  I look up into his face and see the smile edging his lips. Surprisingly, I find myself smiling back.

  “I mean, you’re the size of a giant, and I’m normal-sized, so—”

  “I am big; that’s true. But you’re not normal or normal-sized. You’re under-sized.”

  “I am not. I’m a normal size for a woman. And, anyway, didn’t anyone ever tell you that the best things come in small packages?”

  “No. Because it’s a lie. Big is better. Just ask all the women I’ve fucked.”

  “Jesus Christ!” I scowl. “Do you have to be so crude?”

  “It’s not crude. It’s called being honest. You’re just a prude, Speedy.”

  “I am not a prude.” My hands find my hips. “And sorry to burst your bubble, but not all women want big.”

  He barks out a laugh. “Yes, they do. They just say they don’t to make their small-cocked boyfriends feel better about themselves.”

  “Well, maybe the women who told you that you were big only did so to make you feel better about being tiny.”

  “You’re hilarious. And they definitely didn’t. I’m more than happy to prove it to you.”

  His hand goes to his zipper, and I slam my hands over my eyes.

  “I don’t want to see your…thing!”

  “Cock. And you can uncover your eyes. I wasn’t actually going to get my big cock out in front of the hospital.”

  I slide my hands from my eyes and give him a dirty look.

  “Speedy, as much fun as this is, can we get moving? I’m in agony here.”

  I see the pinch of pain around his mouth and feel a shot of guilt.

  “Shit, of course.”

  I move beside him and slide my arm around his back. Even with my heels on, he’s still ridiculously taller than me. Next to him, I must look like a toddler playing dress-up.

  “Okay, put your arm around my shoulders, and then put your weight on me.”

  “If I put my weight on you, we’ll go down like dominoes. You weigh, what? One twenty?”

  “One thirty, and I’m stronger than I look.”

  “Yeah, well, I’m as heavy as I look.”

  “Stop arguing with me, and let’s do this.”

  “But I’m enjoying arguing with you. It’s almost like foreplay.”

  I look up at him. He’s not smiling this time. His eyes look darker. Lustful. A thrill runs through me.

  “You’re hilarious. Now, put your arm around my shoulders, and let’s get moving.”

  He drapes his arm over my shoulders, and it’s heavy. God knows what the rest of him weighs.

  “Ready to move?”

  “Yep.”

  We start to walk, and, Jesus, he wasn’t kidding. He weighs a freaking ton, and I don’t think he’s putting much of his weight on me.

  But it’s a ton of pure muscle.

  Under my fingers, I can feel the ridges of those muscles in his back.

  I bet his stomach is like a washboard that I would want to scrub my face all over.

  And he smells good. So good.

  The annoying thing about this is that I can smell the cigarette smoke on him along with the mints he ate in between smokes and the clean scent of his aftershave. Somehow, mixed together, it just works. I want to hate it, but I can’t.

  It’s making my girlie parts tingle with excitement.

  He smells exactly like I’d want to after a night of amazing sex.

  I have a flash of being in bed with him. Him hovering over me as he moves inside me. My fingers digging into the hard muscles in his back, like they are right now.

  And, now, I have a sweat on, and it’s not from lugging him around.

  Great.

  We reach the main doors. They whoosh open, and we walk straight into the busy reception area.

  I feel Gabriel tense.


  “You okay?” I ask him.

  “Yeah, I just don’t want to get noticed.”

  “Okay, let’s keep moving. Where’s the emergency care department?”

  “We need Pediatrics, on the fifth floor.”

  I stare up at him. “Pediatrics?”

  “That’s where Tate works.”

  “Tate’s your brother?”

  “Yes.”

  “He’s a doctor for kids?”

  “What gave it away? When I said he worked in Pediatrics?”

  “Funny, Hoppy.” I pull a face at him. “God, I hope your brother is nicer than you,” I add as I steer him in the direction of the elevators.

  “He is. A lot nicer. And don’t call me that.”

  “What? Hoppy?”

  “Yeah. It sounds like something a cartoon character would be called. It’s very emasculating.”

  I laugh. “And Speedy is so flattering.”

  “I mean it in the nicest sense of the word.”

  “Sure you do. Okay, I’ll make you a deal. You stop calling me Speedy, and I’ll stop calling you Hoppy. What do you say?”

  “Fine,” he grumbles.

  And it makes me smile.

  Reaching the elevators, I hit the button, ready to wait, but luckily, the doors to one of the cars open immediately. I usher Gabriel inside, and using the railing, he shifts and leans back against it.

  I push the button for the fifth floor and move to stand next to him.

  “I need you to do me a favor when we see Tate,” he says as the elevator starts moving.

  “What’s the favor?” I turn my head to look at him and get an eyeful of his shirt-covered chest. Straightening up to my full height, I still have to tip my head back to look into his face. The height difference is very annoying.

  “When Tate asks how I broke my foot, tell him a tank ran over it.”

  Laughter bursts from me. “A tank? You want me to tell your brother that I was driving a tank when I ran over your foot? Somehow, I don’t think he’ll believe that.”

  He pulls his sunglasses off and hangs them in his shirt pocket. Cool brown eyes stare back at me. “I don’t care if he believes it. I just don’t want him knowing that your golf-cart car did this. If he knows, I’ll never hear the end of it.”

  “Wouldn’t it be more believable if you just told him that I was driving a big car, like, I don’t know, a truck or something?”