Breaking Hollywood(2)

     



 

"Hey now! There's no need for that. Seriously, Gabriel, you're close to hurting my feelings."

"Am I? Oh God, I'm so sorry." He slaps his hand on his chest. "Because I  would hate to hurt your feelings after you so kindly ran me over with  your fucking golf cart of a car and broke my fucking foot!"

"It was an accident! And my car is not a golf cart!"

"It was not an accident! You didn't see me because you were too busy bawling your eyes out to notice I was even there!"

Shit. He saw me crying.

I feel so embarrassed. It stains my cheeks.

"What happened? Did you have a fight with your boyfriend?" he prods sardonically.

"No," I bite. "I don't have a boyfriend." Anymore. "And, not that it's any of your business, but I was just fired."

"Did you run over your boss as well?"

Ugh. Asshole.

The urge to stamp on his good foot with my stiletto, taking that one out  of action as well, is strong. But I won't do it because I'm a better  person than he is. He is so off the top of my celebrity crush list.

"You are not a nice person, Gabriel Evans." I fold my arms over my chest.

"And you're a danger to people everywhere. I should call up the DMV and  have them take your license away because whoever gave it to you must've  been fucking high."

"Mr. Anders was not high! He was a nice old man! God! Why don't you just  skip the DMV and call the police to report me for dangerous driving?  I'm sure they'd happily take my license away from me!"

Ah, hell. Why did I say that?

From the smirk he's now wearing, I'm guessing he didn't think of calling the police.

I am so going to jail.

I swallow down.

"As nice a thought as that is, you wouldn't last five minutes in jail,  Speedy. Call this me being nice, as I'm keeping your pretty ass out of  jail by not calling the cops."

Is it sad that I'm stuck on the fact that he called me pretty? Well, he called my ass pretty, but whatever.

God, I seriously need a slap across the face.

"You're welcome," he snips.

Then, he pushes off my car and starts to hop. I kid you not; he's hopping away.

"You forgot your shoe and sock," I call out to him, spotting them on the sidewalk.

"You can keep them as souvenirs," he calls back as he hops toward a  fancy-looking silver Audi parked a little further down on the other side  of the road.

I bend down and pick up his sock and shoe.

I told him that he wasn't a nice person, but there must be a little nice  in him. He could've called the cops. He probably should have, but he  didn't. And I didn't even thank him.

Sock and shoe in hand, I start to walk over to Gabriel, who's just made it to his car and opened the driver's door.

By the time I reach him, he's inside, and the engine is on.

I rap on the window. He turns his head and stares at me.

"I brought you your sock and shoe." I hold them up for him to see.

He rolls his window down, and he takes them from me without a word, tossing them on the passenger seat.

I awkwardly stand there, biting on my lip and twisting my hands  together. "I should have said thank you. For you not calling the cops. I  do appreciate it. And I am sorry about running over your foot. Really, I  am. And I would totally understand if you changed your mind and wanted  to call the cops. So, I can give you my cell phone number in case you  need to-"

"Are you hitting on me right now? Because I've gotta say, that's just  straight up inappropriate if you are. You broke my foot, and now, you're  trying to get in my pants. Bad form, Speedy."

"What? No!" I step back in shock, my hands going to my face. "I-I was  just-just-" I splutter, shaking my head. "I am not trying to get in your  pants! I was trying to be a good person! I can't believe you think I  was hitting on you!"

"Weren't you?"

"No!"

"Well then"-he scratches his chin-"I don't know whether to be relieved  or offended." He looks me up and down. "I'll go with relieved."

"Ugh! God, you're a … "

"What am I?" he goads.

Be the bigger person, Ava. Do not take the bait. It's clear that he loves an argument. Don't give him what he wants.

I take a few deep breaths in and out and then change tack. "Are you sure you can manage driving?"

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?"