Breaking Hollywood(4)

"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?"

He purses his lips in thought. "You know, Ava, you're smarter than you look."

Ava.

That's the first time he's said my name. It does something strange to  me. It makes my heart beat a little faster, and my stomach flips.

"I think there was a compliment in there somewhere, Gabriel."

His eyes warm, crinkling at the corners. "Call me Gabe."

"Gabe, it is."

His brown eyes seem to turn a shade darker, and all of a sudden, it starts to feel a hell of a lot warmer in here.

I look away. "So, Tate. Is he older or younger?"

"Younger."

"How many years?"

"Five."

"My brother's four years older than me," I tell him.

"You close?"

"Yeah, we talk on the phone all the time, but Jayce lives back home in  New York. He's a corporate lawyer, and he consults for a lot of big  firms, so he travels quite a bit with work. I don't get to see him as  often as I'd like."

The elevator reaches the fifth floor. Gabe slings his arm around my shoulders, and I put my arm around his back.

"You know"-I tip my head back to look at him-"that's the longest we've  had a conversation without arguing or hurling insults at each other."

His eyes meet mine. "Felt really weird, right?"         

     



 

"So weird." I grin.

"Okay, as soon as we're out of this elevator, we resume our normal bickering."

"Definitely," I agree.

The doors slide open, and we step out of the elevator.





Gabe


"Bitch."

"Jerk."

"God, that felt good," I faux groan. "Did it feel good for you, Speedy?"

"So good," she moans.

And the sound reverberates through my chest.

I wonder if that's the sound she would make if my head was between her legs.

"But we made a deal, remember?" Her tiny finger pokes my chest. "No more calling me Speedy."

"Oh, yeah, I forgot." Like hell I did. I just like calling her it.

It's perfect for her. Not just for the fact that she drives like she's  trying to beat the land-speed record. She is the definition of a  motormouth. She can talk at speeds I didn't know were possible. I've  seriously never heard anything like it. She doesn't even stop to  breathe. Run-on sentences actually exist in speech. She must have the  lung capacity of a whale, which could come in handy for some serious  deep-throating.

Yes, I want to fuck her.

Sure, she's annoying as hell. But, when her mouth is shut-or, if I had my way, full of my cock-she's incredibly fuckable.

A total babe.

I wanted to fuck her the moment I saw her. And I don't mean today.

I remember her from the club. Of course I do.

You don't forget a woman who looks like her.

She's stunning. A mane of long brown hair, which is sadly tied back into  a ponytail today. But, man, does it look soft as fuck. I want to pull  that hair tie out and slip my hands into all that gorgeous hair, getting  my fingers tangled up in it, while I fuck that tight body of hers and  stare into those smoky-blue feline eyes, watching her lose control as  she comes.

I would have made a move on her that night in the club, but before I  even had the chance, she mentioned a boyfriend, so that was the end of  that. And, even if she hadn't had a boyfriend, she got totally trashed  that night, and I never screw a drunk woman. I would have just waited  until the morning when she was sober, and then I'd have banged her.

Of course I would have taken her home with me. Look at her; she's fucking gorgeous.

But it didn't happen.

And, since that night, I never thought of her.

Until, out of nowhere, there she was, leaving the studio building, tears running down her pretty face.

I had the urge to follow her and find out what or who had made her cry.

But I didn't follow.

And then I saw her walk off down the street from where my car was parked.

So, I made the decision to go over to her car and knock on the window to  check if she was okay, which is not like me at all. I don't like it  when women cry. It makes me uncomfortable, so I avoid crying women at  all costs.

I'm kind of an asshole if you haven't guessed.

But something drew me over to her, and I was just approaching her car when it suddenly moved, and she ran over my foot.

And that was when everything went to shit. And, after that, no way was I going to admit that I remembered her.

Admitting I remembered her would have meant that she had had an impact  on me even if it was only a small one. She didn't need to know. Knowing  that would give her the upper hand, and when it comes to women, I need  to be on top every time. Literally and figuratively.

"Well, that was your last chance, Gabe." Her voice pulls me back. "Call me Speedy again, and you'll see what happens."

She's so argumentative.

Seriously, I'm not used to women giving me shit like she does. They're  usually all, Yes, Gabe. Whatever you say, Gabe. Put it in whatever hole  you want to, Gabe, no matter how I speak to them.

But not Speedy. She doesn't take my shit. She's quick-witted and feisty. Different. And, oddly, I like that about her.

It makes her even hotter.

"And what are you gonna do if I call you it again?" Of course, my tone is mocking. Gotta bait if I want to get a bite.

It's like a game of verbal chess.

Waiting to see what barb she'll say next, it's entertaining as fuck. Has  my heart beating faster and my dick getting harder. Who knew insults  turned me on so much?

Her small body tenses under my arm. "Guess you'll find out if you call me it again." Her tone is edgy.

Oh, yes.

And, obviously, because I can't help myself and I seem to have developed  the mentality of a teenage boy when I'm around her, I say, "Bring it  on, Speedy."

She huffs this cute little growly sound that has me grinning from ear to ear.