Breaking Hollywood(7)

"Sure you don't."

"I don't. I just want to fuck her." Even if she is the most infuriating  woman I've ever met. I'll just gag her when we finally do it.

"Isn't that the same thing?"

"Definitely not, brother. Have I taught you nothing?"

He laughs again. "Sorry to tell you, Gabe, but sex is going to be the  last thing you'll want to do when you're in a cast. It's uncomfortable  as hell. Add that in with the pain you'll be in. And I know you don't  like to take painkillers."

Yeah, because I know how easy it is to get addicted to that shit.

I frown down at my foot. Christ, I didn't think of not being able to  have sex. I've clearly been too obsessed with thinking about screwing  Speedy. I didn't even consider the fact that I might not be able to. And  it's not like I'd be able to show my amazing bedroom skills off to her  with my foot like this.

That means I can't have sex with her until I'm fully healed.

"Exactly how long is my foot going to take to heal?" I ask Tate just as the elevator doors open.

"Depends on what the X-ray shows," he says as he maneuvers me. "But six weeks at least."

"Fucking hell," I groan.

Six weeks.

Six fucking weeks to wait before I can get inside Speedy.

Well, that sucks.

The doors on the elevator close.

"So, a Smart car did this to your foot?"

"Tate … " I growl.

"Ah, come on." He laughs. "You know, if this were me, you'd be giving me shit for months about it."

"Fine," I sigh. "Get it off your chest."

"Fuck, this is so exciting. I don't know who to tell first."

"Anyone but that fucker Vaughn West because, the minute he hears, I'll never live it down."

Tate goes silent behind me.

I crane my neck to look at him. He's on his phone.

"What are you doing?"

He lifts his eyes from his phone and grins at me. "Texting Vaughn, of course."





Ava


I walk out of the hospital, car keys in hand.

Gabe might be a monumental pain in the ass and wind me up like nobody's  business, but I put him in this position with my carelessness, and I  should do everything I can to help him.

Probably not bickering with him would be a good idea, too, but, honestly, in an odd way, it's actually fun, sparring with him.

If not a little surreal.

If you'd told me a few months ago that I'd be single, homeless as of  tomorrow, and jobless and that I would hit Gabriel Evans with my car,  break his foot, and spend a few hours verbally sparring with him, I  would have laughed in your face.

Funny how life can change in the blink of an eye.

Or, as in my case, go to shit in quick succession.

"Ah, crap!" I complain, grabbing the parking ticket off the windshield of Gabe's car.

Add parking fine to the damage I've done to him.

"Just fucking great," I mutter to myself as I stuff the parking ticket into my bag and get in the car.

I move it into the parking garage and pay for the parking.

Heading back into the hospital, I get two black coffees from the  cafeteria and some creamer and sugar in case he takes them. I'm a  black-coffee girl myself. The stronger, the better.

Just how I like my men-dark and strong.

Not that Jeremy, my ex, possessed those traits. Well, he had dark hair. But strong? No way. Weak asshole? Definitely.

I had known he was difficult and selfish, but I didn't realize how bad he was until after he was gone.

Don't get me wrong; I was gutted when he told me he'd gotten an acting  job in Australia, that he was leaving in a few days, and that he didn't  want me to go with him.

He said our breakup had been coming for a while.

He was right. It had been coming. And I know I'm better off without him. He was stifling me.

I've always been a strong person, but with him, I allowed myself to be  weak. I let him boss me around and tell me what to do and be an asshole  to me because I was afraid of losing him when losing him was exactly  what I needed to do.

My only regret is that I wasn't the one to end it.

I might have lost my job and my home, but I'm freer than I ever was when I was with Jeremy.

Things will work themselves out. I know they will.

They have to.

I take the elevator back up to Pediatrics. Unsure of whether to go back  to Tate's office or not, I decide to sit in the reception area and wait  there.

I haven't been waiting for long when Gabe arrives back in a wheelchair, Tate pushing him.         

     



 

"What's the verdict? Is it broken?" I ask Gabe.

But Tate answers, "First and second metatarsal. Clean breaks. And some  tendon damage. It's hard to break the first metatarsal, so you got him  good."

I wince. "Jesus. I'm so sorry, Gabe."

He shrugs. "It is what it is. And, hold on, did you just apologize to  me? Wait, I need to get it on camera that you did actually apologize to  me once."

"Hey! I've said sorry to you plenty of times since I ran over your foot."

He grins at me, and I just shake my head, annoyed.

"Gabe, I'm gonna go sort out getting a boot fitted for you," Tate tells him.

"Boot?" I ask.

"It's instead of a cast," Gabe tells me as Tate walks away.

"Oh, right."

"One of those mine?" Gabe nods in the direction of the coffees on the seat next to me.

"Yeah, sorry. Here." I hand his coffee over. My fingers touch his in the  exchange, and my whole hand heats. "I got it from the cafeteria  downstairs," I tell him, like he really needs to know. "Do you want  creamer and sugar?"

"Creamer and three sugars."

"Three?" I frown.

"It keeps me sweet."

I raise a brow. "Sweet is hardly a word I'd use to describe you. But I  only brought two sugars, as normal people have one or two."

"I'm not normal."

"Clearly."

"Two will have to suffice."

He puts his hand out for them, and I drop the sugar packets and creamer in his palm.

I sip my coffee, watching him pour all that crap into his coffee, ruining a perfectly good drink.

"How can you drink it with all that crap in it?" I ask as he takes a sip.

"How can you drink it without it?"

"Have you ever tried it black?"

"Yeah. It was one of the worst moments of my life. What about you? Ever tried it with creamer and sugar?"

"Nope."

"Wanna try mine?"

I consider saying no, but then the prospect of getting to put my lips  where his have just been is too good of an opportunity to turn down.

He might be annoying, but he's still hot as hell.

My future sex daydreams about him will just now have to involve putting a gag over his mouth.

"Sure. Why not?" Putting my own coffee down, I take his from him. I put  the cup to my lips and take a sip. "Ugh! That's disgusting." I hand it  back to him. "It doesn't even taste like coffee. Just hot milk and  sugar."

I quickly take a drink of my own coffee to get rid of the taste, and Gabe chuckles.

"Did you move the car? Thinking you probably shouldn't have bothered, as I'll be done here soon."

"Oh, yeah. About that … "

"You didn't smash up my car, did you?"

I give him a look. "No, of course I didn't."

"Run over some other innocent person?"

"No! Shut up, will you? You got a parking ticket."

"You mean, you got me a parking ticket."

"Well, no. I only parked there, so you would be closer to the hospital and wouldn't have to walk too far."

"And I'm only in the hospital because of you."

"Fine." I throw my hand up in the air. "I'll pay the damn parking fine."

"No, you won't."

"Yes, I will."

"No."

"Yes! And why are we arguing about this exactly?"

He stares at me for a long moment. "If you haven't figured that out yet, Speedy, then you never will."

Huh?

I open my mouth to ask what the hell he's talking about, but Tate reappears, interrupting us.

"I'm going to take you down to the fracture clinic and have the boot fitted there," he tells Gabe.

"Should I wait here? Or come with you?" I ask.

"Come along," Tate tells me. "Gabe's going to need a ride home when he's  done. Would you be okay driving him? I'm on shift until ten tonight;  otherwise, I'd take him."

"I am here," Gabe pipes up.

"Of course I'll drive him," I answer Tate, ignoring Gabe.

"I can get a cab," Gabe says to me. "You don't have to drive me."

"You don't want me to drive you?"

"Well, I do quite like living, Speedy, but that's not what I meant. I've  taken up most of your day. I'm just saying, you don't have to give up  any more of your day for me."

Hang on. Was he just being nice?

"Was that you … being nice … to me?"

His brows draw together. "Maybe."         

     



 

"Okay"-I shake my head-"I'm not sure what to do with that. But I want to  drive you. It's the least I can do after breaking two bones in your  small foot with my tiny car."

He gives me the middle finger, and I'm back on steady ground, which was shaking a moment ago from shock at his niceness.