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.
“You’re an asshole.”
“Is that my punishment?” I mock. “Because I thought you had more in you than that, Speedy.”
“Ha! That wasn’t even close to payback, Hoppy.”
She scowls up at me, and I want to kiss it off her face.
“Gabriel! Oh my word! What have you done?”
We’re interrupted by Agnes, one of the nurses who works here with Tate. Out from behind the reception desk, she comes barreling toward me.
I love Agnes. She’s my favorite. She always showers me with affection and feeds me cookies when I’m here. And it’s not just because of who I am or because she wants on my cock. It’s because she genuinely likes me. And, also, she’s been married to the same guy for forty years, and her kids are older than me.
“She ran over me with her car and broke my foot.” I thumb in Speedy’s direction.
I hear her gasp, and I grin.
God, I’m a dick. And I love it.
“Why on earth did you do that?” Agnes frowns at Speedy.
“I-I…it wasn’t on purpose,” Speedy splutters to Agnes. “It was an accident.”
“I don’t know, Agnes. I think she did it on purpose,” I stage-whisper.
I glance at Speedy, and her face is all pinched and angry. She looks like she wants to murder me in my sleep.
Sexy as fuck.
“Never! No one would hurt you on purpose. You’re adorable.” Agnes takes my face in her hands and smushes my cheeks like I’m a little kid.
And I fucking love it. I’m an attention whore. What can I say?
“Yeah, I guess you’re right.” I give a dramatic sigh. “She must just be a really bad driver. Apparently, she didn’t see me, but it’s not like you could miss me. Right?”
I can feel the rage emanating from Speedy. It’s taking everything in
me not to laugh.
“Of course! You’re unmissable, sweetheart. She must be a really bad driver.” Agnes cuts another dirty look to Speedy.
Then, she extracts me from Speedy, and I go willingly.
Agnes is built a lot sturdier than Speedy. I felt bad about putting my weight on Speedy, so I was bearing the brunt of it, even while my foot was in agony, but I don’t feel too bad about leaning on Agnes because I know she can take it.
“Let’s get you in a chair.”
Agnes moves me over to a waiting wheelchair, and I sigh with relief the moment my ass hits the seat.
“Better?” she asks.
“Much.”
“Right, I’ll just page your brother. I’ll be back in a moment. You want me to bring you some cookies?”
“What do we have today?”
“Your favorite. Triple chocolate and salted caramel.”
“Agnes, you are a modern miracle.”
“And you’re a charmer.” She chuckles before heading back to the reception desk.
Speedy is still standing in the same spot as before, looking a lot uncomfortable and a little lost.
I get a pang in my chest. “You okay over there?”
Her eyes turn to me. She still looks like she wants to kill me. “You’re asking if I’m okay?”
“Yes,” I answer carefully.
She stalks over to me, stopping in front of me. “You just made me look like a really bad person in front of that nice lady, so, no, assface, I’m not okay!” she hisses.
“I was just playing. Agnes is cool. She doesn’t think you’re a bad person.”
Her arms fold over her chest, pushing her tits up. I can’t help but look at them. But then I force my eyes back up to her face.
She still doesn’t look happy.
“Come on, Speedy. I was just yanking your chain.”
“It’s fine to yank my chain when it’s just between you and me. I don’t appreciate being made to look bad in front of someone else.”
“Okay, point taken. Won’t happen again. But it was the truth. You did run over me with your car.”
“Not on purpose!” She stamps her foot, little hands clenched in fists at her sides.
“Okay, okay. Simmer down there, tiger. We’re on a kids ward, remember?”
She glances around, taking in her surroundings.
Agnes reappears with a plate piled with cookies and hands them to me.
“Thank you.” I give her my best smile. I pick up a cookie and moan around it.
“Good?” Agnes asks.
“Amazing,” I say.
And she beams.
“You want one?” I offer the plate to Speedy.
She reaches over and takes one. “Thanks.”
I watch as she takes a bite and chews. Then, she moans, her eyes closing.
And my dick starts to get hard, and Agnes is standing right there.
Down, boy.
“Tate said to put you in his office, and he’ll be with you soon.”
“Thanks, Agnes.”
She wheels me toward Tate’s office. Speedy follows, still eating the cookie and still moaning.
It’s like torture.
“This cookie is amazing,” she says to Agnes. “Just so good.”
“Thank you, honey.”
Not that Agnes hasn’t heard the praise before. She’s famous in this hospital for her cookies.
If my brother ever stopped working here, I’d still come just for Agnes’s cookies.
Whenever I need to be away to work on a movie, Agnes always packs me up a box of cookies to take with me.
“Right, I’ll leave you here.” Agnes parks me in Tate’s office. “Got rounds to make. You want me to get you some painkillers before I go?”
“No, I’m good. Thanks, Agnes.”
She closes the door, and then it’s just Speedy and me. Alone. In a doctor’s office.
If I weren’t in so much pain right now, I’d ask her if she wanted to play doctor and nurse.
Speedy sits in a chair, opposite me, and crosses her legs.
She has great legs. Tanned and toned. They’d look fucking amazing, stretched up, with my hands on them while I pumped in and out of her.
I put the plate of cookies on Tate’s desk, and then I stretch my own leg out, trying to move my injured foot.
I hiss at the pain. Fuck, that hurts.
“You should take something for the pain,” Speedy says.
“I did.”
“Alcohol does not constitute as a painkiller.”
“It’s nature’s very own painkiller.”
“Yeah, whiskey brewed in a factory is nature’s way of easing pain.” She rolls her eyes.
“How do you know it was whiskey I drank? It could’ve been water.”
“Was it?”
“No.”
She laughs.
I get a sharp pain in my foot. My brows pinch together.
I get my flask from my pocket and take another drink of whiskey.
“Just take some pain medication if it hurts that much.”
“No.”
“God, you’re stubborn.”
“God, you’re annoying.”
And I’m five years old again. Why exactly do I act like a child around this chick? I’m three seconds away from pulling her hair and pushing her to the floor.
But, even still, I like arguing with her. It’s fun. And kind of hot.
“Speedy?”
“What?”
“Will you argue with me? It’s what’s been distracting me from the pain this whole time.”
“So, you’d rather argue with me than take pain pills?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m odd.”
“I already figured that. I’ll make you a deal. You tell me why you won’t take pain pills, and I’ll argue with you to your heart’s content.”
No way am I telling her that. I don’t tell anyone anything about myself because, if I did, I’d be reading about it on Radar Online an hour later.
“Forget it.” I pull my ball cap off, toss it on Tate’s desk, and run my fingers through my hair. Then, I shut my eyes, tip my head back, and breathe through the pain.
“Your last movie was shit by the way.”
A grin spreads across my face.
I open my eyes and look at her. “As shit as your driving?”
She holds back a smile. “My driving could never be as shit as your acting.”
“So, you’re saying that all my movies are bad. Yet you’ve watched them all.”
“I never said I watched them all. I said, your last one was bad.”
“You’ve so watched them all. I bet you have them all on DVD and watch them every day. Especially Bonjour. I bet you know that one scene by heart—when I’m buck naked and fucking Annette Channing on the Pont de l’Archevêché.”
“I do not!”
Her cheeks are as red as the blood currently pumping through my veins and down to my cock. And I know she’s watched that scene multiple times. Probably gotten off to it.
I lean forward. “You want to know something about that scene?” I leave the words teasing, tantalizing.
And, like a fly to my web, she leans in closer, moving forward in her seat. I don’t even think she’s aware she’s doing it.
Her eyes are focused fully on me.
As mine are on her.
The scent of her perfume fills my nostrils. She smells like summertime and apples. And I want to take a big bite out of her.
“You know how the press reported that it was real? That I really screwed Annette in that scene?”
She moves even closer, ass on the edge of her seat, hanging on my every word.
“I didn’t,” I whisper. Then, I grin big.
Gabe
Speedy’s eyes narrow. “Jerk.”
“Perv.”
“I am not a perv!”
“You so are.” I laugh, sitting back. “You were practically s
alivating at the thought of knowing that it was real. Just admit it. There’s no shame in being a pervert, Speedy.”
“I am not a pervert!” she snaps, righteously crossing her arms over her chest.
And, of course, my eyes go to her tits again. I can see her cleavage pushing up through the top of her shirt, practically bursting to get out.
I bet she has great tits. They look amazing under her clothes. I can only imagine they are fan-fucking-tastic in all their naked glory.
“Unlike you,” she growls. “Hey, pervert! My eyes are up here.”
Busted.
But I take my sweet time in raising my eyes. And, when I meet hers, I give her a cocky smile.
“I know exactly where your eyes are, Speedy. You just have great tits. It’s hard not to look at them, especially when you insist on drawing my attention to them.” I point at her cleavage.
She looks down and drops her arms. “God, you’re crass and disgusting and crude and-and…”
“You at a loss for words, Speedy? That’s a first. Hang on, let me get my camera out to capture the moment.” I pretend to reach for my phone.
“Ugh! You’re a pig!”
“Who’s a pig?” Tate asks, walking through the door.
“Me apparently.”
“Well, that’s nothing new.”
Tate’s eyes go to Speedy, who has swiveled around to look at him.
Then, a thought dawns on me.
Tate could like her. She’s definitely his type. Well, she’s everyone’s type.
And she could like him.
Sure, he’s not as hot as I am, but he is a good-looking bastard.
We have the same dark hair, except Tate wears his a bit shorter than mine. And I’m taller by a couple of inches. Our skin has the same olive tone to it. But, apart from that, we look completely different.
I look like our dad, whereas Tate looks like Mom.
And Tate is a better person than me. He always has been. He takes care of sick kids, for fuck’s sake. I read lines that someone else wrote, and I’m good at fucking. That’s about the extent of my abilities.
Tate has so much to offer. And I have literally nothing.
As I watch the interaction between them—which feels like it’s lasting forever when in fact it’s mere seconds—I feel my chest tighten.
But it’s definitely not jealousy because I don’t get jealous. Especially not when it comes to Tate.
I’d do anything for him. I always have, and there’s nothing that will ever change that. Especially not some hot chick who I want to get balls deep in.
Breaking Hollywood Page 3