Page 3 of Breaking Hollywood

“Do you think that’s a good idea? I remember when my brother broke his foot when we were kids. He pulled his sneaker off straightaway, and he was in agony. He couldn’t walk. My dad had to carry him to the car and take him to the hospital. He cried all the way there. The doctor said his sneaker held his foot together, and if he’d left it on until he got to the hospital, he wouldn’t have been in as much pain. He broke four bones in his foot. Had to have surgery. He was in a cast for months.”

“That’s a cheery story. Did you break your brother’s foot as well?”

“No! Of course I didn’t. He broke it after falling out of our tree house.”

“I don’t give two shits how your brother broke his foot! Did you not hear me say, my foot is fucking hurting? I don’t think it can get any worse! Now, will you just take my goddamn shoe off?”

“Okay. Jesus. You’re so damn testy.”

His response is a growl.

I untie the laces on his shoe and very gently start to ease his shoe off.

“Ah, fuck! That hurts!”

“I told you this wasn’t a good idea. Do you want me to stop?”

“No, just keep going.”

“Should I do it like a Band-Aid?”

“What?”

“Should I just rip it off like a Band-Aid?”

“No! Just take my shoe off like a normal fucking person takes a shoe off. No ripping off anything.”

“I didn’t mean that I’d literally rip it off. I just meant, quick, like a Band-Aid. God, you’re prickly, and you do curse an awful lot.”

His dark brows come together in an unfriendly frown. “You just ran over my fucking foot, and you’re complaining that I’m prickly and I curse too fucking much? How about this, Speedy? I’ll get in my car and run over your foot, and then we’ll see how that goes for you.”

“Jeez, I was only saying,” I mutter. “And please stop calling me Speedy.”

His lips tighten, his brows rising.

“Okay. We can discuss the use of nicknames later. Let’s just get this shoe off, and we can assess the damage on your foot. One…two…three.”

I give it a good tug, and the shoe is off. All the while, Gabriel yet again curses like a sailor.

“Motherfucking cunt of a son of a bitch!” he yells.

“Does it hurt more?”

He pauses, giving me a dark look. “What the hell do you think?”

“Well, I told you—”

“Don’t you fucking dare say I told you so.”

“I wasn’t going to.” I so was. I press my lips together. A beat later, I ask, “Do you want me to take your sock off as well?”

“No, I can do it.”

I sit back on my haunches and watch while he carefully peels off his sock.

“Ah, fuck,” he groans.

“Ooh, that does not look good at all.” I move in close, looking at his foot, which is a spectacular shade of blue. “It shouldn’t be that color and not this quickly. I definitely think it’s broken.” I glance up at his face.