Page 6 of Breaking Hollywood

“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.