Page 62 of Breaking Hollywood

She walks out the door.

I call behind her, “Don’t forget to put a bra on. Wouldn’t want you poking out Tate’s eyes with those nipples of yours!”

“Go to hell!” she yells as she stomps down the hall.

I hear her bedroom door slam, and I burst out laughing again.

Ava

“Um, what are you doing?”

I stop with the spoon midway to my mouth and look up at Gabe.

God, he looks good. The jackass.

He hasn’t shaved in days, so he’s covered in sexy stubble, and his hair looks like he just ran his fingers through it. He’s wearing athletic shorts again, as it’s all he can wear with the boot on his leg, and a running vest on top. He’s the hottest thing I’ve ever seen in my life.

Shame he’s a jerk.

“I’m eating breakfast.”

His brows draw together. “I told you that Tate was bringing breakfast.”

I put the spoon back in the cereal bowl. “Yeah, but I thought that was just for you guys.”

“He always brings enough food to feed a small army. There’ll be plenty for you.”

“Oh. Okay. Thank you.” I feel really warm at the idea that he’s including me in breakfast with his brother.

He removes the crutch from under his arm and leans against the counter. “Where’s psycho goat?” he asks, looking around like Gucci’s going to jump out and attack him at any minute.

“Gucci is out on the terrace.”

“Shitting?”

“No. Enjoying the sunshine.”

“Talking of sunshine, why are you dressed like it’s winter?”

I glance down at my sweater and then back up at him. I narrow my gaze at him. The bastard knows why I’m dressed like this. I wanted to cover up well after Nipplegate.

I’m wearing a padded bra. It makes my boobs look bigger, but at least it keeps the nips from showing. And, just to be doubly sure, I put a knit sweater on. And jean shorts because it is warm out there, so I’m staying cool where I can.

“Just keeping the girls covered. Wouldn’t want to have any more showings and give you another reason to be a pervy jackass.”

His mouth spreads into a grin. “Aw, Speedy. I was just playing with you. Don’t cover up on my account. I wouldn’t want you to sweat to death.”

“I won’t.” I sit up and fold my arms over my chest. “I’ll be perfectly fine.”

“If you say so.”

“I do. And here’s your coffee.” I slide over the cup of coffee I made him, and I pick my own up, cradling it in my hands.

He takes a sip and then puts it down. Using his crutch, he leans over and opens a cupboard where he pulls out a bottle of scotch.

I watch as he pours a good measure into the coffee. Then, he puts the bottle back into the cupboard and takes another drink of coffee. A gulp this time.

He sees me staring at him.