Page 7 of Breaking Hollywood

I watch, confused, as he hops his way around his car. Then, he opens the passenger door, gets inside, and slams it shut.

“Are you driving me to the fucking hospital or not?” he hollers from inside the car.

Okay. Guess I’m driving the cantankerous superstar to the hospital.

Without a word, I climb in his car, shut the door, and drop my bag on the backseat. I adjust the seat forward, so I can reach the pedals, and then I put my seat belt on.

“I’m taking you to Presbyterian?” I check.

“Yes. My brother’s a doctor there. He’ll see to me.”

I didn’t know he had a brother, let alone that he was a doctor.

I wonder what kind of doctor he is. Do they look alike? God, I hope so.

Gabriel might be a monumental asshole, but he’s a good-looking one.

I’m not holding my breath that his brother is nice though. I thought Gabriel was a nice guy after our first meeting, and look at how wrong I was about that.

I’m just about to shift the car into drive when I see Gabriel reach into the pocket of his pants. He pulls out a small silver hip flask. He unscrews the cap and takes a drink of whatever’s in there, and I’m guessing it isn’t water.

“Should you be drinking?” I ask.

He frowns. “It helps with the pain.”

“I have some Advil in my bag,” I offer.

Ignoring me, he takes another drink from the flask.

“Fine.” I sigh. “Let’s go.” The sooner I get him to the hospital, the better.

I put the car in drive, and then I double-check and then triple-check the mirrors before pulling off.

Gabriel opens up the central console and gets out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter.

I didn’t know he smoked.

He rolls his window down, gets a cigarette out of the packet, puts it between his gorgeous lips, and lights it up.

Even though he looks seriously sexy and kind of badass with a cigarette, smoking is gross and really bad for your health.

The smell of the smoke filters through the car, even with his window open.

Ugh, God, it stinks.

I let out a loud, exaggerated cough and roll down my window.

“Problem, Speedy?”

“Did you know passive smoking kills thousands of Americans every year?”

“I didn’t. Did you know that irresponsible drivers kill tens of thousands of innocent Americans in road-traffic accidents every year?”

He gives me a pointed look and takes another long drag of his cigarette, letting the smoke filter slowly out of the corner of his mouth.

God, he’s so sexy.

Stop it, Ava. Focus on the matter at hand.