Breaking Hollywood (Wardrobe #2)

“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 salivating 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.