Page 19 of Breaking Hollywood

Then, a thought dawns on me.

Tate could like her. She’s definitely his type. Well, she’s everyone’s type.

And she could like him.

Sure, he’s not as hot as I am, but he is a good-looking bastard.

We have the same dark hair, except Tate wears his a bit shorter than mine. And I’m taller by a couple of inches. Our skin has the same olive tone to it. But, apart from that, we look completely different.

I look like our dad, whereas Tate looks like Mom.

And Tate is a better person than me. He always has been. He takes care of sick kids, for fuck’s sake. I read lines that someone else wrote, and I’m good at fucking. That’s about the extent of my abilities.

Tate has so much to offer. And I have literally nothing.

As I watch the interaction between them—which feels like it’s lasting forever when in fact it’s mere seconds—I feel my chest tighten.

But it’s definitely not jealousy because I don’t get jealous. Especially not when it comes to Tate.

I’d do anything for him. I always have, and there’s nothing that will ever change that. Especially not some hot chick who I want to get balls deep in.

If Tate likes Speedy, then I’ll step aside. Easy. I mean, at the end of the day, all I want to do is spend a little more time arguing with her and winding her up before eventually fucking her and then sending her on her way.

I have never been good at sticking with just one girl.

Still, I find myself holding my breath as he walks over to her, watching his face for signs of interest.

“I’m Tate, Gabe’s brother.” He holds his hand out to her.

She gets to her feet and shakes it. “Ava Simms. I ran over your brother’s foot with my car and broke it—his foot, not my car. He wanted me to lie and say it was a tank. But, actually, it’s a Mercedes Smart car. If you’re not familiar with them, they’re, like, super small. Tiny. Light as air in fact.” She glances my way, a smirk spread across her face. “Honestly, I don’t know how it could have broken his foot. He must have really weak bones. Or tiny feet, and you know what they say about a man with small feet.”

She’s evil. Pure evil.

I’m going to kill her. No doubt about it.

Forget worrying about if Tate likes her. I’m going to strangle her to death and then drop her body off at the hospital morgue. And I’ll wear a smile on my face the whole time.

“Agnes said that someone ran over your foot. But it was seriously one of those miniature cars? And your foot’s broken?” Tate chuckles.

“It wasn’t a tiny car. It was a tank.”

“He’s lying. It was my super-small and ultra-lightweight car that broke his weak foot,” Speedy tells Tate. “How small are your feet anyway?” she asks me, laughing.

“As big as my dick, which is eye-wateringly huge.”

“He wears a size ten,” Tate tells her.

“Ten and a half!” I yell.

“Isn’t that small for a guy who’s as tall as you?” she taunts.

“I wear a twelve, for clarification purposes,” Tate says.

“Fuck off, Tate. And you, Speedy”—I angrily eye her—“you are the actual devil. I’ll never trust you with anything ever again.”

“Oh, my heart is breaking.” She slaps her hand to her chest. “It’s your own fault. I told you I’d get you back, Hoppy.”

The look of triumph on her face would be sexy if I didn’t currently want to maim her.