Page 32 of Breaking Hollywood

“This crazy place called a store. You heard of one before?”

He gives me a look. “Of course I have.”

“I wouldn’t have thought so with how bare your cupboards were.”

“I always order in. Or eat out.”

“Well, you have an amazing kitchen back there that was in serious need of use. So, I went to the store and bought you some food. You owe me a hundred and twenty bucks by the way.”

“Did you buy the whole store?”

“Just the essentials and enough to feed you for the next week.”

He leans his head back against the sofa and takes a drag of his cigarette.

I’m mesmerized by the set of his lips around that cigarette and then the way the smoke flows out of his mouth before curling up into the air.

Smoking is gross. But, somehow, he makes it seem sexy.

“Thank you.” He turns his head to look at me. “I appreciate you cooking for me.”

The way he’s looking at me, warm brown eyes on mine, I can feel his stare in every part of my body. And it feels good.

“So”—I clear my throat, looking away—“do you want to eat now?”

“Shower,” he says. “I feel gross.”

“How is that going to work?” I ask.

He stares down at the boot on his leg. “Fuck if I know. Guess I can take it off while I shower.”

“Nope. Tate said under no circumstances are you to take it off. So, it’s shower with the boot on. Or would a bath be easier? I could keep the water low, and you could hang your leg out of the bath. Rest your foot on a stool.”

“Sure, I guess that could work.” He shrugs.

“Okay. I’ll go run you a bath.”

I head off to his bathroom and get the bath going. I find some bubble bath that says it helps with muscle relaxation and pour it in.

I need something for him to rest his foot on while he’s in the tub.

There’s a stool under the vanity unit. I pull it out and set it next to the bath.

Perfect height.

The bathroom has started to steam up, and my shirt is sticking to my skin.

I hear the sound of Gabe’s crutches on the wooden floor of his bedroom.

I shut off the taps.

“It’s ready,” I tell him.

“Thanks,” he says, coming into the bathroom.

“So…” I twist my hands in front of me. “Will you be okay getting in…or do you need my help?”

“I’ll be fine.”