Page 54 of Breaking Hollywood

“Yeah. I’ve just gone a bit stiff.”

I go over to him and offer him my hand. He takes it, and I try to ignore the fireworks that go off in my stomach.

He puts his other hand on the sofa and pushes up as I pull.

He comes upright, but because he’s on one leg—and also probably because of the amount of alcohol he’s consumed and the fact that I’m not feeling the steadiest after the wine—he tips forward, onto me, grabbing hold of my waist. And I grab his biceps, using every ounce of strength to stop us both from going down.

“Shit, sorry,” he says.

“It’s fine.” I smile up at him.

Then, I’m acutely aware of how close we actually are. My breasts are just brushing his chest.

And we’re still touching.

My hands on his arms.

His hands on my waist.

I feel his fingers flex against me.

I suddenly feel hotter. My breaths start to come in shorter.

I see his eyes darken.

Then, they drop to my mouth.

I lick my lips.

He’s going to kiss me. Holy shit, he’s going to kiss me…

Oh.

No, he’s not.

He lets me go and is grabbing his crutches, tucking them under his arms.

“Thanks for the save,” he says. Then, he’s moving, hobbling out of the living room.

Okay then. Guess I read that moment wrong.

For the best really.

I sigh.

Gucci comes up alongside me and rubs her head against my leg.

I reach down and pick up the tray with the plates. “Come on, baby girl, let’s go do the dishes.”

Gabe

I lied to Speedy before.

I told her that my parents were dead.

They’re not.

It’s a lie I’ve told with ease hundreds of times before. But, for some reason, it’s bugging me that I lied to her.