Page 46 of Breaking Hollywood

“Gucci! No! Stop that!” She bends down and picks the goat up. “I’m so sorry, Gabe. She’s never done anything like that before. Did she hurt you?”

“No.” I chuckle.

“She had her horn removed as a baby. It’s not as barbaric as it sounds. It’s called disbudded. It’s not cruel. Did you know that goats with horns can actually kill each other when they fight? And, if kept as pets, like Gucci is, she could hurt me without meaning to.”

“Fascinating.”

I’m staring at her. Her eyes are red and glazed, her lips puffy, from crying before.

The urge to kiss her is maddening.

I need a subject change and fast. “Ground rules for the goat.” I jab a finger in its direction. “No pissing or shitting in the apartment.”

“Oh, she won’t. She’s really good.”

“If she needs to go, take her out on the terrace and clean up after, or there’s the building’s communal garden downstairs.”

“Okay. Thank you again, Gabe. We both really appreciate what you’re doing for us. And we won’t be any bother. You won’t even know we’re here, I promise.”

I highly doubt that.

Knowing that Speedy’s here and that she’ll be sleeping a wall away from me is going to make this not-fucking-her thing so much harder.

“I need a drink,” I mutter. I start moving away from her, heading for the drinks cabinet.

She’s instantly at my side, the damn goat still in her arms. “I’ll get it for you. You go sit down in the living room. What do you want?”

I hate that these crutches slow me down so much. It makes escaping near on impossible.

“Whiskey. Neat.”

She stops and puts the goat down on the floor. “Don’t you think it’s a little early to be drinking?”

I keep moving. “It’s five o’clock somewhere.”

“But you’re here, and it’s ten a.m.”

I stop and sigh. “I like a drink every now and then, Speedy. And, right now, I’m in pain, and I could do with taking the edge off it. If you’ve got a problem with it—”

“I haven’t,” she cuts me off.

I don’t even know what I was going to say at the end of that sentence. It’s not like I’d kick her out for having an issue with the fact that I want a drink.

“I’m sorry. I wasn’t trying to be a bitch. You’re right; it’s your business. I’ll grab that drink for you.”

She’s backtracking. She’s not being herself. Speedy of half an hour ago would have called me a jerk and told me to stick it. But she’s in a different position now. She feels vulnerable, and she can’t be herself.

I don’t like it.

“Speedy.” I catch her wrist as she moves past me. “I’m a grouchy asshole most of the time, and apparently, I’m worse when I’ve got a few broken bones. You don’t have to worry that I’ll kick you out for voicing your opinion. Oddly, that’s one of the things I like about you—when you bitch back at me even if it does drive me nuts ninety-nine percent of the time. So, just don’t stop being you because I’m being an asshole. Tell me to shut the fuck up. Okay?”

A smile edges her lips. “You like me,” she says in a singsong voice.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.”

“Gabriel Evans likes me!” she sings, throwing her arms in the air.

And the damn goat starts jumping around her feet.