Breaking Hollywood [CAMREN]

Chapter 2

Lauren

Two more cigarettes, three mints, four drinks from her hip flask, and what feels like five years later, I pull up outside of Hollywood Presbyterian Medical Center.

Who knew being stuck in a car with my celebrity crush could be so painful? Especially when I was aware of every single thing she did, down to every inhalation of breath she took.

I bring the car to a stop in the patient drop-off zone.

I'll leave it here, help Camila inside, and then come back out to move it to the parking lot.

I take my seat belt off at the same time as Camila.

I open my mouth to speak, but she beats me to it.

"You can just leave my car here. I'll have Harry move it. And here's some money for a cab back to your car."

I hold up a hand, stopping her. "I don't want your money for a cab. I can pay for my own cabs." For now at least."And, as much as I'd like to leave you here, my conscience won't allow it. I have to make sure you're okay."

"I'm okay. There. Your conscience is eased."

"Funny. I didn't know you became a doctor in the five years it took to drive here."

"That's weird because, the speed you drove, it felt more like five seconds to get here."

"I did not speed! I stuck to the speed limit the whole way. And I got you to the hospital in one piece, didn't I?"

She eyes her broken foot with a raised brow.

"That doesn't count because it was already broken before I got in the car with you."

"Your logic is screwed up."

"It is not! God, you're so annoying." I glare at her.

"And smoking hot, Speedy. Don't forget that."

Argh!

"I never said you were smoking hot! I said I would haunt your smoking ass! As in the fact that you smoke—which is a disgusting habit, FYI—and I was using the word ass as an insult, you ass! I do not think that your ass is hot! Seriously! I would rather kiss a toad's ass than ever think that your ass is hot! I do think that you're vain, crude, argumentative, and seriously annoying though!" I break off, breathing hard. I'm pretty sure I have steam coming out of my ears.

Jesus, I barely know her, and I want to strangle her! No one has ever annoyed me more than she does. And it's so disappointing because I thought she was awesome. That was before I got to know her, of course.

"Has my hair gone gray?" she asks, pressing a hand to her head.

"No." I frown. "Why?"

"Because I feel like I just lost twenty years of my life after listening to your little rant. Seriously, Speedy, you should consider getting help with that verbal diarrhea that falls out of your mouth. I know a good vocal coach who might be able to work on it with you. He normally just works on accents and word pronunciations, but he should be able to help you learn to speak properly."

"Ha-ha. You're hilarious. And twenty years? You'll be lucky to see another ten if you keep smoking your nicotine sticks at the rate you do."

"I'll outlive you, Speedy. The way you drive, especially in that golf-cart car of yours"—she rubs her chin in thought—"I give you two years. Three, tops."

Eyes narrowed, I tip my head to the side. "Want to bet on that?"

A grin spreads across her face. "Oh, I'm all for betting, Speedy. But you wouldn't like the stakes. And, also, there'll be no satisfaction in my winning because you'll be dead, and I won't be able to claim my win or flaunt my victory in your face."