He nodded. “You know how your parents used to say don’t run with scissors?” He shrugged. “Well, don’t run with scissors. Not even safety scissors in pre-K.”
I smiled at that. “Do you always do what you’re told not to do?”
He flashed me that Hollywood smirk. “Every chance I get.”
I rolled my eyes, trying to remain immune to his charms.
“Why do you roll your eyes so much?”
“It’s less rude than saying ‘oh for fuck’s sake’ out loud.”
Chase laughed. “Yet the emphasis is much the same.”
“That’s why I do it.”
“So you always thought I had a perfect face?”
God, I was hoping he’d missed that.
“I used to, yes. Until I saw it close up.”
“Ouch.” He was hardly offended. In fact, by that damn smirk, I’d say he liked it. “So define perfect.”
“Generic Hollywood.”
Now he wasn’t smirking. He made a sad face. Maybe even offended. “Ouch!”
I shrugged. “It’s the whole boy-next-door thing you have going on.”
“It’s generic?”
I nodded. “Pretty much. In a Brad Pitt kind of way.”
He turned his head, looking to the wall instead. “I’m trying to decide if I should be offended by that.”
I squeezed his hand, kinda pulling on it so he’d look at me again. “If we were characters from The Breakfast Club, you’d be Emilio Estevez.”
“And you’d be Judd Nelson,” he shot back. “No, you’d be the goth chick.”
“Her name is Ally Sheedy, and that is a compliment, so thank you.”
Chase stared at me. Kinda glared. I liked that I got under his skin. Then he sighed, annoyed. “Her makeover in that movie was a travesty.”
“Agreed.”
“And I wouldn’t be Emilio Estevez,” he went on. “I’m not a jock.”
“But you’re not a geek or nerd either.”
“So I’d be Molly Ringwald?”
“Well, princess, if the tiara fits.”
He growled at me, rightfully annoyed now, but it faded into a smile. “I wasn’t aware insults were part of this semester’s production.”
“I think your character Dominic personally loves it,” I said. “Pretty sure he loves that Elijah takes none of his shit and doesn’t care about the popularity game.”
He snorted. “Is that right?”