Page 22 of Method Acting

“Thanks,” he said, taking his half. He nodded to my textbook. “So, what’s the book for?”

“Documentary Theater.”

He screwed his nose up. “I hated that class.”

I ate a few mouthfuls of the muffin. It was actually really good. “This is so good.”

“How was your gym session?”

“Well, there was no circle jerk, if that’s what you’re asking.”

He smiled. He actually smiled. It changed his whole face like the light replaced the dark.

Not that I’d tell him that.

“And I was kinda pissed,” I admitted. “Though anger makes for good motivation in the gym. Drives me to focus. I killed some decent calories today.”

“What were you pissed about?”

“The word generic.” I nodded and took a small forkful of muffin. “And how much I hate that word.”

His gaze met mine and his smile became a grin. “Oh, generic, as in generic Hollywood.”

I pointed my fork at him. “That would be the one.”

Amos chuckled. “Well, that’s good to know. If I ever need to get under your skin, I’ll know which weapon to choose.”

I smirked at him because, goddammit. As much as he irritated me—and god knows he irritated me—this banter with him, the constant back and forth, was so much fun.

I liked that he challenged me.

To be fair, most people just went along with whatever I said. I could fabricate the biggest load of bullshit and all my friends would just nod and smile, go along with it, even beef up the story a little. They’d eat it up, knowing it was all a story, and smile at me.

But not Amos.

Amos didn’t give an inch. He took none of my shit, and I kinda liked that.

“And which weapons would I need in battle against you?” I asked, stabbing some more muffin and shoving it in my mouth before I could tack anything on that might come across as flirting.

But when my eyes met his, I think he might have taken it as flirting anyway.

The way he chewed on the inside of his lip, trying not to smile, his eyes full of... something I couldn’t quite read.

“Why would I give you ammunition to use against me for free?” He sipped his drink. “I think you need to figure that out on your own.”

“How is that fair? Nothing bothers you.”

“Yes it does.”

“What? Like this conversation?”

“Somewhat, yes.”

Then I remembered something he’d said in class today.

“You don’t like people in your personal space. Touching your face.”

Amos’s eyes met mine. “You were listening.”

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