Page 31 of Method Acting

So he did exactly what I did. Put his hand around the back of my neck and planted his lips on mine. More of an over-pronounced smooch than a kiss.

“What the hell kind of kiss was that?” I asked. “Like a joke kiss?”

“Boyfriends are gonna joke around,” he said. His cheeks were still pink. “They’re gonna be familiar enough with each other to joke around, right?”

Hmm. “I guess.”

“You want a real kiss?”

“Just more convincing, and not like you’d kiss your favorite aunt.”

“Who the hell kisses their aunt like that? Just how close is your family?”

I rolled my eyes. “Shut up. You know what I mean.”

“Fine,” he said. Then he did the opposite of before. He stepped in close, his eyes on mine, and he put his hand to my face, his thumb tracing my bottom lip. “You want a real boyfriend kiss?” he murmured, his voice a rough whisper. His gaze drew down to my mouth, then back up to my eyes. Then he pressed down on my lip, pulling my mouth open and sliding his thumb away, he covered my lips with his.

Open mouth, soft lips. He tilted his head and raked his hands through the hair at the back of my head, pulling on the strands.

It made my knees weak, and I was just about to give him my tongue when he pulled back.

He smirked. “Was that a joke kiss?” he murmured, his eyes looking at my lips as if he wanted more.

Someone cleared their throat, and we both turned to find Deirdre and the rest of the actors watching us.

“Practicing,” I said. “Practicing kissing.”

“Looks like you got the hang of it,” Holly said, fanning her face.

Max laughed. “Don’t let us interrupt.”

I took a step back, trying to clear my head, to calm my racing heart.

Because that didn’t feel like practice to me. And if that’s how Chase kissed, then I was in for one helluva few weeks.

How am I gonna get through this?

Chapter Seven

Chase

I wasn’t gonna let Amos win.

Admittedly, when he’d kissed me first, I hadn’t been expecting it. No, I hadn’t expected him to be so brazen. I hadn’t expected him to take charge. It knocked me off my guard a little, not gonna lie.

I’d tried to mimic his professionalism. His separation from craft. If he could kiss me like it meant nothing, then I could do the same. Admittedly, the big old smooch I’d given him wasn’t my finest work and then he called it a joke kiss.

A joke kiss.

And I wasn’t having that. So I kissed him like I would kiss anyone, anyone that I was interested in, anyone that I wanted to take to bed, and he was into it. When I’d fisted his hair, I felt the rumble in his throat. The moan damn near made me almost shove my tongue in his mouth, and I had to stop myself before I did. I wanted to push him against the table and kiss him for real—all hands, teeth, mouth, tongue. Bodies.

I’d almost done exactly that.

So close.

He tasted like pretzels and toothpaste. He smelled of deodorant or cologne. I wasn’t sure what it was—timber and honey, or maybe it was just him.

I liked it.

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