Page 40 of Method Acting

He winced. “I kinda lost track of time.”

“You’ve been staring out the window a lot,” I said, then sipped my drink. “You okay?”

“Yeah, sure.”

“Don’t let the comments bother you. People are gonna talk.”

His eyes cut to mine. “They think I’m a bad person.”

“Who gives a fuck what they think? Chase, as an actor, you’re gonna get a lot of critique and feedback and horrible reviews and scathing social media attacks. You need to learn to ignore it.”

“I know, I just . . .”

“You just what?”

He huffed out a sigh. “You’re right. But by then I’ll be a millionaire and I can be sad about it in my mansion in Beverly Hills, dabbing artfully at my tears with hundred-dollar bills.”

I snorted. “It’s good to have goals.”

He managed a smile. “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I let it bother me so much. I know I’m not a bad person. I just also don’t want you to think that I’m a bad person.”

“I don’t. I mean, when I first met you, I might have thought?—”

“If you say the word generic one more time, I will tell everyone that I fell madly in love with you, wanted to be in a committed relationship—like actual boyfriends—for the first time in my life, and you broke my heart. Then you will be the bad guy and people will feel sorry for me, and I’ll get pity-attention and free drinks at the bar.”

“I was going to say, when I first met you, I might have thought you were conceited and full of yourself.”

“Oh yay, that’s so much better than generic.”

“But you’re not. You’re actually not that bad a guy. Despite the repeated attempts to show me your moobs.”

He gasped so loud, people at the next table looked over. He put his hands over his boobs. “Take that back.” Then he gave his pec a squeeze. “Hm. That reminds me. Today was supposed to be chest day at the gym.”

I sighed. How he could go from melancholy to funny in the blink of an eye... I got the feeling the funny side of Chase was his public persona. The quieter, more vulnerable side was the private side not many people ever saw.

“So you don’t think I’m conceited or full of myself anymore?”

“Well, you aren’t full of yourself, but maybe a little conceited.”

“That’s not even remotely true.”

I rolled my eyes. “It might even be permissible given how good-looking you are.” I wasn’t even embarrassed saying that because everyone with functioning eyeballs could see he was gorgeous. “There’s nothing wrong with knowing you’re hot.”

His grin was slow spreading. “You think I’m hot?”

“Everyone on this campus thinks you’re hot.”

“I don’t care about everyone on this campus. You,” he grinned at me. “You think I’m hot.”

I let out a long-suffering sigh. “You’re precariously close to entering full-of-yourself territory.”

He laughed, keeping his gaze on mine as he leaned forward to take a sip from his straw. “Thanks for the drink, by the way.”

“It was one of those pity drinks you mentioned earlier.”

He snorted. “See? I told you it totally works.”

I had to remind myself not to smile. “How long do you plan on sitting here?”

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