Page 55 of Method Acting

And we were used to touching, somewhat.

Like we’d touched at the bar. He’d planted me on a stool in the corner, which was kinda sweet of him, not gonna lie. But then he’d stood beside me, between my legs even. He had his arm around me, so casually, so effortlessly.

So perfectly.

Then he’d held my hand.

Until he got all moody and sullen, then he’d dropped my hand and pouted like a baby. It was annoyingly cute. And I could see he was torn about staying, about what Georgia had said.

So a quick distracting compliment and subject change were in order, and he was back to his usual annoying self.

His funny, charming, sweet, clingy self.

Totally annoying.

And with filming about to start, I could only imagine it was going to get a whole lot worse.

I walked into the rehearsal hall to find everyone either crowded around the iPad or looking on their own phones. Chase was in the middle of it all, of course, holding the iPad.

He was grinning, and when he looked up and saw me, he groaned. “Babe. Where’ve you been? I messaged you.”

Babe.

“Babe?”

He held the iPad up. “Yes. It’s what boyfriends do. If you’d read my messages, you’d know what I’m talking about.”

Phoebe took some pity on me and filled me in. “You and Chase are the stars of the show already. All the photos from last night are online.”

“Photos from last night?” I mumbled. “What photos...”

I went to look on the iPad and Chase pulled me in between his legs and turned me around so I could lean against him and hold the iPad for myself.

It also meant he could sling one arm around my waist and rest his chin on my shoulder and watch the screen with me as I scrolled...

Through post after post, photo after photo. Of me and Chase.

On the beach, me holding his shirt. Him shirtless, again, his bare muscular torso looking golden in the fading sunlight.

Us walking to the bar, his arm around my shoulder.

Us in the bar, at the table, crowded in. Him leaning against me. He was laughing at something and... god, was I smiling?

I hadn’t meant to look happy.

“I like that photo,” he said, pointing to me. “You look so cute.”

I ignored that and kept scrolling. The next photo was of me holding the door to my dormitory open for him, again smiling...

I had to stop doing that.

Why did I look so damned happy?

“I didn’t see anyone take any of these photos,” I mumbled.

“Me either,” Chase mumbled.

The comments were much the same.

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