Page 90 of Method Acting

I palmed my forehead to feel for a fever. Nope. It must be emotions. “I’m fine. Just thinking.”

He pulled me a little closer, so I was almost standing between his legs. “About?”

There was no way I was telling him I worried we weren’t being convincing enough, because... because if we were any more convincing, we wouldn’t be acting.

I wasn’t even sure we were at this point.

And I didn’t want to think about that...

“I was just thinking about how mad I am at myself for telling you I don’t want to see you tonight.”

He grinned. “I knew it!”

I chuckled, and with his hands on my hips, he pulled me snug against him. “What are you doing?” I murmured. We were still in the dining hall for god’s sake. Daniel was talking to Deirdre, so the camera wasn’t on us, but there were other eyes on us. And my dick liked being in between his legs with him looking at me with his perfect face and perfect, full pink lips. “This is a dangerous game.”

He laughed. “It’s why I’m playing it. So you’ll want me to stay at your place tonight.”

I sighed, resisting the urge to roll my eyes. “Do you not think we’ve seen enough of each other this week?”

He inhaled deeply, as if he was considering the question. “No.” Then he murmured, “I’d like to see a whole lot more of you. Naked, preferably.”

I groaned but stood my ground. Because he was so used to getting what he wanted, I couldn’t let him win on principle. No matter how much I liked the idea of being naked with him. “No.” I picked up my bag and tossed his into his lap. “I’m working. Go hang out with your friends. I’ll see you tomorrow night.”

He whined. “But babe.” He caught up to me, slung his arm around my shoulder so he could whine some more.

I pushed him into the door and went to class.

For all the good standing my ground did me, I got back to my room after work, showered, and sat down with my books to study when there was a knock at my door.

I considered not answering it, considering the late hour, but with a long-suffering sigh and against my better judgment, I opened the door.

Chase stood there, leaning against the door frame, a bit tipsy, wearing the cutest pouty smile that I had zero defense against.

“I tried,” he said.

“You tried what?”

“To not see you. To not come here. And I tried to walk home, but my feet took me here.” He looked down at his feet as if they were the problem. Then he pointed down the hall. “And up the stairs. The stairs, Amos. I took the stairs. And now I’m here.”

Okay, maybe a little more than tipsy.

“And how much have you had to drink?”

“Enough.” He laughed. “Not a full sesh. More like a half-sesh. It’s very important to contribute to the socio-economic prosperity of the local liquor establishment. Don’t you think?”

Why was I smiling at him?

I had to make myself stop.

“Jimmy and Tate wanted me to stay for a full session but...” He shook his head. “I didn’t want that. Because I kept thinking of you. And now I’m here.”

I stared at him.

“I tried not to,” he added. “Don’t be mad at me. I don’t like it when you’re mad at me.”

He kept thinking of me.

How could I possibly be mad?

---