Page 92 of Method Acting

“We are.”

“So sex is part of the job?” Jimmy’s eyes almost fell out of his head. “Hell, how do I sign up for that?”

I shook my head. “No, not like that. We are acting, but then in private, there are perks to having to be so handsy in public, right?”

“So it’s not acting in private?” Tate tried to clarify. “So what are you, exactly? To each other.”

“Boyfriends.”

“In public,” Jimmy nodded. “Yeah, we get that. But in private? I mean, what happens when the filming stops? What are you then?”

I . . . I didn’t know.

I threw my bar coaster at him. “Don’t ask me difficult questions, dickwad. It’s your turn to hit the bar.”

He’d laughed and slid off his stool and headed toward the bar. He got chatting with some guys there, and Tate gave me a nudge. “I think it’s good,” he said. “I’m happy for you.”

“I’m happy for me too.”

“Maybe just ask Amos what happens when the filming stops.”

I sighed and drained my bottle. Asking Amos that was not a conversation I wanted to have. I just wanted to enjoy the now, to enjoy being with him, being boyfriends, without reality crushing it.

And I’d tried to enjoy my night with the guys, drinking and talking shit. But after that conversation about Amos, my mind kept going back to him.

About what we were.

Because we weren’t just acting. Well, I wasn’t. And we weren’t just college kids. We were almost out of college, as grown-ass adults in the real world, and maybe—just fucking maybe—Amos was someone I could see myself being with.

In the real world.

I wouldn’t mind annoying him every day as live-in boyfriends as we went off to LA to chase our dreams on the silver screen.

Like I wasn’t getting way ahead of myself on that front.

Just like how I did honestly try to go home when I left the bar but somehow found myself knocking on Amos’s door.

He was so fucking cute, the way he tried not to smile.

He was also really fucking hot, the way he fisted my hair as he came down my throat. And the way he returned the favor, of course. Then the way he let me snuggle in and sleep, all wrapped around him, and with a few beers under my belt, I slept like a log.

For some reason, I was awake before Amos, and by the time he got out of the shower, I was dressed and ready.

He stopped when he saw me. “That’s my shirt. Again.”

“Correct.”

“When am I getting the other one back that you stole?”

“I didn’t steal it. I borrowed it. And you can get both shirts back after you spend the night at my place.”

“That’s blackmail. And coercion. And bribery.”

I grinned at him. “I know. But it works. Come on, I’m starving.” I shoved his bag at him and went to the door. “Why are you so grumpy today?”

“Because you snored all night, that’s why. And you hog the bed. And you’re clingy. It’s like sleeping with an octopus.”

I laughed as I pulled the door open... and there was Daniel, camera rolling. “Thought I’d find you here,” he said. “Who sleeps like an octopus?”

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