Chapter Five

Chase

Intimacy exercises.

Awesome.

For all his brusqueness and prickliness, Amos wasn't that bad. He wasn't the asshole he pretended to be.

My guess, without knowing him that well, was that he was an introvert who liked to appear unapproachable so people would leave him alone.

I could respect that.

Because the more I got to know him, the more I liked him. And I could see when he fought a smile or the way his cheeks grew slightly pink.

His tough-guy act was simply that. An act.

And he was a very good actor.

But even though he pretended not to like me, I knew he did.

As much as it annoyed him.

As much as I enjoyed annoying him.

I wanted to say these intimacy exercises would be weird and uncomfortable, but the truth was, I enjoyed them a little too much.

"Amos stand here," Deirdre said. Then she put me in front of him. "Chase, you're here."

I was about to ask if this was more staring-at-each-other exercises when she said, "Chase, close your eyes."

Okay, then. Not staring.

"I want you to imagine you have no sight. Lift your hands and touch his face. Feel his jaw, his cheekbones, eyebrows."

Oh boy.

"Picture his face in your mind," Deirdre said.

And so I did.

I ran my hands up his neck to his jaw. I felt him swallow. I felt every breath, the rise and fall of his chest, his pulse under my palm.

His skin was warm and smooth, and I could smell him. His deodorant or cologne, maybe.

I liked it.

I ran my thumb over his chin, feeling the slightest stubble. Up to his lips, and I expected him to flinch or pull back, but he never moved. His lips were soft and warm.

His eyebrow, his cheekbone, down his jaw. And I could picture his face in my mind so clearly, now that I'd mapped it out. I liked what I saw, what I felt.

I really liked how he smelled.

"Okay, now swap," Deirdre said.

I'd been so lost in the exercise her voice startled me. I blinked my eyes open, and of course Amos was closer in real life than he'd been in my head .

"How was it?" Deirdre asked him. "How did it feel?"

"Private," Amos replied. "Intrusive. I'd normally not let anyone touch my face." Then he shrugged. "Or be in my space, at all, really."

She patted his shoulder. "It's not easy, I know. But you're pushing your comfort-zone boundaries, well done. Physicality is important for acting. Take a deep breath, okay."

"I'm more of a touchy-feely kinda guy," I volunteered. "You can touch me all over."

Deirdre snorted. "It's not that kind of exercise but I appreciate your enthusiasm." She left us for the next couple, giving me a parting glare. "Faces only, please."

Amos looked at me, disgusted. "That was gross. Makes me not want to touch you at all. You're like an old penny. I don't know where you've been."

"I am not an old penny, thank you very much."

"I'll need more hand sanitizer."

I smiled at him and mouthed, "Fuck you."

He made a sad face. "Excuse me, Miss. He said a bad word," he said, mimicking a little kid's voice.

I rolled my eyes. "I really want you to keep your eyes open just to make this so much more awkward for you, but this is an exercise in trust, apparently. Close your eyes and do your worst."

He was quiet for a second, as if he was sizing up the argument and if he could be bothered. I thought he might leave me standing there like an idiot, but he mumbled something under his breath before he closed his eyes. Then he put his hand on my chest .

He was feeling his way up to my throat, my neck, my jaw.

He kept one hand on my neck, holding my head still, and probably for spatial awareness, while his other thumb drew lines on my face.

He mapped me out like I did to him, and god, seeing him this close up without the dagger in his eyes... like I was seeing the real him.

He had his eyes closed, concentrating. His eyelids were pale, his lashes long.

"What do I look like in your mind?" I murmured. "And don't say generic Hollywood."

Fucker smirked.

He seemed to consider this question as he touched my hair, down the line of my nose.

"Hmm," he mused. "Prince Charming from Shrek 2 ."

I snorted, because what the fuck.

My eyes were well and truly open now. "Really?"

He opened his eyes and smiled at me. "I could have said you looked like Shrek when he was human, so be grateful." Then he shrugged. "Or when he's not human."

"Very funny. And anyway, Prince Charming is hot. I'll take that."

"He's a giant douche."

"Yes, but I said looked like, not is like."

He rolled his eyes but he did almost smile. I was also taking that as a win. "Anyway, your nose is slightly crooked and one eyebrow is a little higher than the other. And you need to shave."

"Wanna know what you look like?"

"No. "

"A masterpiece."

He stared. "Don't be ridiculous," he mumbled.

"I mean it. An actual masterpiece. I mean, it's a Picasso, but they do consider that art."

He sighed. "I take it back. You're not Prince Charming or Shrek. You're Donkey. Insufferable and not funny."

"Are you kidding me? Donkey is freaking hilarious." Then I had to imitate him. "‘I'm making waffles!'"

"Boys," Deirdre said, and yet again, everyone was watching us. They were smiling, but still... we'd missed whatever the class was doing.

"Sorry."

Amos fought a smile. An actual real smile.

Damn.

"Okay, that's class," Deirdre said. Then she put up her hand. "Before you go. Normally these on-screen relationships have many weeks or even months in preproduction to work on their chemistry, but we don't have that luxury. So you have homework."

Oh great. I was pretty sure I knew where this was going.

"Spend time with your partner. With your friends or not, I don't care. Do something together outside of this classroom. Because tomorrow?"

She paused . . . and we waited.

"Tomorrow we take a deeper look at character assessment and the relationships between all of you, couples included. The rest of you should be okay because your relationships are emerging as the production begins, but Chase and Amos," she said, looking right at us. "Your characters have been together for a year. I need you to be comfortable with each other. Close, touching, and it needs to look natural. Tomorrow there will be more intimacy exercises for you both."

"Yay," I deadpanned sarcastically. "Can't wait."

The class dissipated and I turned to find Amos already walking over to collect his bag.

"So," I hedged. "Homework . . ."

"If you think I'm hanging out with you and your friends, you're delusional."

"What's wrong with my friends?"

"Nothing. I'm sure they're great guys." His left eyebrow quirked up then flattened. It gave the impression that he did not , in fact, think my friends were great guys. "Just not my scene."

"And what is your scene?"

His gaze cut to mine, as if he actually considered telling me the truth about what he spent his time doing. But then he schooled that brief flicker of honesty away and slung his backpack over his shoulder.

"I gotta work tonight."

"Why didn't you say that?"

"I just did."

I groaned. God, he was so frustrating. "Well, we gotta spend time together whether we like it or not. What time do you finish?"

He pulled his phone out and thumbed through a few screens. "Eight."

"Then I shall see you at eight."

"I have two hours now if you . . ."

"I told the guys I'd hit the gym with them before I knew we'd have homework. "

He made a face, as if even the thought of going to a gym smelled bad. "I thought you said you weren't a jock."

"I'm not." I pulled up my shirt and showed him my abs. "But I like to look good, and maintaining a six-pack is hard work."

He rolled his eyes. "You really are going for the Hollywood generic, aren't you?"

I dropped my shirt, a little pissed that he wasn't the slightest bit impressed. "Oh, come on, even you have to admit these are hot."

"Sure. If you want to look like a fossilized trilobite."

I deflated, because damn. Ouch. "Now I'm sad."

Of course that made him smile. "I'm sure your friends will give you the bro ego-boost circle jerk or bro-jobs, or whatever it is gym bros do."

"If you could please give me the name and address of any gym that you know of that does bro-jobs, please let me know."

He rolled his eyes and walked out.

"See you at eight!" I yelled after him.

"Only because I don't have a choice," he replied before he was out the door and gone.

I sighed to the now-empty room, collected my bag, and dragged my feet to the gym.

"Hey, man," Jimmy said. He gave me a second look. "What's up?"

I sighed and threw my bag into the locker. "Nothing. I just..." I spun around to face him. "I'm a likable guy, right? I mean, everyone likes me. I'm fun to be around. I'm nice to people. Well, I'm not a dick to anyone. But I'm kinda all right, aren't I? "

He stared at me, seeing I was serious, and closed his locker door. "What the hell brought this on? Of course you're likable. You're better than just kinda all right, Chase. Three-quarters of this campus wants you to dick them. Girls, guys. Why you askin'?"

"Why only three-quarters?"

He snorted. "Gee, I don't know. Because lesbians and asexual people exist, Chase. And straight guys." He put his hand to his chest. "Now I love you, but not that much. Dude, why are you... who's got you doubting yourself?" Then he pulled his head back and looked down his nose at me. "Is it that emo guy? What's his name?"

Jesus. He made that leap pretty fast. "What? Who?"

"The guy at the coffee shop, the guy you called out to across the quad, down the hall... What's his name... Armistice, Amish, Amy?—"

"Amos."

He grinned. "Holy shit."

"He said I'm generic."

Jimmy laughed. "Holy shit."

"It's not funny. He called me generic. Actually, it was generic Hollywood. That's what I am. Generic Hollywood."

He stared at me, eyes wide, mouth open in some horrified smile. "Holy shit."

"I know!"

"No. Holy shit because he's got you."

I squinted at him. "Got me what?"

"Figured out. Bent outta shape." He put his hands up as if his words were up in lights. "Bamboozled."

"The fuck is bamboozled? "

"What he's got you."

"Oh, fuck off. He has not."

"You finally met someone who doesn't like you."

"I dunno. I'm starting to wonder about you and where this conversation is going. You seem a little enraptured in my misery."

He laughed and gave me a shove. "I just never thought I'd see the day."

"The day what?" Tater said, walking in and dumping his gym bag.

"The day Chase meets someone who doesn't fall at his feet."

"It's not about them falling at my feet," I said. "It's about them not even liking me. Without even getting to know me."

Tater's eyes went to me. "For real? Why don't they like you? Everyone likes you."

"Not everyone," Jimmy added, far too cheerfully. "Emo Amos."

"He said I'm generic Hollywood and that my abs looked like a fossilized trilobite." I snatched up my phone. "I don't even know what that is." I began to google it, and as soon as I saw the first pic, I groaned. "Look. He thinks I look like this."

I showed them the pic.

Tater pressed his lips together, but Jimmy burst out laughing.

"It's not funny," I said. I mean, it wasn't that funny.

"Tell me," Jimmy said. "Are you mad because he called you a generic Hollywood fossil? Or are you mad because he's not interested in you? "

I stared at him because obviously it was the first one... and maybe a little of the second. Okay, maybe more of the second one than I liked to admit.

Tater snorted. "Have you ever had anyone ever be not interested in you?"

"Fuck off, both of ya. I'm hitting the gym."

Jimmy patted his stomach. "Gotta keep the trilobite in shape." Tater laughed.

I hated them both.

And using that petulance and the irritation at Amos brushing me off, I shoved my headphones in, pumped up my gym playlist, and hit the treadmill first, then weights, then did laps in the pool.

By the time I was done, I was exhausted and starving, and my mind was clear.

More or less.

We came out of the aquatic hall, bag over my shoulder, towel around my neck with my hair still kinda wet, and we all but ran into Georgia and Taylah and their group.

"Hi there," Georgia said to me.

I tousled the towel through my wet hair. "Hey," I replied. I knew the look she was giving me. The smile, the eyes. I'd seen them before; I'd acted on them before. She was a great girl, smart and fun, and she lived by the no-dating rule, same as me. I mighta been interested in that look, for one night...

Except I was supposed to be acting interested in someone else.

A certain someone who thought I was generic.

Georgia certainly didn't think I was generic .

"We're heading down to Shenanigans," she said, still smiling at me. "You guys should come with us."

Man, I was so tempted . . .

Jimmy clapped me on the back. "Sounds good, right?"

I groaned. "I wish I could." I met Georgia's gaze so she'd know I wasn't flaking out because of her. "I really do, but I have a homework assignment for drama class. It's a group thing. I can't skip out." Then I looked at Jimmy. "But you guys should totally go."

I knew they'd really liked to have gone and they certainly didn't need me to. I wasn't the social glue here.

Jimmy gave Georgia a bit of a smile. "You girls don't mind if it's just me and Tater?"

"Not at all," she said, giving him a bit of a once-over.

Yep. He was totally going.

Bolstered by this confidence, Jimmy gave me a shit-eating grin. "A homework assignment with anyone from your drama class in particular?"

"Shut the fuck up," I said, giving him a shove. "And have some wings and beer for me." I rubbed my stomach. "Man, that sounds good." I took a step back. "Have fun, guys."

"Here," Jimmy said, taking his and Tater's gym bags and shoving them into my chest. "Take these for us? Thanks."

They laughed, and I carried everything back to our house. Mundell House, part of the Liberty Court, was just a short walk from campus. I loved the house we lived in. I loved living with my friends. I loved the parties, the weekends of watching football or hockey or playing volleyball on the beach .

I loved this campus. Especially this time of year when the days were barely warm and the evenings were getting cool, right on the beach. T-shirts during the day, hoodies at night. The breeze, the trees, the sunset.

It was freaking beautiful.

I didn't even mind carrying all their shit home. I dumped it in the laundry room—they could take care of it later. I made myself a quick sandwich, got changed into some sweatpants and a T-shirt, grabbed a hoodie, and headed back toward campus. To the coffee shop.

It was only seven thirty but an iced coffee sounded good, and I had some studying to do, so... And with a bit of luck, it would annoy Amos.

There were a few people at tables, most studying, some talking, their books closed on the table in front of them. Another guy was behind the counter, and I wondered if Amos was even here, if I'd gotten the time wrong, or if he'd bailed... or lied.

But then he came through the staff door with a tray and I got a sliver of satisfaction at seeing him do a split-second double take when he saw me.

It was infinitesimal. But it was there.

I ordered my iced coffee with the other guy. His name tag said Mason. Maybe I'd seen him around before...

Amos was restacking stuff, cleaning things down, and getting the store ready to close, I guessed.

He ignored me.

So I took my drink to the far booth, liking that I was kinda hidden—so I didn't keep turning and looking for Amos—took out my book, and began reading, taking notes .

I didn't notice people at the other tables clear out, but when a plate with a muffin on it appeared in front of me, I looked up to find everyone gone.

And Amos standing there.

He put a knife and fork by the plate. "If you're hungry," he mumbled, then turned and walked back to the counter.

It was a raspberry and white chocolate muffin and... had he warmed it up for me?

I looked back at the counter, but he must've been in the backroom. Mason was talking through the door to someone... The outside lights were off, the register was closed, the counter covered.

Shit.

I didn't mean to keep him. I began to pack up my book when Amos came out with a drink in one hand, a plate in the other. Without a word, he slid into the booth.

Then Mason called out. "Lock the doors on your way out, okay?"

"Yeah, no problem," Amos replied.

Then it was just Amos and me in a closed coffee shop with most of the lights off. "Uh, what's going on?"

"I'm starving," he said, picking up his panini and taking a bite.

"Do you always get left alone here?"

He shrugged. "Sometimes. Mason wanted to leave, some date thing with his girl. I dunno. I said I'd mop the floors so he could go."

I looked around at the very un-mopped floors. "Well, I hate to be the one to break it to you..."

"Food first." He took another bite, then nodded to the muffin, then to me .

"Yeah, I like these. I just wasn't sure it was meant for me."

He rolled his eyes and swallowed his mouthful. "I gave it to you, didn't I?"

"Well, you put it in front of me and said if I was hungry... And I just wasn't sure. Coming from anyone else, I'd think I could eat it. But coming from you, that could be ‘if you're hungry, too bad because this isn't for you.'"

He snorted and finished chewing his food. "If you don't want it, I'll have it."

I took the knife and cut the muffin in half. "Here."

I was hungry and clearly, so was he. But I could eat something else when I got back to the house. He lived in the dorms, and I wasn't sure what he'd get to eat after the dining hall was closed.

"Thanks," he said, taking his half. He nodded to my textbook. "So, what's the book for?"

"Documentary Theater."

He screwed his nose up. "I hated that class."

I ate a few mouthfuls of the muffin. It was actually really good. "This is so good."

"How was your gym session?"

"Well, there was no circle jerk, if that's what you're asking."

He smiled. He actually smiled. It changed his whole face like the light replaced the dark.

Not that I'd tell him that.

"And I was kinda pissed," I admitted. "Though anger makes for good motivation in the gym. Drives me to focus. I killed some decent calories today. "

"What were you pissed about?"

"The word generic ." I nodded and took a small forkful of muffin. "And how much I hate that word."

His gaze met mine and his smile became a grin. "Oh, generic, as in generic Hollywood."

I pointed my fork at him. "That would be the one."

Amos chuckled. "Well, that's good to know. If I ever need to get under your skin, I'll know which weapon to choose."

I smirked at him because, goddammit. As much as he irritated me—and god knows he irritated me—this banter with him, the constant back and forth, was so much fun.

I liked that he challenged me.

To be fair, most people just went along with whatever I said. I could fabricate the biggest load of bullshit and all my friends would just nod and smile, go along with it, even beef up the story a little. They'd eat it up, knowing it was all a story, and smile at me.

But not Amos.

Amos didn't give an inch. He took none of my shit, and I kinda liked that.

"And which weapons would I need in battle against you?" I asked, stabbing some more muffin and shoving it in my mouth before I could tack anything on that might come across as flirting.

But when my eyes met his, I think he might have taken it as flirting anyway.

The way he chewed on the inside of his lip, trying not to smile, his eyes full of... something I couldn't quite read.

"Why would I give you ammunition to use against me for free?" He sipped his drink. "I think you need to figure that out on your own."

"How is that fair? Nothing bothers you."

"Yes it does."

"What? Like this conversation?"

"Somewhat, yes."

Then I remembered something he'd said in class today.

"You don't like people in your personal space. Touching your face."

Amos's eyes met mine. "You were listening."

I pointed to my ears. "My mother would say they're not painted on."

He sipped his drink, looking around the darkened café. "Plenty of things bother me. Some more than others."

"So I won't touch your face," I said. "When we're acting like boyfriends and shit. You need to tell me where it's okay to touch, where it's not okay. If we need to be... affectionate in public. I don't want you to be uncomfortable."

"Well, you don't need to make it weird."

"I'm saying this shit so it doesn't get weird."

"I've had boyfriends and... whatever. I let them touch me. Personal touch is fine." He made a face. "God, you make me sound like a freak. I'm not a germaphobe or anything. Or a prude, or whatever. I just like my personal space, and I don't like crowded places. If there's too many people... it just gets overwhelming."

That sounded like an overreaction. Or a sore spot. An exposed nerve, perhaps.

"It's okay, Amos. Whatever you want to do. I'm down." He might not like talking about this, but we needed to figure out some details. "You know what you need to do?"

He rolled his eyes. "This'll be good," he mumbled.

"You need to act."

He looked at me then. "To act?"

I nodded and slid out of the booth. "Let's do something stupid, like Hairspray ."

Amos scoffed. " Hair —where?"

I looked around. "Here."

"What the hell for?"

"To get used to each other."

"I don't need to act out a scene from the worst musical of all time to know you. The fact you suggested Hairspray tells me all I need to know. You could have at least suggested West Side Story or Rent . Or Hamilton , for god's sake." He slid out of the booth. "What you can do is put the chairs up on the tables for me so I can mop the floor."

Well, yes. That I could do.

I'd done a few tables when he came back out with the mop and bucket. He started behind the counter first, and as I lifted another chair up onto the table, I thought about what he'd said.

It says all I need to know about you.

What did he choose? West Side Story or Rent . What did they say about him?

Both great choices. They told me he was an outsider, someone who struggled but was a fighter. Someone who was brave. A classic. Cool, vintage.

While I was generic.

Maybe he was right.

I slid another chair onto a table, and another... and it reminded me of something. Something I'd always loved, secretly, and watched a dozen times. And I wondered if I could show him a small piece of the real me.

If I could be brave like him.

Before I lost my nerve, I took out my phone, found the instrumental on YouTube, and pressed play.

As soon as the music started, Amos stopped mopping and watched me. But in that moment, I wasn't in the Bean Necessities after closing time.

I was transported to a stage, to Broadway, in front of a full audience, with a full orchestra.

Transported to the barricades in some French revolution.

I sang about a grief that can't be spoken, of a pain that goes on and on. Then I sang about empty chairs at empty tables.

The whole café was my stage as I lifted every chair, sliding it atop a table. Like I felt everything Marius felt as he sang that song for his fallen friends. Like I was singing for my life.

I sang about revolution, about a tomorrow that never came. I sang to the phantom faces in the window, to the shadows on the floor. I gestured to the table in the corner, where my friends would meet no more.

I belted out the crescendo, my voice straining as I held the note. Like I was ten years old at home alone, acting the whole scene in my parents' basement. Like no one was watching.

Except someone was.

When the song ended, Amos stood there with the mop handle in the crook of his arm so he could clap. He was grinning, a full-on grin. Something I'd never seen him do, ever.

And so help me god, it was breathtaking.

He nodded slowly, still smiling. I wasn't embarrassed. I was nervous, strangely enough. I wanted him to approve.

"There he is," he said.

Huh?

"There who is?"

His eyes locked with mine. "The you you don't show anyone else."