Chapter Six

Amos

So maybe Mr. Generic Hollywood wasn't so generic after all.

Well, okay, he still was . . .

But watching him sing "Empty Chairs at Empty Tables" as he lifted the chairs like props... Damn. He was something else.

Surprising, to say the very least.

I hadn't expected that out of him.

The emotion, the heart. The talent.

He was quiet afterwards and he helped me clean and lock up, and soon enough we were walking across campus to my dorm. I wasn't sure what to say, not wanting to make things awkward between us.

If we were supposed to act like boyfriends, the very least I could do was stop being sarcastic or rude. He'd shown a part of himself to me that I highly doubted he'd shown anyone else, ever.

Hell, in the last three years I'd been in his drama classes, been in stage productions, and done improvs with him, and I'd never seen that side of him.

"I used to act out Les Mis when I was younger," he said, clearly feeling the need to explain. Or maybe to open himself a little more. "Or any musical, really. My mom had DVDs of a whole bunch of them, so I'd go down in my parents' basement—it was a family room with old couches and a TV and DVD player. You know, like the kids' room with old bookcases, board games, that kind of thing."

I nodded. "Sounds fun."

"It was. Anyway, if I was ever home alone, I'd put on a musical, crank up the volume, and act them out. I'd use the furniture like I was on stage. Les Mis was always a favorite." He sighed. "I haven't done anything like it in years."

"You should," I said. "And I don't want to inflate your ego or anything, but you were good."

Chase smirked at me. "A compliment from you. Wow."

"Don't get used to it."

"How could I? When an insult follows swiftly behind."

"I haven't insulted you tonight."

"Yeah, I'm still kinda stuck on the generic thing."

I chuckled and stopped walking. When he looked at me, wondering why, I nodded to the dorm. "This is me."

He seemed surprised. "Oh. Okay. I didn't know... I'm down at the Mundell House."

I nodded, because of course he was. "What's your plan for tonight? A few beers? Studying?"

He glanced in the direction of his place, into the dark. "Uh, nothing, actually. The guys were going down to Shenanigans, but I'm not feeling it, ya know."

Goddammit .

Was I really about to do this?

I took a deep breath and resigned my fate. "Well, we are supposed to do some homework," I said. "Did you want to come up to my room?" I cringed. "There was no way to say that without it sounding like an invite for something else," I added. "Which it isn't. Just so you know."

Chase's eyes met mine and he smiled. "Oh, believe me, I know."

I sighed and trudged up the steps and held the door for him. "Yes or no, make it quick or the invite is rescinded, in three... two..."

"All right, jeez," he said, brushing past me. "I'm still not sure if that was a threat. Is that what that was?"

I started up the stairs, not stopping to see if he was following. "My threats have less subtlety. Believe me, you'd know."

He said nothing until the third flight. "Christ. You have to walk up these every day?"

"Several times."

"Isn't there an elevator?"

"Do you whine this bad all the time? Or am I just lucky?" I got to the landing and turned to watch him trudge up the last few steps. "There is an elevator, but this way I don't have to go to the gym."

"Maybe I overdid it at the gym today."

"Maybe you shouldn't let the opinions of others get to you so much," I said, leading the way down the hall to my room. "Why do you care so much about what I think anyway?"

"Isn't it good to care how other people think and feel?"

I unlocked my door and pushed it open. "No. It's the opposite of good." I hit the lights and tossed my bag onto my desk chair. I waited until he was inside before I closed the door behind him. "Concerning yourself with what other people think of you is the biggest waste of mental headspace."

"You don't care what other people think of you?"

I wasn't sure why he seemed so surprised by this.

"Not at all. My parents, perhaps. I want them to be proud of me, sure. But I don't seek approval or validation from anyone. I know who I am. I'm a good person, and I'm nice to others. I mind my own business. If they don't like me, that's their problem."

He studied me for a bit, then conceded a sad smile. "I wish I could do that."

"Why can't you? Just start telling yourself it doesn't matter what people think of you. Do what makes you happy and stop giving a shit what other people think. You'll be so much happier."

He let out a laugh. "Is it that easy?"

"It's exactly that easy." I sat on my bed, opened my laptop, and waited for Netflix to load. "How are you going to own Hollywood if you wear the expectations of everyone?"

He sat down on the end of my bed with a sigh. "I dunno... I just... feedback is good though, right?"

"That depends. Is it feedback on your craft, on the art of your acting, of the character you play? Or is it someone's opinion and preconceived expectations? Because those are two very different things. If it's the former, then sure. If you can take it constructively and if you can learn from it, then yes. If it's the latter and if it's gonna eat you up inside, then hell no."

He smiled at me then. "You really have it all figured out, dontcha?"

"Not at all. I just don't care what people think, as a general rule." I shrugged. "I know people don't like me; they also don't know me. I know they think I'm weird, or emo, or eccentric or whatever. I don't give a fuck what they think. Their opinions mean nothing to me. They can bend themselves all out of shape, use up all that mental energy." I hit Play on my laptop. "I'll just be over here watching Rick and Morty , living my best life."

His smile was more genuine now. "I love Rick and Morty ."

"Same."

"I'm gonna try thinking more like you. Letting shit go and not caring what they think."

"Would you do musical theater if you didn't care what people thought?"

His eyes narrowed at the computer screen as he considered this. "Mm, I dunno." Then he scooted back on the bed to rest against the wall, his feet dangling over the edge. "I mean, do I want Hollywood? Or do I want Broadway?" He sighed then. "I don't know. Hollywood, I think."

I wasn't convinced.

"The Chase I saw singing his heart out in the café earlier was a very different actor than the Chase I see in the classroom."

"That was just for fun. It wasn't serious."

I didn't need to point out the obvious. That he should do what was fun, what made him happy, because from the look on his face, I was almost certain he knew.

"You could be the next Hugh Jackman," I said instead. "Blockbuster movies and theater on the side. Win an Oscar and a Tony."

He grinned at me. "Yeah, maybe."

We watched Rick and Morty for a bit, laughing at the ridiculousness and crudeness, and it wasn't weird. There was no awkwardness, no need to fill the silence.

Not on my part, anyway.

"What do you think we'll be doing tomorrow?" Chase asked.

"Tomorrow? In what?"

"Deirdre said we'd be working on more intimacy exercises."

Oh.

I sighed. "Not sure. Physical closeness probably."

He nodded slowly. "Yeah."

And then it was kind of awkward.

"Are you okay with that?" he asked. "I mean, I know we talked about it on day one, but are you really? Okay with it, I mean?"

I shrugged. "Sure. Are you?"

"Yeah, I'm down. It's fine." He frowned as Rick did something hilarious, which kinda told me he wasn't watching the show. "Are you okay with kissing? I mean, it's gonna be weird, of course. But we're both professionals, right?"

"Sure. Haven't you had to kiss people in a play before? Or embrace or whatever?"

"Yeah, sure. But this is different. It's... it's a reality TV show. It's supposed to be like our normal, everyday lives." He looked at me then. "And like I said, I'm a touchy-feely kind of person. If I'm with them, I like to show affection. And I know you're not like that—you don't like physical touch—so maybe we should work on that."

"Work on what, exactly? Because that sounds like you want me to adapt to you, and not you adapt to me."

"See? This is what I mean," he said quickly. "We need to work out a middle ground that looks believable and something you're comfortable with."

"I don't not like physical touch," I said. "I told you that. I just have... boundaries. And limits."

He seemed genuinely happy to hear this. He shot forward, sitting now with his feet on the floor. "Okay. So what are your limits?"

"People. In general."

He snorted. "Like a social battery?"

"Exactly. You get buzzed hanging out in crowded places. I get drained by it."

"Okay, fair enough. That's easy. When you've had enough, we leave."

" We leave? Are you expecting me to go places with you?"

"Well, yeah. As part of the show. There's gonna be social settings."

I groaned, because I hadn't really thought of that. "Yeah, okay. Fair enough."

"And the touching," he hedged. "Is holding hands okay? Hugging?"

I grimaced. "God. If you have to, I suppose."

"Kissing? "

"In public?" I wasn't one bit sorry for the face I made. "I can't think of one reason where it's necessary to suck face in public."

He snorted. "Because the love you feel for someone is greater than your opinions of others... Hey, I thought you didn't care what other people thought?"

"I don't."

"But you do, clearly."

"Some things are supposed to be private."

"Well, I think we're expected to kiss at some point." He shrugged. "And who knows, maybe we can ask if our kissing scenes are done in private. I'm sure if we tell Deirdre it's a hard limit, she'll be okay with it. They're still working on script adaptations anyway, so we can tell her tomorrow."

Goddammit.

"I don't have a problem with it," I said, feeling the need to explain myself. I wasn't sure why. "It's just acting, I get that. And the real script adaptations won't start until filming does. It's a reality show. The script writers and scene guides need to adapt and change shit on a daily basis because there will be factors out of our control. We're working with the general public, with the students and faculty. And they're not in on it. They don't have scene guides or anything. This is pure method acting, ad-libbing, and rolling with it." I shrugged again. "So, if there's kissing... if the scene calls for it, and if it feels right, then we can do that."

"So tomorrow if we have to practice kissing, you'll be okay with it? I don't want you to do anything you won't be comfortable with. "

"I'll be fine," I replied, aiming for a nonchalance I didn't feel. "As long as you brush your teeth beforehand."

He laughed. "Same. Oh, you're not allergic to peanuts or anything, right?"

"No."

"Good. Because I love me a good PB&J sandwich."

I rolled my eyes but did concede a smile.

"Okay, let's start with this," he said, scooting back on the bed, sitting against the wall with his legs outstretched, feet over the edge. He patted the bed next to him and held out his hand.

"You want to hold my hand?" I asked, sidling up next to him.

"Might as well start now."

I resisted sighing but I did whack my hand into his. He chuckled, then maneuvered our palms and threaded our fingers until he was comfortable.

"See, this isn't so bad," he said, keeping his eyes on the computer screen.

Yeah, this isn't so bad at all . . .

His hand was big and strong, calloused from the gym. Warm and, man, the human touch felt nice.

We watched the whole next episode with our hands joined, resting a bit on his thigh and mine. It wasn't weird...

Well, the only weirdness was that it wasn't weird. That it felt completely natural. Nice, even.

He left after the next episode ended, and I showered and got into bed, thinking about how he'd sung that Les Mis song, thinking about how his hand felt so good in mine, and wondering if I'd have to kiss him tomorrow .

If I was dreading it. Or if that tightness in my belly was something else.

So, as it turns out, the intimacy exercises Deirdre had in mind were exactly what I feared they'd be.

"Chase and Amos," she said. "Stand together as if you're waiting for someone to get out of class. You've got time, you're relaxed, and no one else's around."

Chase parked his ass against a desk and pulled me between his legs, one hand on my hip, his other hand holding mine, our fingers lazily interlocked. It was casual, relaxed.

"Perfect," Deirdre said. "Now face each other."

"Oh good," I mumbled. "More staring exercises."

"Yes, more staring exercises," Deirdre said. "Get used to it. Look into each other's eyes as if you love him."

I would... I just had to roll my eyes first.

Chase chuckled and tugged on my hand, making me focus. And we did the staring thing.

I understood it built trust and it helped build a bond, but staring into his blue eyes, seeing every fleck of gold and black, it felt... personal.

Then Deirdre was beside us and she put a notebook to my lips. "Hold this and lean in the way you'd kiss him. Keep the notebook in place, so there's no lip-touching. Hold eye contact. There are varying stage kisses," she said. "There is an art to the choreography of a stage kiss. How to position faces, how to create the illusion of a kiss, but sometimes it calls for actual lip contact."

I knew intimacy exercises were a real thing, actors did them all the time. There were even professional intimacy coaches and scene coordinators on most sets. But god, this was crazy.

I took the notebook, keeping it pressed to my lips, and pretended to kiss him.

The jerk smiled.

I wanted to hit him with the notebook.

But as weird as it was, it did help with getting used to having our faces close together, having him in my personal space, and mimicking the action of a quick kiss.

It was about becoming familiar. For this to become a habit so it looked natural.

Then we had to switch positions. Me leaning against the table, Chase had to hold the notebook. It was all pretty much the same, and after five minutes, it did kinda feel like it was no big deal.

Boring, even.

Then it was a piece of paper. No notebook, just a single sheet of paper.

More intimate, yet still a barrier between us. I could feel his lips through the paper, but there was no direct lip contact. A little unnerving at first, but after a few minutes, it felt fine.

He kept making funny faces with his eyes. Every time we leaned in to fake a kiss, he'd go cross-eyed or wink or raise one eyebrow. I don't know if he was just trying to lighten the mood, or make it less serious to make me more comfortable, but it worked .

It made me kind of mad that it worked.

It made me kind of mad that I liked it.

"Okay, guys, we're going to try this," Deirdre said. She handed us a pack of pretzel sticks. The crunchy kind that was about six inches long, lightly salted.

"Ooh, I like these," Chase said, opening the packet.

"Good," Deirdre said. "Put the end in your mouth. Amos, start at the other end, and you're both going to bite the ends until your lips touch."

Oh.

Lip contact.

Okay then.

Chase put one end of a pretzel stick in between his teeth, and I put the other end in between mine. "Like this?" I asked Deirdre.

"Yep. Now eat."

Chase snorted and began to bite his way up the pretzel, getting closer and closer. I only got a few bites in before his lips met mine.

Warm and all too brief.

He pulled back with a laugh, chewing his mouthful of pretzel. Then he put another one in between his teeth. "Your turn."

So I did the biting this time, crunching my way up the pretzel until our lips touched.

It was silly and fun, and I could see why this was a technique used to acclimate to intimacy between actors. It made a game of it.

Well, Chase did.

"My turn," he said, putting a pretzel stick between my lips. He didn't even give me a chance to bite it. He just munched his way up the stick until his lips met mine.

"Now you."

I met his gaze and began to slowly bite up the pretzel, and he smiled around it as I got closer. "I can't kiss you when you smile," I mumbled around the half-eaten pretzel in my mouth.

He laughed but pursed his lips, so I finished it, pecking his lips.

We did it a few more times, each time becoming more familiar, more fun. Until he put the packet down. "I need a drink," he said. "Too many pretzels."

He walked over to our bags, grabbed my water bottle too, and brought it over to me. "Thanks."

We sipped our drinks as Deirdre came back over to us. "How'd you find it?"

"Fine," I answered. "It's a good way to practice."

She gave me a nod, then turned to Chase. "And?"

He shrugged. "It's fine, but I don't think we need it. I could kiss Amos right now and it'd be fine." He looked at me, his raised eyebrow asking if I agreed.

I half shrugged, embarrassed and nervous, and... I wasn't sure. "I guess."

"And we discussed boundaries and consent. We'll be fine."

"Did we discuss consent?" I asked.

"Well, yeah. I asked if you'd be okay with general affection or kissing. You said yes."

"Actually, I said I can think of no good reason why kissing in public should be a thing. For anyone, not just us. "

Chase snorted. "But you said if it was required for a scene, then yes."

I sighed. "True."

"So I have your consent?"

"Yes."

He grinned and waited.

And waited . . .

"What?"

"Aren't you gonna ask me?"

"I did. You said yes."

"Consent is ongoing. Ask me again. In front of Deirdre."

I sighed. "Do I have your consent to hold your hand? Or to kiss you if there is no other reasonable course of action applicable and under duress we have to kiss?"

Chase laughed. "Such a romantic."

"Yes or no?"

"Yes."

Deirdre was looking between us like a tennis match, her smile slow spreading. "Okay, then let's try it."

"Kissing now?" Chase asked.

He suddenly didn't look so confident.

"Yes," Deirdre replied. "Would acting out a scene help? We can pick a classic scene, any scene you like."

"No," he said, shaking his head. "It'll be fine. Won't it?" He looked at me. "I mean..."

Yep. Confident Chase was gone.

"For god's sake." I sighed, walked up to him, slid my hand around the back of his neck, and kissed him.

He froze, in shock for half a second before he caught up and he reciprocated the kiss .

Warm lips, soft mouth. His hair felt good in my hands.

Instinct told me to fist his hair and open his mouth with my own, but that's not what this was. This was acting, and this was practice for filming, nothing more.

I pulled back, his lips parted, his eyes half-closed.

"Done," I said. "First one is out of the way."

Deirdre was staring at us, shocked. "Well, that's one way to do it, I guess."

Chase was staring at me, his cheeks pink. "Well, that was..."

"What?" I asked.

"Unexpected."

I pointed to my lips. "Your turn. Get it over and done with. It's easier that way."

Taking the clinical approach was better than the alternative.

So he did exactly what I did. Put his hand around the back of my neck and planted his lips on mine. More of an over-pronounced smooch than a kiss.

"What the hell kind of kiss was that?" I asked. "Like a joke kiss?"

"Boyfriends are gonna joke around," he said. His cheeks were still pink. "They're gonna be familiar enough with each other to joke around, right?"

Hmm. "I guess."

"You want a real kiss?"

"Just more convincing, and not like you'd kiss your favorite aunt."

"Who the hell kisses their aunt like that? Just how close is your family?"

I rolled my eyes. "Shut up. You know what I mean. "

"Fine," he said. Then he did the opposite of before. He stepped in close, his eyes on mine, and he put his hand to my face, his thumb tracing my bottom lip. "You want a real boyfriend kiss?" he murmured, his voice a rough whisper. His gaze drew down to my mouth, then back up to my eyes. Then he pressed down on my lip, pulling my mouth open and sliding his thumb away, he covered my lips with his.

Open mouth, soft lips. He tilted his head and raked his hands through the hair at the back of my head, pulling on the strands.

It made my knees weak, and I was just about to give him my tongue when he pulled back.

He smirked. "Was that a joke kiss?" he murmured, his eyes looking at my lips as if he wanted more.

Someone cleared their throat, and we both turned to find Deirdre and the rest of the actors watching us.

"Practicing," I said. "Practicing kissing."

"Looks like you got the hang of it," Holly said, fanning her face.

Max laughed. "Don't let us interrupt."

I took a step back, trying to clear my head, to calm my racing heart.

Because that didn't feel like practice to me. And if that's how Chase kissed, then I was in for one helluva few weeks.

How am I gonna get through this?