Rick’s blue eyes glared at you from the side, looking down to your sassy stature. “What the hell’re you talkin’ about, kid?” His dark brow arched and his thin upper lip quirked into a scowl, cigarette hanging out of the side of his mouth. Arguably, his expression was equally as sassy as yours at the moment.

He watched as you attempted to copy his stance; hands planted on his slim hips, weight shifted onto his left side, and the tip of his foot tapping rhythmically on the ground. “I’m just ‘bout as focused as I need t’be,” A scoff passed his lips as he took another drag of the nicotine stick.

“And cigs ain’t bad fer’ you, that’s that—hippie shit…propaganda.” He puffed out a few billows of smoke as he spoke, eyes leaving yours and moving back to the set.

Filming had only started a few weeks ago, but he had quickly found out that young actors were a huge pain in the ass. You were like a little, infant leech that was always telling him how to do his damn job. You still had a bedtime at 8:30, trying to tell him how to be a better actor. Bullshit.

And now between every take you were on his ass about how his smoking habits were unhealthy. How he needed to be more focused within his scenes.

“Talk to me when you reach double digits, how ‘bout that?” He muttered out under his breath, running a hand through his hair.