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“Do you think this is funny, love?” he asks, throwing his arms up. “Do you think that us being locked in this fucking cell is funny?”

“Not exactly, no,” I say. “But I do suppose there are worse fates.”

He huffs out a clearly sarcastic laugh, crossing his large arms over his chest and leaning back against the bars opposite me.

“You’re insufferable,” he mutters, staring down at the cement flooring of our confinement.

“I’m sorry, what was that?” I ask sweetly, knowing damn well what he said but wanting him to repeat the words while having the decency to look me in the eyes.

He lifts his head, a look of defiance crossing his features for only a second before his scowl reappears. “I said, you’re insufferable.”

This time, he stares directly at me, like he’s trying to drill the words right into my skull. I lift my chin high, standing from my place on the ground as I walk right over to him—stopping only when the front of our shoes are nearly touching. A shock wave shoots down to my core when my body presses against his. Ignoring it, I drag my gaze up to his, shooting daggers of my own right into his big, girlfriend-having skull.

“You know what I think, Callum? I think you lie to everyone around you. I think that you conceal the truth and choose to close yourself off to the world,” I say, the words spilling from my mind without restraint. I keep going. “I think that you’ve been hurt deeply, and that you never allowed yourself to heal fully. And lastly, I think that you take the pain out on everyone around you.”

His eyes widen in surprise and then narrow again. His jaw flexes for the millionth time, and he presses himself back into the bars like he can’t stand to be this close to me. I take the hint and back up a couple of steps. My own walls climb at record pace as I cross my arms over my chest.

“Let me guess, love,” he says, tilting his head down at me, “did your tarot cards tell you that?”

I chew on the inside of my lower lip, hating the way he can switch his emotions off so easily. He notices that his words hit me right where he intended, and he chooses to push the dagger in even deeper.

“Nice try, but you’ve got it all wrong. You know nothing about me, Lydia. So stop trying to spiritual-analyze me, or whatever the fuck it is that you think you’re doing.”

If he expects me to back down or to cry, he’s got me all wrong. “Eat a bag of rotten dicks, Callum,” I say, blurting out the first insult that graces my mind. I kind of like it, and I internally pat myself on the back for that one.

He grimaces, fixing his amused expression back to its usual pout. He might think he’s hiding it, but I see the smirk beneath it. He chooses not to say anything back, and I take that as a win. I am triumphant, having bested the big broody Callum Thorne.

I turn, walking back over to what I’ve deemed as my side of the cell, and take a seat with my back against the bars. Callum does the same opposite me, and I lean my head back and close my eyes. I inhale and exhale deeply.

“What are you doing?” Callum asks.

“I’m resting. I need to recharge after that win,” I say with my eyes still closed, unable to help myself from gloating.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, you didn’t win,” he grumbles.

“Shhh,” I whisper. “Don’t be a sore loser, sunshine.”

“Sore loser,” he mutters beneath his breath.

“Quiet,” I whisper, making a show of placing my hands on either of my knees like I’m meditating.

I can practically see his expression even with my eyes still shut, and it’s so hard not to chuckle. I wait several minutes before opening my eyes. As soon as my gaze lands on his, he glances away like he was caught doing something he shouldn’t.

“Aw, Cal,” I start, “did I catch you staring?”

His momentary wide eyes find mine once more, and I don’t fight the smirk this time.

“What? No. I wasn’t … no,” he says, fumbling his words. I chuckle, and this time, he’s the one smiling. I tilt my head as I stare at him, not even sure he’s aware that he’s doing it.

“Tell me something about yourself,” I say.

“What?” he asks, clearly confused by my sudden shift in conversation. “No. I’m not participating in whatever this is.” He waves a careless hand in my direction.

“Aw, come on, Cal. Please?” I ask, giving him the kitty cat eyes again.

He rolls his eyes, sighing dramatically. “Fine,” he agrees. “What do you want to know?”

Hm, what do I want to know about Callum Thorne? I opt for a surface-level question, the first one that comes to mind.