Page 20 of Callan

“What boyfriend?” I mumble, cold sweat dotting my skin. “He’s not my boyfriend.”

Lying has never been my forte.

And I can tell I’m losing ground by how amused he is, which is a great achievement since he doesn’t seem the type who entertains the idea of frivolous, humorous things like me.

I just established that the man oozes sarcasm, has an attitude, harbors a glacier in his chest, and his blood is laced with icicles.

And all that occurs despite the warmth of his body, his fever-inducing eyes and lips that could easily melt my skin off.

He is quite a walking contradiction, and something must’ve made him that way.

Now back to Quinn’s picture.

Why did I have to keep it on my phone?

I thought I had erased all of them.

And I mean all of them, including the ones we’d taken when we went out together, and someone else snapped pictures of us as a couple.I couldn’t stand seeing myself next to him, so I deleted those photographs, but for some reason, I kept his picture.

Honestly, I thought it would be useful to have it in front of me, especially when I was mad at him.

It’s not that I disliked he’d found someone else. I only felt unmoored and lost in a sea of options.

Quinn might not have been the cutest boy, the sharpest tool in the toolbox, or the greatest lover, but he was comfy like a plush pillow on an old couch with familiar worn spots that made stretching and relaxing easy.

What a terrible price to pay for keeping his picture.

I make a second attempt to snatch up my phone from his hand.

“It’s not your damn business who he is. You have no right to question me about him. I don’t even know your name. Not to mention that you have broken into my apartment.”

“We’re still outside, baby doll. And you'll need to tell me your name if you want to know mine.”

My resolve thickens.

“Really? Is that how you want to play?” I harden my arms across my chest. “Do you think I’m crazy to give you my name?”

“All right,” he says, shifting his focus back to my phone. “I can find out what your name is…”

His voice trails off while he finds his way into one of my social media accounts.

That was a bad move on my part.

Using my real name, I mean.

His face lights up for no apparent reason.

“Mackenzie?”

He seems intrigued as he feigns amusement.

“Mackenzie Prince?” he says after checking my name again.

“Can I get my phone back?”

He flicks his eyes to me and slides my phone into his pocket. That’s not good. And I won’t fight my way into his pants just to retrieve my phone.

He is bigger, taller, andwaymore muscular than me.

---