“I don’t like you telling me what to do. You need them. We need to get out of here, temporary friend,” I tried to remind him. And if we both couldn’t escape, then at least he needed to survive. I shivered. “Is it cold in here, or is it just me?”
“I don’t feel cold the way you do,” he muttered in Korean, looking at me sideways, almost warily.
Rubbing my arms up and down for a second, I met his gaze before scooting closer and timidly pressing my fingertip against the back of his hand.
He didn’t move.
I pressed the rest of my fingertips against the skin on the top of his hand and raised my eyebrows. It was second nature to switch to Portuguese. “Does your body regulate itself or—oh, forget it.” He wasn’t going to admit shit; I’d barely gotten his age. We weren’t on a first-name basis yet. What was the point in asking?
The Defender stared at me in a way that confirmed exactly what I thought.
I kept on eyeing him as I pressed my back against the wall, about a foot away from him, and waited to make sure he didn’t tell me to get away.
He must have decided to be in his version of a good mood again because he didn’t say a word. That, or he felt like shit and didn’t have the energy, which wasn’t a good thing either, but I’d deal with that concern later. He was talking more, so that had to mean something good.
Drawing my knees in to my chest, I tucked my arms in and set my chin on them.
A few minutes had to have passed before he said roughly, “Eat more of the bar. I want to rest… and can’t when your stomach… is making a racket.”
I nodded at him but didn’t move.
“Now,” the bossy bitch said.
I frowned at him. “I will in a second.”
“You will… when I tell you to.”
Really? “Do people usually do what you tell them to?”
He didn’t even think about it. “Yes.”
The snort that shot out of my nose surprised me, in pain and entertainment.
Just when I thought my life couldn’t get any more ridiculous, I was proven wrong. I was arguing with The Defender.
He gave me a long look before saying, “That’s not funny.”
“It kind of is.”
“It’s not.”
“It is, but it’s okay. Not everyone has a sense of humor. It’s no big deal.” I was doing this. My balls were regaining their size and shape, I guess.
His side-look would have killed me if he had lasers that could shoot out of his eyes. Luckily that was The Centurion. From the expression he was making, I wouldn’t be surprised if he was wishing he did.
“I have… a sense of humor,” he tried to claim, actually looking and sounding serious.
I pressed my lips together. “If you say so.”
“I do,” he insisted.
“O-kay.”
That got me an icy glare. “I don’t like… your tone of voice.”
I really got way too much of a kick out of this. “I don’t really like yours either, if I’m going to be honest.” I paused. “You probably thinkHalloweenis a comedy.”
There went another glare. “I watch comedies.”
