Diana Rowland: White Trash Zombie Apocalypse

“Okay,” I said. “This is kinda cool.”

His gaze went out to the view “Not so creepy up here.”

I sat down on the blanket. “Well, you are a zombie, so automatically creepy.”

“Wait,” he protested. “A few seconds ago the zombie aspect was old hat.” He stripped off his damp shirt and dropped it to the concrete. “I think you just say stuff that’s convenient in the moment.”

“Yeah? You don’t seem to mind too much.” I leaned back on my elbows and admired the view. And not the one out in the stadium. “For a sorta-dead guy, you’re pretty hot.”

Marcus flexed his right bicep. “I eat my Brainies.” He unbuttoned his jeans then struck a deliberately ridiculous muscle pose.

“Oh my god.” I laughed. “Cut that out and come show my bits what your Brainies do for you.”

He proceeded to show me in great detail exactly what his Brainies could do for my bits, paying special attention to certain bits, to my great delight. No matter what else I might have been unsure about with the two of us, there was no denying that the sex rocked. Marcus was attentive, fun, creative, and always made sure I got off.

And he was even great about doing the whole cuddling after stuff too.

“You like that?” he murmured as he held me close.

I gave him the smile of a very sexually satisfied woman. “My bits are happy.”

He chuckled low and gave me a light squeeze. I rested my head on his chest and listened to the thump of his heart. “I think I kinda like this date-adventure thing,” I said.

Marcus was quiet for a moment. “I think I kinda miss waking up next to you in the mornings.”

The statement brought a warm rush of pleasure, along with a chaser of guilt and a splash of frustration. We’d been dating—really actually dating —for about six months now. I wanted to keep the pace super slow, and he wanted us to be, well, an actual honest-to-god couple. But after the long slogging mess of my previous relationship with Randy-the-loser, I wanted to be sure everything was right before getting too caught up in things like spending the night, and moving in together, and whatever else might come after that. I also wanted to be sure we were together because we were actually compatible, and not simply because we were both zombies.

I slid a hand over his chest. It was a damn nice chest. “Yeah, but I like that we’re taking the time to really get to know each other.”

“And you don’t think that can happen the other way?” he asked. To his credit there was only the faintest whisper of disappointment in his voice.

“Marcus, it’s…different, okay?” I said with a low sigh. Tilting my head back, I looked up into his face. “Yeah, we’d get to know each other if I spent the night with you or lived with you, but…” I trailed off with a grimace, wishing I could explain it better. “I just think it’s too soon.”

He couldn’t completely mask the letdown, but he smiled and kissed me. “Okay, I can take a hint. Or a two by four,” he added with a slightly forced chuckle.

Damn it. “Marcus. I’m not saying it’ll never happen.” Why couldn’t he understand? Sure, six months was a long time. But we were both…well, we had the potential to live a damn long time. And I didn’t want to screw this up.

“It’s all right, babe,” he said, and for a moment I could almost believe that it was. “One day at a time,” he continued. “I can do that.”

I snuggled close, and he tightened his arm around me. The warm air and the drumming of rain on the metal roof lulled us both into boneless relaxation. Safe and content for the moment, I closed my eyes and allowed myself to drift into a doze.

“It doesn’t make sense.”

Footsteps and a man’s low voice penetrated my light snooze. I opened my eyes, heart pounding, as I got my bearings. For a moment I was certain that someone had discovered us in our little sex nook, but the only person in sight was Marcus, eyes closed and clearly in a far deeper sleep.

“No way that support fell on its own,” the speaker continued, sounding frustrated and annoyed. He was below us, I realized, on the walkway. “I was on that scaffold yesterday. Everything was solid.”

“Forget it,” another man said. “Doesn’t matter now. Sucks to lose Stewart, but be glad it happened before everything else got going. Can you imagine cops crawling around later this week?”

The first man replied, but they’d moved off and I couldn’t hear it.

“Marcus,” I said softly as I gently shook him.

He blinked awake, focused on my face and smiled. “Hey, babe. Sorry, didn’t mean to fall asleep. I guess I was too comfy cuddled up with you.”

“There are people here,” I said. “I mean, down on the walkway. I think they’re from the movie.”

He kissed me, then sat up and reached for his shirt. “Not surprised. The big finale zombie attack scene is going to be filmed down on the field in a few days.” His voice was briefly muffled as he tugged his shirt over his head. “They’re probably figuring out lighting and cameras and stuff.”

My jeans and undies were close by, and I began to tug them on. “They were talking about the guy who died,” I told him. “It sounded like they didn’t think it was an accident, that the pipe shouldn’t have fallen the way it did.”

He stood and pulled on underwear and pants. “Probably want to be sure they don’t get blamed for it.” He glanced my way. “Insurance company will check it all out, I’m sure. And Ben’s thorough,” he added, referring to Detective Roth.

I slipped my shirt over my head, ran my fingers through my hair. “Okay, but then one of them said it was good it happened now before ‘everything else’ started so there wouldn’t be cops around.” I leveled a frown at Marcus. “Explain that.”

Marcus grinned. “Filming,” he stated. “They’re in rehearsals and preproduction now. They actually begin filming with the leads in the morning. I suppose it would be a pain in the butt to try and film with a police investigation going on.”

“Damn you for making sense,” I said, lightly smacking him on the chest.

He pulled me close for a kiss. “I always make perfect sense,” he said with a chuckle, then glanced out at the sky. “Rain’s letting up. We should probably get going.”

Taking his hand, I let him lead the way back down and out of the stadium, then together we dashed through the lingering drizzle to his truck.

I fought back a yawn as he drove me back to the morgue and my car. As nice as the date had been—even with the slight strangeness at the end—I couldn’t deny I was ready to get home and chill for a while before bed.

He pulled up next to my car, and I was about to say my goodbyes when Marcus reached into the console and pulled out an envelope. “I have a surprise for you,” he said with a smile. “Compliments of Uncle Pietro.”

I took the envelope he offered and pulled out two tickets to the Gourmet Gala, a swanky annual charity event I’d never even dreamed of attending. Damn near every restaurant in the parish participated, each with a booth or table where they gave out free samples of all sorts of fine cuisine. Tickets were expensive as hell, which meant that all the movers and shakers and rich people made sure to be seen there. I didn’t give a crap about being seen—I just wanted the food.

I stared at the tickets. “You’re serious? Your uncle simply gave these to you?”

“Umm, yeah. Sure,” he said, lifting his shoulders in a shrug. “He passes stuff like this my way now and then.”

“You’ve gone to this before?”

He smiled. “A couple of times in the past few years.”

“And we’re really going? Tomorrow night?”