“Speaking of groceries…” Zipping her coveralls up to her neck, she looked over at him regretfully. “I need to get some from my house before we leave. I’ll change out these bloody sneakers for boots there too.”
The boots would serve her better in battle. Besides, she didn’tneed to see a reminder of Max’s near-fatal injuries every time she looked down, even if his body no longer had so much as a scratch on it.
He inclined his head in acknowledgment, his smile fading to nothing. “I’m still satisfied from yesterday’s feeding. I won’t eat again until tonight.”
“Are you sure?” Her brow crinkled. “You could just drink from me. We wouldn’t have to do…uh, anything else.”
Surely he could be quicker about it than he’d been the previous night. Treat her like a human Go-Gurt rather than his three-course dinner at the world’s sexiest, nakedest restaurant.
“If I took any more, I’d weaken you for today’s exertions, my Edie. I’d rather starve.” When she began to protest, he raised a hand. “But I won’t need to, as I remain full and will have blood packs available to me should that change.”
He’d produced a new, sturdy-looking backpack from somewhere, and it now held a half dozen blood packs squirreled away in various pockets, as well as a couple of openers.
“Fine. Should I…” She thought back to her last blood drive donation as she slung her bag across her body and gathered up her duffel. “Do I need to drink orange juice or have cookies or whatever? To ensure I don’t become faint today?”
“No. I was careful, and you had one of your…” A pained expression drew his features taut. “One of yourjuice boxesafterward, as well as some”—he shuddered—“Pizza Jerky. You’ll suffer no ill effects from the feeding.”
She’d been intending to munch on cheese cubes and granola bars and other less objectionable foodstuffs from her home today, but…nah. Not after he’d madethatface. Eating her weirdest nonperishable shit in front of him would bewaymore fun.
His thumbnail scraped over his chin, and he looked contemplative for a moment. “That said, I should start stocking human food in my refrigerator.Freshhuman food. Whose ingredients don’t necessitate a chemistry degree to pronounce correctly.”
Well. That was a statement right there.
Slowly, her lips curved as she gazed at him from across the enormous kitchen island.
He anticipated her future presence in his home—and he hadn’t made it sound like a short-term exigency, something that might occur only until the danger fully passed.
He’d made it sound like hewantedher here. Indefinitely.
His back angled away from her, and he moved something small and silvery from the cut-up, blood-soaked remains of his old black leather hoodie into…hisnewblack leather hoodie.
“Wow, Max. You’re a vampiric stereotype.” She rounded the island, suddenly itchy to leave. The sooner they took care of the zombie menace once and for all, the sooner she could hang out with him in his lair without a godsdamn clock ticking. “Do you even own any clothing that’s not either black or the result of an X-rated arts and crafts project?”
For the rest of her—possibly very short—life, those macramé undies would continue to bring her untold amounts of joy. Whatever visionary had first thought of entrusting testicles to a latticework of knotted fibers? Chef’s kiss to them.
“You wouldn’t recognize high fashion if it reared up and bit you, human.” He sniffed and secured a final zipper, turning to her. “Which I know for a fact, since itdidrear up and bite you. Pleasurably so, for all parties involved.”
“High fashion?” Her gaze rose to the starkly modern light fixture overhead. “You were naked, dude.”
“I’m high fashion made flesh,dude.” After donning his backpack, he took her hand and led her toward the open door of his little library. “Its very personification and exemplar, whether I choose to grace clothing with my superlative beauty or remain gloriously nude.”
She patted her free palm over a wide, feigned yawn. “And, as always, high fashion left me entirely unimpressed.”
He dropped her hand and held up six fingers. She pinched his ass and ignored them.
But by the time they wedged themselves into his tiny, luxurious elevator and rose to meet their fates, they were holding hands again. Kissing too. Because Max might not be the embodiment of fashion, but his tongue?
Yeah. What he could do with that was indeed a thing ofsuperlative beauty.
***
Max’s SUV didn’tstart.
No zombie encounters had yet occurred, so that was a real plus. But since yesterday’s abuse had apparently sapped his vehicle’s will to live, and they didn’t have time to troubleshoot whatever the issue might be, they were now stuck driving her compact sedan instead. Which—to their mutual, if unspoken, consternation—featured neither bulletproof glass nor fancy tires that could handle a horde of climbing, jumping zombies without popping.
Nor—to Max’s solitary, decidedly spoken, and annoyinglyloudconsternation—did her car boast fine leather seats that turned toasty-warm with the flick of a switch.
“The vents are still blowing cold air,” he complained as they backed out of the driveway.
