Page 36 of Property of Zombie

When Zombie walked out of my condo the morning after we slept together, he said he’d be busy with club business but would be in touch. That was two days ago, and I haven’t heard from him. I’ve wanted to reach out but have talked myself out of texting or calling at least a dozen times.

If not more.

As I rummage through my kitchen, I realize I haven’t gone grocery shopping in a few weeks and decide to put my big girl panties on and go. I grab a quick shower and dress in leggings, a hoodie, and tennis shoes.

The store is fairly busy, so I keep my head down as I push the cart through the aisles. By the time I’m ready to check out, my stomach is growling, and I’m hyper aware of the money I’m going to fork over simply because I decided to shop while hungry.

My cell vibrates in my pocket while I’m putting everything away back home, so I ignore it. It’s not until an hour later, when it vibrates again, that I remember to check my phone.

I smile at the text from Zombie and the nickname I gave him. Grabbing the bag of white cheddar cheese curls from the counter, I head into the living room and flop onto the couch before responding.

Munching on my snack, I snuggle under a throw blanket and stare at the bouncing bubbles on my cell’s screen. After what feels like an eternity, Zombie’s response pops up.

Rolling my eyes, I try to think of something snarky to say, but my mind is blank. Instead, I decide to dive into some concerns that I have now that Carolyn and I are done with the last file cabinet of Dr. Binks.

No dots appear to indicate that he’s replying, and after ten minutes of waiting, I get annoyed and toss my cell onto the cushion beside me. I turn on the TV and flip through the streaming apps in an effort to find something to watch that’ll take my mind off of him and his lack of response. I settle on Tiger King and ignore the voice in my head telling me my selection is twisted considering the notes I discovered.

When Zombie told me what he would’ve done if I hadn’t agreed to help him and the Kings of Anarchy, I was surprised, but I accepted it. He was honest, and that matters to me.

But if he thinks I’m going to sit around and wait for him like some love-sick schoolgirl, fuck that.

Just as episode three begins, there’s a knock on my door which startles me. Not in the mood to socialize, I ignore it, even as it becomes more persistent.

“C’mon, babydoll, let me in.”

Zombie?

Jumping to my feet, I rush to the door. Before I open it, I take a deep breath and do my best to adopt a pissed off expression.

“What’re you doing here?” I demand.

He arches a brow and smirks. “You asked me a question.”

“Yeah, I did. What are y⁠—”

“No, not that,” he says with exasperation. “Before, when we were texting.”

My eyes widen. “That was like two hours ago.”

“I know, and I’m sorry. I was in the middle of—” He presses his lips together as if he was about to reveal state secrets. “Something and got here as fast as I could.”

“You got here as…” I repeat incredulously as I shake my head and step aside. “Might as well come on in.”

I’m just flipping the deadbolt when I’m spun around and pinned to the door. Zombie lowers his head and traces the seam of my mouth with his tongue. When he tries to pry my lips apart, I open for him. He steps closer, aligning his body with mine, and I whimper.

“Goddamn, Lucy,” he whispers against my lips.

Giving into the sensations rolling through me would be as easy as breathing, but I manage to come to my senses and push him away.

“No.” I shove my way past him to return to my couch.

“No?”

He sits on the opposite end of the sofa, bending a leg so he’s sideways and facing me. I pause the show that continues to play on the TV and sigh.

“Yeah, no,” I say. “I asked you some important questions, and you left me on ‘read’. Then you show up here and think that kissing me senseless is going to make up⁠—”

“Senseless, huh?” When I lift the remote, fully prepared to throw it at his head, he raises his hands. “Okay, sorry. Again.”