Page 7 of Property of Zombie

I turn to smile at Michael as he hands me a glass of wine. “Thanks,” I mumble after downing most of the glass.

He quirks a brow at me. “Uh, you okay?”

“Fine, why?”

“You’re flushed, and you gulped that Dom Perignon like it’s water.”

I wave my hand dismissively. “Just a little nervous,” I lie.

He stares at me for a moment, almost as if he’s searching for the lie in my words, and then he nods. “Would you like to practice your speech with me?”

At the reminder of my speech, all thought of the other man flees, and my lie becomes truth. I absolutely hate public speaking, and my system practically vibrates with nerves.

“No,” I reply, knowing that practicing will only make things worse.

“Is there anything I can do?”

One thought enters my mind, and without allowing myself to second-guess my decision, I grab Michael’s hand and lead him away from the crowd. As we walk, I down the rest of my wine before glancing at him.

“I hope you like big cats.”