A Mad Zombie Party - Showalter Gena (книги без регистрации TXT) 📗

Milla says, “Good night, Riv,” and shuts the door, sealing us inside. Alone. My mouth goes dry.

“Mind if I take the first shower?” she asks.

“Go ahead.”

She shuts herself in the bathroom. A few seconds later, water is raining on porcelain. The pitter-patter should be soothing, but it only revs me up. Milla is wet and naked. How easy it would be to join her, how sweet to wash her back the way she washed mine earlier.

Frosty and I aren’t like that. We’ll never be like that.

I stomp to the dresser, where I find garments of every size. T-shirts, sweatpants, jeans, socks, panties and boxer briefs. I dig out what I need, choose a few things for Milla and pick the lock on the bathroom door. I’m playing with fire, and I know it, but I’m determined to win our game of B & E.

My blood heats as I step inside, and the thick, mint-scented steam doesn’t help. I’m quiet, but the shower curtain suddenly whisks open at one side, just enough for a grinning Milla to stick out her head.

“Caught you.” Water droplets cling to her lashes and glisten on her lips.

Again, my mouth goes dry. I crave a taste of—

Nothing. “Hate to break it to you, Mills, but it’s easy to catch me when I want to be caught.”

“Mills?”

“Would you prefer Sweetness?” I drop the clothes as my gaze slides down...down, my mind willing the curtain to fall. I want to see more of her. Want to see all of her.

Her cheeks flush. As tough as she is, she’s also shy, a little vulnerable. Too damn adorable.

She clears her throat and retreats behind the barrier. “Well. You should probably go.”

Yes, I probably should. But I don’t. “You did good tonight. With Tiffany and zombies.”

“Thank you. You and River were right, though. I need to practice using my new ability. At least now I know I can use it without killing everyone I love.”

Love?

“By the way,” she says, “I’ll need a new phone. The red flames fried my old one.”

“No problem. There are plenty of extras here. We’ll get you one in the morning.”

“Thanks.”

I take a step toward the stall. “Milla?”

“Yes, Frosty.” There’s a tremor in her voice.

What the hell am I doing? “I’m going.” I leave at last, before I do something we’ll both regret.

A short while later, she emerges. Her hair is damp and wavy, the T-shirt and shorts I selected far too small for her. Oops. My bad.

“I thought guys like you could take one look at a girl and guess her size.” She tugs at the hem of the shorts. “You failed.”

“Actually, I succeeded.” I grab the clothes I intend to wear. “I needed me some eye candy.”

A twinkle in her golden eyes. “How about I pick your outfit?”

“Like you’d really give me clothes. You prefer me naked, and you know it.” I’m flirting—again—and I have to stop.

I don’t want to stop.

The twinkle intensifies. Her cheeks burn with rosy color. Color that spreads lower and lower... And her lips...those plush, red lips...

Yeah. I gotta stop looking at them. I’m becoming obsessed, and it’s putting me in the middle of a tug-of-war I can’t win. Want her, don’t want her. We can do this, we can’t do this. We should try, we shouldn’t try.

I retreat into the bathroom and take a very long shower. So long she has to wonder what I’m doing. So long my skin prunes. After I change my bandages, I dress in a T-shirt and shorts that actually fit me. By the time I emerge, Milla has made a pallet on the floor, and she’s buried under it, pretending to be asleep, clearly expecting me to take the bed. Hell, no.

“Get in the bed, Milla.”

“I’m fine here. Really. I’ve slept in worse.”

I hate reminders of the crap life she’s led...not to mention the horrible way I’ve treated her. But I’m not going to argue with her. Not this time. She has a terrible habit of winning. I march over, scoop her up and throw her on the mattress.

Before she’s finished bouncing, she grabs me by the nape and yanks. I perform a very undignified face-plant. As fast and wily as she is, she’s on top of my back, her knees digging into my shoulders before I can sit up.

I grin. “Good move, sweet pea, but to keep me down, you’ll have to learn to fight dirty.”

Without any more warning than that, I reach around to clasp her arm and jerk her forward, using the counterforce to turn myself. She ends up sprawled across my chest. I roll before she can regain her bearings and trap her with my weight.

She’s far from daunted. “Sweetness... Sweet pea. Not exactly the nicknames I expected from you.” The twinkle returns to her eyes, and I want to look away—I have to look away if I’m going to walk from this encounter unscathed, but all that glittering gold...it’s like champagne, intoxicating me, until I’m falling deeper and deeper into their depths and happy to drown.

“For your information,” she adds, “if I decide to fight dirty, you’ll end up having to scoop your intestines off the floor.”

She’s teasing me, but my humor has fled. I’m too tense, too achy, truly alive for the first time in months. The hardest parts of me are aligned with the softest parts of her; we are two puzzle pieces and we fit together perfectly. Blood rushes through my veins, an awakened river that had burst from a hot spring. My heart pounds against my ribs.

“Frosty.” She flattens her hand on my chest. She’s trembling now.

The air heats and thickens as I slide my hands into her hair and fist the strands. I can’t stop the action. I don’t want to stop. I just want her.

“What are we doing?” she asks softly.

I don’t know. Going crazy? Celebrating life while we can? “Making each other feel good?” I rub my lower body against hers and she gasps. So I do it again, and again. “Yeah...that certainly does feel good.”

I tell myself my desire for her is natural. She’s a beautiful girl, and a hard-on doesn’t mean anything. I can be with her and scratch an itch. Then we can move on. Pretend it never happened and remain friends.

But I’m not that guy, I remind myself. Not anymore. I stop and roll away from her.

She stands on unsteady legs and stares down at me. “There’s something you need to know about me. It’s personal.”

“Tell me.”

“I’ve had boyfriends. A lot of boyfriends. Actually, no. I haven’t. They don’t qualify as boyfriends. Most had their fun and took off, leaving me to wonder what I did wrong, what was wrong with me, why they could commit to anyone but me, and I’m not going through that again.” Her tone acquires an edge of bitterness. “Especially with you. You’re still in love with Kat.”

“I’m not.” The girl I once thought I’d marry is now a friend, nothing more. I let her go, just the way she wanted.

She tried to tell me that we were never meant to be. At the time, I didn’t believe her. Now? My blinders are off, and the truth is undeniable. A punch of ice.

She used to make me laugh, and she used to make me hot, but she never accepted the slayer part of my life. Anytime we spoke of college and getting a “real” job, she begged me to consider accounting.

“Being a cop...it’s too dangerous,” she said. “Be safe for once.”

Milla—surprisingly sweet, amazingly sensitive Milla—gets and accepts the danger I face. She stands by my side, protects my back.

Another punch of ice. The girl I once hated understands me in a way my girlfriend never did.

“Come here,” I say. “Please.”

Milla lies beside me and tentatively links our fingers. It’s a gesture of comfort. One I welcome.

“Tell me about the girls you’ve been with, other than Kat,” she says. “Anyone special? Anyone you miss?”

“No. Kat was my first. After her, I wanted to escape my life, just for a little while, and sex with strangers allowed me to do that.”

“But pleasure doesn’t last, does it.” A statement rather than a question.

I answer anyway. “Not that kind, no.” It’s a reminder I need right now. I want this girl, but I’d only treat her like the others, and she deserves better. “You can trust me. I’ll never hit and run with you.”