A Mad Zombie Party - Showalter Gena - Страница 20

After Camilla and I shower in our respective locker rooms, we practically have to crawl to the truck. But we aren’t done for the day.

Next stop—the grocery store.

“Pick whatever you want,” I grumble, grabbing a cart. A few moms are there with their kids, the little boys and girls staring at me with wide eyes, as if I’m a superhero—or a monster. I just wink.

As I mosey down the first aisle, Camilla remains a few paces behind me. I grab a box of cupcakes, Twinkies, cinnamon rolls and powdered donuts. Slayers work out hard, and eat harder. Except, she grabs nothing. “Don’t tell me your sweet tooth has been satisfied. The way you savaged those sugar packets, I’m pretty sure you’re an addict.”

A pink flush colors her cheeks. “I don’t have any money with me.”

“So? I’m paying.”

“No.” She gives a violent shake of her head. “You’re not paying for my food. I owe you, not the other way around.”

“If you owe me, you have to do what I say. And I say pick some food. Now. Hungry girls are bitchy girls.”

She glares at me. “Chauvinist boys are dogs.”

“Camilla—”

“Just drop it, Frosty. Okay?”

Anger sparks. “No, I won’t drop it. You’ll pick some food or you’ll move out. If you’re weak from hunger, you can’t protect yourself and you certainly can’t protect me.”

“This from the boy who stole my granola bar.”

I’m the one who flushes now. “Pick a fucking dessert.”

“Fine.” She throws in a bag of cherry-frosted brownies. “Happy now?”

Not really. But before I can respond, Kat appears before me, jumping up and down with excitement, even clapping her hands. “I tried waiting for you to return to the apartment, but I can’t stand it anymore. How was the date?”

Realization is a cold, hard bitchslap. She isn’t jealous. She isn’t even mildly upset.

“Yeah, uh, I’ll be...somewhere else,” Camilla says, and beats feet to get away from us.

I take out my phone and press it to my ear, pretending to talk to someone. “Didn’t you watch?” Calm. Steady.

“No. Witnesses aren’t allowed to watch romantic or intimate moments.”

“Nothing romantic or intimate happened.”

“Something must have, because the screen went blank after you teased Camilla about her sugar intake.”

Screen? And why the hell isn’t Kat railing at me? Or telling me she made a big mistake?

“What happened after that?” she asks, completely unaware of my increasing turmoil.

Nothing, that’s what. I’d wanted to regret the impulsive gesture but hadn’t quite managed it. “Let me get this straight. You expected me to take one look at Raina and turn my full attention to her. You expected me to fall out of love with you.” My voice hardens, every word like a dagger. “You don’t know me at all, do you?”

The color drains from her face, but she presses on. “You fell in love with me instantly, Frosty. Why can’t you fall out of love just as fast? Why can’t you fall for someone else the same way? Granted, I’m amazing, but—”

“No. You don’t get to praise yourself while you’re breaking my fucking heart.” Breaking...no. It’s already broken. I’m flayed. Shattered. Hell, I’m nothing but jagged pieces of pain.

Tears well in her eyes. “I’m sorry. I was just trying to make you laugh and—”

Forget the groceries. “Camilla,” I shout, and it isn’t long before she appears at the end of the aisle.

I don’t spare Kat another glance as I leave her crying in the middle of the store. I stomp past Camilla, and as hoped, she follows.

In the truck, my darker emotions bubble over. I growl, “This is your fault. If she was still alive, she’d want me.”

Camilla scowls at me. “I’ll take the blame for a lot of things, but not that. Not another girl’s feelings for you.”

“If she was alive—”

“Yeah. You said that. But are you sure you’re right?”

We were never supposed to end up together, Kat said the second time she appeared to me.

I punch the steering wheel so hard the horn blasts as a piece of plastic goes flying. My already bruised skin tears and my knuckles crack, but I don’t care. I hit the wheel again and again and again.

“Look.” Camilla’s voice is unbearably gentle. “I know you’re heartbroken right now—”

“What would you know about heartbreak? You’ve never even been on a date. None of the guys you’ve been with liked you enough.”

She blanches, and I curse, hating myself more now than ever before. Guilt and regret pummel me, leaving bruises deep, deep inside. I don’t like her, but I’m not this guy. I won’t be this guy.

“I’m sorry. I had no right to go there.”

“Don’t worry.” There’s no emotion in her tone, no emotion on her features, either, but she’s rubbing her thumb against the Betrayal tattoo. “I deserve nothing less.”

Anyone else, I would have corrected. No one deserves to be dumped on like this. Her, I just can’t.

We reach the apartment, and she trudges in behind me. I look around and try to see the place through her eyes. Gritty, dingy. As far from a palatial bachelor pad as possible. I’ve hung no pictures. My furniture consists of a couch, a TV and a bed.

She picks up the bag she dropped off during her B & E. “I’m taking a shower.” Without waiting for permission, she shuts herself inside the bathroom and turns on the water.

I pad into a kitchen small enough to fit inside a Barbie playhouse. And yes, I have, in fact, played with one. Kat used to babysit her cousins, and I used to help, allowing the little princesses to “fix” my hair and paint my nails. But I can’t afford to think about the past right now. I’ll have another meltdown.

I grab a Gatorade from the fridge and drain half the contents, the liquid cool against my parched throat.

Thud.

I recognize the sound and know Camilla just dropped the soap...in the shower...where she’s naked and wet.

I hiss in a breath. I did not just go there. But...

I did go there and now I can’t get the picture of her naked and wet out of my head.

Today’s blind date clearly screwed me up. Not to mention losing Kat—again. Doesn’t help that I’m a young, red-blooded male with more testosterone than most, and Camilla is hotter than hell. There’s simply no getting around that fact.

Damn it. She represents everything wrong with my life. Worse, she’s a wild card. Is she for real? Or is she looking for the perfect opportunity to betray my group? To punish us for telling her brother she’d sided with Anima?

If I’m being honest, I don’t actually think that’s the case. She fought hard-core last night, slaying zombies—and tires—without a single moment of hesitation.

My lips twitch at the corners. No one has ever attacked my truck with such adorable menace.

I should not find her adorable.

By the time she emerges, I’ve tamed my wayward thoughts. But a cloud of steam accompanies her, smelling of roses, pecans and my soap, and...hell. My blood heats. In anger, I tell myself. Only anger. Because I don’t like my things on her body. Even my scent. Especially my scent.

Her mass of hair is wet, the ends dripping onto her already-damp tank top, rendering the material transparent. She’s wearing short shorts, her legs a mile long, with black and white roses tattooed down one side but not the other. Her feet are bare, her toenails painted princess pink, a complete surprise. I would have guessed black. On her left foot is a tattoo of—is that a dandelion? Yeah. As the seeds float away, they morph into birds. On her other foot is a tattoo of a pink ribbon crisscrossing all the way to her ankle and culminating in a bow. It’s the only etching with color and I wonder why—also wonder why my blood boils.

Kat has no tattoos. I never thought I’d like them on a girl, but Camilla, she wears them well. Very well.

“This is five seconds past awkward,” she mutters.

Caught sizing up the enemy. I should be flayed alive. “There’s not much in the fridge but feel free to take what you want.” I shut myself in the bathroom and stay in the shower until the hot water is gone and I’m being pelted by shards of ice, my mind finally back in the right place. Admiring Camilla isn’t allowed.