“Uh, yeah.” She gestures to the TV. “Obviously.”
“Hmm, okay.” I readjust my mood, try to keep things as light and playful as she’s aiming for. “So, how long would I realistically last in a zombie invasion?”
She catches the amusement in my tone, rolls her eyes. “Yes, realistically.” She puts her plate on the coffee table, then does the same to mine. “Let’s say Salt Lake City has been overrun by zombies and they’ve made their way up the mountain to Park City. How long do you think you’d last before they got you?”
“Well, that depends. If I’m here at my condo, probably a day. Maybe two. But if we’re at Z’s place, I figure we can hunker down and make it a damn long time. The guy’s got everything in that house, plus he’s got that huge security wall to keep the zombies out.”
“Dude, haven’t you seen World War Z? Even that badass wall in Jerusalem couldn’t keep them out. What makes you think Z’s little wall is going to do the trick?”
“I didn’t realize we were dealing with that kind of super-fast zombie—” I break off as she straddles me, her knees on either side of my hips and her pussy pressed right up against my dick. All thoughts of zombies leak out of my brain, as Cam rocks her hips a little and another kind of apocalypse goes on inside me—one that slashes right through a bunch of the barriers I’ve worked so hard to keep in place ever since she showed up at my door last night.
“What kind did you think we were dealing with?” she asks as she presses soft, little kisses to my jaw, my chin, the corner of my mouth.
I turn my head, try to capture her lips with mine, but she leans back, just a little out of reach.
I grab onto her hips to anchor her in place, then nearly groan as she lifts and lowers herself on my lap. Fuck, she feels good. Hot and wet and oh-so-open to me. All I’d have to do is unzip my jeans, and I could be inside her—could be right back where I was during my favorite hours of last night.
My dick hardens even more at the thought, something which normally wouldn’t be a wake-up call, but with me—with Cam—it is. I think back to how I felt waking up in that empty bed. To how I felt when she ran away after sleeping with me a few months ago. To how I’ve felt every time she’s pushed me away in the last few months, the last few years. And I know, I can’t do this.
Not right now. Not without knowing the rules.
And so—though it nearly kills me—I lift her off my lap and set her down on the couch next to me.
She looks confused and more than a little hurt, which is the last thing I want. But I don’t want to be hurt either. At least not any more than I already will be. I made love to Cam last night because I couldn’t help myself. Because she was sad and vulnerable and so was I. But today is another story. I can’t just be her escape from a bad situation. I can’t—I won’t—let myself get all wound up in her only to watch her walk away the second she thinks she might have a chance with Z again.
“Luc? Don’t you want—”
She trails off without finishing the question.
I don’t want to look like a total pussy—or a total bastard either—so I say, “I don’t have any condoms out here.” It’s the truth—it’s just not the whole truth.
She smiles then, a sexy little smile that shoots straight to my cock. “I’m on the pill. I mean, if you’re—”
“—I’m clean,” I tell her.
I just had my mandatory physical two weeks ago and everything came back perfect.
“So am I.”
She presses kisses to my chest, traces her tongue along the lines of the compass tattoo I have on my left pec. I can feel myself weakening—she feels so good—but her phone alarm goes off before I can do something that will make whatever’s between us a million times harder to walk away from.
She jumps, grabs the phone.
“God, is it really that late?” she demands, leaping off the couch. She winces as her hurt feet hit the ground, but it doesn’t slow her down as she grabs our plates off the coffee table, then races into the kitchen and deposits them in the sink.
“Shit, shit, shit. I’m supposed to be on the road to Salt Lake City in ten minutes and I haven’t even showered yet. Shit!”
Then she’s half-limping, half-running down the hall to my room, pulling my T-shirt over her head as she goes. “You don’t mind if I take a quick shower, do you?”
I’m still a little shell-shocked from the mood changing so fast, but I tell her, “Of course not. Go ahead.”
“And can I maybe borrow some clothes? My stuff from yesterday has blood on it.”
She turns on the shower, and steps into what I know from experience is icy cold water. She doesn’t even flinch, just pulls the door closed behind her and shoves her head under the water.
This girl is hard as nails when she wants to be.
“You can borrow whatever you want,” I tell her. “But I don’t think anything’s going to fit you.”