White Trash Zombie Apocalypse (White Trash Zombie 3)

Footsteps and a man’s low voice penetrated my light snooze. I opened my eyes, heart pounding, as I got my bearings. For a moment I was certain that someone had discovered us in our little sex nook, but the only person in sight was Marcus, eyes closed and clearly in a far deeper sleep.

“No way that support fell on its own,” the speaker continued, sounding frustrated and annoyed. He was below us, I realized, on the walkway. “I was on that scaffold yesterday. Everything was solid.”

“Forget it,” another man said. “Doesn’t matter now. Sucks to lose Stewart, but be glad it happened before everything else got going. Can you imagine cops crawling around later this week?”

The first man replied, but they’d moved off and I couldn’t hear it.

“Marcus,” I said softly as I gently shook him.

He blinked awake, focused on my face and smiled. “Hey, babe. Sorry, didn’t mean to fall asleep. I guess I was too comfy cuddled up with you.”

“There are people here,” I said. “I mean, down on the walkway. I think they’re from the movie.”

He kissed me, then sat up and reached for his shirt. “Not surprised. The big finale zombie attack scene is going to be filmed down on the field in a few days.” His voice was briefly muffled as he tugged his shirt over his head. “They’re probably figuring out lighting and cameras and stuff.”

My jeans and undies were close by, and I began to tug them on. “They were talking about the guy who died,” I told him. “It sounded like they didn’t think it was an accident, that the pipe shouldn’t have fallen the way it did.”

He stood and pulled on underwear and pants. “Probably want to be sure they don’t get blamed for it.” He glanced my way. “Insurance company will check it all out, I’m sure. And Ben’s thorough,” he added, referring to Detective Roth.

I slipped my shirt over my head, ran my fingers through my hair. “Okay, but then one of them said it was good it happened now before ‘everything else’ started so there wouldn’t be cops around.” I leveled a frown at Marcus. “Explain that.”

Marcus grinned. “Filming,” he stated. “They’re in rehearsals and preproduction now. They actually begin filming with the leads in the morning. I suppose it would be a pain in the butt to try and film with a police investigation going on.”

“Damn you for making sense,” I said, lightly smacking him on the chest.

He pulled me close for a kiss. “I always make perfect sense,” he said with a chuckle, then glanced out at the sky. “Rain’s letting up. We should probably get going.”

Taking his hand, I let him lead the way back down and out of the stadium, then together we dashed through the lingering drizzle to his truck.

I fought back a yawn as he drove me back to the morgue and my car. As nice as the date had been—even with the slight strangeness at the end—I couldn’t deny I was ready to get home and chill for a while before bed.

He pulled up next to my car, and I was about to say my goodbyes when Marcus reached into the console and pulled out an envelope. “I have a surprise for you,” he said with a smile. “Compliments of Uncle Pietro.”

I took the envelope he offered and pulled out two tickets to the Gourmet Gala, a swanky annual charity event I’d never even dreamed of attending. Damn near every restaurant in the parish participated, each with a booth or table where they gave out free samples of all sorts of fine cuisine. Tickets were expensive as hell, which meant that all the movers and shakers and rich people made sure to be seen there. I didn’t give a crap about being seen—I just wanted the food.

I stared at the tickets. “You’re serious? Your uncle simply gave these to you?”

“Umm, yeah. Sure,” he said, lifting his shoulders in a shrug. “He passes stuff like this my way now and then.”

“You’ve gone to this before?”

He smiled. “A couple of times in the past few years.”

“And we’re really going? Tomorrow night?”

Marcus snorted, pretty obviously amused by my enthusiasm. “That’s the plan, if you want to. And judging by the gleam in your eyes, I’d say it was a yes.”

Okay, it’s possible that I gave a squeal of excitement worthy of a teen girl at a Justin Bieber concert. “Oh my god. I have to find something to wear!”

Marcus laughed. “You have time. Don’t sweat it.”

I gaped at him in horror. “Easy for you to say! You have a closet full of clothes, and you’re a guy.”

“Okay, okay,” he said, grinning. “Just make sure you get something with elastic in the waistband. Lots and lots of food.”

“I’ll undo the top button. Not a problem.”

“Sounds good to me.” He leaned over and gave me a kiss which I didn’t mind returning. “Go veg out and I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”