A Mad Zombie Party - Showalter Gena (читать лучшие читаемые книги TXT) 📗

I hate it. I love it.

At least Kat approves of my dedication to my job. She appears to me to tell me I’m doing such a good job it’s almost like she’s doing it.

I use the opportunity to question her. “Do you guys date up there in the holding zone, or whatever?”

“Yeah. People date, get married. All the good stuff.”

“Are you dating anyone?”

Twin pink circles dot her cheeks, and I gasp.

“You are!”

“I’m not,” she says, glaring at me. “I’m really not.”

“But you’re interested in someone. I can tell.”

“Oh, just shut up! And don’t you dare tell Frosty about this. I don’t want him hurting any more than he already is. Not that there’s anything to tell him, because I. Don’t. Want. Anyone,” she snaps before disappearing.

Please. I could be water boarded, and I wouldn’t tell Frosty about this. But knowing she has moved on and she’s happy rids me of a lot of my guilt.

Soon after our exchange, Cole corners me in the locker room. It’s just the two of us, and he looks ready to commit murder.

“What are you doing to my boy?” he demands.

“What do you mean?”

“The way he follows you and watches you... I’m not sure if he wants to choke you or screw you. If you’re antagonizing him—”

“I’m not. And what do you mean, he follows me?”

“If you’re teasing him—”

“I’m not!” I repeat. “Now, about him following me...”

He purses his lips and storms away.

After that, I keep watch for Frosty. Another week passes and I discover he does follow me. I confront him about it, expecting him to admit he hoped to catch me doing something wrong, but he is more embarrassed than angry—as if he watches me because he wants to, maybe even hopes to protect me.

I just... I don’t know what to think anymore.

I’m running the treadmill to expel some tension and build my stamina when my phone beeps. I see Frosty’s name on the screen and bite my lip to stop a grin of happiness. He’s speaking to me again?

A treadmill expert, I don’t have to stop the machine to read it—or reply. (Don’t try this at home.)

Frosty: I’m hungry. Make lunch?

Me: Sure. I’ll make U a sandwich. In never. Make sure U set UR watch

Frosty: It’s set for Maypril 32nd, 1:63 a.m. But I don’t want a sandwich, I want pizza.

Me: Name 1 thing wrong w/a sandwich

Frosty: It’s not pizza

I snort. He’s got me there.

Frosty: This is a special day. I’m officially a HS graduate. Shouldn’t I get an award???

I’m proud of him. Graduating is a feat for anyone, but especially for a slayer.

Me: Yes! I’ll give U award—1 sandwich coming up

Frosty: Cruel, Milla, Cruel. Where R U?

Me: Gym, why?

Frosty: Hoping U decided 2 go 2 kitchen & MAKE THAT PIZZA.

Me: No chance

Frosty: Speaking of, Chance w/U?

Me: No, WHY???

For some reason, Frosty’s rage against Chance has only grown these past few weeks.

Frosty: What R U wearing?

Are you kidding me with this? He’s been ignoring me all week, and now he’s flirting with me?

Me: Were U hit in the head this morning??

Frosty: What? U don’t want 2 coordinate outfits?

Me: I’m naked. Wear the same outfit & meet me in the kitchen 4 that sandwich

“I thought we agreed on pizza. And you are so not naked.”

I jolt, the smooth huskiness of his voice a caress to my ears. I look over to find him standing in the doorway, his shoulder pressed against the frame, his arms crossed. The tingles and aches only he has the power to cause immediately start up, and the heat he always ignites quickly spreads.

“Congratulations on finally becoming a real man,” I say.

“Thanks. It was a long time coming.”

Could he be any more adorable? Longing sweeps me up and under. I want more from him. A lot more. I want to know everything. But I don’t even know his real name.

Our gazes meet. I wish he’d tell me how he feels about—

—I’m standing in front of a swing set. The sun is shining so brightly, and I’m glad, I like the sun, but I don’t want to be outside. The doors to the school are locked, though. It’s recess, and I’m supposed to stay on the playground.

My aunt says recess is the best place to make friends. But I already made some. Cole, Jackson, Greg and Robert— everyone has a nickname.

Cole told me to call him Sir, but that’s not happening.

Jackson is Bronx. Greg and Robert are Boots and Ducky.

They’re calling me Frosty.

They see monsters—zombies. To them, I’m not a freak. I’m normal. And they’re teaching me how to fight properly!

I grin, but it doesn’t last long.

My cousin Tomas told Aunt Reba that Cole is the one who punched me in the face. She told me I couldn’t hang out with him, that he’s going to end up in prison. She doesn’t understand. I practically begged him to hit me.

A rock slams into my chest and I stumble forward, looking up to see a kid at the top of the slide. He throws another rock at me, but I duck and it sails overhead.

“Aston is a dumb name.” He snickers. “Are you a dummy?”

The kids around him stop what they’re doing to chant, “Dummy, dummy, dummy.”

A pat on my shoulder startles me. I turn to see Cole’s purple eyes focused on me.

“Ready for another lesson?” he says.

“Yep. I am.”

“Good. I call this one mess with the bull, get the horns.” He climbs the jungle gym with an ease that amazes me and reaches the boy who first called me a dummy. He pulls back his elbow and, boom, drills his fist into the other boy’s nose.

Blood sprays, and the kid drops, howling in pain—

—the workout room comes back into focus. My foot gets tripped up on the treadmill and I propel backward. Frosty rushes over, catching me before I crash. My heart thumps wildly. I’m sweating again, and now I’m more than overheated. I’m breathless and wanting and desperate.

Want me the way I want you.

But he sets me aside and shoves his hands in his pockets.

I rock back my on my heels. “So. Your name is Aston, huh?” What strikes me as strange? I wondered just before our vision. Did I cause it to happen?

“Aston Martin, actually.”

Like the car? “No way. Seriously?” I bark out a laugh. What a perfect fit. Sleek, powerful and fast. But I don’t want him to get a big head. “No wonder you didn’t want to share it with me. I think I’ll stick with Dijon.”

“Sweet pea, I can have you screaming Aston by the end of the day.”

I stop laughing in a hurry. He can. He so can.

The air thickens between us, something I’m growing used to, and I clear my throat. “If you’re here to drag me to the kitchen—”

“No. Forget the food. I’m actually here to chat.”

“About?”

He runs a hand through his hair. “I’ve been watching you practice. We’d already realized the white and red fires are opposites, but I’ve noticed your abilities—those that have remained—are the opposite of Ali’s, as well.”

I ignore a wave of hurt. “You mean she saves, and I ruin.”

“I mean she controls zombies, and you control slayers. Her fire heals—or healed—while yours harms. But don’t get your panties in a twist. I’m not blaming you. Rebecca Smith poisoned you, and for that, we’ll make her pay. Until then... Cole, River and I have been talking, and we’ve decided to try filtering your blood.”

They’ve been meeting in secret, otherwise I would have heard rumors. Irritation has me snapping, “Fine. Whatever. I’ll shower and meet you—where?”

“The basement.”

Where Tiffany has been living? Why let her know what we’re up to? I open my mouth to protest, but Frosty is already gone. I hurry to our room, shower and dress in a tank top, leaving my arms bare for easier blood donation, then I make my way to the basement.

Frosty waits at the entrance. He stretches out an arm, offering me a hand. I’m so surprised, so uncertain about how I’ll react to contact, I hesitate before accepting, and his eyes narrow to tiny slits. At the moment of contact, I gasp, tingles sparking with new life, heat rushing through me.