Dead Sexy by Aleah Barley Read Free Book Online Page A

smoothed the skirt down over my knees. Maybe it wouldn’t be such a bad idea to dress up every once in a while.
    D.S. grinned. His white teeth flashed against his yummy caramel skin. “You look elegant.”
    Good enough.
     

8.
    Nine hours later, my head was pounding, my shoes were rubbing against my heels, and I was frustrated. Not that D.S. seemed to care.
    Between the wrong addresses, slammed doors, and grieving old ladies who didn’t have any information—but insisted we stay for a cup of tea—we’d driven across Detroit multiple times and had jack diddly to show for our efforts.
    Oh, their family members had definitely died. They’d even been bitten. It was sad, devastating, and horrible. They just hadn’t come back.
    It was the strangest thing, they’d been bitten, they’d gone to the morgue, they’d been transferred to a funeral home, and then… nothing.
    “I figure this whole zombie thing is just another government scare tactic,” a little old lady in a pink cotton dress said while plying D.S. with banana bread. “A big strong man like you, you don’t believe in this nonsense? Dead people just walking around like they’ve got no place better to be?”
    The dead man ate some banana bread. “Of course not.”
    Seriously, it was enough to drive a girl batty.
    Luckily, we only had one last address to visit and then we were done. Finished. Gone for the night. I had a date to get to, and I wasn’t about to screw up my one chance at a normal social life by being late. Heck no, I was all dressed up and ready to party. A few drinks, some dancing, who knew… Maybe I’d even lose my virginity.
    When I was younger, I’d always pictured sex as something magical. My first time would be with someone I’d loved more than life itself. These days, I just wanted to scratch the itch between my legs and satisfy my growing lust for… life.
    If it helped me get over a certain unavailable dead man, then so much the better.
    “What’s this guy's name?” D.S. asked, pulling the truck over to the side of the road.
    “George D. Fitzgerald.” I glanced through the paperwork for the relevant details. “Forty-eight years old at time of death, which was six months ago. He lived with his parents, Alice and George H. Fitzgerald.” 
    It was my nightmare. Seriously. If I’m still living with my mom when I turn forty, someone is going to die… and they won’t be coming back.
    We got out of the car, and D.S. led the way up the front steps. He knocked once, twice. Nothing happened. “You sure this is the right address?”
    “I double checked it on my cell phone.” Alice and George H. had been living in the same battered bungalow for fifty years. It needed a good coat of paint and some new gutters, but compared to the rest of the neighborhood it was a castle.
    There was even a shiny new sedan in the driveway.
    D.S. pounded on the door again. This time it opened. Two inches. A petite old woman with gray hair and shriveled mahogany skin peered out. “No trespassing.”
    “I’m sorry for the interruption. My name’s Thomas Conroy. I’m from the Department of Undead Americans. I’ve got a few questions about your son.”
    “I don’t have a son.” She slammed the door shut.
    Okay, not the friendliest person in the city, on the other hand, she hadn’t tried to shoot us. Things were looking up.
    D.S. knocked again. Politely. Nothing happened.
    My phone dinged. It was seven o’clock, and I had less than half an hour to get to my date. There was no time for this bullshit. I elbowed D.S. out of the way and knocked again. Louder. My knuckles scraped the door. I gave it a solid kick. “Listen up, Alice. You better get your saggy ass in gear. Before I start talking to your neighbors.”
    It was an empty threat. From the looks of the block, all of her neighbors had hightailed it to the suburbs years earlier. I might have been able to rustle up some arson suspects, but that was only if they hadn’t found someplace better