Hungry for Your Love: An Anthology of Zombie Romance by Lori Perkins Read Free Book Online Page A

since the holy creator got it wrong the first time, she figured it was her moral obligation to set the wrong things right.

    She smoothed her hair, examining her face in the rearview mirror. The short blond strands were still slick from the straight iron, and the smoky MAC pigments ensured her mushroom blue irises popped. She scowled and shook her head. The dark circles underneath were still visible, but in the time it took to change from her Hooters uniform and drive to the posh LaMer restaurant in Lovington, she was lucky she looked as good as she did.
    “Oh, get on with it,” she sneered at her reflection. “He’s a zombie, for Christ’s sake!”
    The stipulation regarding her introduction to the buyer was something she assumed would take place inside Bodies For Your Brains. The plan was simple: meet the brain, tell the brain it had best take advantage where the other brain had not, bid the brain a fond farewell, and collect the cash. But she quickly learned the meeting would take place on her time, in a place of the purchaser’s choosing. Apparently, this newest flourishing medical industry was as cold and callus as the people they catered to.
    Which says what about you?
    “Damn it!”
    Snagging her purse in one hand and the keys in the other, Olivia climbed out of her beat-up Honda Civic. She slammed the door as hard as she could and sighed in relief when the latch caught and held on for dear life.
    Thank you, Jesus.

    50
    Her poor vehicle was on its last nut and bolt. Bitterly, she remembered it would have been retired months ago. Too bad her naïve ass didn’t bother trusting her husband as much as she loved him.
    As in not at all.
    Mustering up as much pride as she was able, she strode across the sidewalk, noticing the expensive vehicles parked next to her pitiful jalopy. Someone opened the door for her and she tried not to squirm. Even wearing her best, she paled in comparison to the normal patrons of the establishment.
    “Can I help you, miss?” The hostess, while keeping her voice polite, observed her critically.
    “I’m meeting someone.”
    “Who are you meeting?” she asked, peering down at the reservation list.
    “Derrick Quinn.”
    “Oh.” The hands on the paper visibly trembled and she gave a very weak smile.
    “This way, please.”
    They walked past the tables and booths, to an area a sign indicated was reserved.
    As Olivia approached, she saw a dark head bob, as if trying to see her as well. Then she rounded the corner and got the shock of her life.
    The z-virus was a cruel fucking bitch.
    The man was obscenely good looking, with features straight out of GQ . He must have died recently because his skin, though ashen, still retained a hint of tan. His dark brown hair was worn long, brushing past his chin, and his goatee was neatly trimmed.
    From the blatant approval in his stare, he found her equally acceptable.

    51
    “Mrs. Bradworth?” Derrick stood and walked around the table, pulling out a chair. “Please, would you take a seat?”
    Olivia’s body operated on auto pilot. She walked, one Payless shoe-covered foot placed in front of the other, and then she sat.
    “I appreciate your meeting me here.”
    She shook her head and cleared her throat. “No problem.”
    A waitress arrived and she nodded meekly when he ordered, unsure of what to say. He was polite where Eric was brash, cultured where Eric had been raised on MTV
    and Nick at Nite. His entire ensemble screamed affluence and wealth, and knowing he could probably eat in a place that would cost her a week’s worth of tips at the hoot and holler intrigued her.
    He’s dead, you idiot. All that’s left is the brain. Get a grip!
    “I heart brains,” she muttered, envisioning a shirt with smiling zombies and messy brains on a platter.
    Those friendly green eyes narrowed. “Excuse me?”
    Bolstered by agitation, she repeated, “I heart brains.”
    “Is that supposed to be funny?”
    “I was thinking that maybe Café Press might