White Trash Zombie Apocalypse by Diana Rowland Read Free Book Online Page A

But let’s not think about that.” He kissed my cheek again. “Gotta run. Take care, Angel.”
    “Always,” I replied softly as he turned and hurried to a waiting car. Was it possible to be happy and sad for someone at the same time?
    With a sigh, I headed for my car, happy and sad…but mostly sad.

Chapter 4
    I raced home, showered and changed, even spent about twenty minutes on my hair and makeup and was mostly pleased with the result. I also made sure to chug down half a smoothie to give that extra glow of “yes, I’m really alive” to my skin. Nothing like grey and rotting flesh to kill a great look.
    I’d hit the thrift store before my tutoring date with Nick and totally struck gold in my quest for a properly stylish and dressy outfit to wear to the Gourmet Gala that wouldn’t break my pathetic budget. It helped that I was a pro at finding cool stuff for next to nothing. For about thirty bucks I walked out with a cream silk blouse, black dress slacks, and a really striking thigh-length jacket in a dark red velvet. And as rainy as it was, I intended to wear my black boots, and to hell with whether they were appropriate for the event. They had low heels, so would hopefully be dressy enough.
    My dad was in his usual spot in front of the TV when I came out to the living room. I plopped down on the other end of the couch and pulled my boots on. His gaze stayedon whatever show he was watching without even the barest acknowledgement of my presence. He had his feet propped on the coffee table, a position he claimed took the pressure off an old back injury he’d sustained a decade ago on an offshore oil rig. Years of hard drinking and smoking had left him looking way older than his actual age of forty-eight. Even though he’d made an effort to clean up his act in the past few months, it couldn’t erase the haggard look and sagging jowls that had been long in the making. His light brown eyes were clearer though, and these days he kept his face clean-shaven most of the time, a big change from the scraggly beard he used to keep so he didn’t have to bother shaving.
    “Have you eaten yet?” I asked.
    “If you’d be home sometimes you’d know.” He finally looked over at me, eyes narrowing at the sight of me all dressed up. “Where the hell you going now?”
    Scowling, I zipped up my boots. “I spend pretty much every night here, Dad. You don’t see me ’cause you’re not here in the evenings.” I gave him a hard look, cocked an eyebrow at him. “What, are you out feeding the poor or something noble like that?”
    “What’s that supposed to mean?” he demanded. “I can damn well be out if I want to be out.”
    I stood and pulled on my jacket, reveling in the way it flared out and swirled as I moved. I loved that jacket. Loved the way it felt. Loved everything about it. “You know what I mean. You making the rounds of the bars again?”
    His expression darkened. “Well, what if I am?”
    My mouth tightened. “Yeah, what if you are.” I sighed, shook my head. “Whatever. I’m going out with Marcus tonight. He got tickets to the Gourmet Gala.”
    “Well, that’s some shit,” he said with a small sneer. “Act like you’re all worried about whether or not I’ve eaten anything and then go off with that asshole to stuff your face and leave me here to fend for myself.”
    “Oh, for fuck’s sake, Dad! Y’know what? I won’t ever ask how you’re doing again.” I stomped out of the house and slammed the door behind me, only to hit the steps and realize I’d forgotten my purse. Scowl deepening, I slammed back into the house, grabbed my purse, and then once again stomped out and closed the door hard. Didn’t help my mood that I thought I heard my dad give a snort of laughter. Yeah, so much for a dramatic exit.
    Plus, Marcus wasn’t even there yet, but I wasn’t about to go back inside to wait. Fortunately, for my own state of mind, it was only a few minutes before he pulled up. I dashed through