Afterglow: An Apocalypse Romance Read Free Page B

hissed.
    “Sorry,” she said, and she was out the door.
    He watched her run down the street and turn the corner, keeping close to the cars as she did. Who the hell was she? He could almost believe he’d imagined her, imagined the break-in. Except for the throbbing in his arm and the fact that his T-shirt was getting soaked with his own blood.
    He felt like shit. Weak from being sick. Shaky from not eating enough. But he forced himself up to look for the first-aid kit.
    * * *
    He cleaned the cut and covered it with gauze, then a bandage. It needed stitches, and he could take care of that himself, he was pretty sure, but not yet. Right now he needed water and rest. He popped some Advil just for good measure, then sat back in his chair to watch the front yard.
    At first he thought he was hallucinating as he saw her. That redhead again. Approaching his house with a backpack on. This time she wore a baseball cap, her long hair pulled back into a ponytail that stuck out through the hole in the back of her hat. She looked like the girls at college, waking up late after a morning of partying, and once again, his dick stirred. Clearly his dick had no idea that this was the end of the world. Unlike the college girls, though, she was staying low, hiding below the level of the parked and abandoned cars, darting between them as she made her way closer.
    She rapped twice on the door, tentatively.
    “What do you want?” he growled through the wood.
    “I, uh, brought some stuff.”
    “What the fuck kind of stuff?” He wasn’t in the mood for games.
    “Stuff for your arm. Because I cut you.”
    “I took care of it.”
    “Just let me in. Please? I don’t like standing out here. It’s dangerous.”
    That was probably true, and begrudgingly he pulled the door open, allowing her to enter.
    “Sit down,” she said, pointing at the floor next to the coffee table.
    “So, what? You come into my house and start ordering me around?”
    “If you want me to help you, do what I say.” She took her cap off, tossing it onto the couch, and set her backpack down on the floor. She proceeded to pull out a first-aid kit, fully stocked, from the looks of it. She placed an ice pack on the table, the kind that needed to be cracked to get cold.
    “What’s the ice for?” he asked.
    She looked at him for a long moment, then raised her eyebrows as she said, “It’s for my face. Someone kicked me. I’m getting a black eye.”
    “Right. My apologies, sweetheart,” he muttered as he sat down, back against the coffee table.
    “Don’t call me that.”
    “What? Sweetheart?” So she didn’t like terms of endearment. He’d have to use them more often then.
    “I’m not sweet.”
    “I don’t know,” he drawled, teasing her. “You came back here with your first-aid kit after I kicked you in the head and tied you up. That’s pretty sweet.”
    “I’m just here to get my revenge,” she muttered as she started to arrange some supplies on the table. “Let’s see how sweet you think I am when I’m sewing up your arm.”
    “You think I can’t take a little pain?”
    “I’ll make sure it’s more than just a little.” She’d suffused her voice with fake sugar, and he laughed out loud until she stood up and took off her leather jacket.
    Underneath she was wearing a fitted black T-shirt, its V-neck giving him just a tiny glimpse of cleavage. Worn denim hugged her ass and thighs. Though she was short and small, her body was sheer perfection. Rounded breasts, a slim waist, then hips that curved just enough that he could imagine exactly how they’d feel with his fingers digging into them as he drove into her from behind.
    He shifted, the wood of the coffee table hard against his back. She’d better start sticking that fucking needle into his arm soon so he didn’t get a full-on hard-on that he couldn’t hide.
    “I’m ready,” she said. “Oh wait. One more thing.” She rummaged around in her backpack for a second, then pulled out a