White Trash Zombie Gone Wild by Diana Rowland Page A

him a skeptical look.
    He nodded fiercely. “ . . . feds wanted . . . believe me . . .” He made a sharp gesture at the display in front of me then froze as he caught me looking at him.
    Shit. I knew enough not to jerk my gaze away. Instead I let it wander off. With any luck he’d believe I was casually taking in the sights.
    Nope. He started toward me, suspicion in his bearing. Behind him a relieved Justine returned her attention to the line in front of her table.
    â€œI love your shoes!” I blurted.
    He stopped, eyes narrowed. “Excuse me?”
    I let out a nervous giggle. “Your shoes. They’re so awesome, and I know I was staring, but I was trying to figure out who you are in the movie.”
    The wariness hovered on his features for another second, then he relaxed, apparently deciding I wasn’t a terrorist. Or a fed. Could his muttered “feds” be referring to the FBI agent in town? But what on earth could the FBI want that might connect to the
Zombies Are Among Us!!
film?
    â€œI’m not
in
the movie,” he said in a deep warm voice that put a wobble in my knees. “I’m a producer. And a friend custom-painted the shoes for me.” His smile sent a coil of lust into my belly. “You’re local?”
    â€œAll my life.” I gave him a dazzling smile of my own.
    â€œI love the south,” he said, adding a rich chuckle. His gaze roamed over me, hot and searching. “The food. The women.”
    He dragged me close for a scorching kiss, and I didn’t fight it. Heat seared my bones as his tongue invaded my mouth. My hands gripped his shirt, and his grabbed my ass. I shuddered, wanting all of—
    â€œMiss? Are you okay?” He peered at me in concern from a good two feet away. Sparkles flickered over his face, danced in the cleft of his chin.
    No. Oh god. He’d never kissed me. I’d hallucinated the entire thing. What the hell had I
done
? Did everyone see me making out with no one?
    Color flooded my face as I groped for an excuse, an apology. Before I could get a word out he slipped an arm around my shoulders and steered me to a quiet spot behind a display.
    â€œIt’s all right,” he said. “I have a cousin who has petit mal seizures.”
    Oh, thank god
. “Y-yeah. A seizure,” I managed, gulping. “Did I, um, do anything?”
    â€œStared off into space for a few seconds,” he said, blue eyes gentle and reassuring. “No one besides me noticed a thing. Are you steady now?”
    â€œI’m good.” I forced a smile. No, I wasn’t good. I was anything but good. I was a fucked up mess.
That’s it. No more V12. None.
“I, um, better go find my dad. Thanks for watching out for me.”
    â€œAnytime.” He gave my hand a friendly squeeze then tilted his head. “Have we met before? You look familiar.”
    â€œI don’t think so.” No way would I forget a face like his.
    â€œHmm. Strange. Déjà vu.” He shook his head. “Anyway, I hope to see you around.” With a parting smile, he strode off through the crowd.
    I took a minute to recover from the close call. I needed to notify Dr. Nikas about the bit of conversation I overheard and the security alerts—
    No. I couldn’t call Dr. Nikas. I was on his shit list.
    Tears stung the back of my eyes. Being on Dr. Nikas’s shit list was shittier than being on Santa’s shit list. It was like being on
Mr. Rogers’
shit list. You had to fuck up like a champ to get there. No way could I talk to him. Not yet. Besides, it wasn’t as if I knew there was trouble brewing. No point in calling until I had more info on Mr. Hot Zombie Shoes Guy and his paranoia. I’d keep an eye on the situation myself and see what was up at the Zombie Fest tomorrow. By then I’d be off the V12 and it would be easier to face Dr. Nikas. Tell him how sorry I was.
    Squaring my