He laughs. “Oh really? Is that all this is?” Suddenly he’s in front of me. He backs me into the bathroom and lifts me up onto the counter. I let out a little giggle. I’m thankful this room doesn’t look like the one down the hall.
“If this is just a hook-up, I might be thinking it’s the only chance I’ll have to be with you, so I’d better take advantage of the situation.” He pulls the shirt over my head.
“And you might have to be a little more aggressive, since we may not have much time. We could be interrupted any minute.”
“Definitely.” His mouth crashes over mine, consuming me. He manages to slide one of my legs out of my jeans without pulling away from me, leaving my thong in place. I hear the zip of his fly and the sound of him rummaging in a nearby drawer.
His lips leave mine just long enough for him to roll on the condom. His erection, sheathed in flesh-colored latex, juts out at me, thick and proud. A thrill runs through me knowing where it will be in a moment. He scoots me to the edge of the counter and moves the thong aside. I cling to his neck as he lifts me slightly. I feel the tip of him right there.
His crystal blue eyes lock onto mine. “Doing okay, babe?”
I nod, too breathless to form any words. I love that he asks me that every single time.
“Good.”
In one quick thrust, he fills me completely.
Pleasure shoots through my core so intensely that every other part of my body goes weak and numb. I cling to his shoulders for stability, loving the feel of his powerful muscles flexing under my fingers.
With one hand behind me on the counter and the other holding my hips still, he thrusts into me, fast and feverish. His dark, glistening hair hangs over his face, just like when I first laid eyes on him. Wild, like an animal, determined and driven to attain a primitive goal. But this time, that goal is me.
Arching into him, I let my head fall back and instantly his hot mouth is on my nipple.
The pressure in my lower belly is unbearable, and I dig my nails into his shoulders. Just when I think I might break, my inner muscles tighten around him and incredible waves of pleasure crash over me.
“Holy shit, Ivy,” he says, thrusting even harder and increasing the intensity of my release. “I’m coming, baby.” Groaning, he grabs a handful of my hair and buries his face in my neck as he climaxes.
As he holds me, both our bodies trembling, I wonder how it’s possible to feel this in tune with another human being. Joined like this, we are one flesh, one mind, one thought.
He nuzzles my ear. “God, that was intense, Ivy.”
“Same.”
“Sorry if I pulled your hair.”
“If you did, I must’ve liked it. Sorry if I scratched your back.”
He lifts his head but doesn’t pull out. “Don’t be. I like your marks on me.”
“I’d say that was a pretty damn good hookup,” I tease, rubbing my bare foot over his bare ass. “Who knew two strangers could be so compatible?”
He gets that devilish glint in his eye that I’m really growing to love. “I wouldn’t mind doing this again sometime. What’s your name? Can I get your number?”
It seems funny to be having this conversation when he’s still inside me. I scratch my head and pretend to be thinking aloud. “Hmmm. Should I give him a real name or a fake name?”
“Just as long as the number is real, I don’t care what your name is.”
I smack him on the butt with my foot. He laughs and pulls out of me. I watch while he disposes of the condom, his penis still semi-erect and glistening.
He catches me looking at him. “What?”
“Nothing,” I say, jumping off the counter. “You’re just really beautiful. That’s all.”
He hikes up his jeans, covering that awesome tight ass of his, then he exits the bathroom, grinning.
When I enter the bedroom a few minutes later, Jon is lying on the bed. With his hands behind his head and an open textbook next to him, he looks relaxed and content. I love knowing that I helped him feel this way.
“Are you going running?” he asks, looking at my workout clothes. “Why don’t you come over here and do some homework with me instead?” He pats the bed.
“That’s tempting, but if I have any hope of not dying from exhaustion while staying out of the clutches of brain-eating zombies, I need to stay in shape. Want to come?”
At first I think he’s going to say no. He looks too comfortable. “How far are you going?”
“Not far. Maybe three or four miles.”
“Okay, fine.”
While Jon gets ready, I sit at his desk and put on my running shoes. “Can I use your computer for a minute? I want to see if the grades for the biology midterm have been posted.” My computer is in my backpack, but it’s old and takes forever to boot up.
“Sure, go for it.” Jon says, grabbing a T-shirt from the floor.
One of his tattoos, different from all the rest, catches my eye. The 3D design on his ribcage under his left arm gives the illusion that the skin is pulled back to reveal a lone rose inside. I wonder what the story is. I know he’s been with a lot of girls. Was that for a girl who stole his heart?
He catches me looking and quickly pulls on the T-shirt, covering up the inkwork. “Listen, if we don’t head out soon, it’s going to be too dark.” With a hand on the wall, he bends his knee, stretching his quad.
“Okay, hold on.” I pull up the grading website and plug in my student ID. The biology midterm results haven’t been posted, which means my hopes for an A haven’t been dashed yet. A notification chimes on his computer just as I’m logging out.
“Do you want me to see what that is?” I ask. Then I remember Cassidy’s experience with Will. Jon and I have become close, but obviously there’s a lot about him that I don’t know.
“Yeah, sure.” He grabs his other foot and continues stretching. “Go ahead.”
Somewhat relieved, I click the other open browser tab. If he had something to hide, he probably wouldn’t let me do this. Or at least he’d be hovering to make sure I didn’t see something I wasn’t supposed to see.
“Geez, Jon,” I say, looking at the screen, “you’ve got, like, fifteen or so pending friend requests. When’s the last time you checked this?”
Now that I think about it, I can’t say that I’ve ever seen him checking any of his social media accounts on his phone. Maybe he’s not into it, which would put him in the minority of most of the people I know. With everyone living their lives online, not having a presence there has made me feel left out and alone sometimes, so I love the idea that Jon isn’t into it, either.
“I don’t know. Last week. But maybe it’s been longer than that. Go ahead and click okay on all of them.”
My stomach clenches. “You don’t even care who they are? Don’t you want to make sure you know them?”
“They’re probably KREX listeners. I usually get new requests from people the day after I do a show, and I’ve been on the air more than normal lately.”
It strikes me how guys can be much more casual about online privacy than girls.
One of the profile pictures jumps out at me. It’s an attractive girl with an edgy punk hairstyle and a beautiful smile. With streaks of purple in her dark hair and multiple piercings in her ear, she’s the kind of girl I can imagine looking really good with Jon.
“Do you know Gretchen Shue?” I ask tentatively, watching his reaction carefully.
He’s doing a stretch for the back of his calves now and his face brightens. “Sweet. She’s the lead singer of that band who played the Hardware. Remember them? They’re called Shoo, Gretchen. They played the night of your birthday party.”
How can I forget that night? It was the first time Jon kissed me. I nod, trying not to show my disappointment. How can I compete with the gorgeous lead singer of an indie band? Hell, I can’t even read music or play an instrument.
He comes up behind me and looks over my shoulder. I’m glad he can’t see the hurt on my face.
“I’ve been trying to set up an interview with those guys, but they’ve been hard to pin down. Gretchen and her husband, the cello player, had to fly back east for a wedding, and her brothers, the other guys in the band, told me she handles all the scheduling. They don’t have a manager. Niice. I’ll send her a message when we get back.”
This Gretchen chick is married? She’s a business contact, not social? A huge sense of relief washes over me. I blink my silly tears away before he sees them.
He touches a finger to the screen. “Go ahead and delete this one, though.” He’s pointing to the profile picture of a white-haired couple named Lloyd and Karen Oliver.
“Who are they?” I ask, deleting the request.
“Just some old people friending everyone.” He grabs a baseball cap from the top of his dresser and puts it on. “If you’re a friend of a friend of a friend, they think they need to add you.”
“So you’ve gotten a request from them before? Do you know them?”
“I think they’re new to social media, so they’re probably confused. Did you know that the fastest growing demographic is senior citizens?”
Yeah, I’ve heard that before.
A few minutes later, as we head out on our run, it occurs to me that he didn’t say he didn’t know the Olivers.
chapter seventeen
Get a kickass partner.
~ Zombieland Rule #8
Ivy
Dani, Cassidy, and I arrive outside Explorer Stadium about thirty minutes before the race is scheduled to start. We’re supposed to meet up with James, Kelly, and Reese somewhere. Jon’s already here, since he had to arrive early to meet with the organizers, but we haven’t seen him.
People are dressed in all sorts of crazy costumes. Businessmen, ballerinas, baristas, cowboys, soldiers, dog walkers, construction workers, doctors, and nurses. Basically, every occupation you can think of where people could be working when the zombie apocalypse occurs.
Even though I’m not into wearing costumes, Dani begged me to wear a pink tutu over my running shorts, like she and Cassidy. Since Jon’s planning on wearing some sort of costume too, I eventually relented.
We pick up our packets at the main gate. There must be close to a thousand people waiting around for the apocalypse to begin. I pin my number to my sleeve, making sure that it lies flat.
The zombie check-in is near the north entrance. Jon said that list filled quickly. Everyone wanted to be one of the infected and chase after the humans trying to get through the obstacle course. From what I can see, their costumes consist of a lot of torn clothing and massive quantities of blood. I spot a clown zombie and quickly turn away. I seriously. Hate. Clowns. Stephen King’s
It
, anyone? That’s all I’m saying.
“Hey, isn’t that Touch Montgomery?” Dani says, pointing across the street.
Cassidy cranks her head around to look. “Touch is here?”
Dani frowns. “He’s not running in the race, is he?”
“He’d better not be. Here, hold my stuff.” Cassidy thrusts her water bottle and race number at me, threads through the people on the sidewalk and marches over there. It’ll be hard for anyone to take her seriously with that pink tutu and large polka-dot bow on the top of her head. She went to a couple of kickbacks at Touch’s apartment, but says it’s nothing serious. I think she still has feelings for Will.
I scan the crowd, looking for Jon. He’s been quiet lately. I can tell something’s been bothering him, but whenever I ask, he acts like he doesn’t know what I’m talking about and that he’s fine. On top of making sure everything was ready for the race, he also had a busy tutoring schedule and a long paper to write. I don’t know, though. I think something else is up. Spotting James, Kelly, and Reese on the other side of the street, I wave them over. James is wearing a football jersey, while Kelly and Reese are dressed like—pirates?
“Have you guys seen Jon yet?” I ask. “I know he’s here.”
“What about over there?” Kelly says, pointing. “I see pink.”
I look in that direction and see the crowd, all right. A bunch of sorority girls in pink Parishioner T-shirts.
Wonderful. My boyfriend and his groupies.
We head in that direction. I spot the local news station van with a satellite dish mounted to the roof, parked near the giant bronze Explorer statue in the middle of the courtyard. Holding a white shirt and tie, Jon is talking to the female reporter, but they’re not on the air. The reporter must be waiting to go live with the station.
As we get closer, Jon spots us. He signs,
Hello, beautiful.
Okay, maybe it is the race he’s been worried about. I sign back,
Hello, handsome.
The reporter touches her earpiece, unaware that her interview subject is having a conversation in sign language. “We’re on right after the commercial. Are you ready?”
“Ready when you are.”
A couple of girls ask him to come over and sign their shirts, but he tells them he’s going live in a minute and can’t right now. I’m not sure how he always stays so patient. It’s not uncommon for people to approach him and ask him to sign their shirts. I know it must get old, but I’ve never heard him complain. When I’ve asked him about it, he just gives me one of those million-dollar smiles and says he appreciates their support.