Alice in Zombieland

As each of the girls launched a million questions at her, the bell rang to signal it was time to head to class. Poor Reeve. She looked as comfortable as if she were standing naked in front of her history class, giving a report on the Salem witch trials and using her own body as a visual aid for the torture.

I said my goodbyes and stood. When I turned, I bumped into someone. I muttered an apology, my hands flattening on a hard chest as I sought to regain my balance.

Whatever I’d meant to say next died a quick death the moment I realized my hands were on Cole Holland.

My hands were actually on Cole Holland.

I looked up … up … up … and there he was. I inhaled sharply, caught the scent of sandalwood and almost moaned. He smelled just like he had during the … Oh, sweat heaven. Was this a hallucination, too? Here, now? I dug my fingers into his chest. He was solid, warm. Which meant … this was real. This was happening.

A gasp left me, and I tried to jump backward only to bang into the table bench. I couldn’t dart forward. He was too big, caging me.

My stomach started performing stupid backflips, decided that wasn’t enough, and next gave a full-on circus trapeze act.

“Well, well,” Kat said with a little too much glee. The other girls frowned at Cole before scurrying off. “You here to walk Ali and me to class or what, big boy?”

A muscle ticked in Cole’s jaw, a sure sign of sizzling anger, blatant aggression, and—I could have been imagining here—that he hoped to one day be the heavyweight boxing champion of the world.

“Well?” Kat prompted.

“Ali.” His gaze never veered from my face.

One word, and yet his voice … thrilled me. Deep and rich and ragged, as if my name had been pushed through a meat grinder. Why was that so smexy? And how was the voice I heard now the same one I’d heard in my visions?

“Me?” I managed to squeak out. “Why?”

Stupid question. I knew why.

He ignored me, thank God, saying to Kat, “Let go of Frosty’s leash. You’re choking the life out of him.”

Her eyes narrowed to tiny slits, a sure sign of her aggression. “He deserves to choke. He didn’t keep Little Frost in his pants this summer.” The words snapped like a whip.

“He did,” Cole snapped back with unwavering confidence.

“Not.”

“Did.”

“Not!”

“Did,” he said, calm now despite her growing fervor.

My head would have zinged back and forth as if I were watching a tennis match, but Cole hadn’t taken his eyes off me and I didn’t have the strength to pull away.