Hungry for Your Love: An Anthology of Zombie Romance Read Online Free PDF Page B

met. His mouth was a lot bigger than mine and it smelled like tea tree oil and peppermint. A lot of revenants favored those scents to disguise the way we smelled, which wasn’t always pretty. But Ed tasted good. I hoped I tasted okay to him. I’d used some breath spray after the restaurant even though I hadn’t eaten anything—doing normal things like using breath spray after going to a restaurant made me feel like I belonged.
    “I’d really like to hear your music,” I said. And then wondered if I’d offended him because he’d told me he hadn’t played since he’d changed.
    But he didn’t seem offended. He smiled at me. “Only if you read me something you wrote.”

    * * * *
So that was it—we’d made plans to see each other again, sort of. At least as close to making plans as most revenants get. But I didn’t hear from him. Not that I was surprised—that was typical. It was kind of a miracle we’d gone on a date at all. If that was what it was. (He’d texted me to meet him at the museum that time, and I’d just written back, c u there ). I didn’t get another text and I was beginning to think I was a complete ass for assuming I’d see him again or that he had been sincere about having him 36
    read him my writing, when the next Saturday night, he showed up at the meeting in the church basement. (The church didn’t know exactly what kind of meeting it was; I guess they assumed we were A.A.) Sometimes revenants pretended they didn’t know each other from week to week—it was hard enough for us to get out of the house and be around other revs—but he greeted me warmly and said my name. I felt him watching me during the meeting.
    When it was his turn to speak he said, “Hi, I’m Ed, and I’m a revenant.”
    “Hi, Ed.”
    “I had a really good week. I met this nice person and we did a nice thing at a nice place. I felt almost alive. Maybe I did feel alive. It’s been so long, I’m not sure. But anyway I’m just grateful to be here. That’s it.”
    I could have sworn this time, for sure, that my face got hot.
    After the meeting we went for fellowship at the coffee house next to the church and he sat next to me but he didn’t talk to me much. He was talking mostly to some pale, tattooed young girls, one who had scars on her wrists and one with a purple bruise around her neck. He seemed to have a positive effect on them; the one with the scars on her wrists even laughed stiffly, like she was imitating laughter, but still. I found myself wondering again if he was the real thing or some human on a mission to save us.
    He walked me to my car in the church parking lot. The chrome shone in the fluorescent light. The air buzzed with electricity and crickets. The night was warm and smelled of pollen.
    “Do you want to hear a song?” he asked.
    “A song?”

    37
    “I wrote one this week. After we hung out.”
    I tugged on the heart around my neck. “Of course.” I realized how that sounded—like I thought he had written the song because of me. “I mean of course I want to hear it.”
    So we went to his place, a small bungalow with a courtyard full of banana palms and climbing jasmine. Inside, the walls were painted baby blue and hung with a variety of guitars. Ed lit some candles and we sat on the couch and he took an acoustic down.
    He slung it on and leaned forward. The fabric of his jeans strained against his knees, ready to tear. He looked at me.
    “So you used to write about souls?”
    I nodded.

    “This is a song about souls.”

    He sang it to me. It was dark and tough and bluesy. His voice was deep and warm and really, really good. His body rocked back and forth. Sometimes he threw back his head and opened his mouth wide and I saw his teeth, which were a little big but made him look sexy and fierce. I noticed that the incisors were slightly sharp, almost pointed.

    Hot , I thought.

    I hadn’t thought that word in years.

    After he was done with the song, I applauded. He grinned.

    “I