Page 14 of Glitter Rose
“Didn’t realize zombies were impressed by makeup.”
“They’re not.” I lick honey from my spoon. “But I am.”
“Most survivors I meet are covered in dirt and blood. Not… sparkles.”
I shrug, ignoring the flutter in my stomach when his gaze lingers. “The world ended. Doesn’t mean I have to.”
“Cute philosophy.” He sets his empty bowl on the coffee table with a decisive clink.
I set mine down, too. “Let me check your ankle.”
“It’s fine.”
“You gonna let me help, or you planning to hop your way through the zombie apocalypse?”
His jaw tightens, but he gestures at his leg. Victory.
I settle cross-legged in front of him and gently lift his foot into my lap. His skin is warm through the bandage as I carefully unwrap it, layer by layer.
“Swelling’s down.” But purple bruising spreads across his ankle like watercolor. “Mhm.”
“Told you I’ve had worse.”
“Flex for me?” I ask.
He moves his foot slightly, suppressing a grimace.
“Not terrible. I guess.” I probe the bruised skin. “Few more days, and you might not even limp. Please try to stay off it today.”
“Not much choice.”
“You should take off all that gear. Can’t be comfortable sleeping in it.”
“You offering to help?”
Heat flares in my cheeks. “What? No! I just meant—you look uncomfortable with all the… straps and things.”
“Straps and things.” His lips twitch. “Technical term?”
“Shut up.” I focus on rewrapping his ankle, suddenly hyperaware of his skin under my fingertips. “I’m trying to be nice.”
“Nice is dangerous these days.”
I secure the bandage with the metal clips. “So is being an asshole, but you manage just fine.”
He actually laughs, a short, rusty sound like he’s forgotten how. “Fair enough.”
He shifts on the couch, a slight grimace crossing his face. Then he reaches for the straps crossing his chest, unbuckling the tactical—whatever it is—with practiced movements. The empty holster comes off next, then a utility belt.
“You always carry an entire military base?” I ask.
“Standard loadout.” His fingers work through buckles and clasps. “Light, actually.”
“Right. Super light. Just the essentials for casual Tuesday apocalypse strolling.”
He drops a multi-tool onto the pile. “This from the girl who carries a ninja sword.”
“It’s a katana, not a—” I catch his lip quirking up. “You’re fucking with me.”
