Twenty-six
“What
the—?”
Edward sat up. He was
in his hotel room, in his bed. And he was naked. And he had no idea
how he’d gotten there. The last thing he remembered was . . . was .
. .
Bluff
sex!
Oh my God! Bluff sex!
He booted the covers
away and kicked joyously at the ceiling. “Yes, yes, yesyesyes!” It
wasn’t a dream! Probably! Too bad he couldn’t remember anything
after bluff sex . . . no. Wait.
There was something
else, by God! Yeah, there it was: by the time they’d hiked back to
the car, dawn was only a couple of hours away and he was
staggering. Not that he was any sort of wimp—he jogged, he lifted,
and he occasionally helped Boo hunt vampires. Still: he’d had to
give up a lot of, um, bodily fluids recently. Way more than he was
used to, that was for damned sure.
He remembered sort of
collapsing into the car, then Rachael hauling him out and helping
him stretch out in the backseat. Then she’d asked for an address,
and he’d mumbled something, and then she’d taken his key card, and
then was helping him inside, and then . . .
. . . he woke
up.
Had she undressed
him? Had he undressed himself in some sort of sexual stupor? Had he
never gotten dressed after bluff sex? And why did he
care?
I am totally marrying that chick. Assuming she’d even have
me.
Right. But first
things first: duty called. Only yesterday, when he had no idea
things like bluff sex existed, he had met a zombie and figured it
was past time to call Boo. But now he was glad he
hadn’t.
The zombie hadn’t
hurt him, right? Hadn’t hurt anybody as far as Edward could see. In
fact, the shambling undead thing had gone out of its way to be
polite and helpful. It might be premature to call Boo. He needed to
do more recon.
And it had nothing,
at all, to do with the fact that once
Boo flew to town and kicked some collective undead ass, his work
here would be done. There’d be nothing to prevent him from going
back home.
It had nothing to do with that. He just didn’t want to
waste Boo’s time. He wanted to be sure before he loosed the beast
on an unsuspecting undead populace.
It had nothing to do
with wanting more bluff sex. And how he couldn’t wait to watch
Rache put away, oh, half a dozen Subway foot-longs.
It
didn’t.
It didn’t.
So: he’d recon. Right
now.