by Z. Allora
Zombies Blow
(Club Zombie Book 4)
Zombies blow—but they’re not after brains! These zombies are young, hot, and looking for their mates.
Corey Anderson has worked in Club Zombie for decades with his mate, Jackson Davis. Life would be perfect but there’s a hole inside each of them. They can’t find their third mate and are exhausted from the long search.
Keith Demonico knows he wasn’t always a good guy and now he’d do anything to make up for past mistakes. He’d spent the last twenty years giving back to the LGBTQIA+ community, although it didn’t make up for the damage he’d done while he was still a closeted teen. His fear caused harm to the boy he’d love and later made him too fearful to follow the feelings he had for his best friend.
Somehow fate brought the past to the present. He’s always wanted a second chance. Is this it? He hopes Jackson is right, and he is exactly what both Jackson and Corey need, but Corey won’t listen to his apology.
(Zombies Blow is part of the Club Zombie series but can be read as a standalone for a perfectly happy and satisfying ending.)
Zombies Blow
Club Zombie Book 4
Z. Allora
Warning: this book contains graphic depictions of male/male sex and is not intended for audiences under the age of eighteen. This book is a work of fiction. All characters, companies, events, and locations are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, places, or events is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of the author and publisher.
Disclaimer: Please do not try any new sexual practice, especially those that might be found in Rocky Ridge Books, that include BDSM or fetish play without the guidance of an experienced practitioner. Neither Rocky Ridge nor its authors will be responsible for any loss, harm, injury or death resulting from use of the information contained in any of its titles.
Zombies Blow (Club Zombie Book 4)
Copyright © Z. Allora 2019
Cover art © Reese Dante 2019
Layout and design by P.D. Singer
Print ISBN:
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used, reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage or retrieval system, without the written permission of the publisher, except where permitted by law, or in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
Published by:
Rocky Ridge Books
PO Box 6922
Broomfield, CO 80021
http://RockyRidgeBooks.com
To everyone who comes on my journey with me. Thank you for keeping me company. I’ll try to entertain you.
Acknowledgments
Thank you to my readers. I appreciate your patience. I know this book is years late.
I want to thank my amazing editing team at Blue Ink: Desi Chapman, Andrea Zimmerman, and Brian. Thanks for untangling and helping me polish my story.
Big shout out to Katie Obbink for her Hopitude.
Thank you to my Paminator P.D Singer who makes my books so purty!
Hugs to Eden Winters, TD O’Malley, Corvus, Andrew Marks, Litsa & Danny for being so supportive.
As always, love to my husband who is everything to me. Without him I would never be able to do this. Thank you, my love.
Much love and many hugs to all.
1
One is the Loneliest Number
Keith opened the door to his small house and shook out the umbrella that had failed to do its job. He dropped it in the large vase next to the front door and put his keys on the hook. “Ruffles, I’m home.”
Silence.
“Ruffles? I’m home,” he called loudly.
Silence.
No! Not again. He tore down the hallway, then froze at the closed door to the living room—Just go in and get it over with….
He shoved open the door. “Ruffles, I’m home.”
The African gray parrot sat on his perch in the living room and cocked his head. “Hello, Key-Key.”
Stupid amounts of happiness and relief flooded him. The life expectancy of his inherited feathered friend was supposed to be between sixty and eighty years, but you never knew. Life was too filled with uncertainty.
“You didn’t answer me,” he said, not bothering to keep the irritation out of his voice.
“Kisses to Mamma, Key-Key.” Ruffles ignored the censure and hopped onto Keith’s shoulder.
“Keith. Can you say Keith?”
“Key-Key. Kisses to Mamma.” The bird could be stubborn, just like his mamma had been. He couldn’t remember if Mrs. Stein or Ruffles had started calling him Key-Key, but they both did.
“You know hundreds of words. Why not my name?” Keith pulled out one of his homemade nontoxic sanitary wipes and strolled over to the wall of pictures. Ruffles rocked side-to-side plucking strands of Keith’s hair to groom him, as if that could help the long, tangled mess of curls.
Once in front of the picture of Ruffles’s former owner, Mrs. Stein, Ruffles puffed up his feathers. Mrs. Stein had been “hell on wheels” to everyone but Ruffles and Keith.
As soon as Keith wiped down the picture, Ruffles proceeded to do his little bird dance before he screeched, “Kisses to Mamma. Kisses to Mamma.”
Keith wasn’t a pet person. Animals died, so what was the point of having one? He hadn’t wanted to take Ruffles, but Mrs. Stein had forced her will on him one last time. Her reminder rang in his ears. “No one else would respect Ruffles’s loss of his mamma the way you would, Key-Key.”
He hated that she was right, so he adopted the thirteen-year-old parrot when she passed.
Keith shifted closer so the bird could jump onto the perch installed in front of Mrs. Stein’s picture.
Ruffles kissed and talked to Mrs. Stein as if she were there.
Keith let the parrot stay as long as he wanted. They stood together at the wall filled with memories for at least fifteen minutes every night, sometimes longer.
He cleaned the framed photo of him and his dad. The picture had been taken on their last fishing trip together, the spring before his dad died in a boating accident. Keith had been thirteen, not quite a man but ready to do anything he could to take care of his mother.
Wiping down the picture of his mother, Keith was always struck by how big she smiled. In this picture, they had been out celebrating his high school graduation.
He straightened the picture of him, Perry, and a few of the other guys on the football team his junior year. Larry posed by holding up his middle finger, like the jackass he was. He stood next to David, who now worked at a car dealership and had three kids. Perry, whose smile didn’t reach his eyes, stood on one side of Keith.
Perry killed himself a few weeks after the picture was taken.
On the other side was Jax. After losing Perry, Keith and Jax had gotten close their senior year. Jax had been a true friend and a real good guy. He and Jax were always great on the football field together because Jax seemed to read Keith’s mind. However, a couple of weeks after graduation, Jax just fell off the face of the earth.
Maybe Keith should have searched harder for him, but around that time, the doctors said there was nothing more they could do for his mom except keep her comfortable. So playing detective hadn’t been in the cards, and now so much time had passed that it might seem odd if he were to track Jax down. Though a piece of Keith would always be sad they’d lost touch.
Keith took the time to wipe down each picture. Death had taken so many of the people on this wall. Both of his parents, his grandparents, his aunts, his uncle, and his best friend were all gone.
Life was too damned short, and death was always going to
win. Sometimes he wondered what the point was.
His cell phone vibrated in his pocket. Odd, all the kids from the Rainbow Support Group texted, so he let the call go to voicemail. He finished cleaning every picture on his “homage to the transitory nature of life” wall. Then curiosity got the better of him, and he peeked at his phone.
Storm McGrath, the caller ID read. He listened to the message.
“Hey, Demon! I just wanted to let you know we’re all going out for drinks at Club Zombie on Friday, after you and I meet for coffee. I hope you’re free afterwards. Have a great night. Bye!”
Keith was helping Storm understand and adjust to having a family member who was nonbinary. Why couldn’t Storm accept he didn’t want to be friends? And Storm wasn’t the only one. Keith had been invited to weddings, dinners, and birthday parties of neighborhood children. They didn’t seem to be able to take a hint.
Why couldn’t he simply help Storm as an acquaintance in the support group? They didn’t have to be best buddies. Though he couldn’t stop admiring the guy. Storm always tried to come across as an ass, but if you looked beyond the false front, there was a really nice person.
Ruffles squawked, “Dinnertime. Din-din, Key-Key.”
“Yes, it’s time to eat.” He bent close so Ruffles could step onto his shoulder before he wiped down the tongue-kissed glass. “Since you ate all your pellets and veggies like a good boy, I’m going to give you a juicy orange.”
Ruffles bobbed his head. “Juicy, juicy, Key-Key.”
“Keith. Keith… I guess I should give up hope.”
Keith peeled, sectioned, and deseeded an orange as Ruffles supervised from his shoulder. He sliced up half the orange and double-checked to make sure there were no seeds in the bits of fruit because the seeds were just as dangerous to Ruffles as chocolate or avocados.
Ruffles fluttered his wings in what Keith imagined to be delight. As he set the cup of orange pieces on Ruffles’s kitchen perch, the bird jumped off him to enjoy the treat. He refilled the dishes of seeds and water, which would hold Ruffles for several days, if need be.
Keith pulled out the chicken he’d made earlier in the week and a premixed bag of salad. He rinsed and spun the different-colored lettuce leaves. He threw the wet salad all in a big mixing bowl and added dressing and the torn chicken. “Ah, a feast.”
Sitting at his kitchen table, he ate. He scrolled through his email and found one from his rental agent. Looked like his usual renters for the next reservation canceled. One of the women went into labor early. He wrote back and told the rental agent not to charge them. Then he sent a basket filled with baby things to their home address.
He was glad he’d invested the money he’d received from his mom’s insurance policy into a couple of houses on the shore. Working with the rental agency office, there wasn’t much for Keith to do except approve repairs and collect the checks. It gave him time to volunteer with at-risk youth. Many of South Carolina’s churches weren’t accepting of anyone other than cisgender and straight, so that meant there were plenty of people in need of counseling and direction.
As he finished his meal, he became more aware of the silence.
Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.
It wasn’t that he was lonely, but sometimes it was very quiet. The silence didn’t bother him… not really. The trouble was what tried to fill the void. Noise in his head cluttered his mind with concerns.
Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.
As if following a schedule, his usual worry session arrived. It was about—
“Bedtime. Bedtime. Night-night. Night-night.”
“Yes, Ruffles. Hold on.”
Keith rinsed his dishes. He collected the parrot’s fruit dish and put them all in the dishwasher.
Returning to the parrot, Keith presented his fist for Ruffles to jump onto for transport. Ruffles did and turned his head to the left and waited.
Keith chuckled as he rubbed the spot behind Ruffles’ left ear until the bird turned his head to give access to the right side. Then the bossy bird turned forward and expected both spots to be rubbed at the same time.
Keith complied until Ruffles yawned.
The bird massage completed, Ruffles ambled up Keith’s arm, nuzzled his beak against Keith’s cheek, and yelled, “Bedtime. Bedtime. Night-night. Night-night,” right in his ear.
“Night-night.” Keith walked him to his giant ornate wire cage and let him hop in. He shut the door and put the cover over. Everything was put away, so he shut off the lights.
He stripped, got underneath his bedding, and grabbed his laptop. Did he feel like jerking off or watching a movie? Maybe he’d do both.
Thirty minutes and watching a scorching-hot threesome with domestic discipline overtones video later, Keith still felt restless. Why the hell wasn’t he more satisfied? God, he hated this empty feeling that never went away.
Pulling out his phone, he texted Storm back: Yeah, I’d like to hang out.
“Why do they call you Demon sometimes?” someone new to Love the Rainbow Support Group asked.
Keith glanced around the room at the familiar faces sitting in the semicircle of chairs and smiled. He’d been here to witness their coming outs, various milestones, some heartbreaks, and their celebrations.
He felt honored to be a part of their lives, and a piece of that was his past mistakes needed to be visible.
“As many of you know, in high school I was a bully. I couldn’t admit who I was, so I punished others who could.” Bully was a harsh description for what he did, but it was a term they could relate to. He swallowed hard as he remembered several classmates who bore the brunt of his inability to accept himself. One in particular—
“What do you mean?” The newbie gave him a frowny face.
Yes, Keith had been an asshole. Starting this safe haven for LGBTQIA+ kids, adults, and their family and friends was only a part of his penance. He hoped one day to deliver the apology he owed in person to the one he’d hurt.
“When I figured out I was gay, I did everything I could not to be. I grew up in a time where no one talked about HIV or AIDS as anything other than a death sentence. My mother was a nurse, and I’d heard the terrifying stories. That’s one of the reasons I harp on safe-sex practices. Remember, condoms aren’t just for water balloons.” Might as well force-feed a reminder along with the sections of his battered soul he handed over.
Dramatic much?
He shrugged and shared several years of therapy with them. “Pretending to be something I wasn’t made me furious, and that got knotted with the belief that if I was true to myself, it would—in my head—kill me. The fact that a couple of my other brave classmates were out, in spite of the terrifying danger, pissed me off. They were being everything I was afraid to be… so I picked on them, name-called, started fights, and I was the worst to the boy I liked.”
“What happened?” one of the quieter kids asked while looking like Keith had announced Santa Claus wasn’t a real North Pole resident.
Keith wished he didn’t still remember the sweetness of the kisses or the way that soft laugh embedded itself in him. “He was a couple of years older than me, a senior. I saw him for a couple of months in secret. But I ignored him in school.”
How could Keith have turned away from his waves or laughed at the cruel jokes he hadn’t found funny?
“Why would you do that?” one of the other kids asked, not bothering to hide the anger in her voice.
Trying to swallow down the acid of memory, Keith responded, “This is what I figured out after several years of therapy. I wanted him to be my boyfriend, but I knew I couldn’t have him. So I hurt him. It was wrong. I’m very ashamed I wasn’t adult enough to see what I was doing at the time.”
Keith left out how a rush of stolen kisses had eventually led to a sexy hand job under the bleachers he couldn’t stop himself from giving. He could still hear the musical sighs leading to that sexy climactic moan. The best part was when that sweet forehead had fallen forward to rest on Keith’
s shoulder while they caught their breath.
He was an angel… an angel Keith had tried to break the wings off of so he couldn’t fly… away.
“Where is he?”
“I wish I knew. I went to visit my grandparents that summer, and when I got back, he was gone.” Keith had searched, but he’d vanished. Gone as if he’d never existed. Keith’s senior year would have been dismal except for Jax and a couple of other close friends. He’d never told Jax what was wrong, but Jax seemed to make it his mission to keep Keith’s spirits up.
Back to the present. “Anyway, that’s why my nickname is Demon, and I’m doing everything for it to no longer fit. Remember, even if you’re on the rainbow, it doesn’t mean you are automatically free from being homophobic, transphobic, or simply an asshole. Internalized homophobia leaks out as toxic poison onto others. Even if the folks you came out to didn’t respond the way you hoped or needed them to, sometimes it takes time. Remember, allies aren’t born knowing. When we can and it’s safe to do so, we educate others. Anyone else care to share?”
“Why does it seem I have to keep coming out? It’s not like a one-time thing,” one of the newer kids asked.
Mary, a veteran member who was back from her college on break, raised her hand and said, “You’ll keep coming out your entire life. As long as you’re safe to do so. When you meet new people or join a new organization, and yes, you get that same kind of sick feeling in your stomach each time, but over time mine has eased a little.”
The kid folded his arms. “Great. Just great.”
Keith looked around, and when no one else raised their hand, he breathed a sigh of relief and said, “If there’re no other shares and no other questions, let’s use the remaining time to socialize.”
2