My Undead Heart

by Kacey Shea

  “Rest up, then. I’ll see you at practice Monday. You come ready to work. Got it?”

  “Yes, Coach.” His answer comes swiftly.

  I nod, giving him one last look before I turn away, and walk out of their humble apartment even more motivated to help this kid rise from the ashes and find his own success. Sure, there’s something in it for me, but now it’s not only about keeping up with operating expenses. It’s about life and death. It’s about family. It’s reconstructing the past with the ending I always wanted.

  The week goes by in a blur of work, one more late night training session with Matt, and more work. By the time Saturday hits I’m tempted to blow off this Walking Dead-A-Thon party with Jared and Rae in exchange for a day of cheap takeout, sweats, and video games on my couch. Of course, there’s no way that’s actually possible. We’ve had our tickets for months and it’ll be fun once we get there. Nothing quite like being in the company of fellow TWD addicts to re-energize the soul.

  When my friends show up at my apartment before eight in the morning, Rae with her deluxe makeup bags and Jared with two bottles of wine, I’m swept up in their positive energy. The day proves to be entertaining and laid back, exactly what I need. The bar and grill shuts down once a year in conjunction with the comic book store next door to create a movie theater experience solely for our group. The food is amazing and our drinks stay full. We laugh, we yell, we scream, and we cry at the re-runs played on the temporary screen covering one entire wall. And regardless of the fact Rae’s already seen every single episode, she still jumps out of her seat each time a walker pops onto the screen. We tease her relentlessly and take turns hiding and scaring her each time she returns from using the restroom.

  At the end of the event, we hug and part ways, Jared off to a first date, Rae meeting her friends from work for drinks, and me to find my couch and favorite worn sweats. I should be calm and rested after the day I’ve had, but my mind won’t shut down. I’m amped up with an energy that comes from good people and good food, but without enough physical activity to make me tired. Instead of zoning out with a video game, I fill the hours until bed pacing around my apartment, putting away laundry, washing a few dishes, and cleaning the bathroom.

  My phone interrupts my toilet bowl scrubbing with a chime from atop the kitchen counter. A text alert, most likely Jared updating me on his date with the paralegal who works on the top floor of our building. I prepare myself for the play by play. If it’s a good date, he’ll be over the top with excitement—hyphenating their names and sending selfies of them kissing and hugging. If it’s not, I’ll hear how bad his date’s breath smells or if he caught the cheater checking out the waiter’s ass, only to be followed by another text begging me to rescue him with a made up emergency.

  Flushing the toilet and putting away the supplies, I’m proud of my clean bathroom. I wash my hands before grabbing my phone and plopping on the couch. Only it’s not Jared. The screen shows a message from none other than Matt Haywood.

  Matt: You up?

  My body buzzes at the sight of his name. Before I can answer or even unlock my screen, another text comes through and I almost drop the damn phone. I shake off my reaction because—what the hell?—it’s only a message and sure, he hasn’t sent one before, but we did exchange phone numbers. Upon closer inspection his second message warms my insides with that stupid kind of gooey feeling.

  Matt: Just checking to make sure you got home safe and that you didn’t have to kick any ass tonight.

  He remembered. When we were training Thursday night he asked about my goals and what I wanted to accomplish. I confided in him about the anxiety I’d been feeling about going to the event today. He didn’t make me feel stupid either. He was attentive and drew out my insecurities with a listening ear. Instead of trying to fix it, or change my mind, he reassured me I was already ten times more equipped to deal with another drunken asshole if that should happen again. And then we practiced escape holds for the next hour, just to be certain.

  He’s nice. Something I would have never pegged him for after our first encounter, or even the second. Funny how it’s only been a week and already he’s become a different person. That, or my impression of him has evolved with each hour spent under his training.

  Mia: I survived. No bloodshed or grabby hands. I call that a win!

  Before I can set down the phone, a bubble appears on screen signaling he’s typing a reply. I wait a few minutes, watching as they come and go when finally, another text comes through.

  Matt: Good. Def a win. Can I ask you something?

  Can he ask me something? I stare at the screen because I’m not sure exactly what that means. In my experience, when a person asks for permission they’re about to drop some kind of bomb. Otherwise, they wouldn’t ask. They’d just say it. But I don’t know Matt, not really, so what would he want to ask me? Clicking on the screen to reply, the display flashes with my caller ID of an incoming call. Matt. I press to accept and bring the receiver to my ear. “Hello?”

  “Hey, Mia. Sorry it’s late, I know, but since you’re up it’s just easier that I call.”

  “Sure. What’s going on?”

  The clatter of dishes, food orders being shouted, and the thump of a bass drum collide with our short pause in conversation. “I’ve only got a quick break here, but I’ve been thinking about the website and how it could help generate more money. I don’t know, but someone at Zig’s tonight mentioned something about affiliate links and advertising. Would that even be possible? How does that work? What do you think?”

  I have no clue why, but I’m almost disappointed he called to discuss business—or maybe I’m surprised. Either way, it throws off my focus for a moment and I hope he doesn’t interpret my delayed response for anything like lack of interest or knowledge. “Oh, yeah. That’s a great idea. I can get more info if you want. I actually had some ideas of my own. Do you have time tomorrow? We can go over everything in person.”

  “That’d be perfect, actually. But only if you have time.”

  “How’s five o’clock? We can meet somewhere.” As much as I feel comfortable around Matt and trust him to be safe, I don’t really know him well enough to invite him inside my apartment. At least not yet.

  “You like sushi?”

  “Um, yeah. I do.”

  “Cool. Let’s meet at Yuzu’s in West Town.” He pauses and the rumble from his amusement seeps with his next words. “Unless you want me to pick you up on my bike?” The bike. The death trap that literally abolishes the feminist inside me every time my legs straddle the seat. My reaction is frickin’ stereotypical but I cannot deny the spark of sexuality that scrap of metal ignites. The vibration between my legs thrums through my body so I’m fully turned on, but not directly enough at my apex to get me off, and thank God because how embarrassing would that be! Twice now he’s given me a ride home after training so I wouldn’t have to ride the bus, and both times were foreplay before masturbating in the privacy of my own apartment.

  “No. I’m good. I’ll meet you there.”

  “Thanks, Mia. I really appreciate it. It means more than—” A muffled shout interrupts his words and when he comes back on the line, he’s curt. “Gotta go. Duty calls. See you tomorrow.”

  “See you then,” I say, but when I pull the phone away from my ear the screen is back to our text thread. He already hung up. Probably breaking up another fight. I wonder what he was about to say. Oh well, I’m sure he’ll tell me tomorrow. Glancing at the time, I now know exactly what to do to fill my overactive brain for the remainder of the night. I gather my laptop, a pop from the fridge, and settle on a binge of streaming Buffy episodes while I pour my creativity into making the best damn website I can. Something to really knock his socks off. Not that I want to knock any clothing articles off of Matt. Nope. That wouldn’t be professional. Besides, if I had to pick one, it definitely wouldn’t be the socks. Shit. Focus, Mia. Back to work.

  The only reason I want to impress Matt is because
I’m thankful for what he’s teaching me. I want to give back and prove I’m good at what I do for a living. Just like he is. Yeah, that’s it. As I design and snack and work well into the early morning hours, I almost believe it’s the truth.

  Taking a bus and then walking the rest of the way, I spot the restaurant as soon as I turn the corner onto Chicago Avenue. It’s a popular place, not only for the quality of the food, but also for the prices. Every other time I’ve been to Yuzu’s there’s at least an hour wait for a table, but when I open the large glass door Matt’s already sitting at a table in the back corner.

  He lifts his gaze from the menu and waves with a smile.

  I wave back and skirt the hostess stand on my way over. “Hey, Matt.”

  He stands when I approach and it’s awkward for a second as I decide whether I should wave again, or go for a hug or a handshake. We’re not that close, and yet this isn’t an ordinary business meeting so being formal doesn’t feel right either. Matt settles it for me when he reaches for the empty chair. “Please, sit. I ordered a plate with a little of everything. I hope that’s okay?” He sits back down after I do.

  “No, that’s fine. I’m not picky. I like it all.” I set my bag along the empty seat to my right.

  “Good. Me, too.” His gaze finds mine across the small table and grins. “Thanks again. I’m sorry I called so late last night. This morning I realized how rude that was, interrupting your night.”

  “Not at all. You didn’t.” I shake my head and reach over, unzipping my bag to produce my laptop. I’m so damn excited to show him my work. Once I got started last night I couldn’t stop, and I finally had to force myself to put it away and get some sleep at four this morning. Luckily, I could sleep in all day to make up for it.

  “Let me show you what I did so far. Nothing’s live yet, and we can change anything you don’t like. I took some liberties with the design and content, too.” Pulling up the new landing page, I flip the screen around to him.

  He drags it closer, his fingertips timidly moving over the trackpad. “How do I . . . Oh, okay . . .” His gaze trains on the computer screen but mine is on his face. Watching and waiting for his reaction. I did my best work, but he’s not a designer so I don’t expect him to geek out. In fact, I’m not really sure what to expect, other than I’m eager to find out what he will say.

  His eyes dart across the screen as he clicks and scrolls, taking it all in and not hating it—I hope. When he finally opens his mouth to speak, it’s with total awe. “Wow. When did you even find the time to do this? Mia, this is amazing. Wow.”

  “You said that already,” I zing, but inside I’m beaming with pride. I’m a pro at what I do, and it’s nice to be acknowledged. Even better when the customer in question’s eyes light up like a child on Christmas morning.

  He slowly turns the laptop and slides it back into my waiting hands. His eyes darken with the ghost of a frown as he chews at the bottom corner of his lip. I pull up the next thing I want to show him, but when I glance back up he’s shaking his head.

  “Seriously, Mia. This is way too much. I’m trading you, what? A few hours of self-defense classes. This is thousands of dollars’ worth of work.”

  “Stop. It’s fine. You’re working around my insane schedule. If it weren’t for you, I wouldn’t have had the confidence to leave my house yesterday, let alone have a good time. You’ve given me far more than a few hours of training.”

  “That’s good to hear, Mia. I’m glad you see it that way. Thank you.”

  I shrug it off. “It’s nothing. I had some other ideas, too. Can I run them by you?” I scrounge around in my bag until I retrieve the notebook spattered with all of my random thoughts from last night.

  His smile is warm and inviting when I look up.

  With an exhale, I tap on my first bullet point. “Okay, how do you feel about a store?”

  His smirk widens with a pull of his lips. “They’re good for buying stuff . . .”

  I roll my eyes. “No, smartass. I’m talking about an online store. Where people can purchase T-shirts, tanks, all that other crap you have up front.”

  “Gotcha. I like it. But how will I know when someone orders? I’d be worried I’d screw it up.” He clasps his hands together, leaning forward on the table top with interest. I try really hard not to notice how his arms completely fill the sleeves of his white Henley. God damn, why are strong biceps so sexy. Even covered in fabric they’re enough to make me squeeze my thighs together. His soft chuckle pulls my gaze back to his face, the crinkle in the corners of his eyes telling me he’s fully aware of how much his body’s able to distract.

  I shake my head to clear my thoughts and glance back at my notepad. “I can set it up so you’ll get push reminders to your email. Even your phone if you want.”

  “Yeah. That’d be awesome. Thank you.”

  “Okay, so . . .” I move my fingers along the trackpad of my laptop and pull up the screen I want. My phone starts ringing atop the table and I feel bad I forgot to switch it to silent. More so when his brow lifts along with one corner of his mouth.

  “You need to get that?”

  “No. It’s fine. They can wait.” I shake my head when I see who’s calling. Clicking the ringer off with one hand, I slide my other along the trackpad to pull up the class schedule section. I’m most proud of how dynamic it is. Before it was a plain old PDF file. “So, check this out. If someone clicks on this, they’ll see the entire week, but if they expand it, there’s an option to call or email. We can even add a button here to sign up for a trial class if you want.”

  “That’s awesome. Yeah, that’d be great.” He nods.

  The buzz of my silent ringer vibrates against the wood of our table. Incessantly. Annoyingly.

  “Sorry. That’s so rude.” This time I pick it up to see my mother’s name flash across the screen. I send her to voicemail. Again.

  “Not an emergency, I take it?” he asks.

  “Not in the slightest.” I shake my head as a text message comes through, her asking me to call her, that she has someone for me to meet. Ugh. “My mother cannot deal with the fact I’m thirty-four, unmarried, and have no potential love interest on the horizon. Oh, the horrors!” I raise my hands and wiggle my fingers before rolling my eyes.

  He laughs, the kind that comes straight from his belly and the timbre gives me a little thrill. I have to fight back a smile.

  “I’m sure the only reason you don’t have a boyfriend is because you choose not to.” He laughs again, drops his gaze back to the screen, and opens his mouth to speak but I cut him off.

  “What is that supposed to mean?” The words leave my lips full of venom and my mind goes on the defense. I pull away from the table, sitting as far back as possible in my chair. I don’t know what the fuck he thinks or assumes about me, but it’s probably what everyone else does. I’m not cute. Or warm and fuzzy. I suck at girlfriend-ing. But he doesn’t know that and we aren’t friends, so he doesn’t get to make fun of me.

  His eyes meet mine and widen at my glare. “No. No! That’s not what—” He holds his hands up in surrender. “I only meant to imply you could date anyone you wanted. If you’re not seeing someone it’s because you haven’t met anyone worth your time.”

  I raise my brow at his backpedaling but he only continues.

  “You own a mirror so you already know you’re gorgeous. And that you made this.” He points at my open laptop and then meets my stare. “Out of what was there before. You’re brilliant, too.”

  He doesn’t squirm under my glare, only holds it while his brown orbs bore into mine. It stirs that fluttery feeling in my belly again and I despise the fact he holds the upper hand. But his sincere apology of mouth vomit wins. Unable to hold back my laughter, I shake my head. “Nice save. Unfortunately, my mother doesn’t share your viewpoint.”

  His gaze drops and he straightens his chopsticks so they’re perfectly parallel on the placemat before he meets my eyes again. “At least you have someone
who cares enough to not want you to be alone.”

  A scoff escapes my throat and I shake my head, taking in the bulked out hunk of a man before me. There’s no way Matt spends his evenings alone. “I’m sure you have no problems filling your dance card.”

  His lips lift at one corner, a trace of a smile that’s so goddamn handsome it’s not fair. “You’d be surprised. It’s not so easy to find someone I enjoy spending time with.”

  My eyes roll because I can’t stand liars. “I bet that’s not true.”

  His eyes darken at my reply and his lips pinch into a disappointed stare. Only I don’t understand what for.

  Leaning forward, my elbows at the table’s edge, I drop my voice so he has to do the same. “In fact, I’d put down money that if you walked over to the bar you could leave with your choice of any of those women.” I nod to the ladies gathered at the high top tables adjacent to our dining area. “Single or otherwise.”

  His lips pull into a smile, but it doesn’t quite fill his face. He leans back in his chair and crosses his arms over his chest. “Good thing I’m not a gambling man. Besides, last time I tried to pick up a girl in a bar she shot me down real good.” His smile widens with the reference.

  Picking up my glass, I take a long sip of the cool water and shrug. “She was probably way too good for you. That or your pick-up lines got lost in the nineties. You should work on that.”

  His chuckle smooths over my body and prickles my skin in goosebumps. “A little of both, yeah,” he admits with a smile.

  Before I can reply, our server comes by with one large plate of food. California rolls, spicy tuna, Alaskan, and two others I don’t recognize. It’s a feast, and I rush to tuck my laptop and notebook safely back in my bag. “Can I get you anything else to drink?” she asks us both. Matt sticks with water so I do the same. He hands me an empty plate and lets me pick first. I go with one of the unknowns. The taste of shrimp mixed with avocado permeates my mouth and it’s so damn good I almost let loose a groan. We eat in companionable silence while the hustle and bustle of the crowded restaurant fills the space between our conversation.