Megan popped the last bite of her imitation-peanut-butter sandwich into her mouth. She chewed, swallowed, and washed it down with chocolate milk, then stuffed her containers back into her lunch bag. “And it’s not the good kind of zombie, either.”Hanna groaned inwardly. Clearly she shouldn’t have told her bestie how Derrick had nicknamed her “cock-zombie” because of her love of giving him oral sex. Or, greedily gobbling his dick, as he chose to describe it. Used to describe it. Since the madness that happened Monday after work, he hadn’t spoken to her, not two words. Then again, it was hard to have any amount of conversation with somebody who didn’t come home. He’d been conspicuously absent every night. Staying out late, not answering her texts or calls, sleeping on the couch when he finally rolled in. The only thing that’d kept her marginally sane was his sobriety. No signs of staggering drunkness, no stench of alcohol. And he’d managed to get his bike back on the road.
