She’s that girl on my Blisse Blog today! Welcome Sommer, I can’t wait to hear more about your new release LUNATIC FRINGE!
WARNING! ZOMBIES AHEAD!
I’d be the girl…
My main character and resident bad-ass zombie exterminator Poppy is everything I wish I was. She’s pretty much mangled, dented and emotionally damaged by life to a degree but…who isn’t on some level. Despite all that Poppy does knows how to throw down with the creepers (what my crew calls the zombies) and how to get down with Garrity. And later Garrity and Cahill and eventually…well, never mind. I’m getting ahead of myself.
Poppy can cop to her girlish feelings, kiss a guy so that his toes curl and take a troop of the undead down. That’s my kind of girl.
Which is why I am not Poppy.
See, I’d be that girl. You know the girl. We’ve all seen them in the zombie movies (or any horror movies if we’re honest). The girl who goes in the house when she know she shouldn’t . Stephen King even alludes to this in Salem’s Lot when his female lead has a lovely internal dialogue about it with herself as she enters the house…but that is VAMPIRES so entirely irrelevant to this rambling blog! As I was saying, I’d be the girl who screams so loud the zombies (or other monster) zeroes right in on her. I’d be the girl who trips and falls and is instantly consumed by a hoard of ravenous creatures. I’d be the girl who decides a short cut down a dark alley on a deserted night where no one can hear her scream is a brilliant idea.
And the best one yet: while working out a zombie plot point one hot afternoon, as I was recreating something, I realized that I’d be the girl who barricaded the inside of a door that swung outward.
Yeah, I’d be that girl.
By the end of the story, book or movie I’d be a zombie (or werewolf or vampire or just…ya know…a corpse). Which is why I am glad I don’t have to kill dead things. I just get to write bad-ass blue hair, sex crazed women who do it for me. And I would also like to note that I am very grateful all my doors in this house open inward. In the event of a zombie invasion, my ass is totally covered. No thanks to me or my barricading abilities!
Blurb for the newest Zombie Exterminator book LUNATIC FRINGE
Her big day is suddenly full of machetes, a lady from the CDC and news of a new vaccine that might–or might not–work. Lucky for Poppy the boys won’t let the new turn of events ruin her birthday, they still take her where she needs to go. Because all four of them know, every day could be your last. Sadly, Garrity, Cahill and Noah can’t control what happens next. Things change, possibly forever, for there little group of exterminators. And over the next few days Poppy realizes a few things with perfect clarity: she loves Garrity, the thought of losing one of the boys terrifies her and she’s completely at a loss when it comes to one of her own being threatened. It seems to be the one area in which she can’t pull off the bad ass persona.
What will she do, she wonders, if their perfect group of four suddenly becomes a group of three? How will she survive?
Excerpt from LUNATIC FRINGE:
“Good question,” Cahill said. He rose from the table, grabbed a silver box and set it on the table. “Happy birthday, Poppy.”
I glanced at him. “Now?”
“Yep, it’s from all us rowdy boys.”
I glanced at Garrity and then Noah and back to Cahill. Hmm. Odd. I popped the lid and zombie or no zombie, I squealed like a girl.
“Oh my Goooooood!” I grabbed them, one in each hand and hefted them. Then I swung them around like I was aiming for an invisible foe.
“Whoa, Nelly,” Garrity said. “They’re loaded, Pops.” I quickly lowered them.
Noah nudged Cahill in the ribs and said, “I told you not to load them, Nick.”
Cahill snickered, grabbed a handful of Noah’s artfully messy hair, tugged his head back and kissed him on the neck. “Yeah, you were right.”
I felt my panties go wet with that one. Okay, they are my friends; Nick Cahill has even been my lover (in a three-way with my handsome man Garrity, thank you very much), but they are still hotter than hell and watching them together turns me on. I felt my cheeks heat with blush.
“Best gift ever!” I said.
“Ah, not every girlfriend would get all gushy over sawed-off shotguns,” Garrity said and his finger traced a heated trail from the base of my neck to the base of my hips. Yum.
“Speaking of gushyâ€””
“Ew!” Noah snorted.
“Pevert,” I said. “As I was saying, seeing as I am not only the birthday girl but have already been attacked by a rogue creeper today, I am icky and need a shower. I’ll be back,” I said, snorting at my movie quote joke, considering I was toting some serious-ass kicking weaponry. “And I’m taking my prezzies with me.”
I walked through our shared farmhouse. It was old but killer. Along the way, I checked doors and glanced out windows. Holding a sawed-off in each hand made me feel safe. The world’s most demented and deadly security blankets.
I propped my new toys in the corner of the bathroom and stripped, remembering against my will the almost normal gait of the creeper. The near-alertness in her eyes that was realistic enough to fool me. How I didn’t even know until I was close enough to touch and smell her. Which meant she was close enough to bite me.
“Jesus. Are they mutating or what?” I growled, stepping into the hot spray and sighing.
It was nice. Hot water, lemon-basil scented shower gel. I even shaved my legs and my hoo-hah because I was looking to get lucky today. I had a birthday to celebrate, after all. I stood there, the water spreading over my skin, heating my core temperature and counteracting the February wind that had left me feeling cool and hollow.
“Yes, sir?” I asked, poking my head out.
My newly cut bangs were standing up in several different directions. I could feel them and in some places see them. I had just had the girl at Shear Class cut them into my still-dyed blue hair. I wanted to go a bit Bettie Page-ish because soon I figured I’d let it go back to its normal color and maybe chop it all off.
“Lunatic fringe,” Garrity sang to me, meaning my hair.
“We all know you’re out there,” I cooed back, and then I grabbed him by his tee and yanked. Hard. Garrity had two choices. Fall or step forward into the tub and the running water. Garrity isn’t stupid.
“I’m in the shower with you,” he observed with a smirk.
“So you are,” I said, tugging his belt which was getting wetter with each second.
“You’re naked,” he said.
“Thank you for noticing.”
“You seem a bit…zealous.”
“I got sneak-attacked in plain sight by the walking dead. Zealous is a generous adjective.” I managed the belt and tugged the buttons of his fly. His jeans, well worn and stained from motor oil and various other things I didn’t want to contemplate surrendered to my pressure.
Garrity helped me, shucking the jeans and togetherâ€”laughing and cursingâ€”we got his wet socks off. I was just happy he hadn’t been in his work boots when I pulled him in.
“Are you okay?” he asked, soberly. He pushed his big hands into my hair and made me look at him.
I kissed him, pushing my tongue into his mouth, shoving my hands up under his tee. I curled my fingers to his warm flesh and said, “I am now.”
“So we’re going toâ€””
“Fuck like crazy people in the shower? Yes.”
His cock was hard and warm in my hand and jumped a touch when I grabbed him. I kissed him harder and gasped into his mouth when he pinched my nipples hard enough to make my stomach tingle. “Spread your legs, Poppy,” he said.