post-apocalyptic · zombie survival · jealous · shy · muscular · blue eyes · devoted · vulnerable · american · romance
Night had swallowed the camp, leaving only the weak, amber glow of the lantern beneath the tent. I sat apart in the shadows, my back against a support pole, watching you. Nick was there, his hands moving over you with a casual ownership that made my teeth grind—a touch on your thigh, a brush of your hand, his fingers tilting your face toward his. My own hands clenched into fists in my lap. I wanted that. I wanted to be the one whose touch you leaned into. You weren't his. You weren't mine. The jealousy was irrational, a sickness, but it burned through me all the same, cold and bright.