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Idiot.

As for Grant, he’s probably cowering behind a fake wall like a six-year-old girl.

I pause that thought as a group of actual six-year-old girls rushes past me, taking out a pack of roving zombies like a legion of tiny zombie slayers. Those little girls are badass. Unlike Grant, who lost his man card the minute the lights dimmed and he sacrificed me to the first real threat to save his own ass. Lucky for me, the “threat” was someone’s grandma, and she couldn’t see past her bifocals to hit me.

Haven’t seen Grant since. I wonder if he’s even still here. He was pretty pissed he lost the coin toss for first pick of activities. For all I know, he’s sitting in the snack bar waiting for his chance to wow me. Good luck, buddy.

It doesn’t take long before my hiding spot becomes Grand Central on the zombie train line, forcing me to move on. Keeping my back against the wall, I trail the miniature slayers while I scope out a new place to lay low. I’m pretty sure I know where I rank on the “Most likely to survive a zombie apocalypse” list. “Woman in the fuzzy white sweater and cute shoes” would rank somewhere near the bottom, but probably higher than “Straight guy who squeals like a little girl.”

Poor Grant. The guy’s supposedly super smart—he’ll probably discover the cure for erectile dysfunction one day. But he can’t math his way out of this maze. If that were possible, I would’ve already won the game.

I suspect Jordan would kick zombie ass. He sure as hell wouldn’t hide behind me.

“Incoming!” One of the mini-Buffys directly in front of me squeals over the music and they all jump into action, wielding their oversize weapons like commandos.

The pew-pew of laser fire draws my attention as a little girl in plastic armor tackles me to the floor. Lucky for me, my shoulder takes the brunt of the fall, but I take a cheap bike helmet to the temple on the way down. I’ll have a wicked headache later, but I don’t think I’ll die. I can’t say the same for Tyler when I finally get my hands on him. He’ll wish he’d been bitten by an actual zombie.

I stagger to my feet, and the tiny-Buffy army spreads out around me in a protection formation as if I’m humanity’s last hope.

“Stay behind us!” Head Buffy sends me to the back of the line, and I follow her orders to the letter. These kids are deadly with battery-operated munitions.

“Kennedy!” Grant collides with me, wrapping me in a bear hug and crushing me against his fake armor as he shouts in my ear. “After Tyler got taken out, I was sure you were a goner.”

My first thought is, Tyler got taken out? But then the weight of his implication sinks in. “Why . . . because I’m a woman?”

“Uh, maybe?” He stammers out the reply, a hint of fear reflecting in his green eyes. “You look about as excited to be here as me. And believe me, I’m not thrilled.”

“Good to know.” I laugh, though I’m not sure if I should be insulted by his confession or not.

His eyes widen behind his surprisingly sexy thick black glasses. “It’s not you. I like you. I just don’t like zombies. Or . . .” He scans the war zone around us. “Intense situations.”

I swallow a snicker. “You’re freaked out. I get it.”

“I’m not freaked out.” He puffs up his chest and frowns.

The Buffys charge forward, but I lag behind to torment Grant.

“Admit it.” I smirk. “You’re scared.”

Grant exhales a shaky laugh. “Why would I be scared? None of this is—”

The words die on his tongue as a newly minted zombie-Tyler comes whipping around the corner with his laser pointed straight at Grant’s chest.

Head Buffy lets out a battle cry and charges forward, but before she reaches us, Grant shoves me into the path of Tyler’s shot. My armor vibrates, lighting up from the direct hit at the same time the six-year-old warrior tackles me, sending us both crashing into a paper mache wall. I scrape myself from the floor just as the buzzer signaling the end of the game goes off.

I don’t need a mirror to know I’m already turning into one big bruise. By tomorrow, I’ll look like one of the walking dead. I hope Tyler has a first aid kit in his car, because I need Tylenol . . . and a coffee IV.

Grant had better have something amazing planned for the second half of the evening, or I might have to sacrifice them both to the Buffys.

Half an hour later, Tyler pulls into the Stardust Diner parking lot and cuts the engine.

“Uh . . .” I dart my eyes around the parking lot looking for Jordan’s Jeep, exhaling with relief when I don’t see it. The night he brought me here, he said he ate here all the time. The last thing I need is to have him sitting in on my double date. “What are we doing here?”

“Isn’t that obvious?” Grant climbs out of the back seat and stretches his long legs.

I contemplate staying in the car, but with both of them staring at me through the passenger window, I rule out that option. When neither of them makes a move to open my door, I do it myself. “Guess we’re eating . . . but why here?”

“Why not here?” Grant stops mid-stretch, and his eyes go wide. “You’re not a vegetarian, are you?”