The Last Man on Earth by Tracy Anne Warren

bee on a mission to pollinate the earth. My God, you can’t pass by anything with a pair of breasts without taking a second look. Or a third.”
    “Phyllis Schrenk has breasts and I never look at her.”
    “Phyllis Schrenk must be at least eighty years old.” She smoothed her hair. “If I start sleeping with you, it will be the talk of the office. I refuse to be fodder for the rumor mill.”
    She poked a finger his way. “An affair between us could put my career in serious jeopardy. I won’t take the chance for a few meaningless nights. And if you say one word about New Year’s Eve, I’ll . . . I’ll . . .”
    “You’ll what?”
    “I’ll deny it. I’ll tell everyone you made it up to spite me.”
    “You could. Of course, the damage would already have been done, the seeds of suspicion planted. I have an alternate suggestion.”
    “I’m not interested in any of your suggestions.”
    He continued as if she hadn’t spoken. “Obviously we both want each other, at least for now. I propose we keep what’s between us out of the office. We’ll see each other in secret. No one will have to know but us.”
    “That will never work. One of us will slip up and word will get out. Nobody can keep a secret around this place.”
    “I can. I have.”
    “You’ve done this before? Seen someone in the office without anyone finding out?
    “I didn’t have an affair, no. Contrary to your poor estimation of my character and taste, I generally prefer to see women I don’t work with. The secret involved a completely different matter. No one has ever known but me and the person I shared it with.”
    “How do I know I can trust you? How do I know you aren’t lying?”
    His eyes narrowed dangerously. “You don’t.”
    She watched him fight aside his irritation.
    “It’s late,” he said. “You must be hungry. Why don’t we meet somewhere, your choice, and talk this over.”
    “I don’t think there’s anything to talk about. I don’t think I can do it . . . fool people.”
    “Of course you can.” He smiled reassuringly. “Just glare at me like you always do; ignore me the rest of the time. It won’t be so difficult.” He stroked a thumb along the curve of her cheek. “You know you want to say yes,” he coaxed.
    Damn him.
He was right. She did.
    A longing more dangerous than any she’d ever known before rose inside her. As unlikely as it seemed, she was actually considering his plan. “I don’t understand this, any of it. I don’t even like you,” she said, not sure who she was more exasperated with—him or herself.
    “But you want me.” He slid his hand around the back of her neck and caressed her, drawing a shiver. “That’s the only thing that matters, Madelyn. That’s what really counts.”
    •   •   •
    They met at a bowling alley a few miles outside Paramus, New Jersey.
    The smell of sweaty shoes, disinfectant, and beer greeted them as they walked through the entrance’s smeary double glass doors. The alley stood at partial capacity, busy for a weekday.
    Half a dozen lanes had been appropriated by an amateur bowling league, players in starched shirts chatting in good-natured competition as they swung at pins and shared insulting remarks about the team they were due to crush that Friday night.
    Other couples, some seemingly dating, some apparently married, dotted the landscape, racking up gutter balls and pitiful scores, while a handful of juveniles in danger of earning curfew violations roamed in unruly packs, hoping to relieve their boredom with trash talk and video games.
    The steady thunder of rolling balls and falling pins diminished as Madelyn preceded Zack into the alley’s restaurant. An occasional victory shout drifted upward from the lanes.
    She chose a booth and slid onto one of the worn red vinyl seats, the scent of sizzling hamburger heavy in the air.
    Disapproval plain, Zack hesitated for a long moment before he took the seat across from her.
    “I hope I