The back door opened and closed, floorboards creaked in the kitchen, and Claire smelled the delicious wood-smoke aroma of barbecue. She couldn't help but smile, because hey - barbecue.
And, of course, the one bringing it.
"Hey," Shane said, and leaned over the couch to stare down at her. His hair was getting longer, and even more slacker-messy, as if he'd gone after the most annoying bits with a pair of scissors. Or garden trimmers. It should have looked horrible, but on him, somehow . . . it looked hot.
Not that she was in any way prejudiced.
"Hey," she replied, and held up her hand for him to smack. Instead, he took it and kissed it lightly.
"Why the mopey face? Did I forget to say something?"
"From you, hey is good enough." She sighed. Complaining about Kim hadn't been the great release she'd thought it would be; Michael had been on the fence, at best, and she had no reason to think Shane would be any different. "I'm just in a terrible mood."
"This I've got to see." Shane leaned over and stared into her eyes. "Wow. Yeah, that's terrifying. I can see that you're one second from snapping, Hannibal Lecter."
She sighed. "Nobody's scared of me."
"Nope. Nobody. That's a good thing, Claire."
"Says the guy who scares everybody."
Shane considered that and smiled slowly. She loved the way one side of his smile pulled higher than the other, and the little dimple that formed there. "I don't scare you."
"Well. Only a little, maybe."
"I'll have to work on getting rid of that little bit," he said. "Speaking of scary, how's your freaky boss?"
"Don't know, didn't go, don't care," she said. "My face hurts."
"So you're moping because your face hurts?"
"I'm ugly and nobody loves me."
"Wrong," he said, "and really wrong." He kissed her fingers again, and this time, his lips stayed warm on her skin for a long time. "Michael's getting ready?"
Claire let out an annoyed breath. "Yeah. Everybody's got somewhere to go but me, and - what?" Because she was getting an odd look.
"The theater at TPU? He's playing tonight? Packed house? Remember?"
Oh crap. No, she'd forgotten all about it, and now she felt - if possible - even worse. "I'm an idiot," she said. "Oh man. I've been whining like a two-year-old about Kim. I forgot he was trying to get himself together for the show."
"Kim?" Shane's attention snapped into bright focus. "Kim. Goth Kim?"
"Yeah, what's her last name, anyway? Weird Kim. That one."
"Where'd you meet Kim?"
"Eve. I guess they're in the play together?"
"Oh, crap," Shane said. His expression changed, went guarded. "So you talked to her."
"I wasn't worth talking to."
Was she wrong, or was that a little flicker of relief? "Probably a good thing. She's kind of a flake."
"Kind of?" Claire's eyes narrowed. "Did you date her?"
His eyes went wide, and there was a fatal second of silence before he said, "Not - exactly. No. I - no."
"Did you hook up?"
He started to answer, then shook his head. "I've got no good options here," he said. "Whatever I say, you're going to believe I did, right? But even if I did, it was a long time ago, and anyway, I'm with you now. All right?"
"All right," she said. She felt as if pieces of herself were breaking off, and somehow, it was all Kim's fault. I'm an adult, she told herself. Adults don't get stressed out about ex-girlfriends or ex-hookups or whatever. Except she wanted to go find Kim and punch her out, which was not good, because she was pretty sure Kim would punch back, and harder. "Sure. It's all good."
Shane didn't believe that for a second, but she saw him decide to fake it. "Right," he said. "So. Barbecue. You in?"
"I can't believe you eat barbecue after you serve it all day long. Doesn't that get old?"
"It's barbecue," he said. "What's your point? Come on, mopey. Come eat."
He half dragged her off the couch, tickled her into giggles, and chased her into the kitchen.
He was right. Barbecue really was kind of a magic cure for the mopeys.
Claire dressed up for Michael's show at TPU, but given the state of her sunburn, she wasn't sure it was worth the effort - at least, until she got downstairs. Shane and Michael were standing together, talking, and wow. Claire lingered on the stairs, admiring.
"What?" Shane asked, catching her.
"Nothing. You guys look great."
Michael shrugged, as if it were no big thing. So did Shane, even though he'd taken the time to put on his good black shirt and black leather jacket, and even sort of comb his hair.
Michael, though - rock star. Not in the glam hair-band sense, no, but he just looked . . . important. Claire wondered if Eve had picked his clothes for him; if she had, she really loved him, because they were completely perfect. Speaking of which - "Where's Eve?"
"Running late," Michael said. "She's meeting us there."
Eve passed up barbecue? That was odd. Claire came down the rest of the steps and did a little inspection twirl for Shane. "Okay?"
"Spectacular," he said, and kissed her - carefully, because of the sunburn. "You know I love that skirt."
She blushed under the burn. "Yes. I know." It was a short, pleated skirt. Plaid. The shoes she had on with it were the ones that Eve had bought for her last Halloween - funky, but cool and kind of sexy. Claire still felt a little uncomfortable with her body in general, but there was something about the signals Shane was giving her that made her feel less awkward. More - confident.