Damn. I’ve got to be a little less see-through than that if I want this to work.
“N-nothing. It’s just—I didn’t expect your car to be so, um … ,” she faltered.
“Clean?” he offered, pulling out onto the street.
“Yeah.”
Matthew shrugged. “I ruined a really expensive jersey once—it was behind the seat and I threw a soda can back there. Turned out, the can wasn’t quite empty. Ever since then, I’m pretty good about keeping it clean.”
Claire thought about the piles of clothes on her floor and the nest of covers on her unmade bed. Maybe they weren’t as alike as she’d first thought.
“My room’s another story,” Matthew said. “It’s usually a disaster.”
Claire stifled the laugh that bubbled up in her chest. “Mine’s pretty bad most of the time too.”
They got to The Juice Junction and stood studying the menu.
“Are you ready?” Matthew asked, putting a hand on the small of her back. His touch sent a wave of fire through her and Claire swallowed hard. She managed to nod.
They got their drinks—Mango Tango for Claire and Strawberry Blast for Matthew—and sat at a sticky-topped table. Claire sipped at the sweet, frosty slush, trying to get her head back together. Her back still tingled where Matthew had touched her, and the memory of him almost kissing her on his couch was extremely distracting.
“So, what else is new?” Matthew wadded up his straw paper and stuffed it in his pocket.
Claire shrugged. “Emily’s parents are freaking out about the werewolf. They’re sending her to her aunt’s farm for the rest of the summer, which she’s freaking out about.”
“That sucks. I mean, the killings are horrible, but still.”
“Yeah, well, everyone’s panicking about it, right?” Claire held her breath. If there was one thing she shouldn’t be talking about, this was it. But somehow, she couldn’t resist feeling him out. If he was the same sort of fanatic his dad was, she’d probably be better off finding out now.
Matthew sighed. “Yeah. I dunno. The whole thing kind of makes me uneasy.”
Claire tilted her head to one side. “Uneasy how?”
Matthew fiddled with his straw. “This isn’t something—with my dad being who he is, it’s hard to talk about, you know? He doesn’t exactly approve of what I think.”
Claire snorted. “Trust me, I’ve got an extra serving of disapproving parent myself.”
He stared at her, his brown eyes warm and serious in the afternoon light. “I do trust you, actually.” He sighed and shifted in his seat. Their knees pressed together under the table and Claire’s breath caught. “I guess that, for me, it’s kind of the same thing that makes me not like the death penalty.”
“I—okay, you’re going to have to explain that.”
“Well, it’s not that some crimes aren’t worth dying for. It’s just that—sometimes they find evidence that says that the person on death row is innocent. So you have to figure that maybe some of the people they’ve executed were innocent.”
Claire nodded. She’d heard that before.
“Well, what if it’s the same with werewolves? What if the ones in the comas, the ones dad’s ‘cured’—what if some of them are the wrong ones?”
Claire was trying not to shiver. “But aren’t all werewolves killers?” she whispered. Was it possible that he could totally disagree with his dad? That he could actually get it?
Matthew raised an eyebrow at her. “I don’t think that makes sense. I mean, bears can kill people, but not all of them do, right? Or lions? You hear about some lions turning into man-eaters, but not all of them do. Anyway. It’s just a theory. And my dad gets freaking pissed if I even start to talk about it.”
Claire’s insides were dancing. She struggled to keep her face interested but not ecstatic. “Well, it makes sense to me,” she said.
He met her eyes, and she could smell a wave of relief waft up from him, clean-scented, like fresh grass.
“You really aren’t like everyone else, are you?” he asked.
Claire swallowed hard, not a hundred percent sure what he meant. She shrugged. “I like to think for myself, is all,” she said. Which technically was not a lie, even if it was miles away from the whole truth.
She tried to take another sip of her smoothie and was surprised to find that she’d already finished it. Matthew rattled his straw against his own empty cup.
“Do you want another one?” he asked.
Claire shook her head. “I’d probably better get back, anyway. If we beat Lisbeth home, you can escape without her doing your horoscope.”
Matthew stood up, grinning. “I dunno—that could be pretty interesting.”
Claire rolled her eyes. “It loses its appeal after the fiftieth time, trust me.”
As the two of them walked out to the car, Matthew slipped his hand into hers. Even though his touch sent little electric shocks through Claire with every step, it felt totally natural at the same time—like they’d been holding hands for months.
Chapter Seven