Rad shrugged. “Cheap if you can see trouble coming out there. Right?”
Well, Shane really couldn’t argue with that. He finally nodded and shelled out fifty from the cash he’d won off the college boys. It was a good value, in Morganville, no question about it.
“You want two?” Rad’s lips split in a wide, blinding grin. He had big, square teeth that could have done work in a toothpaste commercial. “One for the girlfriend, eh?”
“Just one,” Shane said. “I’m on my own tonight.”
As a precaution, Shane parked the bike behind the garage, in the deepest shadows he could find. He’d gotten to know it on the way home, and it was a sweet little ride, not as loud as a lot of motorcycles. That would help, probably. But the important thing wasn’t to keep Michael from seeing the bike following him, just that he didn’t know it was Shane.
At least, that was Shane’s best idea.
When he came in the kitchen, Claire was already there, looking in the refrigerator. She was wearing the same clothes she’d had on yesterday, which meant she’d just gotten back from the lab, and when he started toward her, she held up her hands, looking miserable. “I smell,” she said. “No, I’m wrong—I stink. I can’t smell it, but I can feel it. I don’t want you to smell me right now.”
“I love how you smell,” he said. “Besides, I didn’t take a shower this morning, either. My bad.”
She considered that, catching that cute lower lip between her teeth in a way that made him tingle, and then nodded and stepped into his embrace. God, she felt good—small and fragile and warm, soft in all the right places. Her lips were hot and sweet under his, and for a few seconds, at least, he felt all the way better. Kissing Claire did that to him.
He kissed her a second time, lightly, and asked, “Did you eat anything today?”
“I think I had a graham cracker yesterday,” she said, and yawned. “I think I’m too tired to eat, though.” When she turned her head, he saw the shadow of bite marks on her neck—scars, not fresh. She was growing her hair longer to cover them up. “Where’s everybody else?”
“Michael’s at the music store. He had a late lesson. Should be back soon. Eve—” Right on cue, the front door banged open. “That’d be Eve.”
“Yo, losers, where’s my dinner?” Eve yelled.
“Yo, Gothic Princess, your name is on the kitchen duty list today!”
“Is not!”
Shane rolled his eyes. Claire was smiling. “I’ll help,” she said, and started pulling stuff out.
“Not your turn,” Eve said, breezing into the kitchen. “You don’t have to, Claire.”
“I know, but I’m hungry. I think. Maybe.” Claire frowned doubtfully at some leftovers. “Is this any good?”
“If you have to ask, the answer is usually no,” Eve said, and dumped the bowl into the trash. “Ugh. I don’t even know what that was, but it isn’t anymore. How about spaghetti?”
It was always spaghetti with Eve, unless someone else stepped in. Today, though, Shane’s heart wasn’t in it. “Sure,” he said, which made her turn and narrow her heavily made-up eyes at him. Mistake.
“Wow. Mr. I Have a Better Idea, stumped? That’s crazy talk. Are you running a fever?”
“Spaghetti sounds good.” He shrugged and let it go, because he was starting to wonder how he was going to gracefully ease out of here and follow Michael, if Michael left again.
“Not to me,” Claire sighed. “You know what? I was right the first time. I’m more tired than I am hungry.” She grabbed a can of Coke from the fridge and covered another yawn. She really did look exhausted—dark circles under her eyes, her skin gone paler than it should have been.
“You’re working too hard,” Shane said. “Promise me you’re going to get some rest, okay?”
“Okay,” Claire said, and gave him an absolutely beautiful smile. “Promise me you’ll wake me up tomorrow?”
He had a flash of what that would be like: sitting on the edge of her bed as the rising sun streamed in, bending over to kiss her awake, seeing her eyes open and that same lazy, delicious smile on her lips. Just for him.
All of a sudden, his pants felt two sizes too small, and he had to clear his throat. “I promise,” he said, and meant it. That was something to live for, if everything else failed on him. “Go on. Get to bed.”
She kissed him, ran her fingers through his hair, and left, practically staggering. He stood there watching her, not really thinking about anything until Eve smacked him on the back of the head. “You’re a good boyfriend,” she said.
“Then why did you hit me?”
“No reason,” she said, and grinned. “Spaghetti it is. You’re in charge of sauce.”
“Sauce is most of the work.”