Eve pulled the hearse up the drive and around to the back of the house, into their small, rickety shed/garage, which was not really big enough for it. Michael had remote- parked his vampmobile— provided by Morganville free of charge to all the vampires, in the until recently days— since Eve’s hearse had heavy vampire tinting on the back windows where he could shelter when he needed to.
None of the rest of them could drive Michael’s car, anyway, because of the thick black windshield and windows, so for now, best they left it where it was, parked underground beneath Founder’s Square.
But not seeing Michael’s car here, wedged in beside Eve’s . . . it just seemed significant. And it made Claire shiver to think it might never be parked here again.
Coming in through the kitchen reminded her that they hadn’t properly cleaned up from the Great Spaghetti Disaster, but she didn’t care just now, and clearly, neither did Shane or Eve, who ignored the destruction on their way through. She fol- lowed. They both went upstairs. At the top, Eve opened the door of the room she now shared with Michael, looked in, and was still for a moment before she said, “I’m going to get online and see what I can find out.” Then she went in and quietly shut the door behind her.
Shane stood for a few seconds, his head down, and then said, “I need a shower. See you in a few, okay?”
“Okay,” Claire said. She wished he would have said something else, something more significant, but she also understood the need to be alone. Eve was walling herself off so she could both work through how she was feeling and do something productive.
Shane . . . well, obviously, he needed to think, too.
And all of them needed showers, that was true. Self- evidently, aromatically true.
She went to her bedroom and sat down on the bed. The famil- iar creak of the springs made her feel at home, but most of her stuff was still stuck back in Cambridge. She would need to figure that out eventually, she supposed. Need to think how to get her clothes back, and her books, and all the photos she’d taken with her.
She hadn’t taken everything, at least; there were still a few pairs of underwear, a bra that had seen better days, a couple of pairs of jeans, and some older shirts. She assembled an outfit from the slim choices, then dug a pair of sheets out of the linen closet in the hall and put them on the bed— more for something to do than any intent to sleep.
When all that was done, she stretched out on the bed and lis- tened to the sound of the shower running. When it stopped, she gathered up her things and waited at the door. Shane appeared there after a few minutes, wrapped in a towel that showed a blin- dingly gorgeous span of chest and shoulders, and rode low enough on his hips to make her helplessly fill in the rest of the information in a rush of memory. She pulled in a sharp, needy breath as he pushed his damp hair back from his face and gave her a smile.
“What?” he asked.
“I— my turn.” She felt the color in her cheeks, and knew it was ridiculous, but she couldn’t help it. This . . . this felt like coming home, this sweet tension that suddenly pulled between them, a gravity that it was so easy to obey. Despite everything, all the insanity and fear and general weirdness of Morganville, they had this, and it was torturously beautiful.
He cleared his throat and moved out of the way for her— but not far enough that they didn’t brush against each other as they passed. “See you when you get out?” He made it a question.
“Maybe.” She raised her eyebrows, and saw the answering spark in his eyes.
“You’re killing me.”
“You deserve it, don’t you?”
That got her a pants- melting smile. “Most likely.”
She shut the door on him and leaned against it, suddenly and wonderfully short of breath, and it took her a moment before she could push away, put down her clothes, and start stripping for the shower.
It was still warm and steamy when she got in, and she used Eve’s herb- scented shampoo and body wash, then— with all ap- propriate mental prayers for forgiveness— borrowed Eve’s razor, too, because the state of her legs and underarms was especially bad. The water began to run cold by the time she was done, so she rinsed her hair and scrubbed soap off quickly, then ducked, shiver- ing, out into the cooler air.
After drying herself off, she combed her wet hair back and con- templated the pile of sad clothing she’d brought in with her.
Then she wrapped the towel around her body and carried the stack back into her bedroom instead of putting it on.
It didn’t really surprise her to find Shane there, sitting on the edge of the bed and still in his own towel. But it did feel good. Really, really good. She put her things on the bare top of the dresser and pretended not to notice him as she put the clothes away again.
“Really?” he said. “That’s what you’re going with in this situa- tion? Ignore me?”
“Absolutely,” she said. “At least until I do this.”
She walked over and shut the door, and locked it, just in case . . . Well, just in case. Then she turned, leaned against it, and looked at him.
“Oh,” he said.
“So,” Claire said.
“Uh- huh.”
“You’re sitting on my bed.”