"Hey, Chief. Didn't know kissing was against the code."
"There's probably something about public displays of affection, but I'm not so much bothered by that." She pointed at the western horizon, where the sun was brushing the edge. "Time to be getting home."
Shane looked where she pointed, and nodded, suddenly sobered. "Thanks. Lost track of time."
"Well, I can see how." She waved and pulled away, off to deliver helpful encouragement to other wandering potential victims. It was different from the way Monica's brother, Richard Morrell, used to do things, and before him the old police chief, but Claire kind of liked it. It seemed . . . more caring.
Shane held out his hand and pulled her to her feet, and helped her dust the grass off, which was mainly just an excuse to be handsy. Which she didn't mind at all. "Did you see my ninja move? That was fast, right?"
"You are not a ninja, Shane."
"I've watched all the movies. I just haven't gotten the certificate from the correspondence course yet."
She smiled; she couldn't help it. Her lips were still tingling, and she wanted him to kiss her again, but Hannah was right--sundown was a bad time to make out in public. "I've thought about the drive-in."
"And?"
She fell in beside him as they walked toward home. "I don't care what's playing after all."
His eyebrows rose. "Sweet."
Michael wasn't home when they got there, but Eve was, buzzing around upstairs. Claire could immediately tell, because either it was Eve in those shoes, or the hoof beats of a small pony. Not that Eve was large; she just . . . clomped. It was the big, heavy boots.
"It's chili-dog night," Shane said. "How many?"
"Two," Claire said.
"Really? That's a lot for you."
"I'm celebrating the fact that you didn't fry out your brain being stupid."
He crossed his eyes and let his tongue loll, which was disgusting and funny, and smacked the side of his head to put everything back right again. "Jury's still out on that one. Two chili dogs, coming up."
"Hey!" Claire called after him, as she leaned her backpack against the wall. "No onions!"
"Your loss!"
"I meant for you! Not if you want to get kissed tonight!"
"Damn, girl. Harsh."
She grinned and ran up the stairs, intending to use the bathroom--but Eve was breathlessly rushing toward it. "Wait, wait, wait!" she squeaked. "I have to finish my makeup! Please?"
Claire blinked. The outfit, even for Eve, was a little much . . . a skintight black minidress with all kinds of lacing and buckles, fishnet hose, and big plaid boots with two-inch-thick soles that came up to her knees. "Sure," she said. "Uh--where are you going?" "Cory--you know, the girl from the UC coffee bar, the one who isn't a butthead?--she's going to this rave thing, and I promised her I'd go with, just so she doesn't feel so weird. She's not much of a partyer. It'll be an early night, but I promised her I'd be ready by seven--"
"She's picking you up?"
"Yeah. Why? You need the car?"
"If you're not using it."
"Knock yourself out--just please let me have the bathroom!"
Claire sighed. "Go ahead. And thanks. Oh, and be careful?"
"Please. I am the queen of careful. Also, princess of punk fabulousness."
She was probably right about that last part, anyway. Claire continued on down the hall to her room, closed and locked the door, and opened up her dresser to go through her choices for underwear. She wanted something pretty. Something . . . special.