"No," she said. "I wanted some peace and quiet. I didn't even know you were gone."
He clapped his hands over his chest like she'd shot him, and fell on the floor. Claire rolled off the couch on top of him, but he refused to open his eyes until she kissed him, long and thoroughly. She licked her lips as she pulled away. "Mmmm, barbecue."
"Hungry?"
"Eve brought UC sandwiches."
Shane made a face. "Yeah, glad I missed that. But I wasn't exactly talking about midnight snacks."
"Boys. Is that all you think about?"
"Midnight snacks?"
"Is that what the cool kids are calling it these days?" He laughed, and she felt the rumble of it through her skin. Shane didn't laugh often, except when they were together; she loved the light in his brown eyes, and the wicked way his smile curled up on the ends. "Like I would know," he said. "I never was one of the cool kids."
"Bullshit."
"Such language, Miss Danvers. Oh, wait, shit--I'm a bad influence."
She settled her head down again, ear against his chest, listening to the rush of his breathing. "Tell me what you were like in school."
"Why?"
"Because I missed it."
"You didn't miss much," he said. "Me and Mikey hung out a lot. He was Mr. Popular, you know, but really shy. Girls, girls, girls, but he was pretty choosy. At least, up until our junior year."
"What happened in your junior year?" she asked before she thought.
Shane's fingers kept stroking through her hair as he said, "House burned, my sister Alyssa died, my family went on the run. So I don't know how Mikey was the last two years of school. We caught up some when I came back, but it wasn't the same. Something happened to him. Sure as hell something happened to me. You know." He shrugged, even with her weight on him, but then, she wasn't much of a burden, and he was a strong guy. "There's not a lot to say about me. I was a pretty boring dumb-ass."
"Were you in sports?"
He laughed. "Football, for a while. I liked hockey better. More chances to hit people. But I'm not really a team player, so I ended up in the penalty box about twice as much as everybody else. Not as much fun." He was quiet for a few seconds, then said, "I guess you know Monica was after me for a while."
That surprised her. "Monica Morrell? You mean, after you, in the sense of--"
"I mean she slipped me really dirty notes and tried to rip my clothes off in a broom closet once. Which I guess to her was love. Not so much for me." His face got hard for a moment, and then relaxed. "I blew her off, and she got pissed. You know the rest."
Shane believed--and Claire had no reason to doubt it--that Monica had set the fire that had burned his home and killed his sister and destroyed his family's life. That wound was never going to heal; he was always going to hate Monica with an intense passion that was two seconds from violence. Not that Monica didn't egg him on, most of the time; she seemed to enjoy Shane's rage.
Claire couldn't think of much to say, so she kissed him again, and it felt sweet, warm, a little distracted on his part. She shouldn't have brought it up, she thought. He didn't like to think about those days at all. "Hey," she said. "I didn't mean--"
"I know." His smile came back again, and she thought he was back in the here and now, with her, instead of in the bad old days. "Glad you weren't here for all that, actually. I wasn't really all that good to know then. Plus, if you want to know the truth, I was kind of a jerk in junior high."
"All boys are jerks in junior high. And mostly in high school. And then they grow up to be jerks." She kissed him again. "But not you, Mr. McStabby."
"Oh, man, Eve's not letting that go, is she?"
"Not remotely." She felt herself smiling, too. Shane always brought out some crazy streak in her she didn't think she had--that was probably what worried her parents so much about the two of them. But Claire liked it. When she was with Shane, she could feel--feel the blood pounding in her veins, feel every nerve awake and alive and hungry to be touched. Everything was brighter, clearer, cleaner. A little crazy was a good thing. "Want to make out?"
"Maybe I should take a shower. I smell like sweat and barbecue." "You smell great," she said. "I love the way you smell."
"You're getting sappy, you know that? And maybe a little creepy."
"Oh, shut up, you like it."
He did, she could tell, especially when they were under the blanket, curled together on the couch, and Amelie's refuge was their own, their private, sweet, warm heaven where nothing could intrude.