Shane didn’t believe that for a second, but she saw him decide to fake it. “Right,” he said. “So. Barbecue. You in?”

“I can’t believe you eat barbecue after you serve it all day long. Doesn’t that get old?”

“It’s barbecue,” he said. “What’s your point? Come on, mopey. Come eat.”

He half dragged her off the couch, tickled her into giggles, and chased her into the kitchen.

He was right. Barbecue really was kind of a magic cure for the mopeys.

Claire dressed up for Michael’s show at TPU, but given the state of her sunburn, she wasn’t sure it was worth the effort—at least, until she got downstairs. Shane and Michael were standing together, talking, and wow. Claire lingered on the stairs, admiring.

“What?” Shane asked, catching her.

“Nothing. You guys look great.”

Michael shrugged, as if it were no big thing. So did Shane, even though he’d taken the time to put on his good black shirt and black leather jacket, and even sort of comb his hair.

Michael, though—rock star. Not in the glam hair-band sense, no, but he just looked . . . important. Claire wondered if Eve had picked his clothes for him; if she had, she really loved him, because they were completely perfect. Speaking of which—“Where’s Eve?”

“Running late,” Michael said. “She’s meeting us there.”

Eve passed up barbecue? That was odd. Claire came down the rest of the steps and did a little inspection twirl for Shane. “Okay?”

“Spectacular,” he said, and kissed her—carefully, because of the sunburn. “You know I love that skirt.”

She blushed under the burn. “Yes. I know.” It was a short, pleated skirt. Plaid. The shoes she had on with it were the ones that Eve had bought for her last Halloween—funky, but cool and kind of sexy. Claire still felt a little uncomfortable with her body in general, but there was something about the signals Shane was giving her that made her feel less awkward. More—confident.

“You guys going with me?” Michael asked, juggling his car keys. “If so, the bus is leaving.”

They were, of course; with Eve MIA, they had no other car, and walking in the dark was still not the best idea in the world, even in the new, calmer Morganville. It wasn’t a long trip, and Michael drummed his fingers on the steering wheel as if he were practicing fingerings for his guitar; nobody said much. Claire leaned against Shane in the back, her head on his shoulder, and his presence went a long way toward making her forget about how bad her day had been.

At least, until she remembered that he’d once sat like this with Kim, back in undefined olden times. “Hey,” she said. “About Kim—”

“Oh man, I knew it. You’re not letting it go, are you?”

“I just want to know—did you guys date, or—”