Kiss of Death

“Eight out of ten,” Shane said. “But we do have to come back, right?”

“Right,” Michael said. “Well, I have to come back. I’ve got nowhere else to go. You guys ...”

“Stop,” Eve said, and put a hand over his mouth to enforce the order. “Just stop there. Please.”

He looked down at her, and their eyes locked. He took her hand away from his mouth, and then lifted the backs of her fingers to his lips for a long, slow kiss. It was just about the sexiest thing Claire had ever seen, full of sweetness and love and longing. From the expression on Eve’s face, it was just about the sexiest thing she’d ever seen, too. “We’ll talk about it on the road,” Michael said. “The passes are good for a week. I’ll make some calls and see when they need me in the studio there.”

Eve nodded. Claire doubted she could put any words together, right at that moment.

“Hey,” Shane said, and tapped Claire on the nose. “Snap out of it.”

“What? What!”

“Seriously. You’ve got this chick flick hit-by-the-romance-hammer look. Stop it.”

“Ass.”

He shrugged. “I’m not one of those romantic guys,” he said. “Hey, date Michael if you want that.”

“No, don’t,” Eve said dreamily. “Mine.”

“And there goes my blood sugar level,” Shane said. “It’s getting late, Claire has school tomorrow, I’ve got a long day of chopping fine barbecue—”

“I think we’ll stay down here,” Michael said. He and Eve still hadn’t blinked or looked away from each other.

“I am really not sticking around for that.” Shane took Claire’s hand in his. “Upstairs?”

She nodded, hitched her bag on her other shoulder, and followed him up. Shane opened the door of his room, turned, and lifted her hand up to his lips. He didn’t quite kiss it. His dark eyes were wicked with laughter.

“Ass,” she said again, more severely. “You couldn’t be romantic if your life depended on it.”

“You know what’s lucky? Most bad guys don’t ask you to be romantic on command, so that probably won’t matter.”

“Only girlfriends do that.”

“Well, they can qualify as supervillains. But only if they have a secret underground base. Wait—you’ve got a mad scientist for a boss, and a lab—”

“Park it,” she said, and smacked his arm. “Are you going to kiss me good night, or what?”

“Romantic on command. See?”

“Fine,” Claire said, and this time she actually did feel a little a

She pulled away from him and walked away the few steps to her own room, opened the door, slammed it, and flopped on her bed without bothering to turn on the lights. After a few seconds she remembered that in Morganville that was never a smart choice, and switched on the bedside Tiffany lamp. Rich colored light threw patterns on the wood, the walls, her skin.

No monsters were hiding in the shadows. She was too tired to check under the bed or in the closet.

“Ass,” she said again, and put her pillow over her face to scream her frustration into it. “Shane Collins is an ass!”

She stopped at the sound of a soft knock on the door. She put the pillow aside and waited, listening.

The knock came again.

“You’re an ass,” she yelled.

“I know,” came Shane’s voice through the door. “Let me make it up to you?”

“As if you can.”

“Try me.”

She sighed, slid off the bed, and went to open up.

Shane was standing there, of course. He came inside, closed the door behind him, and said, “Sit down.”

“What are you doing?”

“Just sit down.”

She did, perching on the edge of the bed and already frowning. There was something really different in the way he was acting now—the flip side of how he’d been just a few moments ago, teasing and teen-boy.

This seemed much more ... adult.

“When you were in the hospital, after Dan ... well, you know.” He shrugged. “You were kind of drugged up. I’m not sure what you remember.”

She didn’t remember all that much, really. A boy had abducted her and hurt her pretty badly. She’d lost a lot of blood, and they’d given her something for the night-mares. She remembered everybody coming to see her—Mom, Dad, Eve, Michael, Shane. Even Myrnin. Even Amelie and Oliver.

Shane ... he’d stayed with her. He’d said...

She couldn’t really remember what he’d said.

“Anyway,” Shane said, “I told you this was for later. I guess it’s kind of later, so, anyway.”

He took out a small velvet box from his pocket, and Claire’s heart just ... stopped. She thought she might faint. The top of her head felt very hot, and the rest of her felt very cold, and all she could look at was the box in his hand.

He wasn’t. He couldn’t.

Was he?

Shane was looking at the box, too. He turned it in his fingers restlessly. “It’s not what you think,” he said. “It’s not—look, it’s a ring, but I don’t want you to think—” He opened the box and showed her what was inside.

It was a beautiful little ring, silver, with a red stone in the shape of a heart, and hands holding it on either side. “It’s a claddagh ring,” he said. “It belonged to my sister, Alyssa. My mom gave it to her. It was in Alyssa’s locker at school when she—when the house burned.” When Alyssa died. When Shane’s life completely collapsed around him.

Tears burned in Claire’s eyes. The ring glittered, silver and red, and she couldn’t look at Shane’s face. She thought that might destroy her. “It’s beautiful,” she whispered. “But you’re not asking—”

“No, Claire.” He suddenly sank to his knees, as if the strength had just gone out of him. “I suck, I know, but I can’t do something like that, not yet. I’m ... Look, family doesn’t mean to me what it means to you. Mine fell apart. My sister, my mom—and I can’t even think about my dad. But I love you, Claire. That’s what this means. That I love you. Okay?”

She looked up at him then, and felt tears break free to run hot down her cheeks. “I love you, too,” she said. “I can’t take the ring. It means—it means too much to you. It’s all you have left of them.”

“That’s why it’s better if you have it,” he said, and held out the box, cupped in one hand. “Because you can make it a better memory. I can barely look at this thing without seeing the past. I don’t want to see the past anymore. I want to see the future.” He didn’t blink, and she felt the breath leave her body. “You’re the future, Claire.”

Her head felt light and empty, her whole body hot and cold, shaking and strong.

She reached out and took the velvet box. She pulled the ring out and looked at it. “It’s beautiful,” she said. “Are you sure—”

“Yes. I’m sure.”

He took the ring from her and tried it on her right hand. It fit perfectly on the third finger.

Then he lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it, and it was definitely better than Michael had done it, definitely sexier, and Claire dropped to her knees with him; then he was kissing her, his mouth hot and hungry, and they fell back together to the throw rug next to the bed, and stayed there, locked in each other’s arms, until the chill finally drove them up to the bed.

3

Of all the mornings Claire didn’t want to get up, the next one was the worst. She woke up warm and drowsy, cuddled like a spoon against Shane, their hands clasped even in sleep. She felt great. Better than any day, ever, in her whole life.

In the still hush of early morning, she tried to freeze the moment, the sound of his soft, steady breathing, the feel of him relaxed and solid next to her.

I want this, she thought. Every day. For life. Forever.

And then her alarm clock went off, shrieking.

Claire flailed and slapped at it, then succeeded in knocking it to the floor. She dived for it and finally got it switched off, feeling like a complete fool that she’d ever left it on in the first place. She twisted around and saw Shane had opened his eyes, but hadn’t otherwise moved. He looked drowsy and sweet and lazy, hair mussed, and she leaned back down to kiss him, sweet and slow.