Buffy looked up at the clock and grinned. She grabbed her books and started making her way down from the top tier of the band room.

"And just where are you going, Summers?" her section leader, Ford, shot over to her as she paused on tier three, the woodwinds.

"Hot date," she grinned. "Don't wait up, Mom."

He winked and elbowed the triple-tom player, Parker.

"Summers has a hot date," he teased. "Must be with you since it's not with me."

Buffy rolled her eyes. She liked being the only girl in the drum line... sometimes. The guys, while most of the time protective of her, enjoyed making her blush just the same.

"Not me," Parker told him. He threw a drumstick at the bass drummer, Riley Finn, who was sitting in the far corner behind the old Slingerland set used for jazz band with the band director's phone pressed up to his ear. He'd pulled the phone out of the office and snaked the cord around the door jamb and along the moulding, knowing he'd get away with using it in stealth as he always did.

"Hey Finn," he called. "Date with Summers tonight?"

Riley scowled and launched the stick back at him. He put his hand over the phone receiver and informed Parker that he was talking to his girlfriend, Cecily, who did not know how to take a joke.

"Date with Buffy?" they heard her screech through the phone. "That mousy little thing that plays the snare drum? What the Hell? I thought we were exclusive?"

"Thanks a lot, asshole," he shouted at a giggling Parker. "No, honey. They were kidding. They're just giving Summers shit for having a date tonight."

He continued trying to soothe his overactive girlfriend. Cecily was home-schooled and a little more than sheltered when it came to the outside world. She took everything anyone told her as the gospel truth.

"So, who's the lucky guy then, Summers?" Ford quirked his brow at her.

"He, uh... doesn't go here," she told him.

"Uh-huh. More, please?" Parker encouraged.

It amazed her how the three nearly grown-men acted more like a bunch of ladies at a beauty salon then high school seniors. Goddip queens had nothing on them; they were the reigning kings.

"He's a sophomore at UC Sunnydale," she continued. She was going to make them work for this.

"Do we know him?" Riley asked, his ear still to the phone.

"Maybe," she smiled glancing at the clock. It was nearly two. She knew Spike would be waiting and she was more than anxious to see him.

"Come on, Summers. Spill the beans," Ford instructed sternly.

"Is there any chance you'll let me out of here at two if I don't?"

She knew that Ford would pull rank and use his section leader status to detain her if she didn't tell him what he wanted to know.

"Likely not," he confessed.

She rolled her eyes and sighed.

"Fine. It's William Giles," she informed her leader. "Can I go now?"

Ford was searching the recesses of his memory. Giles? William... Cordelia Chase's step-brother?

"No shit?" he asked, remembering Spike as the snarky British import who had joined them mid-year in Jazz band when Ford was a freshman. "He still playing guitar?"

Buffy was surprised by Ford's question. Part of her thought he was going to make a snide remark about her new boyfriend.

"Uh, yeah... how did you--"

"Oh yeah," Parker piped up. "Dude was in jazz band with us freshman year. He was really good. Kind of an asshole if you ask me, but he did a wicked Lynch that used to make Mr. Powell want to crawl under his podium."

Parker was referring to Spike's Dokken-style guitar solos. And she knew how much Mr. Powell hated any music that came from the 80s. Well, the 1980s. He pretty much cast away anything that was written before 1950.

"You're dating that guy?" Riley asked, still on the phone with Cecily. "Isn't he in some punk band now? I thought I saw him pick up Cordelia a few months ago and his hair was all bleached out and he was big with the black and the leather?"

"He's in Red Rain," she told them with a self-serving smile. "So am I. You should come see us sometime. Can I go now?"

Ford was still looking like he was weighing his decision.

"Come on, Ford," she pleaded. "He's waiting for me."

"He still drive that old DeSoto?" he asked.

"Yes, Ford," she answered hastily. "Please, now?"

He let out a laugh and shooed her off.

"Go," he told her. "Have fun, Summers. Tell Spike I always liked that car. That's the only reason I'm letting you go early."

She ran out of the band room stifling a giggle. She decided that if she'd had brothers she'd have wanted them to be like Ford, Parker and Riley. They gave her a fair ration of shit, but it was all in good fun.

She spotted the DeSoto at the back of the student parking lot as soon as she opened the door. The top was down and he was leaning against the door smoking a cigarette. She practically ran across the pavement to him. It was hard to believe it had been almost a full day since she'd last seen him. She couldn't believe how hard her heart was beating. She threw her books into the back seat and wrapped her arms around him, pulling him down for a searing kiss.

"Taste like nicotine, Love," he grinned when she finally came up for air. He had dropped the cigarette on the ground when she tackled him.

"Don't care," she whispered. "I missed you so much, Will."

"I missed you, too," he admitted, opening the door for her.

She pulled her seatbelt across her chest as he went around and got in on his side. Her eyes raked over him adoringly. He was wearing a pair of faded blue jeans that had been razored within an inch of becoming rags and a black Misfits t-shirt. One arm was covered with black rubber bracelets and thin silver bangles nearly to his elbow. On the other, he wore a thick cuff bracelet of twisted silver with twin dragons' heads sitting nose-to-nose at the closure. His thick, leather jimmies were peeking out from the frayed bottoms of his jeans. She thought about what Riley said about him being a punk and giggled. He certainly looked every bit the part. Too bad those boys would never know the poet who hid under the leather and chains.

"So, where are we going tonight?" she wondered aloud as she took in his attire.

He grinned at her and thought about egging her on. He had a change of clothes in the trunk.

"I was thinking we'd swing through the drive-thru of McDonald's on the way out to Club Demo," he fibbed.

She raised an eyebrow at him, knowing he was teasing.

"Were you now? Hmm..." Two could play at this game. "That's too bad. I laid out a really nice little strappy thing that hits about mid-thigh. But, you know, McDonald's and Club Demo. Wouldn't want to be overdressed."

"We still playing your truth game, Love?" he asked.

"I don't know, Will," she challenged. "Are we?"

He broke into a wide grin and reached for her hand. He raised it to his lips and kissed her palm gently before darting his tongue out to taste it. She giggled at the rough, wet sensation.

"Always, Kitten. Wear the strappy number," he told her. "We're going some place nice."