Perry helps himself to some punch, all smirk and smarm and irritating the crap out of Heath and Shaggy. "You're not to try any funny stuff with Rachel," warns Heath. "She's ours," Shaggy adds, with all the menace of a slice of bread. "Kinky," Perry derides them.

Rachel shows up in black pants and -- surprise! -- a tight shirt, though one not as revealing as the one she wasted on her mother's visit. "You look really stunning," Heath purrs. One-upped, Shaggy tenses. "Yeah, you look really, really stunning," he stammers. Rachel basks in the flattery. Heath offers her a cocktail. On so many levels. "I make a great Sex on the Beach," he smiles. Rachel, confused and amused, is pretty sure she can fix her own drink. Shaking her head, she hits the makeshift bar. "That was smooth," Heath chuckles to Shaggy. "I'm not afraid of you," Shaggy hisses, and it looks like Timm Sharp's trying very hard to suppress a grin. "I'm feeling good!" And he is. While Heath has chosen a plaid shirt, Shaggy's whipped out a big gun -- his very best macking shirt, a confusing blend of blue and brown and geometric abnormalities, designed perhaps to befuddle the lucky lady into compliance. It's the kind of pattern you usually see on cloth napkins that Linens-n-Things tries to sell on clearance. The look of fierce bravado on Shaggy's face is brilliant.