The thing is, it'd seemed really cute last night. The whole "mysterious" schtick, like, three martinis in, Clarke had thought it was a brilliant idea to be all "no, you can't have my number, if you really wanna see me again then you're gonna have to work for it," giggle, hair flip, et cetera. Now in the light of day, it's just dumb.
"You didn't give him your number?" Octavia sounds absolutely aghast. "Dude."
"I know." Clarke muffles her moan in a pillow. "Did I tell you about his hands? He had really, really nice hands."
Octavia snaps her gum and looks disapproving. "Did you at least tell him your last name? Or get his?"
"No." Clarke groans again. "Oh my God, I'm the worst."
"This is why you haven't gotten laid in six months." Octavia reaches over and pats Clarke's shoulder, sort of awkwardly. She's not the best at physical affection, Clarke thinks fondly. "Hey, look on the bright side! Maybe he secretly followed you home or something."
Clarke snorts. "Yeah. Hopefully."
It's possible, she guesses. Like, in a non-creepy way. Bellamy had mentioned he had family in town, so chances are he'll be around campus—which isn't a huge one, thankfully. Clarke bites her lip, trying not to fall headfirst into a romantic fantasy of running into him on the quad, preferably in front of all her friends, with Finn stewing in angry jealousy somewhere off to the side. Because for real, that was the only thing missing from last night.
(He has really nice hands, okay. There'd been a corner booth involved. Her underwear had been sacrificed to the cause. God, she really, really should have given him her number.)
"Or hey, maybe my brother could help!" Octavia says cheerfully. "He's pretty good at computer stuff, he could probably find Mr. Handsy on facebook for you."
"What exactly can your brother do that the search bar can't?" As if Clarke hasn't already tried that. Twice. Whatever.
"I don't know. He found our birth dad like that." Octavia shrugs. "You're still coming to lunch, right? It's on B and me."
"Sure," Clarke says gloomily.
Octavia pats her shoulder again. "Don't worry," she says sympathetically, "even if you don't find him, it's not like he's the only hot guy in the world."
Clarke sighs forlornly and climbs off her bed to get dressed. She's not sure Octavia's really grasping how phenomenal the hand thing was.
Octavia gets increasingly excited as lunch draws closer and closer; she and her brother are obviously the kinds of siblings that show affection through insults, and hers have been getting meaner and meaner for weeks.
"Ugh, I swear," Octavia says in disgust, looking up from her phone. "He's even worse than you are. What a dweeb."
"What? Is that him?" Clarke asks curiously.
"Yeah. Apparently he met a girl. He's being super dorky about it." Octavia rolls her eyes, but the grin on her face as she texts him back kind of ruins the effect. "He can't find the dorm either."
"Tell him to look for the statue," Clarke says absently, turning her attention back to the mirror, determined to finish straightening her hair before the mysterious brother B gets there. "Hey—can I borrow that blue scarf? I've got all these damn hickeys on my neck."
"Yeah, sure," Octavia says casually, jumping up to squint out the window. She laughs. "Oh my God, he's just wandering around like an idiot." She pounds on the glass. "Hey! Dumbbell!"
Clarke watches in amusement as Octavia waves at somebody outside, hurriedly tapping out another text, practically vibrating in excitement. "Is he out there?"
"Yeah, I'm gonna go let him in." Octavia grins. "You almost ready?"
Clarke waves her off. "I will be," she says, "go on." Octavia smiles again and scampers away.
She skips makeup and grabs Octavia's scarf, winding it carefully around her neck, closing her eyes momentarily against the sense memory of Bellamy's teeth on her throat. Honestly—she'd much rather spend the rest of her Sunday in bed, obsessively Googling and berating herself, but never let it be said that Clarke is a bad friend, so lunch with Octavia and her nerdy brother it is.
Doesn't he write textbooks or something? She thinks O mentioned something about that. She knows he just finished grad school for history, "like Roman-y stuff, I dunno," Octavia had said. Clarke's not sure what "Roman-y stuff" is exactly, and she's wondering if that means he studies the Roman empire or the Romani people as she struggles to tug her boots up over her calves, which is why she doesn't look up right away when Octavia bursts back into the room.
"—can't believe you did that," Octavia says, happy and loud, and Clarke looks up, and promptly loses her balance and falls right off the futon and into a heap on the floor. "Clarke! Whoa, dude—"
Clarke considers ignoring her, and making this floor her new home, because yup, that's Bellamy. Her three-martini Mr. Handsy is Octavia's big nerdy history textbook brother. She really is the worst.
"Are you okay?" Octavia asks worriedly, and Clarke tentatively looks up. He's staring at her, looking like he's about to either burst into laughter, or run away. She's not sure which option she prefers.
"Uh," she says blankly.
"Clarke," Bellamy says, and moves past Octavia to bend down and offer her a hand up. "You okay there, Princess?"
"Uh," Clarke says again, and feels herself blush bright red. Then she takes his hand and blushes again, because oh my god, hands. "Yeah. I, uh, tripped. My heels. Uh."
"Are you drunk or something?" Octavia asks suspiciously.
Bellamy's eyes go to Clarke's scarf, and he smiles knowingly, slow and wry. "Or something," he says, and Clarke winces, turning just in time to see Octavia's eyes widen in horror.
"Octav—"
"Oh my fucking God," Octavia screeches, reaching out and hitting both of them. "Oh my God, seriously? Oh my God. You both told me—oh my God."
"You always called him 'B', how was I supposed to know?" Clarke exclaims defensively. Octavia covers her face with her hands and moans.
"Okay, this is awkward," Bellamy says, "if I'd known she was your roommate I definitely wouldn't have told you about the—"
Octavia moans again.
"Yeah, we are so the worst," Clarke says.