Chapter 3:

The sound of her trunk popping echoed in her ears briefly before she grabbed the plastic first aid kit she and her father prepared the day they gave her the car. It was his idea of a joke concerning her occasional bad driving—she remembered how red her face got when he gave it to her. At this point, she was thanking god for his sense of humor.

Clarke didn't want to take the whole thing with her, so she grabbed the small light and a few Band-Aids just in case there was actually some type of wound. She was positive it wasn't that big of a deal, at least not as big as Roma was making it out to be with her "Aww, you poor baby let mama take care of you" routine. Just a little bruise, possibly a bump but Clarke still felt obligated to make sure he didn't have a concussion or something. It was her fault he fell in the first place, wasn't it? Sighing as she approached the group on the shoreline, she lowered herself to his level and flashed the light in his eyes quickly to make sure he was responsive. The only thing he was really looking at happened to be her cleavage, though so she supposed he was just fine. "Well, you don't have a concussion—" She informed him at a normal volume before she leaned in and whispered, "—but if you keep looking at my body instead of my face, you'll either have black eyes or blue balls."

He angled his head upward, their skin almost touching when he grinned at her. His eyes were focused on her lips but she could tell that he was gauging a reaction rather than making a move. Smart, she thought in appreciation, size up the victim before you attack. Nice strategy. He murmured hotly, "I think I'll take my chances" before he met her turned his heated gaze to her serene blues.

"A gambler? Tsk, tsk." Clarke hummed, still kneeling—still aware of his friends looking at her ass. But he was no longer ogling her, just intensely staring at her face like she told him to do. It was on a whim that she told him, "You should probably try to stay up most of the night just in case. I'm not a doctor or anything so feel free to do whatever the hell you want" and glanced back at Roma. It was her way of evaluating how serious his connection was with the head cheerleader.

"Any suggestions?" Clarke arched an eyebrow, clearly picking up on his suggestion by the tone of his voice. Obviously, he wasn't too hung up on Miss Perfect Body. Clarke stood up quickly, her toes sinking into saturated sand as she curled them. It was her only tell, the only sign that he was affecting her. Unfortunately, he was still smirking at her like an overly attractive predator, waiting for her to stumble through her very descriptive thoughts like a helpless, innocent girl. Narrowing her eyes, she mentally declared she would not give him the satisfaction of turning into jelly.

She shrugged nonchalantly, "My parents work nights this week so you and your friends could come over. There's a rumor about some moonshine and I'm pretty sure I can handle it. Can you?" There was something about him that she couldn't resist—something about her personality that told her not to. Sex—not just intercourse, the build-up, the tension, the flirtatious comments and the heavy glances—was her only release from reality. It was not like her to simply throw herself into the arms of a stranger. In truth, Aric and she had long conversations before finalizing their "perfect" relationship. She could be sexy, she could be a tease but she lacked spontaneity when it came to the approach. At this point, she was surprising herself with how natural it all felt to carelessly flirt with a guy she did not know. But it wasn't just flirting anymore…she invited him to her house. Her sacred house in which Jasper and Monty had ever been in. And that was just the living room.

Her eyes purposely scanned his naked torso, stopping now and then. She faked a displeased twitch of her lips as if he were nothing special when she found him quite interesting—quite attractive. It was her way of playing the game. Lower expectations and pounce. She read enough Cosmo to know how to lure, she just hadn't read the part "How to Stop Yourself from Being a Fucking Badass Temptress." Oops.

"Yeah!" One of his friends exclaimed loudly, "I mean, yeah…that's cool, you know…whatever." Clarke laughed at his attempts, thinking it was sort of adorable how he ducked his head and stole a glance towards the douchey looking one. She shifted her attention back to Octavia's brother, realizing she didn't even know his name. Huh.

-x-
Bellamy
-x-

From his position on the ground, she looked like a model. The setting sun danced around her figure and the grains of sand sticking to her calves soon became the object of his jealousy. He wanted to stick to her skin in such a manner. Hell, she was practically telling him that she wanted him to stick to her skin that—wasn't she? After a moment of mentally cursing Miller for being such a dumbass, he pulled himself up to full height. The girl didn't even move, she just stood there with her toes curled in the sand as if it were her only anchor. There was something about her stance that sent pangs of satisfaction through his body; like she was doing it because she was actually attracted to him despite her looks of moderate satisfaction. "It's Bellamy, just in case you were wondering…because I've been dying to know your name." He was on to her—she wanted him, he could practically smell it. The sun was fading faster than the moment and he had to know her name in case she changed her mind or something, decided to speed away into the night and leave him in the dust.

It felt unreal to even talk to her.

"Clarke." Her name rolled off her tongue—a capable tongue, he assumed. He was certain her body would haunt his dreams tonight. "Are you coming or not?" Not yet, he thought to himself as his eyes sank down the front of her body before nodding. She could pretend she didn't want him all she liked but he wasn't going to be shy about his stares.

His remotely pleasant afternoon was turning into one hell of a night. He ignored Murphy and Miller's whispered encouragements, and Roma's backhanded comments. All he could think about was her. Her, her, her wrapped up in her—fucking her. He wanted her and only her. He could see her pressed up against his body, he could see her sweating and calling out his name—god, after a few minutes of slacking on his part of packing up, that's all he could see. "I'm going to ride with Clarke." His head snapped up at the sound of his sister's voice, eyebrows furrowing as he tried to process her request. He knew Jasper and Monty were Octavia's friends—but Clarke? How close were they? And how dare his sister keep her away from the house…

He heard Octavia following him as he picked up two boards and carried them to the trunk of his Ford Expedition. She was waiting for him to respond and he wasn't mentally prepared to do it. Octavia's eyes narrowed in the direction of Roma. Shit, Bellamy thought as he met Roma's annoyed glare. "You seriously aren't going to take Roma, are you? Drop her off or something."

"If I didn't know better, I would say you're giving me advice." He snorted, but he knew that he had to take her somewhere. "Listen—"

"Clarke might be into you and you're totally vibing her so don't be a dumbass. Drop the skank off." Octavia ordered him. Totally vibing? Who the hell is this girl in front of me? "Who knows, she might let you creepily stare at her tits again or something but she won't as long as she's there." Octavia, he decided, was a smartass.

He rolled his eyes but the hints of a smile played at his lips, "Very mature, O." He commented before he nodded his head in agreement. "Fine, I'll drop her off."

Octavia threw her hands above her head as she walked towards the Beetle. He sent the blonde—Clarke—a wink before he shut his trunk with a rough slam and sauntered over to the driver's side. He caught her grin from his side mirror but his undivided attention of charming the pants off of her faltered when a familiar rap song blaring through her speakers. "Bitches N Marijuana" by Chris Brown Feat. Tyga was not something he expected the blonde to listen to—not something he expected her to even like. Clarke, he rubbed his hand across his face for some type of relief, is not predictable.

"Try and keep up, Bellamy." Clarke called sweetly. He didn't miss the sexual undertone in her voice and by the way her startling blue eyes flickered, she didn't want him to.

-x-

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