Clarke noticed Bellamy's strange behavior but remained silent. After their fight, he hadn't come upstairs. She'd gone downstairs several times, each time pretending to ignore his existence. She'd wanted him to say something, call her over, but he didn't. With each hour she abandoned a little more hope that they were going to end up speaking before going to bed. So, she ended up with her sketchbook and a bag of charcoals.
Clarke also knew that Bellamy had slept with Gina. No one had to tell her. She knew because Bellamy never came back upstairs. Regardless of what they ever ended up arguing about, he always came back to his room and slept on the floor. That was the signal that, in spite of everything, they were still fine. That hadn't happened. She also figured it out from the guilty face he struggled to mask the following morning. Suddenly needing to shower, while still in the previous day's clothes, also didn't do much to help his case.
And Clarke didn't say anything. Bellamy didn't bring it up. During their hour long ride to school, he didn't mention anything out of the ordinary. And it wasn't like she could get mad at him. If he wanted to have sleep with Gina, he could go out and do it. Why would Bellamy, one of the most attractive guys on campus, choose to have sex with a girl bearing a stomach the size of a small beach ball over Gina? No one in their right mind would do that, not even the less than attractive guys on campus. It was actually kind of funny that he thought she didn't know.
"Hey, Clarke," Bellamy dropped his backpack upon entering the room. She looked up from her homework. "They guys want you to come downstairs."
"Why?"
"I don't know," he shrugged. "They're all sitting in the lounge. It's actually kind of creepy."
Uncrossing her legs, she slid to the edge of the bed and rose awkwardly.
"Do you-" Bellamy stepped forward like he was going to help her, but then stepped back once he realized she was fine. Dropping his hands to his sides, he rubbed down the sides of his thighs and glanced round the room. "I guess…"
"Yeah," tugging at the bottom of her sweater, she pointed towards the door. "Are you coming?"
Staring at her uncertainly for a moment, Bellamy considered it. "Yeah," he said finally.
"Are you sure you don't know what it is?" narrowing her eyes, she stared at him, hard.
"No bullshit," he held up his hands. "I don't know what they're doing or what they want. Jasper just told me to come get you."
Accepting that answer, Clarke walked down the hall, down the stairs, and into the lounge. Seated around the room on the numerous couches and chairs, and posted against the walls, were the boys of the frat. Suspicious, Clarke glanced back and forth, unsure of what exactly she was supposed to do with all of them watching.
"Welcome to your baby shower!" Jasper said excitedly, hands in the air.
"What?"
"Your baby shower," he repeated happily, directing her to an open space on the couch. Once she was seated, everyone pulled out gift bags and large, wrapped boxes. Bellamy appeared a few seconds later and froze in the doorway, presenting the same confused expression. "Come join your girlfriend's baby shower."
"Baby shower?" Bellamy wrinkled his forehead.
"Yeah," Miller nodded. "We know that girls usually do this, but… we're here, so…"
"You guys didn't have to," raking fingers through his hair, Bellamy remained standing in the doorway, dumbstruck. Clarke watched him briefly before tentatively accepting the first bag, a blue one with yellow tissue paper. From it, she pulled out three onesies, each a different color, all bearing the letter 'T'.
"Awww." She couldn't help it. They were too cute. How did they even know the baby's name? She concluded that Bellamy must have mentioned it. He told them pretty much everything.
"Mine's better," Monty shoved another bag in front of her. Intrigued, Bellamy stalked in.
"Move over," Jasper motioned for Monty to scoot. "Let the couple sit together."
Rolling his eyes, Monty got up and sat on the floor, allowing Bellamy to flop down on the couch next to Clarke, where he threw his arm around the back of her seat. Clarke opened Monty's gift to reveal bottles and pacifiers with fire trucks on them. Suppressing another sound of delight, she managed a slow smile. Opening bag after bag, she acquired more clothes, bottles, jars of baby food, socks, and shoes small enough to fit in her palm. Moving onto the boxes, she revealed a high chair, an enormous supply of diapers, cans of formula, and a car seat.
"I got that one," Miller pointed to it proudly. "That was me, guys."
Pressing her lips together, Clarke stared at the piles of baby gear before her, all things she never could've afforded on her own, or even with Bellamy's assistance. It was a beautiful sight. They had a base, something to work with. Tristan wasn't going to come into the world with absolutely nothing, all because Bellamy's frat brothers were the nicest people on the planet. Tears unwillingly leaked down her face.
"Wait, why are you crying?" someone asked, alarmed.
"Hormones," someone whispered.
"I'm just… this is so nice," fanning her hands before her face, she struggled to breathe and dry her tears. "So nice…"
"You're having a boy," Jasper commented. "A legacy for Ark Chi Epsilon."
"And if you're going to be stuck with this kid," one of the guys clapped their hands down on Bellamy's shoulders, "you'll need a few things."
"Yeah, you could've done better, Clarke," Miller said simply.
"Way better," someone chimed in.
"But you chose Bellamy, and you live here, which makes you an honorary member of our house."
Rubbing her eyes, Clarke managed a smile. For the first time in a long time, she felt loved and she felt like belonged. Even by the guys she'd never really spoken to. They'd gone out and spent their money on her. Her baby wasn't their problem, their issue, their concern. But they'd bought her gifts and thrown her a makeshift baby shower. They were good guys, all of them.
"I thought all frat guys were assholes. I really can't say anything else besides thank you. I really appreciate this. You don't understand…"
"The assholes are down the street," Jasper smirked. "We're some of the greatest guys on campus."
"Where are we going to put all this?" she turned to Bellamy.
"Keep it in here," Miller answered, standing up to survey the room. "We can move some things around."
"Have you told her?" Miller cornered Bellamy in the kitchen after Clarke went upstairs.
"No," Bellamy shook his head. Glancing around, he made sure no one was close enough to hear any of what they were saying. "She just had her baby shower. And she's so happy right now."
"Excuses, excuses," Miller folded his arms. "You're not going to tell her, are you?"
"I don't want to tell her!" Bellamy hissed. "I know I should, but I just… I'm supposed to be better than that now. And I know I fucked up. I just really don't want to tell her, Miller. I really don't." Resting his head against the wall, he propped it back up suddenly. "Can you tell her for me?"
"Hell no," Miller wrinkled his forehead. "It's not my place to tell her."
"Fuck." Sighing, Bellamy punched the side of his thigh. "I don't think now is the best time. That baby shower was really cool, by the way."
"No problem," Miller shrugged. "I'm great. I know."
"I can't tell her now," Bellamy concluded. "Tomorrow. I'll tell her tomorrow."
"Are you actually going to do it, or are you just bullshitting?" Miller raised an inquisitive eyebrow.
"I will," Bellamy conceded beneath Miller's withering look. "I will, swear on my life. I just have to get my head together."
"Do you love her or something?" Miller questioned, relaxing his facial muscles.
"What?"
"Do you love her?" Miller repeated. "I mean, we've only known each other since freshman year, so I can't really comment. But from what I've seen, you're more of a man-whore, no offense, than a relationship guy. You've never gotten this worked up before."
"I do not - shut up. I don't love her. We barely know each other," Bellamy commented. Turning away from his best friend in the house, he gazed out the window.
"Don't be a bitch," Miller wheedled.
"I don't love her," Bellamy hissed. "I just like her a lot and… it's not even - we don't even have a thing, man. I'm supposed to be there for her because… things have not worked out like they were supposed to. That girl deserves better."
"You're going to marry that girl," Miller said definitively, waltzing over to the fridge.
"I'm done talking about this," Bellamy said quickly.
They'd gone miles off topic. Marriage? That was weird to talk about with any of them. Yeah, he'd shared his plan about getting a house with Clarke later on in life with Miller. He'd never specifically mentioned marrying her. If they were going to end up living together, raising a kid together, did that mean that they should just go ahead and get married?
No.
No, no, no.
Even if he asked, Clarke was bound to tell him no a half second after his proposal, or even during the proposal. His ideas weren't usually her favorite things. And somewhere down the line, Clarke was going to meet someone actually worthy of her.
"If you'll excuse me, I have to go plan my funeral."
Marriage… of all things…
Bellamy waited until the sun set the following day. With the sky painted red and peach and pink, he dragged his feet upstairs to his room and watched Clarke for a few seconds before actually entering their domain. Holding his breath, he let it go in one, silent swoosh. Lifting her head, she noticed him and smiled serenely.
"Hi," she greeted him.
"Hey," shoving his hands in his pockets, he swallowed to combat his sudden dry mouth. "Uh… I have to tell you something, something important."
"What?"
"Uh, well." he couldn't concentrate with her looking at him like that. Removing his hands from his pockets, he discretely dried them on a sweatshirt hanging over his chair, and then shut the door. "I… it's… I really don't want to tell you this, but I feel like I should."
"What are you talking about?"
"I… um…" blinking repeatedly, he swallowed again and stared at her face, at her green eyes. Even when she got mad at him, they were always so calm. They were the prettiest eyes he'd ever seen. Clarke had the only pair of eyes he could actually name the color of, besides his and Octavia's. "Okay, so… you remember Valentine's Day?"
"Yeah."
"Okay, well… there's this thing we have here called the Greek Hearts Ball. It's more of a formal, really, and everyone gets dressed up and… uh, we had our fight and stuff that day," he rambled. "You remember that?"
"Yeah," she nodded while twirling her pencil.
"I went downstairs to study for my test, which I ended up getting an A on, by the way," he explained. Maybe if he impressed her with his intellectual prowess, she wouldn't be as mad. Closing the distance between them, he sat down in the desk chair and once again wiped his hands on his sweatshirt. "But… I couldn't really focus because you were mad at me and we weren't talking to each other and I don't know. I wasn't getting anything done so I decided to go to one of the parties down the street. I told myself that I was only going to stay for an hour, but I got a little drunk and…"
Pausing, he studied her face, waiting to see if she would fill in the blank for him.
"And?" she looked at him strangely.
"And, uh… I m-might have-no," shaking his head, he decided it was best to just say it. There was no might have. "I-I did. I slept with Gina that night. That's why you didn't see me until the next morning."
Resting her chin on her fist, she looked at him intently. "I know," she said finally.
"What?" All the pressure in his chest vanished. How did she know that? Fury welled in his stomach. Who the hell told her before he did?
"I knew because you never came back," she answered slowly. "It was pretty obvious." She cracked her knuckles as his fury disappeared.
"I'm sorry," he apologized in a low voice.
"You don't have to say you're sorry," her eyes rose to a spot directly above his head. She didn't sound like she meant any of that. "You and I both know you'd rather have sleep with her than with me." She lowered her voice so much on the last part that it was almost unintelligible.
"Clarke," he groaned. "That's not true," he dropped his damp forehead onto the backsides of his hands. "We've talked about this." Closing his mouth, he decided not to say that he'd been thinking of her while having sex with Gina.
That was probably the last thing she wanted to hear, ever.
Clarke lowered her eyes back to her homework, like she no longer wanted to speak to him. Please don't think I'm lying, he said telepathically. "We did, Clarke," he pressed. "That night? You remember, I know you do."
"You won't have sex with me because I'm fat," she mumbled.
"Clarke, you're not fat," he sighed. "You're having a baby. Completely different."
"You still wouldn't."
"Clarke!" he almost shouted before remembering where they were. "I won't have sex with you because it's not right, okay?! It's not because I don't think you're pretty much the hottest girl I've ever seen in my life, or because I think you're fat, or some bullshit reason like that. I want... I'm gonna tell you this and I don't care how it sounds or what you think. I want it to be like in those stupid romantic movies some girls like. I want to… I don't know, take you out somewhere nice and then come back to wherever the hell we're living and just… do it, a lot, all over the place, and make sure you have several orgasms. And there are candles and music and shit like that. That's what it's supposed to be like. I'm not supposed to be a stupid frat guy and you're not supposed to be pregnant; that's not how it goes down in my head."
She just looked at him, her face flushed. "Its okay, Bellamy."
"It's not okay," he refused to believe that. "It's not okay, Clarke. I fucked up and I hurt your feelings and I'm sorry because I've never wanted to do that. I'm sorry for the stupid things I said and I'm sorry for sleeping with Gina…"
"Bell-"
"No," shaking his head, he stood up and shoved his chair in. The entire room felt like it was spinning. "I can't. I'm sorry, Clarke. I'll be back, I swear. I just can't do this right now. I'm sorry."
Grabbing his favorite hat, he walked quickly from of the room.
Shifting in the bed, Clarke slowly opened her eyes in the relative darkness. A strange sound had awoken her from a fairly decent dream. She didn't even want to look at the clock; she knew it was late. Bellamy's frenzied exit from the room earlier had been weird, but she'd gotten over it. Clarke assumed he wasn't going out to mess around with Gina, or anyone else, again, so she left him to it. Lying on her back, still half-asleep, she listened to his shoes thud to the floor as he kicked them off.
Pressure at the foot of the bed attracted her attention. The mattress springs groaned beneath the extra weight. Bellamy placed a hand on her ankle and moved her legs to the side. "Move over," he said.
"Bellamy, what are you doing?" she asked, unnerved.
"Just… move," he scoot her legs over a little more gently. Heart racing, she yielded as much room to him as possible. A full-size bed was not built to handle a pregnant girl and a guy. Bellamy crashed down next to her, squashed between her body and the wall. Groaning, he rubbed his eyes and tried to adjust himself more comfortably. All of Clarke's senses went into panic-mode, but she didn't move. She couldn't move. Bellamy had only been so close once before, and his drunkenness was obvious at the moment. Throwing his arm over her, he turned to stare at the side of her face. Keeping her eyes trained on the ceiling, Clarke did her utmost to calm her heart rate.
"Are you afraid of me?" he asked after a minute or two.
"No." And it was the truth. She wasn't afraid of him; Bellamy had never intentionally done anything to physically or emotionally harm her. But, past circumstances made her afraid of their present positioning. In spite of deep-breathing techniques and attempts to think of other things, her heart was still pounding like an angry fist against a door. The only thing making it bearable was that it was Bellamy, who she knew wouldn't hurt her, and that he was on top of the covers, rather than under them with her.
Bellamy took his arm off and rolled onto his back. He was still fully dressed. Clarke took his silence as his descent into sleep. Closing her eyes, she inhaled and exhaled slowly, hoping that her interrupted dream would return. She was about to marry Channing Tatum. A strange noise made her ears perk up and her eyelids shoot open just as she was about to utter 'I do'. It took a few moments for her mind to register what it was.
"Bellamy?" she questioned, still not entirely confident. "Are you crying?"
"No," he fired back. Clarke didn't need to look in his direction to know that he was in fact, crying. It was more like sniffling, the precursor or close companion of crying. What am I supposed to do right now?
Bellamy continued sniffling. "What if… they won't let me be his dad?"
"What?"
"What if they take him away from me because…?" Sniffling and rubbing the corners of his eyes, he didn't finish.
"Who'll take him away?" Clarke questioned. Was he crying over Tristan?
"The people," he answered vaguely, still sniffing. She understood what he was getting at. Bellamy had never voiced such concerns while sober. Clarke licked her bottom lip and swallowed. No one could do that.
"No one's going to take him away," she said softly. "Bell…"
"I'm trying so hard," he mumbled. "I swear, Clarke. I know that you think I'm an idiot."
"I don't think you're an idiot, Bellamy."
"I know I'm not… I'm trying," he rubbed his hands over his face and sighed a watery sigh. "I'm going to do whatever it takes for you and the kid. We'll be happy."
"I know. Thanks, Bellamy," Clarke said quietly. Resting her hands on her stomach, she blinked slowly. She felt Tristan moving around inside. His drunken promises were actually quite nice.
"Can I touch you?" he inquired so softly, she had to struggle to hear it.
Instead of answering, she reached out blindly across the short median of space between him and pressed her fingertips lightly to his forearm. His skin prickled beneath her touch, and he watched her in the darkness, his eyebrows knit together – in anger or confusion, she couldn't tell in the darkness.
"Sorry, I should've asked-" Clarke said, hastily withdrawing her hand from where it rested on his shoulder.
"You can touch me anytime you want, Clarke," he said gruffly, taking her hand in his and replacing it back on his shirt clad shoulder.
With the tips of her fingers, she touched his face, tracing the freckles she knew was there but couldn't see in the dark, continuing past the slope of his shoulder, briefly touching the scar at his lip. Lastly, she pressed her fingers on his lips, tracing the skin there. His lips parted beneath her touch.
Her breath hitched, and she withdrew her hand, shoving it beneath the covers to keep herself in check. Her hormones were wild, and she was afraid of herself; afraid she'd take advantage of his drunken state.
"You're too good for me," he replied finally, throwing his arm back across her. Rolling onto his side, he went back to staring at the side of her face. Clarke didn't want to turn to gaze directly into his; that was a little too much. She felt his warm breath skate over her face every time he exhaled. "You're beautiful. I'm glad you're my girlfriend." He kissed her lightly on the cheek and rested his forehead against her shoulder.
"Okay," Clarke awkwardly pat him on the head. "Go to sleep, Bellamy. You're drunk."
"Whoa," he held up the hand crossing her. "I am not drunk, Clarke. I'm just… moderately tipsy. That's it." He laughed, which made her laugh along. At least he wasn't crying anymore. "You smell nice, too."
xxxxxxxxxxxx
When Spring Break came, Bellamy found himself on a beach a little closer to home than the one he'd spent tanning on for seven straight days last year. Every year, the house went to Florida for some collegiate, Spring Break debauchery. He'd talked about it weeks before with Clarke, and she'd offered no complaint. Bellamy actually considered going because beaches in Florida during Spring Break were always a memorable time. There were drinks, scantily clad girls, wet t-shirt contests, and red cups everywhere. It was beautiful.
All the guys were amped, talking about the hotel and the madness that was sure to ensue. Their excitement got him excited, and then mildly depressed after concluding that he would have to sit it out. Clarke was down, but… she wasn't just some girl. Their circumstances were different than most, and Panama City would just have to miss out on him and his pregnant girlfriend.
There would be other Spring Breaks.
He watched longingly from the living room as the guys trickled out the front door and piled into the vans, prepared for a week of memories and stories never to be repeated. Hands pressed to the glass, he gazed at their luggage, their board shorts, and their smiling faces. They waved to him, offered their condolences, and then the house fell eerily silent. It was just him and Clarke.
This beach wasn't that bad. It wasn't as rowdy and reckless, but it had its perks. For one, they had a perfect, unobstructed view of the ocean. Last year, the only way to secure a decent oceanic view was to wake up at dawn. Thinking to himself, Bellamy couldn't really come up with any other reasons.
Except that it also gave him the chance to keep an eye on Octavia's new friend, Lincoln.
No one was drunk, there was no loud music, and he sincerely doubted that a wet t-shirt contest would spontaneously erupt. People were just sitting in their beach chairs beneath their enormous umbrellas, reading novels and newspapers. Scanning the beach, he stopped on a group of guys throwing a Frisbee around. None of them looked older than sixteen. And for some unexplainable reason, Bellamy wanted to hit every single one of them. He kept looking.
There were a lot more old people here than in Panama City.
Sighing, he ran his hands over his navy blue board shorts. He stared at a group of blonde girls in bikinis as they walked past, giggling. One waved; Bellamy offered a smile in return. They bunched even closer, still giggling, and continued walking.
"Jeez," Octavia said abruptly, bumping into his side as she escaped the surf, where she left Lincoln to be plowed down by a wave. She flicked a piece of seaweed at him and missed. "Eyes forward, big brother." She nodded her chin cheekily. Octavia had somehow clued into Bellamy's feelings for Clarke, and tried to innocently shove them together every chance she got, regardless of the fact that Clarke lived with him, spent most of her time with him, and slept in his bed every night.
Granted, alone.
Clarke approached them slowly, blond hair sticking to her face and her shoulders. Bellamy brightened up considerably. Her green and yellow tie-dye bikini was soaked. Ever since Maya mentioned it during their double date night, he had to keep his eyes above her chin lest she caught him checking out her rather impressive rack.
It didn't help that she had probably bought the bikini top before she was pregnant, and he was sure it was a size too small.
"There you are." She smiled at Bellamy and her eyes flickered to Octavia. Bellamy knew their friendship was still strained thanks to Jackass Collins, but Clarke seemed to be putting in a considerable effort.
"Clarke," Octavia brightened. "Come swim with us." She nodded her head back to where Lincoln was desperately trying to right himself in the water.
Clarke snorted, "I'd better not. I think he needs help."
Octavia followed her gaze and rolled her eyes. "Men," she huffed, and shook out her wet hair. "Lincoln, stop horsing around!" she called as she joined him in the water, somehow managing to stay on her feet in the splashing waves, as if daring them to knock her off her feet. If Clarke was a force of nature, Octavia was a freight train without brakes. The waves would part for her.
Bellamy followed Clarke wordlessly to their spot.
"This is fun," Clarke got down on her knees and then crawled onto her yellow beach towel. Easing around, she sat down and grimaced a little.
"What's the matter?" he asked immediately.
"Nothing," she shook her head and dug through her bag. Extracting a comb, she combed through the knots and tied her hair up in a wet bun. Salt water dripped down her face and onto her shoulders. "I'm sorry for ruining your third consecutive break."
"You're not ruining anything," he countered. She studied his face, disbelieving him. "What? This?" He gestured to the plain scene before them. "This is awesome. My sister's here, I got my girl, and I can keep an eye on that guy. Best break ever."
"You're such a liar," rolling her eyes, she crammed her comb back in her bag.
"No… okay," he consented. "This isn't anything close to the Spring Break I had last year, but its fun."
"You haven't even gotten in the water," she pointed out.
"I don't want to mess up my hair," he replied. "You think this curly bed-head comes easy?"
A small smile tugged at her lips, but she fought it. Bellamy glanced up at the fiery edges of the sun before gazing back at her face. "I like this, Clarke. Don't worry about it."
"What'd you do last Spring Break, then?" she questioned.
Pausing, he just stared at her. Bellamy didn't want to tell her directly. "Well… uh, I'd like to believe that you know me pretty well by now, so what do you think I did?" He decided turning the situation around on her was a far better idea.
Clarke inhaled deeply and analyzed his face. "Well, Bellamy, I'm going to guess that you got drunk?"
"Excellent guess," he congratulated her. "And?"
"And you," squinting her eyes, she thought. "Slept with several scantily clad girls?"
"You're damn right I did," he said proudly. Clearing his throat, he lost the smirk when she made a face. "Just once, though. Well, not just once. It was several times, but same girl. So it was like it was only once."
"Thank you, Bellamy," she held up a hand.
"Sorry," he cleared his throat again. "What about you?"
"What?"
"What'd you do last Spring Break?"
"This," she answered plainly, gesturing to the simple beach. "Octavia and I came here almost every day."
"That's it?" he wrinkled his forehead. There had to be some crazy details she was leaving out. Wasn't underage drinking, bonfires, and the like the norm?
"Yeah," she nodded. "Isn't that what you did during high school Spring Breaks?"
"Yeah, but I mean, I did some other stuff, too," he replied, rubbing the back of his neck. It felt like she was judging him. She probably wasn't doing it intentionally, but that's how it felt beneath her green eyes.
"I'm not really big on drinking, never have been," Clarke responded. "And I'm not a much of a partier. That's probably why my stories aren't that entertaining to you. Octavia had to drag me kicking and screaming everywhere."
"You're very entertaining," he said quickly. She smiled a bit. Compliments always worked.
"When'd you start drinking?"
"In college?" he played dumb.
"No," she said sharply. "In life."
"Umm… well… let's see," he pretended to think just to stall. He wondered why she wanted to know that before responding. "Fifteen."
"Fifteen?" she echoed.
"I-yeah," he nodded. "It was only a shot of rum at a friend's party." Brushing sand off of his board shorts, he stared over the ocean. It'd been the worst feeling ever, and he decided that if all alcohol burned and tasted like that, he was never drinking again. Thankfully at another party, he'd been enlightened. "When'd you start?"
"Sixteen," she replied. "I had a beer at this party and it was disgusting."
"Beer's not so bad," he shrugged.
"'Cause you're a guy," Clarke rolled her eyes.
"I enjoy other alcohols," he tore his eyes from the white-washed waves to look back at her. "I can do rum, like I said. I like - actually, I love - vodka. If I'm drunk enough, I can even enjoy some wine."
"I like wine."
"Wine is disgusting," Bellamy wrinkled his nose. "How do you like wine and not beer?"
"Wine is classy," Clarke countered.
"Beer is just as classy!" Bellamy argued.
"How?" Clarke folded her arms.
"If you put in a fancy glass, it's fancy," he fired back. He could tell from her face that it was bad reasoning. She didn't say anything back. "Like a nice, crystalline... I didn't know we were playing the investigate Bellamy's life game."
"You're doing a fine job," she said sarcastically.
"What else do you want to know?" he fired back just as derisively. He'd been honest about everything. And half the fun was always seeing her reaction.
"When'd you lose it?"
"Lose what?"
"Your virginity."
"Same age I got my driver's license. Sixteen," he explained, shrugging at the end like it was nothing. "In fact, if I remember correctly, I think I got my license, and drove over to my girlfriend at the time's house to get laid."
"Cute."
"I'm kidding, Clarke," he dropped the sarcasm. "Don't look so put out."
"I'm not," she stretched out carefully on her back. "I'm just trying to figure out if high school you was just as slutty as you are now."
"Don't slut-shame me," bringing a hand to his chest, he took mock-offense. "I am not a slut, Clarke. I told you that if we're not counting drunken hook-ups, I've only had sex with six girls, which really isn't that bad. Half the guys at the house have had four times that."
"Some people go their whole lives without having sex with that many people," she said back.
"Well," he had nothing to say to that. In his mind, six wasn't that high of a number. There were definitely some people on his campus, girls included, who'd had sex with way more people. Even if she wanted to include the other five, bringing his number up to the true eleven, that still didn't seem so awful. "In response to your inquiry, no, I wasn't as 'slutty' in high school as I am now. Girls didn't really like me then."
"Yeah, okay," she scoffed.
"I'm serious," Bellamy said ardently, turning to face her. "Don't get me wrong, I was fucking awesome in high school. You should remember. But girls, for some reason, didn't really want anything to do with me. I guess it was fine because I wasn't that good at dating or… relationships."
"Kind of like now, huh?"
Bellamy shrugged. "All I know is, I came to college, and girls started looking. So I gave 'em what they wanted."
"Ugh," Clarke scoffed again.
"Clarke, don't deny that I'm a hot piece of ass, alright?" he made a face. Bringing her hands up, she rested her head on them and watched him. "Look at this body." He showcased his abs like a girl on a game show. "And look at my face." He pointed a confident index finger at it. "Even you think I'm cute."
Shaking her head, Clarke smiled in another direction.
"It's okay, I understand. I think you're beautiful and you think I'm hot. We're made for each other," he returned his eyes to the waves rolling in. Kids screeched and ran back to their parents at the unexpected power. Bellamy intently watched a guy carrying his daughter on his shoulders. He walked waist-deep into the water, took her off his shoulders, and flew her over it like a plane. The girl, who looked about two, appeared to be thoroughly enjoying it.
Bellamy wanted to ask Clarke the same question, but slightly feared the outcome. Her reaction to his initial revealing of his number had grossed her out, so he knew she hadn't slept with that many people, or anyone at all. Biting his thumb nail, he kept thinking. Had she had even had sex with anyone before…? Probably not. She'd told him on several occasions that her dad hadn't allowed her to date – it would distract her from med school or running for president, or whatever it was Abby and Jake Griffin decided should be her future.
And Clarke didn't come across as the kind of girl who would have sex with someone without being romantically involved with them. So her number was either zero… or one. But thinking about that infuriated him. Grinding his teeth, he looked down at his lap.
"Can I touch you?" he inquired.
Clarke opened her eyes. "What?"
"Your stomach," he clarified. Even after easing into some sort of dating-without-benefits relationship, Bellamy kept his hands to himself a majority of the time. Much to his dismay.
"You're the boyfriend," she shrugged. "As you drunkenly proclaimed last month."
"I wasn't drunk," he said a little loudly. People looked over so he shielded his face until the coast seemed clear. Reaching a hand over, he planted his palm at the very top, right where it peaked. Tristan kicked at that exact moment.
"Ow," Clarke muttered.
"I wasn't drunk, Tristan," Bellamy repeated, rubbing his hand back and forth across her smooth stomach. It was like a rock at the very bottom of a stream, edge-less and inviting. "Your mom likes to exaggerate."
"You were definitely drunk."
"I was tipsy at best," he clarified.
"Weren't you crying, too?" she raised an eyebrow.
Bellamy made a face at her instead of answering. It didn't count as crying if there were no tears involved. He'd just been emotional. Smirking, she closed her eyes and went back to napping.
"No, I wasn't crying," he said quietly to her stomach.
"Yes he was, Tristan," she said seconds after his rebuttal. "He was drunk and crying."
As always, thank you for the comments. I always love reading them, they put a smile on my face. So yeah. And thank you for all the story alerts and follows. You guys are seriously awesome.
