Chapter 13
Were these eggs going to end up being scrambled or fried? Clarke really wasn't sure, but they'd be edible, and that was really all that mattered. She'd just piled them onto her breakfast plate when a knock on the door sounded. "It's me," she heard Bellamy mumble gruffly.
Momentarily forgetting about breakfast, she opened the door and let him in. "You survived."
"Barely." He rubbed his face tiredly, shaking his head. "She wanted to stay up 'til 4:00 a.m. And then she woke up at 8:00, used up all the hot water in my shower. And now she wants me to find something fun for her to do today."
"Well, it's a big city. You have plenty of options."
"But I don't know what teenage girls like to do."
She shrugged. "Shop." That one seemed pretty universal.
"We don't have any money."
"I don't know then. She'll probably just be happy to spend some time with you."
"No, she's like a puppy," he compared. "She needs to be entertained constantly."
She didn't have any ideas for him, because she hadn't really explored the city much beyond the thrift store down the street and the club. "Well, you know more about this place than I do."
"Yeah, but I don't . . ." He closed his eyes and groaned when a loud, "Bellamy, where'd you go? I'm bored," rang out from the hallway.
He opened the door again and leaned out. "O, this is an apartment complex. You can't be shouting down the halls."
"Oh, sorry." She came to stand in the doorway, Ilian with her. "Hey, Clarke."
"Hey, Octavia," Clarke returned. "You look . . . chipper."
"I wanna go do something," she said, squirming impatiently. "The PlayStation got boring."
"Well, your brother tells me he's got a whole day of fun stuff planned for you," Clarke said, just to get a rise out of Bellamy. "So I'm sure you're in a for a treat."
He shot her an alarmed look.
"Really?" Octavia squealed, "Oh, I'm so excited. Where are we going first?"
"That's a good question," her brother muttered.
"Clarke, you should come with us. If you're not doing anything," Octavia suggested. "I'm sure my brother would have much more fun if you're there."
Clarke glanced at Bellamy questioningly, not sure if he wanted her accompanying them on a brother/sister day. But Octavia had a boyfriend accompanying her, and really, Clarke couldn't deny wanting to see more of the city and actually go out and do something. Something outside the normal routine. "Sure, I could tag along," she decided. "I haven't really gotten to see much since I've been here. Sounds fun."
"Let's go then!" Octavia was already sprinting down the hall. Ilian took off after her, and Bellamy trudged along behind the two of them, looking exhausted and worn out already. Clarke slipped her feet into some sandals, grabbed her purse, and locked the door behind her.
The first place Bellamy took them to was the place Clarke had most wanted to go see: the Statue of Liberty. It wasn't just an American icon. People flocked from places worldwide to get to see this thing. It was bigger than she thought, and very crowded.
"Ooh, wow, the Statue of Liberty," Octavia said, unenthused.
"It's one of the most famous statues in the world," Bellamy pointed out. "It's a symbol of our country."
"Great. Can we go now?" she whined.
Ilian whipped out his phone and said, "Here, let's get picture for my mom and dad first."
"Oh, and for my mom. Bellamy, come here." Octavia took out her phone, too, holding it up for a group selfie.
"Here, I can take it," Clarke offered. She took both of their phones from them and waited until they got posed in front of the statue. Octavia looked like a shrimp in between two buff guys. "One, two, three." Clarke snapped the first picture on Octavia's phone, then told them to hold their poses while she took one on Ilian's. "That's good," she said, looking at the pictures afterward.
"Let me see." Octavia took her phone back and laughed. "Bell looks like a dork."
Clarke moved her hair over her shoulders and took her own phone out, leaning back to try to get a decent selfie.
"Here," Bellamy said, leaning in with her. With his longer arms, he was able to hold it further back, and he snapped a picture of the two of them. "Sorry, I photo-bombed your selfie."
"No, I like it." It was a really good picture. Bellamy probably couldn't even take a bad picture if he tried, and even though Clarke's bad side was facing the camera, she thought she looked pretty good, too.
Octavia's energy could not be contained, so she immediately started asking Bellamy where they were going to next. They all got in his car, and he made the mistake of turning on the radio. A rap song was playing, but Octavia took her seatbelt off, leaned forward, and changed the station until she found a pop song that she liked. And then she proceeded to sing out loud, very off-key, at the top of her lungs.
"So I put my hands up! They're playing my song! The butterflies fly away! I'm nodding my head like yeah. I'm moving my hips like yeah."
Clarke just tried to hide her face and laugh inconspicuously, not at Octavia, but at Bellamy. He had this look of agony on his face as traffic inched along. He looked like every annoyed dad on every road trip ever. And even though she felt sorry for him, it was a catchy Miley Cyrus song, and hell, even Ilian was singing along.
"I got my hands up! They're playing my song! I know I'm gonna be okay! Yeeeaaaaahaahaahaah! There's a party in the USA!"
After that lovely and seemingly unending symphony, they arrived in yet another part of town Clarke hadn't been able to explore. They had to park at a meter pretty far away and make a trek, but the trek was worth it when they ended up at the Empire State Building.
"Wow, the Empire State building," Octavia droned. "'cause it's not like I could've Googled this."
"Can we go up?" Clarke asked him.
"It costs money," he replied.
Oh. That was a no then.
"Where else?" Octavia asked impatiently.
"Well, I could take you to Times Square."
"More buildings?"
"I don't know, there's the Museum of Modern Art. That's free later this afternoon."
"Where's the fun stuff, Bellamy?" she whined.
"What're you talking about? This is fun. Look, there's . . ." He motioned down the street, where a small crowd had formed on the corner. "There's a guy reading Shakespeare down the street. We could go watch that."
"Ugh, we have to read enough Shakespeare in school," Octavia complained.
"I fell asleep during Macbeth," Ilian admitted.
"I fell asleep during Romeo and Juliet," Octavia said. "And I was supposed to be reading for Juliet."
"Let's just go eat then," Bellamy decided, leading the way back to the car.
Poor guy, Clarke thought, following after him. He was trying so hard to give his little sister the New York experience, but she just wasn't feeling it.
The prospect of food seemed to be enough to shut off Octavia's complaints for at least a little while, and Bellamy smartly took her to that really good pizza place. Of course, Octavia decided she wanted to order practically everything on the menu. "So if I can't eat the entire pizza, can I get a box to take stuff home?" she asked the waiter.
"Of course," he replied.
"Alright, I'll have a large then. And I want breadsticks, too. And the side of pasta."
"Anything else?"
"No, that should do it."
"Thank God," Bellamy grumbled, looking through his wallet.
"Is this all on separate tickets, or-"
"No, he's paying." Octavia pointed to Bellamy. "Right?"
He sighed heavily. "Right."
When the waiter left and Octavia and Ilian got all interested in something someone from their class had tweeted that afternoon, Clarke nudged Bellamy and said, "You don't have to pay for me."
"No, it's fine," he said. "You can leave the tip, though."
She nodded, reluctantly accepting the generosity. But the truth was, now that she had a couple performances under her belt, she probably had more cash on hand than he did.
Bellamy did everything he could to entertain his sister that afternoon. He took them to the Museum of Modern Art, which Clarke actually thought was awesome, especially since she was somewhat of an artist herself. Even though the young couple wasn't very interested in anything on display, walking through that museum passed the time for a couple of hours.
"You guys ready to go home yet?" Bellamy asked almost pleadingly once it got dark out.
"No. It's still early," Octavia answered. "I feel like there's a lot we haven't seen."
Groaning, he got back in the car. "You're lucky I don't have to work tonight."
They drove for twenty more minutes and ended up at some park. Bryant Park, Bellamy said. There were lots of people sitting out on blankets on the grass, and there was a gigantic movie screen set up showing some old Looney Toons cartoons.
"What is this?" Clarke asked, feeling like she'd never seen anything like it before.
"Movies in the park." Bellamy shut his door and locked the car. "It's my last attempt at fun."
"Finally!" Octavia exclaimed, bounding forward with Ilian. "This looks awesome."
Clarke hung back with Bellamy while he pulled two blankets out of his trunk. She loved listening to the casual sounds of conversation that all those people were having, even though she didn't know who they were or what they were saying. She loved the whole atmosphere of this place. It felt so different and so alive. "This is kind of cool," she said.
"Don't know what movie it is, but . . . at least we can sit down." He slammed his trunk shut and walked fast to catch up to his precocious little sister.
They found a pretty good spot not too close or too far away from the screen, and Bellamy spread out the blankets for them. Ilian and Octavia lay down on one, his arm around her, and Bellamy sat down with Clarke on the other. At one point, when Octavia and Ilian started to kiss, he snapped, "Hey now, none of that," which got an exaggerated eye-roll out of Octavia.
"You're a good brother," Clarke told him.
"I try," he said modestly.
"Not every guy would spend all day with his little sister."
"Well, it was either this or an audition for a deodorant commercial, so . . ." He shrugged.
Even though he was downplaying it, he really had done a lot for Octavia today. Even though she'd complained about being bored, Clarke suspected she'd actually had a really good time. She was just seventeen, so complaining was still in her DNA. "She's . . . a lot," Clarke remarked quietly. "But she adores you."
"Well, I'm adorable," he joked.
She laughed.
"Hmm, let's see, what do we got here?" he said, watching the screen as the cartoons came to an end and the film started to play. When the title came up, it was . . . really something: Killer Klowns from Outer Space. "A classic, obviously," he determined.
From the onset, Clarke could tell it was one of those 1980s campy horror flicks, probably a cult classic because of the wretched acting and ridiculous plot. Only a few scenes in, and already she was thanking their lucky stars that they hadn't had to pay for this, because it was cinema at its absolute worst.
"Hey, you guys."
She looked up when someone spoke to them, and there were Finn and Raven. Finn had a blanket under his arm, and Raven had a smile on her face.
"Hey," Clarke said. "What're you guys doing here?"
"Oh, we had to get out of the office for a while," Raven said.
"Work overload," Finn agreed, laying out their blanket.
"Here, Clarke, I can switch you if you wanna sit with him," Raven offered.
"Oh, thanks." Clarke got up and moved, and Raven took her spot next to Bellamy.
"Hi, I'm Raven," she introduced herself.
"Bellamy," he returned.
"Nice to meet you. I work with him," she said, pointing to Finn.
"I work with her." Bellamy motioned to Clarke, but then he had to reach over and give his sister's shoulder a good whack when she and Ilian started playing tonsil hockey again. "Hey, stop." He turned back to Raven and explained, "My little sister."
"Oh. Does she drive you crazy?" Raven asked.
"Yes."
"I understand. I have a little sister, too, and I love her, but, like, in small doses."
"I've been hangin' out with her all day," Bellamy told her.
"Oh, yikes."
"Yep."
Clarke tried to redirect her attention back to the movie, but it was hard to do that when Finn put his arm around her and asked, "Were you hanging out with them all day, too?"
"Yeah." She didn't really want to boast about getting to go see Lady Liberty and Empire State Building and all that stuff when Finn had been working, so she tried to downplay it. "They were sightseeing, so I just tagged along." She probably should have picked him up something today, some little Statue of Liberty figurine or something. There had been a vendor selling them, and she'd just walked right on past.
"So what're you guys working on that has your brains so fried?" she heard Bellamy ask Raven.
"A ton of promotion for this up-and-coming rap artist," she replied.
"Is he any good?"
"Yeah, actually. Kind of a cross between Kevin Gates and Schoolboy Q with just a dash of Lil Uzi Vert mixed in."
"Huh."
Clarke hadn't the slightest idea what—or rather whom—they were talking about. Lil Uzi Vert? There was some rapper out there who called himself Lil Uzi Vert?
The movie was predictable and predictably bad, but sort of one of those flicks that was so bad it was good. When it was over, Clarke found herself wishing they'd show another one, but the screen went black, and people started to pack up their blankets and snacks and leave.
"Well, that was a cinematic masterpiece," Bellamy declared sarcastically.
"It was fun, though," Clarke said pointedly.
"Yeah, it was," he agreed. "Octavia, don't you think that was fun?"
"It was fun," she moaned tiredly. Neither she nor Ilian had moved. Her head was on his chest, and they both looked like they could fall asleep right there. "I'm tired."
Well, it'd taken long enough, but finally, the girl was as worn out as her brother was.
"Yeah, I'm kinda wiped, too," Raven said, pulling down her skirt. "No more work tonight."
Finn folded up his blanket and said, "Hey, I gotta drive Raven home, alright? Can you catch a ride back with Bellamy?"
"Sure," she said, giving him a quick kiss. "See you soon."
"Bye, Clarke," Raven said. "Bye, Bellamy. Nice to meet you."
"You, too." He yawned, picking up both blankets without folding them, and said, "Alright, let's go," as he yanked Octavia up.
When they got back to Mount Weather, Clarke hung out with Bellamy a little longer, just while she waited for Finn to get home. Octavia crashed in Bellamy's bed right away, not even bothering to kick off her shoes, and Ilian lay down on the couch and started snoring a few minutes after. Bellamy unexpectedly got hungry, though, so he stood in the dark kitchen, spreading some cream cheese over a bagel. One half for him, the other half for Clarke, he said. After instructing him to load hers up with extra cream cheese, she leaned against the counter and noted, "So you and Raven seemed to hit it off tonight."
"Yeah, she's cool," he said nonchalantly.
They'd spent a good deal of that film talking to each other while Clarke had cuddled up to Finn. It sure seemed like they were into each other. "I don't think she has a boyfriend."
"Subtle as a Mack truck," he said, setting his cream cheese covered knife down. "Are you tryin' to hook me up, Clarke?"
"No. I just think . . . she's attractive, you're attractive."
"You think I'm attractive, huh?" He grinned.
If that wasn't a given, she would have felt more embarrassed about letting it slip. "You guys could get together and just . . . be attractive."
"Well, what if I'm not attracted to her?"
"I don't know why you wouldn't be." Even though being a bisexual woman wasn't the same as being a straight male, Clarke considered herself to have a pretty good gauge on feminine hotness. Raven was a ten out of ten, obviously.
"Well, maybe you should hook up with her if you're so interested," he teased.
"I'm not. I just think you are. You were flirting with her," she pointed out.
He slid her half of the bagel over to her and said, "I flirt with everyone. It's my default setting."
"You don't flirt with me."
"Yes, I do," he claimed. "You just don't pick up on it."
For a second, her breath hitched, and she wasn't sure why. Was he flirting now, even? Did this qualify? Or were they just bantering? Because they did that from time to time.
"Can you two stop flirting so I can get to sleep?" Octavia growled from over on the bed.
Oh. So apparently it was flirting then.
Bellamy shrugged and took a bite of his bagel, and Clarke looked away and did the same.
...
Wednesday nights at Grounders weren't exactly the busiest. Naturally, everything picked up on weekends, so Clarke was glad she wasn't scheduled for these weeknights. She sensed that some of the other girls were jealous of her getting so many Friday and Saturday night slots, but they just weren't as vocal about it as Ontari would have been.
Still, even when she wasn't working, she didn't mind going there to just hang out. Bellamy worked most nights, it seemed, and even if he wasn't there, she could talk to Murphy or Niylah. Anything was better than just waiting at home for Finn to return. He said the next few months were going to be crazy because their agency did so much holiday promotion. So she'd have to deal with him not being around much.
"Slow night," she said, holding out her empty glass.
"Yep," Bellamy agreed as he poured her some more club soda. "Just drags on."
Beside her, Harper nodded in agreement, though she probably wasn't even listening to a word they were saying. She had her textbook open on the bar and was in the zone.
"I can't believe you're studying," Bellamy said as he switched to tequila to refill her drink.
"Midterms," she grumbled.
I wonder if Monty and Jasper and Maya are studying for midterms then, too, Clarke pondered. She'd talked to each of them a few times, and she of course had their social media updates to keep her in the loop. But Maya's social media had been taken over by sorority happenings now that she was a pledge, Jasper mainly posted pictures and videos of parties, and Monty never really posted much of anything.
Pushing the thoughts of them and their college experiences out of her mind, Clarke cleared her throat and asked, "Harper, if there was a beautiful, young, successful woman interested in Bellamy, wouldn't you tell him to go for it?"
Harper finally looked up from her book. "Sure. Why not?"
Bellamy shook his head. "Clarke's trying to set me up with someone. But I don't date. I haven't dated since high school."
"How many girls did you date then?" Clarke asked him.
"Total or just at one time?"
She rolled her eyes, doubting he really had juggled multiple girlfriends. Although . . . he had those threesomes, so anything was possible.
Before she could push the Raven idea further, two eager guys sidled up next to her and Harper, their tongues practically hanging out. "Hey, are you girls dancin' tonight?" one of them asked.
"No, sorry," Clarke answered apologetically.
"Damn. Let's go man. No strippers." Looking all disappointed, they hung their heads and sulked towards the exit.
"No strippers?" Clarke echoed. Since when? Every night this side of the club was open, someone was dancing.
"I thought Vivian had tonight," Harper said.
Clarke looked around, sensing a bit of unrest with all the men there. It wasn't like it was as packed as it was on a Friday or Saturday, but there were still people who had shown up to be entertained. And right now, they were all just sitting around talking and drinking with each other.
"Bad news," Anya said as she approached the bar. "Vivian's sick, so we have no entertainment. Keep the drinks flowing, Bellamy. That's all that's gonna keep these people in here tonight."
"Oh, no. I'm sorry, Anya. I'd step in, but I'm feeling kind of under the weather myself," Harper said.
"That's fine. I want you rested for the Halloween show anyway. We'll make do." Sighing heavily, Anya motioned for Bellamy to give her a drink, and he didn't even have to ask what she wanted. She walked off with her glass in hand, looking . . . worried.
"You guys might wanna leave," Bellamy advised. "This crowd's gonna get pretty unhappy."
They were already unhappy, though. Clarke could overhear what some of them were saying, and they were talking about leaving. One of them stopped Anya as she walked past and demanded—not asked, but demanded—to know why there was no entertainment tonight. She tried to explain, but he didn't want to hear it, so he just got up and left.
Poor Anya, she thought. This club was the woman's whole life. She worked tirelessly to run this place, and running a safe and reputable strip club couldn't be easy, especially for a woman. These customers she aimed to please were turning on her, and Clarke watched as more and more of them got up and walked out.
"Give me your shirt," she told Bellamy.
He looked at her confusedly. "What?"
"That plaid thing," she said. "Let me see it."
Unsurely, he unbuttoned the black and white long-sleeved plaid flannel he had on and took it off, wearing a white beater underneath.
"Can I borrow this?" she asked as he handed it to him.
"Uh . . . sure."
"Thanks." She shot off her stool and scurried into the back. She had an idea.
...
Bellamy felt a little weird bartending in just his white undershirt. Sure, he knew his arms looked good, but this was the kind of thing he wore around the house, not to work.
"Where'd Clarke go?" Harper asked.
"I don't know." He poured himself a drink, figuring he might need one to make it through the night. He raised his glass to his lips but stopped short of drinking anything when some slow, seductive music came over the speaker. The kind someone there would dance to.
Oh, shit, he thought, his eyes darting towards the stage. No, no, no.
Clarke came out from behind the curtain, striding in time with the music, shrouded in shadow until she stepped closer to the spotlight. One look at her, and he couldn't look away. She was wearing his plaid shirt. It went to mid-thigh on her, and she had the top two buttons unbuttoned. She'd messed up her hair a bit, and in contrast to the girls who wore the highest of high heels on that stage . . . she was barefoot. So she looked like she'd just gotten out of bed.
But . . . she was wearing his shirt. His shirt.
Everyone left in the club got real quiet and started to watch as she swayed slowly from side to side, drawing all their attention. Anyone who'd been on their way out the door turned back around and decided to stay.
She held the pole with one hand and walked around it, not needing to do all the fancy spins and tricks to captivate everyone in the room. She dropped down and spun around a couple times, just a dip here and there, but for the most part, it was clear that she wasn't executing any choreography right now. She was making it up as she went.
And she was making up something sexy as hell.
She popped open another button her shirt—his shirt—as she leaned back against the pole and slid down to the floor. Her hips swiveled their way downward, and once she was seated, she threw her head back, squeezed her breasts flannel-covered breasts, and . . . well, Bellamy felt his jeans get tighter, that was for sure.
Reaching out, she slowly lay down on her side, then turned over onto her back and arched first her chest and then her hips into the air. She did that move a few times, and it was so overtly sexual, so tantalizing, that everyone finally broke out of their trance and cheered for her. When she sat up, she smiled at them flirtatiously, pausing to bite her finger and look all adorable and innocent, and then she swung herself up into a spin and stood, sticking her ass out exaggeratedly and shaking her hips. Beneath his shirt, Bellamy caught a glimpse of some black panties, small ones by the looks of it.
He felt like an ass for watching. But everyone was watching.
She did something unexpected then, something he'd never even seen Ontari do: She stepped down off the side of that stage and meandered past tables of spectators with a dazedly blissful smile on her face. She clutched the sleeves of his shirt as they dropped down past her wrists, and she even hopped up onto an empty chair that was in her way. She did a few seductive body rolling motions up there, then stepped right off and continued in the direction of the bar.
She's coming over here, Bellamy realized, taking a few steps back. Why the hell was she coming his way?
It was as if she had no idea that what she was doing was unprecedented for that club, leaving the stage and making the whole room her stage. Because she hopped up onto that bar like it was nothing, tucked her knees up underneath herself, and posed innocently while she unbuttoned another button on that shirt. It hung open enough for everyone to see her black bra now. Including Bellamy.
When she stood up on that bar, he was really glad she didn't have heels on, because he was probably the only person in the room concerned that she would fall. She walked in a purposefully crooked line always moving to the music. She must have been thinking about what she could do next, but he couldn't see her mind working at all. She was just in the zone, and she had all of the other people in that room in that same zone with her.
Hips swirling, she dropped down into a squat again, giving Bellamy quite the interesting view of her backside. He knew his eyes must have grown large as saucers, because . . . damn. And then when she turned around and repeated the move, eyes on him this time . . . he wasn't sure if he was actually drooling or not, but he felt like he could be.
She smiled at him flirtatiously and held out her hand, and he wasn't sure what he was supposed to do, so he just grabbed it and helped her hop down off the bar. Grazing her fingertips across the counter she walked the length of the bar and walked back out around the other side. Nobody dared touch her as she slowly strode back up to the stage, but they probably all wanted to. Hell . . . Bellamy wanted to.
It was sort of a sickening feeling, knowing that, deep down, he wasn't any different than the rest of these guys. He kept watching as she got down on all fours and crawled back up onto that stage. So many of the guys watching her were watching her with one hand on their crotch, and when Bellamy looked down . . . he was definitely having a reaction, too.
Still on hands and knees, she rolled her head to the side, flipping her hair all around, and then she moved her hips in similar circles, giving everyone there the fantasy image of what she looked like on all fours during sex.
More appreciative cheering. More crotch grabbing.
Legs still spread, she sat up on just her knees and faced all her spectators as she unbuttoned the rest of the buttons on that oversized shirt. She didn't take it all the way off, just let it hang open to reveal her bra and underwear underneath. One sleeve slid off her shoulder, and she just let it. She looked so good.
Gracefully getting back up to her feet, she took one more airy swing around the pole, then did one of those pirouette things he'd seen all the girls do at auditions. Once again, she leaned back against the pole and slid down to the floor, letting herself land in more of a heap this time. Her legs were at an awkward angle, her arms limp at her sides, and her head dropped to the side. Her chest heaved as the song faded, coming to an end, and everyone watching picked their jaws up off the floor and gave her the applause she deserved. Considering how few people were there and how much clothing Clarke still had on, the applause was loud. And why wouldn't it be? She'd just made her mark on that place for good. In his fucking shirt.
Harper turned to him once Clarke had walked off the stage, looking shell-shocked. "She's gonna be the new Number One," she predicted, sounding more impressed than she was envious.
His stomach knotted up. Because that was what he was afraid of.
It was a weird thing to see the club get more packed after the stripper was done performing, but apparently word of what Clarke had done there tonight had spread. People hung around, waiting and hoping for another performance, and they must have called their friends or something. Niylah showed up, and he told her to clock in. If more people kept coming, he was going to need some help behind the bar.
When Clarke came back out to the bar, all eyes were on her. She may not have noticed it, but he did. It probably didn't help that she was wearing black leggings and a tight black tank top to match. When the girls came out in baggy sweatshirts or t-shirts and jeans, it sort of reminded the customers that the stripping was just a show. Luckily, everyone at Grounders knew the rules and knew not to touch her, and no one even really bothered her as she came up to the bar and sat down.
"Here you go," she said, handing him back his shirt. "Thanks for letting me borrow it."
"Sure." If he'd known that was what she'd be using it for, he wouldn't have. Or at least he would have hesitated. Because on the one hand, seeing Clarke in his clothing was a little too erotic, but hey, at least it'd kept her relatively covered up tonight.
"I figured the whole menswear thing would be a hit," she said.
"Yeah." He put it back on, leaving it unbuttoned, and tried to formulate words. His brain was still a little . . . distracted. "It's a good look."
"I think they liked it," she said. "I had no idea what I was doing, though. I just made all that up."
"Well, you . . . you did good." He hated complimenting her when she did something like this, but . . . she was a good dancer, and for someone who was only nineteen, she sure as hell knew how to command a room.
"Oh, and the irony of dancing to a song called 'Earned It' when Ontari said I didn't earn anything is not lost on me."
She'd earned . . . something. He just wasn't sure it was this.
"Do you think Anya's mad at me?" she asked nervously.
"No." Anya would tell her not to get down off the stage again, because it was too dangerous to be so close to the customers. But other than that, she'd be thrilled. Clarke had saved the day—or rather the night—here. And come this weekend, there would be even more people showing up just to see the Girl Next Door.
"Well, well, well."
Horrified, he tore his eyes away from Clarke when he heard his sister's voice.
"This is where my brother works," she said, sitting down next to Clarke.
"O, what're you doing here?" he demanded. "How the hell did you even get in?"
She shrugged. "Just walked right in."
"What the . . ." He knew Octavia looked older than most seventeen year olds, but she didn't look twenty-one. "Where's Ilian?" He had a hard time imagining that Octavia had brought her boyfriend along with her, knowing what he might see here.
"He went to get some food," she said, "from that pizza place. I just walked here."
"You . . ." Oh, it just got worse and worse, didn't it? Now his seventeen year old sister was walking around New York City by herself. In a skirt that was way too short, and he was sure as hell gonna lecture her about that when they got home. "You shouldn't be here," he said.
"It's not like I can really get into any trouble with you here," she pointed out. "Just relax, Bellamy."
"No, I'm not gonna relax." The last thing he wanted was for Octavia to be anywhere near this place. Right now, it probably looked cool and glamorous to her. She was at that age where she no longer felt like a kid and wanted to be an adult. And this was a very adult place, too much for her to handle.
"I can take her home," Clarke offered.
"I'll just wait for Ilian. He's gonna come pick me up."
Bellamy was just about to launch into a tirade about how Ilian never should have let her come over here by herself anyway, because yeah, the pizza place was just a few blocks down the street, but a lot of bad stuff could happen in a few blocks. But before he could really get going, the worst possible person who could have approached them did. Roan.
"Hi, Clarke," he said, resting his hand on the small of her back. "I heard I missed quite the performance tonight."
"Um . . . yeah," she said, looking a little nervous.
Don't touch her, Bellamy wanted to say. He watched Roan's hand like a hawk, making sure it didn't slide any lower.
Roan looked over at Octavia and said, "Well, what do we have here?"
"Hi," she said, way too outgoing for her own good. "I'm Octavia."
"She's my sister," Bellamy quickly informed him.
But Roan wasn't deterred. "You're very beautiful," he told her.
Octavia smiled, apparently not finding it creepy that a grown man was hitting on her. "Thanks."
"She's seventeen," Bellamy added, about to explode. If that guy didn't take a step back from his sister and go pay attention to someone else, he was going to leap right over that counter and throttle him.
"Starting young, huh?" Roan smirked lasciviously.
Octavia tilted her head the side curiously. "What?"
"She's not starting anything," Bellamy growled. "Now get the hell away from her, or I'll-"
"Um, Roan," Clarke jumped back in, wrapping her hands around his arm, "maybe you could tell me what I should wear for my next performance." She slid off the stool and started to walk away, bringing him with her. "I bet you have lots of ideas."
"That I do," he said, all thoughts of Octavia abandoned as his attention returned to Clarke.
Bellamy stood there helplessly, his heart pounding as he watched them venture over to the couch Roan always sat on. He shoed the people currently sitting there away, and when Clarke sat down with him, she automatically looked so tense, so uncomfortable, and he knew he had to go help her.
"Well, you're dumped," Octavia declared.
God, how the hell was he supposed to take care of both of them at once? Both of them needed to get out of there, because Roan was the worst kind of guy this place attracted, and unfortunately, they were both attracting him.
"Come on," he said, hustling around to the other side of the bar. He grabbed her arm, yanked her off that stool, and dragged her towards the exit.
"So is Clarke a stripper then?" she asked him.
He couldn't think about Clarke right now. His first priority had to be getting Octavia out of there. But the second he was gone, he was going to go get Clarke out of a bad situation, too. "Hey, this girl's not twenty-one," he told the doorman as they walked out. "Don't let her back in here."
"Jesus, Bell, you don't have to manhandle me," she yelped, flinging her arm from his grasp. "Look, there's Ilian." Her boyfriend pulled his truck to a stop right outside the club, and she went and got in.
"Go straight home," he told them, feeling like they needed a constant babysitter.
Ilian just waved at him, and Octavia rolled her eyes like the disgruntled teenager she often was.
What a hell of a night this night had turned out to be. It had started out slow, but now . . . Bellamy just couldn't catch a break. He raced back inside, trying to locate Clarke and Roan in the crowd. Chances were, they were still sitting on that couch, but there were so many people mulling about now, he couldn't even see them.
"Hey, you," a low, sultry voice purred. He recognized it as Echo, Roan's girlfriend, and groaned as she sidled up beside him.
"I'm not in the mood," he told her. This chick flirted with him no matter how many times he rejected her. It was like she didn't know how to take a hint.
"You look so good tonight," she said, smoothing her hands up his chest. "You know, I think this club should branch out and hire male strippers. If they did . . . I bet you'd be Number One."
He looked over her shoulder, spotting Roan and Clarke. Roan had his arm around her now, and . . . hell, no. That wasn't happening.
"Relax," Echo said, holding him back as he tried to move past her. "They're just talking."
"You mean like he used to just 'talk' to Ontari?" Bellamy shoved past her, pushing aside anyone who was in his way, and marched straight to the couch. "Come with me," he said, picking Clarke up by the crook of her arm. He hastily escorted her away from there, noting the scowl on Roan's face, and he brought her back to the changing room, where he technically wasn't allowed to be. But it was just the two of them, so he went ahead and let it all out.
"Why would you do that, Clarke?" he roared.
"Why? Because I was trying to distract him from Octavia," she explained. "And it worked."
"Yeah, but . . ." She didn't need to be putting herself in any more risky situations than she already was.
"But what?" she prompted.
"I told you not to talk to him!"
"I know, but he's very . . . imposing."
"So then why would you talk to him?"
"It was harmless," she said. "He ended up talking about the Jets."
"The football team?"
"Yeah. It was . . . whatever."
"No, not whatever, Clarke," he argued vehemently. "You give that guy an inch and he'll take a mile. If he thinks he's got an in with you, he'll use it to his advantage."
"Well, I'm not gonna let him use me," she claimed, like it was that easy.
"I swear to God," he said dramatically, "I swear to God, Clarke, you're gonna give me grey hairs."
"Melodramatic much?"
"No, if I had known I was gonna have to work so hard to look out for you in this city, I would've . . . I would've just fucking walked to work that day instead of letting you give me a ride. Swear to God."
"Oh, well, sorry I'm such a burden," she shot back. "You know, I didn't ask for your protection."
"No, but you need it." Finn sure as hell wasn't stepping up to make sure this city didn't permanently damage his girlfriend, and there was only so much looking out for her that Harper could do.
"You know what? Maybe we should just go our separate ways then," she proposed.
"Fine," he snorted, but even as he said that, he knew he wasn't letting that happen.
"Fine."
His jaw clenched as he shook his head, and he forced himself to calm the fuck down. "No," he said.
"No?"
"No, I'm not . . . I'm not gonna do that."
The look on her face softened a bit, and she fell quiet.
This was just how it was gonna be, he figured. He and Clarke were not going to be the type of friends who saw eye to eye on everything. They'd bicker; they'd argue. They'd get downright mad at each other sometimes, but in the end . . . he'd be there for her. Whenever she needed him.
"Do you feel better?" she asked him.
He'd only feel better when she was out of there and Roan couldn't steal her away anymore. So he muttered, "Let's get outta here," and took off his shirt. "Here, put this on," he said, draping it over her shoulders.
She looked up at him confusedly but did just that.
He clocked out early, figuring Niylah could finish up, and made the decision to take Clarke out the front entrance rather than the back. He wanted Roan—and to a lesser extent, Echo—to see that she had his shirt on, to see that they were close. To emphasize that, he put his arm around her shoulders and walked with her, not even caring in that moment if Anya saw and got the wrong idea.
Roan and Echo definitely noticed. Neither one of them looked amused.
Clarke drove herself home that night, and he followed along behind her. When they got up to their floor and she stopped in front of her door, she started to take his shirt off and said, "Here, you can have this back."
"Keep it," he told her, walking backwards towards his door. "You look better in it than I do." He smirked, loving the slight shade of red that crept onto her cheeks, and made sure she got inside and shut the door before he did the same.