Chapter 38

For a week, Bellamy's interaction with Clarke was . . . minimal. Finn was occupying all of her time, but he must not have been keeping her entertained, because almost every day or every night, she texted him. Usually nothing substantial, but at least he knew she was thinking about him. They saw each other at the club, but she was busy rehearsing a new routine with Luna, and at night, when she danced, Finn was always there. It was like he was trying to make up for lost time or something.

Whenever Bellamy did see Clarke, he wanted it to feel . . . electric. So if she was coming home with Finn and he was heading out and they just happened to walk past each other in the hallway, he made sure to brush his hand against hers, and that small touch alone made her breathe in sharply. Whenever she glanced his way during rehearsal time, he made sure to look at her with unabashed desire, because he did want her. And spending less time with her wasn't make him want her any less. If anything, it was making him want her even more.

Then there was the matter of the money he owed her for bailing him out of the slammer. It took him a good eight days to get the money, but once he had it and tried giving it to her, she turned it down. She kept saying things like, "No, I don't need that," and "You don't have to pay me back." But he felt like he did. He'd lost his temper with those guys, and even though he didn't regret rearranging that one guy's face . . . well, he regretted that she'd had to get him out of jail that night.

Since Clarke didn't want to take the money from him, he figured he'd try a different tactic. So when she was busy rehearsing, prior to the start of his shift, he slipped it into her purse. And he figured that would be the end of it until he got home later that night and saw that she'd slipped the money under his door. So he had to try yet again.

He ended up waiting until the next night she danced. After she was done, he found Anya, handed her the wad of cash, and told her those were Clarke's tips from the guys at the bar. "Impressive," she remarked before promising she'd get the money to Clarke.

The truth was, though . . . the guys at the bar weren't exactly forking over the cash. Not because they didn't enjoy watching Clarke. Obviously they did. But Finn was once again hanging out there, making his presence known. He cheered obnoxiously loudly for his girlfriend and made sure everyone knew she was his girlfriend, much to their disappointment. He boasted about her, claiming her moves in private were even better than her moves in public. He didn't get especially vulgar, but it still disgusted Bellamy that the kid would sit there and brag about his sex life with her. A sex life he happened to know was non-existent, because Clarke had mentioned she wasn't sleeping with him.

"Yeah, I'm the only one who's ever slept with her," Finn declared proudly as the two guys beside him only halfway listened. "Taught her everything she knows."

Bellamy couldn't help but roll his eyes. Yeah fucking right. He'd heard Clarke and Finn going at it before. It was usually over before it started, and usually, Finn was the one doing most of the noise-making.

"She's a really great girl," Finn went on. "Really great."

Then why the hell did you cheat on her? Bellamy wanted to say. He actually ended up pouring himself a drink, because if he had to stand back there and listen to this tool for one more second . . .

"Would you stop?" the guy next to Finn finally snapped. "Nobody cares. We come here, watch a girl like that, and we imagine we can get with her. Don't ruin it."

Finn looked a bit taken aback that they weren't more impressed by him. But that did finally shut him up. When Clarke came out from the back room in her hoodie and leggings, he quickly escorted her out of the club, and she barely even had time to glance at Bellamy over her shoulder before she left.

He finished out his shift, wondering if he was any different than those guys. Was he just stuck there imagining, too? Was that all he'd ever get to do? He hoped not. Even though he respected Clarke and respected the fact that this wasn't as black and white for her as it was for him . . . he wanted to be able to do more than brush her hand in the hallway or send her a heated glance across the room. He wanted to be in Finn's place so he could make her feel as good as she deserved.

Someday, he had to keep reminding himself. And hopefully it was someday soon.

...

All Clarke wanted to do was slip out for her morning run before Finn got out of the shower. But she didn't get her hair up into a ponytail fast enough or didn't get her shoes on fast enough or something, because right as she was headed out the door, Finn came out of the bathroom with a towel around his waist, hair wet, and asked, "Babe, where you going?"

She turned around and replied, "For a run. I gotta get back into a routine." These past couple weeks had been . . . hectic. To say the least. Her workout regimen was pretty much shot to hell, but she had a figure to keep and an image to uphold. The Girl Next Door had to be fit, not flabby. Besides, she'd actually grown to appreciate exercise. It was a good time to clear her mind.

"I'd love to work out with you," Finn offered, and for a moment, she thought he was implying something, like he was using 'work out' as innuendo for something sexual.

"Finn, I told you, I'm not ready for us to start having sex again," she said bluntly.

"No, I meant I wanna go running with you," he clarified.

"Oh." Well, that was an embarrassing mistake to have made. "Okay," she said without even thinking about what she was saying. But when she had a second to register the fact that she'd just invited him along on her morning run, she knew that her head would most definitely not be clear if he accompanied her. But what could she do? Couldn't very well rescind the invitation now.

"Just let me get dressed," he said, heading back into the bedroom.

She sighed, more annoyed than impressed with all the recent changes he'd been making. To his credit, Finn really was trying to be a better boyfriend. Maybe even trying a little too hard? It was like he wanted to be around her all the time. At home, at work, and everywhere in between. Sometimes she just needed a little time to herself. Or . . .

Or time with Bellamy.

"How much do you run?" he questioned from the other room.

"A couple miles, usually," she replied. Finn would probably be amazed that she'd gotten as good as she had. The Clarke Griffin he knew was the same girl who complained about having to run a few laps at cheer practice.

Bellamy's door opened while she waited, and he stepped out clad in a sweatshirt and sweatpants, earbuds in his ears, iPod in his hand. When he saw her standing her in her doorway, he took the earbuds out and smiled a little. "Hey."

"Hey." So he was going for a run, too, huh? Apparently she wasn't the only one trying to resume her routine.

"This is a throwback," he said, stuffing his iPod in his pocket. "You wanna go together?"

"Um . . ." She really wanted to, and she might even have taken him up on that offer had it not been for . . .

"So do you usually run alone?" Finn asked.

She tried not to cringe as she revealed to Bellamy, "He's coming with me." It wasn't like she was replacing him or anything. Finn wasn't going to be doing this with her every day. "No, not usually," she called back to him, feeling a stab of guilt in the pit of her stomach. She couldn't even look at Bellamy, because she knew he'd look disappointed.

"Is Harper comin' along?" Finn inquired.

"I don't think so." She shot Bellamy an apologetic look and whispered, "Sorry."

He shrugged, acting like it didn't sting. "That's alright," he said. "He'd probably slow me down anyway."

Probably, she thought. Finn wasn't as in shape as he'd been in high school. All these fancy parties with their fancy drinks had sort of led him to get a little bit of a belly. Nothing super noticeable, but she noticed it just because . . . well, because it hadn't been there before. Not that she was shallow or going to say anything to him, but . . .

No, actually, maybe she would say something to him. He deserved it.

"Alright, let's do this," Finn said excitedly as he came out of the bathroom, hair partially dry now, dressed in workout clothes. "Hey, Bellamy," he greeted.

"Hey," Bellamy returned tersely.

"You goin' for a run, too?"

"Gotta stay in shape."

Clarke tried not to react to that, but she knew just how in shape Bellamy Blake was. He wasn't some huge bodybuilder type of a guy, but he didn't need to be. He had that whole lean muscle mass thing going on, and he was very toned.

"Come with us then," Finn invited. "We're headin' out."

Running with Finn was one thing, but running with Finn and Bellamy would be awkward as hell, so Clarke quickly attempted to shoot down that idea. "Oh, I'm sure Bellamy just wants to do this own thing," she said before casting a glance at him. "Right?"

He shrugged nonchalantly. "I don't really care."

Bellamy! she hissed internally. He wasn't supposed to tag along. He had to know that.

"Alright, let's go then," Finn said, grabbing his keys. "If you think you can keep up with a quarterback."

"I was a running back," Bellamy said, "so . . ." And that was all he said, but it was clear, the competition was on.

It wasn't really much of a race once they got going. Finn quickly fell behind Bellamy, and even though Clarke tried to stay with her boyfriend, she was just too impatient and had to go faster. He told her to go on up ahead, so she did. She hustled to catch up to Bellamy, and they took their usual route down streets that really weren't such good streets. She didn't look back once to see if Finn was still following. If he got separated, then . . . well, then she'd catch up with him later.

They stopped at the usual street corner that marked their finish line, and she asked, "Where is he?" as she caught her breath. Bellamy had definitely been pushing the pace more so today than usual. He probably wanted to get as far away from Finn as possible.

"He's back there a ways," Bellamy said, pointing him out for her.

"He looks tired," she remarked. Finn was loping along like a wounded animal, and that look on his face was one of pure exertion. It was kind of hilarious.

"So I take it he was more of a passing quarterback then." Bellamy smirked.

"He's athletic," Clarke insisted. "He just doesn't run like we do. We probably should've slowed down for him."

Bellamy made a face. "No way. It's not our fault that we're up here and he's back there. He should've put in more of an effort to stay with you."

More of an effort? she thought, fixating on those words. Stay with me? The way he said that sure sounded . . . deliberate. "We are talking about running, aren't we?" she asked him.

His eyes bore into hers intensely. "Maybe."

Oh, they totally weren't. Not anymore, at least. And to be honest, she kind of loved that. It was a little bit of a rush getting lost in Bellamy's eyes even as Finn ran up to them.

"Shit," he swore, bending over, holding one hand to his side. "I'm outta shape."

Well, at least he's admitted that now, Clarke thought. The next step was maybe . . . getting his abs back?

"We should run like this every day, babe," he suggested.

That was not the next step, though, so she pointed out, "Usually you're already at work."

"Well, I can go in later once in a while," he said. Wiping the sweat from his forehead—his hair was still damp, but not with water now—he looked at Bellamy and said, "You're pretty good. Bet you were kinda pushin' it, though."

"Actually, I'm not even winded," Bellamy was quick to tell him.

She laughed nervously, trying to diffuse any potential tension. "Bellamy's really fast," she said. "In fact, sometimes I have a hard time keeping up with him."

"Nah, I think you keep up pretty well." He grinned.

We're not talking about running again, she thought worriedly. What if Finn picked up on that? Did it even matter at this point? Was it okay to have all these secret lusty feelings since he'd cheated on her? Or was it still wrong?

Luckily, her boyfriend got distracted pretty easily. His phone buzzed, and when he took a look at the screen, he muttered, "Crap."

"What?" she asked.

"We got a photo shoot this afternoon. Apparently the male model's sick. Flu."

"Oh, the flu sucks this year," Clarke recalled.

"Yeah, he's not coming." Finn pocketed his phone, groaning, "Dammit, now I don't even think we can do this shoot. It's a men's underwear campaign."

Honestly, Clarke was only halfway listening. When Finn talked about work, she tended to tune him out. It was still one of his favorite topics of conversation, even though he was trying not to work quite as much.

"I could do it," Bellamy volunteered suddenly. "I've done photo shoots before."

Oh god, she thought, picturing Bellamy in underwear. She really didn't need to be picturing that. But she really wanted to.

"Yeah, I think they want more of the all-American type, though," Finn informed him.

Bellamy snorted. "Always do."

"Come on, Finn, he's offering to save your photo shoot here," Clarke pointed out, knowing Bellamy could use some extra money. Plus . . . Bellamy in underwear. Yes. "Give him a chance."

Finn looked him over for a moment, contemplated it, then said, "Alright, fine. Let's give it a shot."

Although Clarke didn't have to tag along for the photo shoot . . . she did. Because there was no denying she really wanted to see this. Cage side-eyed her angrily when she showed up, and she was pretty sure he even pulled Finn aside at one point and lectured him for bringing her. She mostly just tried not to get in the way while people hurried around the set. It was chaos. They kept changing their minds about which backdrop to use. There was talk about using a plain black backdrop, about including a couch in the shot or a chair, but that changed when the model did. They seemed to think a white background would look better with Bellamy's darker complexion, but the couch and chair were white, too, so they just blended in. In all the hustle and bustle, Cage pretty much just stood around flirting with the two female models—yeah, there were female models in this shoot, too, clad in underwear of their own, and Clarke wasn't loving that fact—so Finn had to step in and make the decision. White backdrop, no furniture. They'd try a variety of shots, some standing, some sitting, maybe even some overhead ones with the models lying down.

Clarke had stood in this studio in front of that camera a few times, wearing . . . not a whole lot. But nothing could have prepared her for seeing Bellamy walk out onto the set, also wearing not a whole lot. They'd put him in boxer-briefs that fit him perfectly, emphasizing every—every—inch of his lower anatomy. It wasn't just that his package looked amazing. He had this perfectly-sculpted ass, and Clarke couldn't remember ever being so turned on by a guy's ass before. Girls, sure, but . . .

Damn, Bellamy.

He glanced at her only briefly before about half a dozen assistants ushered him into position in front of the backdrop. Cage bid his new female friends farewell, and they joined Bellamy, one on either side of him. They were just as tall as he was, so they made Bellamy stand on a box to appear taller.

The pictures were . . . seductive. Every picture told a story, after all, and clearly the story behind this one was that Bellamy was supposed to be a great looking man who'd seduced two women at once. And since that had actually happened before, he seemed to have no problem finding his groove. His eyes drilled that camera, and he looked absolutely smoldering. Clarke felt weak in the knees just watching him. They'd oiled up his chest, an they'd tousled his hair just right. And those boxer briefs fit him like a glove. He looked . . . impressive.

The two girls clung to him, splaying their hands all over his chest, tugging at the waistband of his underwear. Clarke felt . . . a little bit envious, honestly. She knew he would have loved to feel her hands on him, but . . . no such luck. Her arms were folded across her chest, because she was just . . . a spectator.

She did worry that he might feel uncomfortable, just given everything that he'd gone through recently. He didn't want to talk about Echo, but they both knew that what had happened between them was coerced consent at best. Either he was able to separate work from real life or he was one hell of an actor, though, because he didn't seem uncomfortable with the setup of the photo shoot at all.

"Good, good," Finn said as they transitioned down to some floor shots. "Let's get a little more oil on his abs. Girl on the left, a little more life in your eyes."

While one assistant ran in to oil Bellamy up some more, Clarke leaned over to Cage's personal assistant and quietly asked, "Why are there half-naked women here if it's an ad for men's underwear?"

"Sex sells," the girl replied. "Speaking of sex . . ." She ogled Bellamy with a look of undisguised lust on her face. "This guy's way hotter than the model they had lined up. I love his dark hair, dark eyes. Mmm."

So do I, Clarke thought. There were a lot of things she loved about Bellamy.

"Stacey, get me some lunch," Cage barked to his assistant suddenly.

"Yes, sir," she chirped, even though she had to hate being ordered around like that. With a disappointed moan quiet enough that only Clarke could hear and one last longing look at Bellamy, she left the set.

As Finn started snapping pictures again, Cage eased up behind her, chuckling quietly. "This is the guy you kissed on stage, right, Clarke?" he practically taunted.

She tensed up a bit, hating that he knew about that even when Finn didn't.

"Don't worry," he said. "Secret's safe with me."

She highly doubted that, which made it all the more nerve-racking. It was like ammo that he could use against her at any time. But then again, even if he did tell Finn, why should she feel guilty about it? Sure she may not have told him she'd kissed Bellamy in a play, but he hadn't yet bothered to tell her he'd slept with Raven in real life.

Then again, kissing Bellamy hadn't just been limited to the stage, either.

"Cage." Finn put his camera down suddenly, looking frustrated. He marched over and spoke in a low tone when he said, "This girl over here . . ." He motioned to the model on the left. "She won't do.

Cage made a face. "Why not?"

"Look at her. She's too thin."

Cage smirked. "No such thing."

Ew, Clarke thought, repulsed, and she couldn't refrain from adding her own input. "No, I agree, she looks unhealthy." She'd thought that girl was way too thin from the moment she'd seen her. Her collarbone was jutting out. So were the bones in her hips. Her arms and legs were so toothpick-like that she looked gangly and not at all attractive.

"I don't recall asking for your opinion, Clarke," Cage growled. "In fact, why are you even here?"

"She's with me," Finn said. "Come on, man, trust me on this. She's ruining the whole shot."

Cage sighed heavily, rubbed his forehead, and then said, "Well, somebody call Raven. Bring her in. She never looks bad."

She really never does, Clarke thought. That was so unfair.

"She's got the day off," Finn said. "Besides . . . she and I aren't seeing eye to eye on . . . things."

Clarke almost snorted and rolled her eyes. But she held back.

"Well, then, this girl's gonna have to do, Finn," Cage said. "Make it work."

"Or maybe . . ." Finn got lost in his own thoughts for a moment before turning his eyes on Clarke. "You could do it."

"Me?" she shrieked. "In the photo shoot?" He was joking, right?

"Yeah, you've done photo shoots before."

Oh, he totally wasn't joking. Holy shit.

"Photo shoots for her strip club," Cage pointed out, each word dripping with disdain. "That's hardly a major ad campaign."

Oh, you smug son of a bitch, Clarke thought, fuming. He always did this, used her job as a way to look down on her. And she was fucking fed up with it. "You know what, I'll do it," she decided.

"Great." Finn scampered back to the models and said, "Girl on the left, thank you for coming in. We're gonna try something else now."

Cage glared at Clarke, and she saw his contempt for her in his eyes. He didn't think she could do this. Either that or he didn't want someone with actual curves in his company's ad. Well, screw him. She was doing this.

Oh god, she was doing this.

It took them a while to find the right lingerie to dress her in. They only had sample sizes, and she wasn't a zero. Finally, they found a maroon bra and panties, which fit her almost as well as Bellamy's boxer briefs fit him. They brought her back out onto set, and Bellamy looked utterly confused when she sat down next to him. "What're you doing?" he asked her quietly.

"I don't know," she admitted, positioning her legs the way the other model had. She wasn't nearly as tall, though, so she felt self-conscious about that. Plus, even though she worked out and was comfortable with her body, she knew she didn't have a typical model figure. So that was a little daunting.

"Alright, get close, Clarke," Finn instructed.

Gladly, she thought as she scooted in towards Bellamy a bit.

"Closer."

She scooted in some more, right up against him now.

"Lean in," Finn said. "There you go. That looks good. Now head down, eyes to camera. And let's see what we got."

That camera started snapping away, and Clarke tried to keep her cool. But her heart was pounding a mile a minute, because Bellamy smelled so good, and he was so nearly naked, and he was right next to her and she was nearly naked, too.

His heart had to be pounding, too, right? Or maybe he was used to this. Surely he'd modeled with women before. Maybe he was able to be all . . . professional.

"Do I have to just stay like this?" she asked him, feeling stiff.

"No, you can move around a little," he said.

Not sure what she was doing but sure that she wanted to do something, she moved in even closer, sliding one hand up his back, plastering the other to his chest. She lay her head down on his shoulder and gazed at the camera with what she hoped was a sultry look on her face. She just imagined she was performing up on stage and put the same look on her face here that she often had there.

"Oh, that's good," Finn said. "Let me get that. That's good." He continued clicking away.

Clarke wasn't sure what the girl on the other side was doing, if anything, but she didn't really care. Her hands were on Bellamy, and that was all that mattered. Her heart kept pounding, but somehow she kept breathing.

"You look hot," Bellamy told her oh-so-quietly.

"So do you," she whispered, never changing her expression.

Finn stopped clicking his camera after a few minutes and said, "Hold that thought. Let me take a look." He went behind the computer and started looking at the photos, Cage hovering over his shoulder.

"Wait a minute," Clarke said, sitting up straighter, taking her hands off of him even though she didn't want to. "Is this like a national ad campaign? What if my parents see this?"

Bellamy leaned back nonchalantly. "Well, then you can tell them to at least be thankful you're not completely naked."

She gave him a look. "Very funny."

"I'm serious."

She sighed, supposing he was. She . . . got naked. As part of her job. And if her parents ever found out about that, they'd be appalled. But they'd be appalled by this, too, so . . .

"Yeah, these are looking a lot better," Finn said as he came back to them. "Let's try for something even a little more sensual. Just do whatever feels natural."

Natural? Clarke thought. Everything felt natural with Bellamy. But she couldn't do everything. "How's this?" she asked, twisting a bit so that she could lean back against him, his shoulder pillowing her neck, her chest arched upward. She bent one leg and kept the other out straight, pointing her toe to try to make herself look longer than she actually was. Bellamy's arm came up to wrap around her waist.

"Yeah, that's good," Finn said. "Girl on the right, go ahead and do the same thing. Just mirror her."

The other model shifted around, mumbling, "You guys gonna get a room after this or what?"

"I wish," Bellamy grunted, thankfully not loud enough for Finn to hear.

I wish, too, Clarke thought. She couldn't help it. This thirst for Bellamy Blake . . . it wasn't going anywhere. Especially not after today. And she was starting to feel less and less guilty about it.

Afterward, one of the assistants got them all robes to put on, and the other female model booked it back to the changing room. Clarke was more interested in seeing what the pictures looked like. It had definitely felt sexy, so surely they looked sexy, too.

"How'd they turn out?" she asked Finn, venturing back behind the computer.

"Great. Look." He stepped out of the way so she could see a couple of them. Maybe she was biased, but she felt like she and Bellamy stole the shot. The other girl . . . she was like an afterthought.

"Wow," she said, stunned. She'd seen herself in sexy photos before, but seeing herself next to Bellamy was . . . something else.

"Yeah, we'll just have to Photoshop your waistline," Cage made sure to say, "but other than that . . ."

"Go Photoshop yourself," she muttered.

Bellamy came up behind her and said, "Don't listen to him. You look great." Smiling at her, he headed back to the changing rooms, too, and she was so tempted to follow him. Maybe, if that other girl took off, they could just . . .

Well, there were all sorts of things they could do in a changing room.

She couldn't even believe her thoughts were running so rampant. She had urges, sure, but . . . this was starting to get to another level. Even just looking at those photos turned her on.

...

"So who do you wanna be?" Harper asked, holding up two costumes, one of which was a short white dress with a flowing, see-through skirt, the other of which was a frilly pink and white dress with wings and a halo attached. "Aphrodite or Cupid?"

The Aphrodite costume definitely looked more comfortable, but Cupid was a more well-known figure. "Isn't Cupid Aphrodite's son?" Clarke questioned before making her decision.

"Not in our version. Cupid's a sexy, seductive pole-dancer in our version," Harper explained.

"Hmm. I'll take Aphrodite." Those wings and that halo would just get in the way, and Harper was a more seasoned performer and therefore way more prepared to handle a wardrobe mishap than she was.

"But I have all this long blonde hair," Harper protested, whimpering sadly as she looked at the gorgeous Aphrodite dress.

"Fine, I'll be Cupid then," Clarke decided. She could be Aphrodite next year. If she was still working here next year.

"Clarke?" Anya called, poking her head out of her office. "Can I speak with you for a minute?"

She sounded serious, so that immediately made Clarke nervous. "Sure," she said, whispering to Harper before she went into Anya's office, "Am I in trouble?"

"I don't think so," Harper whispered back. "Not unless she knows about all your sweaty feelings for Bellamy."

"Oh god," Clarke groaned, hoping she hadn't become too . . . obvious. She and Bellamy were actually spending less time together than they had before, and they were trying to keep their distance from each other when they were both at the club. Whether one of them was working or they both were . . . they were really trying to keep their distance.

Clarke shut the door to Anya's office after she stepped inside, just in case it was a conversation no one else should overhear. "Harper and I were just getting ready for the Valentine's Day show," she said, sitting down. "She says it's a big crowd."

"It is," her boss confirmed.

"Aren't most guys with their wives or girlfriends on Valentine's Day, though?"

"Sure. And the single ones are at strip clubs."

She nodded slowly, understanding how the crowd could be so big then. "Right. Well, Harper and I are working on a dance that's gonna be a big hit. Both of us, one pole. Lots of new tricks."

"Hmm. She and Ontari did one of those last year." Anya's eyes drifted downward for a second, her whole expression regretful for a second, as it often was when she mentioned or thought of her former Number One. But when she lifted her eyes to meet Clarke's again, she was all business. "Clarke, we need to discuss something."

Oh, that sounded ominous. "What is it?" Clarke asked.

"Your boyfriend," Anya replied bluntly.

"My . . . you mean Finn?" She was so confused already.

"Well, he is your only boyfriend, isn't he?"

She laughed nervously. "Yeah, of course." Had Finn mentioned something to her about her and Bellamy, or . . . no, Finn, didn't even know there was anything between her and Bellamy. "What about him?" she inquired.

"Well, there's really no nice way to say this, but . . . he can't keep coming to watch you perform, Clarke," Anya told her. "He's been here a lot lately, and he's proving to be a . . . distraction."

Clarke frowned, still confused. "What do you mean?" Finn sat at the bar and watched her perform. He didn't even mingle or anything.

"The men come here for a fantasy experience," Anya explained. "In their mind, you're only dancing for them. To hear some guy at the bar bragging about how he's dating you . . . it ruins the illusion. It hurts your brand, hurts your profits."

My brand, Clarke thought. The illusion. The Girl Next Door. She remembered reading something about how so many of the Playboy centerfolds claimed to be single, even if they had a boyfriend, just because they wanted to seem more appealing and attainable to the readers. This sounded like the same type of situation.

"If he's here once in a while, that's fine, but for him to be here every single night you dance . . ." Anya trailed off, sighing. "It's just not a good idea. In terms of business. Do you understand what I'm saying?"

"Yeah, I get it," Clarke assured her quickly. "That's fine. That's perfect, actually. I was looking for an excuse to get him to stop coming here so much, so now I'll just tell him he can't be here."

Anya looked a little . . . taken aback by her agreeableness. Not that she was ever confrontational—rule number one of working for a boss was pretty much to not anger that boss—but still, Anya had probably expected her to be more attached to having Finn around. "Okay," she said. "I'm glad we're on the same page then."

Clarke nodded, glad that she now had a legitimate reason for Finn not to be there. When she told him it was all about the money, he'd understand. He wouldn't even put up a fight. They had bills and a new car to pay off, and he still wanted to send some money home to his dad. No, he wouldn't be upset about this at all. Anything that led to her bringing home more cash, he'd support without question. Without question. Which was good. Because she felt like she was in a precarious position right now, juggling her history with him and her feelings for Bellamy. She didn't want him questioning anything.

...

Bellamy sidled up to the bar, glad to see an empty stool and a distinct lack of Finn Collins. There were plenty of other people mulling about, though, finding their places close to the stage, waiting for the big headline performance of the night. Just like him.

Just like him.

"No Finn tonight?" he asked Murphy, taking a seat next to Harper.

"Doesn't look like it," Murphy said, quickly pouring him a drink. "Why are you here? You got the night off."

He shrugged. "Nothin' to do."

"Same," Harper said, spinning so she was facing the stage. "I'm going over to Clarke's after she dances. She's gonna help me study for this exam I have next week."

"Riveting." He turned around, too, drink in hand, as Murphy walked down to the other end of the bar to take care of another customer. Niylah was flirting with some girl, and since not many girls came to that club, she was flirting hard. So that left Murphy doing most of the work.

"Of course you'd come here tonight," Harper remarked. "You wouldn't miss one of Clarke's shows."

He took a drink as the lights dimmed down. "Why isn't Finn here, though?" he wondered. "Not that I mind his absence."

"Well, you didn't hear it from me," Harper said, "but apparently Anya told Clarke he shouldn't come anymore. Because he was being a distraction."

"Huh." So no more Finn from now on? He loved that.

"So don't be distracting," Harper warned, nudging his arm playfully.

He half-smiled as the music started in. Rather than the regular slow spotlight that illuminated a girl's presence on the stage, this time, it was as if there were strobe lights fragmenting the gorgeous image of Clarke's curvaceous figure as she took the stage. It made her look, for a few seconds, as though she were something virtual approaching that pole. But when the strobe light stopped and the spotlight kicked on, he saw just how sexy she looked tonight. She was dressed in all black, in leggings that went up past her bellybutton and had slits in the sides, held together only by crisscrossed strings. She also had on some black crop top that made her chest look phenomenal, and her hair was up in a messy bun on her head.

"You gonna be able to handle this?" Harper teased. But he didn't respond, because he wasn't sure if he'd be able to or not.

"Come on closer

I want to show you

What I'd like to do

You sit back now

Just relax now

I'll take care of you."

She moved around that pole with deliberate slowness, every step and every motion liquid smooth, like water. And he watched in utter awe, because how could someone so young and so innocent get up there and look like this? She was in the zone tonight, turning the seduction factor up a notch or two. In fact, she had that same look on her face that she'd had during the photo shoot the other day, and seeing her like this made his mouth water.

When she reached up and took her hair out of its ponytail holder, whipping it all around her face, the whole crowd cheered. Because now she looked even wilder, even sexier. If that was possible.

"Hot temptations

Sweet sensations

Infiltrating through

Sweet sensations

Hot temptations

Coming over you."

She climbed up onto that pole, a real pro at this by now, and showed off some new tricks he hadn't seen before. Lots of splits, which made Bellamy's pants feel way too tight, because seeing Clarke with her legs spread made his mind go to one place and one place only. She spun slowly, controlling her pace so that she could still make eye contact with people in the audience. It was like there was a gleam in her eye, a twinkle, something that was just as captivating as that incredible body of hers was.

God, he wanted her so bad.

"Gonna take it slow, babe

Do it my way

Keep your eyes on me

Your reaction

To my action

Is what I want to see."

Gracefully, she slid down off the pole, settling on her knees on the floor. Her backside was toward them, and it looked incredible in those form-fitting leggings. He spent so much time paying attention to her breasts that he sometimes forgot how good she looked from behind, too. And the way she circled her hips and rolled them back and forth made him (and probably every other guy in the club) imagine what it would feel like if she was moving like that on top of him.

He felt like a hypocrite. Because he'd urged her not to take this job, not to put herself in this position. But now she'd gotten so damn good at it, and he loved watching her as much as he hated it.

"Rhythmic motion

Raw emotion

Infiltrating through

Sweet sensations

Hot temptations

Coming over you."

When she got back up on that pole, she swung around more wildly this time, legs fanning and flying everywhere. He wasn't sure if she was doing a choreographed routine or just doing whatever came naturally, but she looked so effortless. Like it wasn't even hard for her. Like her body, her beautiful body, was just born to move. Even with all her clothing still on, she had everyone in there riveted. No one was going to dare look away. Least of all Bellamy.

When that routine was over, she transitioned right into another one, one that saw the removal of her top but nothing else. Then she took a few minutes break and headed backstage, and when she emerged, she was clad in only panties, and it didn't take long for those to come off. The only thing left on were her high heels. Other than that, she was completely naked. And completely tempting.

Once she left the stage for good, Harper asked him if he was doing alright, and he didn't answer. Because he felt some kind of feeling deep in his stomach. It was like this swirling anticipation he just couldn't shake. He'd told Clarke he would wait for her, wait until she was ready, but . . . at the same time, he was really tired of waiting.

He decided to take a chance and slip backstage, back into the dressing room where he wasn't really supposed to go. But when he got back there, he realized he wouldn't be able to get any alone time with Clarke there. Roma was closing out the night and was getting ready for that, and she and Clarke were talking. So he slinked off, figuring he might as well just lurk around outside the rehearsal room until Clarke came out.

When she did, she was wearing normal black leggings now, no crisscrossed slits up the sides. And she had on an oversized grey sweatshirt, her hair back up in a loose ponytail.

"Hey," he said, reaching out to grab her arm.

She didn't seem startled in the slightest as he pulled her towards him. Maybe she recognized his touch. "What're you doing here?" she asked.

He didn't answer. Didn't have to. It was obvious. He'd come to see her.

Wordlessly, he opened the door to the supply room, walking backwards, bringing her with him. She followed without complaint or protest, the same longing look on her face that he knew was painted all over his own. Surrounded by glasses and bottles and a refrigerator stocked full of beer, he thought, Fuck it, and made a move. He lowered his head and kissed her.

She kissed him back. Without even hesitating. It just felt natural, for both of them, clearly. One of her hands found its way to his arm, holding onto his bicep, and his settled into her waist. He deepened the kiss, curious to see how far they could take this, and started backing her up towards a small counter. Mouth never leaving hers, he reached down and hoisted her up, setting her down on that small ledge, loving the way she immediately spread her legs so he could stand in between.

"Oh . . ." she moaned when their lips parted ever so slightly, but he silenced her with another kiss, coiling his arms around her so he could press his chest to hers. Her bulky sweatshirt was in the way, but he could tell she wasn't wearing a bra; so with desperate hands, he rid her of the oversized garment and tossed it to the ground. She still had a t-shirt on, but it was easy for him to snake his hands up underneath that. So he did.

She moaned into his mouth as he palmed her breasts greedily, squeezing and rubbing her flesh, rolling her nipples beneath his fingertips. They were heavy in his hands, and he found himself so fixated on them that he could barely keep kissing her. His mouth moved lazily against hers, his breath coming in hot, heavy pants now as his cock strained against his jeans. He wanted her to touch him, to touch him there, but he liked the way one of her hands came up to tangle in his hair, too, digging into his scalp, and how the other kept squeezing his arm. Her legs wrapped around his hips, pulling his in closer, and he thought about grinding against her, letting her feel just how turned on he was right now, how much he wanted her, how much needed to have her because he'd never wanted anyone this much.

And she wanted it, too. No pressure here, not for either one of them.

But before he could do any of that, they were interrupted back there. The rickety door swung open and in came Murphy with a crate of empty bottles. "Oh," he said, immediately backing up a bit.

Bellamy took his hands off Clarke and took a step back from her, too. She quickly brought her legs together and looked away from Murphy, almost as if she were trying to hide her face.

"Sorry," Murphy said, awkwardly setting the crate down on the floor before leaving the room altogether.

Dammit, Bellamy thought. His chance with Clarke was gone. For tonight, at least. Having someone walk in on you pretty much killed the mood.

"He won't say anything," he assured her. Murphy was his friend, so it wasn't like Finn was gonna find out because of this.

Clarke looked a little bit shaken by . . . by all of this, really, as she slid down off the counter and grabbed her sweatshirt off the floor. She yanked it back on again and made a hasty exit, looking far less lost in the throes of passion and far more ashamed than she had a few seconds ago.