Chapter 54

No one disturbed them, so Bellamy and Clarke lay down on that couch in the rehearsal room and took a nap. She lay on top of him, and his legs pretty much went numb from being trapped beneath her, but hell if he cared. He slept lightly, fairly certain he heard Anya walk back there a few times on her way to and from her office. But she didn't say anything, so he didn't even bother to open his eyes. He just rested with his girlfriend, because it was no secret to anyone that she was his girlfriend anymore.

They got up and left that afternoon, but Anya came outside and stopped them as they were getting in the car. "Bellamy," she said. "Can I speak with you?"

He glanced in between her and Clarke, who looked fearful as she slowly sat down in the car. He knew they were both thinking the same thing. Anya only wanted to talk to him. That probably meant . . .

Shit. He was getting fired.

He stepped back up onto the sidewalk, walking down to the corner with Anya so that Clarke wouldn't have to overhear the whole conversation. "Look, I know you're not happy about this . . ." he started in.

"I'm not happy," she agreed. "I'm . . . worried."

He frowned. "Why?" Worry was . . . not what he'd been expecting; hell, he'd been bracing himself for anger. "I've been in love with her for a while now. We've been together for a while now. It's not gonna be any different for us at the club. We'll just keep doing the same thing."

Anya shook her head, looking doubtful. "I don't want problems," she said.

"What makes you think we're gonna cause any?" he questioned. "'cause that happened in the past?" He shrugged it off. "Those were different people. That's not me and Clarke."

"You broke a glass the other night, Bellamy," she reminded.

"So what? I broke a glass. I didn't start a fight or anything." He felt like he'd done a pretty damn good job maintaining his temper, not losing his cool, even though he easily could have. With the way those guys talked about Clarke, he easily could have started a riot in that club. "Look, if you're gonna fire me, just get it over with," he told her, wanting to cut this short. There was no point in drawing it out if the end result was already set in stone.

Much to his surprise, Anya revealed, "I'm not gonna fire you."

He frowned, not unhappy with that, but confused.

"I'm bending my rules for you two, Bellamy," she stated. "Don't make me regret it." Arms crossed, spinning on her heel, she headed back down the sidewalk, giving Clarke a bit of a sideways glance before she went back inside the club.

Bellamy stood there dumbfounded, not really sure what the fuck had just happened. How the hell did he still have a job? First the stuff with Roan, now a confessed defiance of Anya's no fraternization policy . . . holy shit.

When he climbed into the car, Clarke looked concerned. "So did you get fired?" she asked, not even beating around the bush.

"No. I still have a job." It wasn't a great job by any means, and he'd been doing it way too long for his liking, but . . . hey, they were still working together.

"Huh," she said. "Then maybe it's not us against the world after all."

Maybe not, he thought, twisting the key in the ignition to start the car up. Wonders never ceased.

...

Clarke wasn't exactly looking forward to part two of her talk with Finn, but it had to be done, so she figured it was best to just get it out of the way. She and Bellamy did what they had decided on together, had him stay out in the hallway while she went inside to hash it all out.

She wrinkled her nose as she traipsed through her apartment, down the hall to the bedroom. It smelled in there. It was just that strong, obvious smell of alcohol. And some body odor. Finn clearly hadn't showered.

She pushed open the door to the bedroom and found him face down on the mattress, shirtless, one arm dangling off the side of the bed as he slept and snored. Not so attractive as he once had been.

"Finn," she said, nudging the bed with her knee. "Finn, wake up."

"What?" he groaned, struggling to open his eyes. Before he did, he lifted his head up and belched loudly. That stunk, too. "Oh god," he said, holding his head as he turned over onto his back.

"Are you still drunk?"

"No, I think I'm sobering up." With what looked to be a great deal of effort, he pushed himself up into a sitting position, leaning back against the headboard. "What're you doin' back here?"

God, this felt awkward, seeing him lounging drunkenly in that bed when, for the past three, weeks, she and Bellamy had slept there. She wondered if he'd had time to think about that before he crashed, to think about the fact that he was lying in a bed that she and Bellamy had done so many things in.

"We didn't get to finish talking," she said, determined to actually talk and not start yelling this time.

"Yeah, 'cause your boy-toy showed up." Finn snorted. "Where is he anyway? Is he out in the living room?"

"He's out in the hall." If things got too loud, he'd definitely come running in there, so she had to make sure this conversation was a calmer one. "Look, Finn . . . the past is what it is now. What's done is done. Neither one of us can change what we did." It didn't seem likely that they were going to see eye to eye on what had happened, what with him seemingly unwilling to accept his share of the blame. But that really didn't matter anymore. There were more important things to think about. "We gotta figure out where we go from here."

He yawned and then sarcastically said, "Well, naturally, I'm expecting to be Bellamy's best man when he marries you. And I'll gladly be the godfather to all your dumbass kids."

She wrinkled her nose in disgust. "You sound like a real loser right now, you know that? You look like one, too."

"I don't care," he said. "Just leave me alone, Clarke." He tried to pull the sheets up over his head, but they were tucked in too far down at the bottom of the bed for him to do that.

"I can't," she said. "I live here, too, you know. Two of us, one apartment. Obviously that's not gonna work."

"Go live with Bellamy," he suggested. "Can't wait to hear you guys have sex."

The proximity factor was one thing; but the fairness of it all was another. "I think you need to leave," she told him bluntly.

"What?" he spat. "Are you high, Clarke?"

"No, I'm serious." She'd be standing her ground on this, because she knew she had more of a right to that apartment than he did. "This is more my place than it is yours."

"How do you figure?" he challenged. "I'm the one who found this apartment. Because it was my idea to move out here."

"Yeah, but ever since we've been out here, who's been paying for it? Me," she reminded him. "I've paid the rent every month but the first month."

"Yeah, with your hard-earned stripper bucks," he muttered.

"You sound like Cage."

"Yeah, I do," Finn agreed, not really sounding very bothered by that. "Hey, speaking of him . . . I'm sure he'll let me crash with him for a few days."

"I'm sure he will."

"And then you know what?" He tossed the sheets aside, revealing to Clarke that he was naked, and she looked away. "He can find me a better place than this," he predicted as he got out of bed and pulled on his boxers and a pair of jeans. "He probably would've done that already, if it wasn't for you."

"Oh, yeah, 'cause he's such a prince." It was sad to see how greatly Finn's cousin had worn off on him, but she couldn't say that she was surprised by it. Negative influences and all that.

"He hates you," Finn said as he put on a shirt. "He's always wanted me to break up with you."

"Well, he got his wish." She wasn't really sure who was breaking up with whom here, or if it was just a mutual thing, but it didn't really matter. It was over. "You know, I don't know what was better this year: You not defending me when he called me fat or you not defending me when he insulted my job," she said, wondering if he'd just conveniently blocked out every jackass thing his cousin had said to her.

"Whatever," he said dismissively as he searched around the room for his keys and his wallet. "I don't need this shithole. You and Bellamy can enjoy your little fuck-pad. I'll be back tomorrow for all my stuff."

"Great," she grunted. "Run off to your cousin."

"I will," he said, and then, as if to just put in one parting shot, he added, "At least I still have family who cares about me."

God. That one . . . that hurt. And she hated that it hurt. She hated that it brought tears to her eyes as he stormed out of the bedroom. She hated that it immediately made her wonder if there was some truth to that.

"Fuck her hard tonight, Bellamy!" she heard him shouting as he marched down the hallway outside their apartment.

She blinked the tears away, determined to not let his little family comment bother her. Ultimately, this had been a success. Finn was going to be the one to leave, which meant she got to stay. Which meant that Bellamy could stay with her.

When Bellamy came into the bedroom, he immediately asked her, "You okay?"

"Yeah." She sniffled a bit, but that was it. No other sadness. She wasn't going to let Finn have any kind of victory over her by being sad. "He's gonna be back tomorrow to get his stuff," she informed him, thinking about everything that might entail. "And probably the furniture, 'cause . . . Cage helped him with all of that."

"That's okay," Bellamy said. "Then we can move my stuff in here."

"Yeah." It wasn't like they'd be without a bed or without a couch or anything. Bellamy's apartment was more compact, but he still pretty much had a lot of the same stuff she had here. They could transfer it over. "Is it weird?" she asked him. "You'll be giving up your apartment."

"A little," he replied. "My apartment's so small, though. This is better."

She smiled a bit at the thought of this finally being their apartment. For real. The past three weeks had been nice and everything, but every time Bellamy had gone into the bathroom to shave or brush his teeth, he'd seen Finn's shaving cream in the cabinets, Finn's extra toothbrush on the counter.

Smoothing her hands up his chest to wrap around his neck, she asked, "Do you think we'll be able to move somewhere nicer than this someday?"

"Yeah," he said confidently, wrapping his hands around her waist. "We'll save up. We'll buy a house."

"A house?" That seemed like a long way off, but it was nice to think about.

"Well, someday," he said. "Maybe we'll just get a nicer apartment first."

A nicer apartment would be . . . nice. She'd never completely felt at home here. "I'd love a house someday, though," she said, picturing what it would be like. "In a nicer neighborhood."

"We'll get it," he said, but . . . it wasn't that he was just telling her they would. It was more like a promise. Her, Bellamy, and a house. Someday. Someday, they'd be living the American dream.

...

It was a rude awakening the next morning.

"Rise and shine, bitch."

Bellamy woke up pretty quickly, and beside him, Clarke did the same. There was some guy he barely recognized—Finn's cousin-slash-boss or whatever—standing in their bedroom, clad in the nicest-looking suit Bellamy had ever seen. Finn strolled in with him, muttering, "Oh, look, two bitches," when he saw them in bed together.

Bellamy rolled his eyes and sat up, looking over to make sure Clarke was . . . covered up enough. She had clothes on, but only a thin spaghetti strap shirt, so she took a spare pillow and held it to her chest to be a little less exposed.

"Is this what it was like walkin' in on them?" that Cage guy asked.

"Yeah, except they were both naked."

Clarke rolled her eyes and groaned, "Finn, what're you doing here?"

"Getting my stuff," he answered promptly as he pulled open the top dresser drawer. "What do you think?" He began to rifle through it, throwing t-shirts and boxers onto the floor.

"You could've at least called first," she said.

"No can do," Cage said, meandering uncomfortably close to the bed. "We've only got the moving truck for a short window of time. Gotta get my cousin out of here." He looked down at them, tilting his head to the side as he surveyed Bellamy critically. "That guy, huh?"

Fuck off, Bellamy thought. But if he said something, he was just gonna make things worse.

"Well, I'm not surprised," Cage said. "He looks like the type who's into sluts."

Oh, but how the hell was he supposed to just sit there and not respond to that? It took every ounce of willpower to keep his damn mouth shut. Both his hands clenched into fists, and Clarke had to reach over to touch his arm to keep him calm.

"Uh, you guys are gonna have to get out of that bed," Finn told them as he bent down to collect all the clothes he'd just tossed out onto the floor. "That's mine, too."

"No, let 'em have it," Cage said, surveying the lamp on the nightstand. "I'll get you a king-size. You can fit four girls in that." He yanked the plug out of the wall and grabbed that up. One of many things he and Finn would take out of that place, but Bellamy didn't care. He had a bedside lamp over at his place that would work just fine.

"Is that what you're gonna do now, Finn? Just be a player?" Clarke questioned.

"Oh, he's always been a player," Cage answered for his cousin. "He just had you holding him back."

Clarke shifted uncomfortably, and Bellamy felt bad for her. Finn was being an ass—not shocking, but it still had to sting for her—and from what he'd heard, Cage had always been an ass. He didn't want to be around while they were hauling furniture out. More importantly, he didn't want Clarke around for that. "Are we just gonna sit here while they do this?" he asked her.

She thought about it for a moment as they continued taking things out of the room, then decided, "No."

Good, he thought. There was a hell of a lot of other stuff they could be doing, stuff that wouldn't make Clarke feel like complete crap.

They ended up going out for breakfast, but it had to be cheap, so it was just McDonald's. Nothing fancy, but it sort of hit the spot for Bellamy. Clarke picked at her Egg McMuffin, though, apparently not satisfied with it, and ended up giving half of it to him.

"Do you think we make a mistake?" she asked as she waited for him to finish eating. "What if he takes something that belongs to me?"

"What would he take?" It wasn't like Finn had any use for Clarke's Harry Potter books or her guitar or anything.

"I don't know," she mumbled, then let out a heavy sigh. She sounded . . . down.

"What?" he asked.

"I was just thinking about . . . my parents." She shook her head. "God, I'm gonna have to tell them we broke up."

"Yeah." Maybe it was just because he and his mom had never been close, but he didn't think that was such a big deal. "Is that a bad thing?"

"Well, I have to tell them soon," she said. "I can't have Finn telling them first. Who knows what else he would tell them since he's so pissed at me?"

He connected the dots and realized what she was talking about. "Oh, you mean . . ."

"The dancing, Bellamy," she confirmed. "What if tells them . . . what I've been doing for money?"

Bellamy finished off the remainder of the breakfast sandwich and used a napkin to wipe his hands off. "You think he would?"

She shrugged. "I wouldn't put it past him right now. Just to spite me."

Yeah, it sounded like something Finn would do right now. It was like the guy had just completely shut off whatever feelings he may have once had for Clarke. He was determined to hate her right now, and if he really wanted to make things hard on her, he probably would tell her parents everything. "Well, if they find out, they find out," he said, seeing no way around it. "Right?"

"No, they can't find out," she fretted, shaking her head nervously. "They'd be so disappointed in me."

He didn't know Clarke's parents or anything, but based on what she'd told him about them . . . yeah, they would be. "You could quit," he suggested. That way, even if Finn spilled the beans, she could assure them it was over now.

"No offense," she said, "but we can't live off of what you earn, Bellamy."

"Then you can get another job."

"What, waitressing? Been there, done that." She sighed again, leaning back in her chair, yawning. "No, I'm not gonna do this forever," she assured him. "But if we really are gonna try to save up, then I gotta do it a little while longer."

How much longer, though? He really wanted to know. The longer the Girl Next Door existed, the more he worried she'd never let that girl go.

When they got home around noon, the apartment looked very different. Bellamy didn't think for one second that Finn and Cage had done all that heavy lifting themselves. People must have come over to help them. Because all the big furniture items were gone. The couch, the desk, the TV, the standing lamp in the living room . . . none of it was there anymore. He'd left a plant and the computer chair, but the computer itself was gone. Bellamy knew he'd look into other rooms and find a lot of other stuff gone, too.

"Wow, it's so empty," Clarke said, walking around in circles in the empty living room.

"Like when you first moved in, huh?" He noticed Wilma the mouse poking her head out of her tiny hole in the wall. She looked around a bit, then ducked right back inside.

"Yeah," Clarke said. "Weird."

It was weird for him, too. He'd pretty much gotten used to living there these past three weeks. It looked a lot different without everything in it. "Well, we can move some of my stuff over today," he told her. "Maybe I can call Miller. He can help. And Murphy—no, Murphy won't do any heavy lifting."

"It'll look better once we move your stuff over," Clarke said, heading down the hallway. She pushed open the door to the bedroom, and her whole face fell, and she choked out a sob when she looked at something inside.

"What is it?" he asked, rushing towards her.

She ran into the room.

"Clarke . . ." He stopped in the doorway just as she fell to the floor at the foot of the bed, picking up pieces of broken wood in her hands. It was her guitar. Or . . . what was left of her guitar. It'd been smashed.

Oh, no, he thought, watching her helplessly as she cried. Of all the things Finn could have destroyed, he'd chosen that?

"My dad gave me this guitar," she whimpered as tears streamed down her cheeks. "Why would he do this?"

Bellamy had a lot of answers to that question, ranging from 'because he's a loser' to 'because he finally realizes he doesn't deserve you.' But he doubted any one of his answers would make her feel any better. So he just went in and sat down beside her, rubbing his hand up and down her back, already thinking about how he could make this up to her.

He ended up venturing to a guitar shop the next day with Miller, who managed to fit the errand in in between classes.

"Which one do I get?" Bellamy asked him, overwhelmed by all the choices. They mostly all looked the same to him, but he supposed some brands were better than others.

"You're asking me?" Miller spat.

"Well, yeah, you used to play, right?"

"Back in middle school."

Well, that meant he had more musical experience than Bellamy had, so he was Bellamy's best resource. "Which one then?" he pressed.

"I don't know, they're probably all about the same."

Bellamy picked one up off the wall and looked it over, as if he even knew what to be looking for. "How much is this?" he asked one of the workers walking past.

"Five-hundred."

"Five . . ." Astonished, he put that guitar back, not able to spend that much money. "Shit, I can't afford that."

"We've got some cheaper ones over there," the worker informed him, motioning to some guitars that were a lighter shade but otherwise looked pretty much the same.

"What's cheap?" Bellamy inquired.

"One-fifty, two-hundred."

That was cheap? No, that was two weeks of groceries, at least.

"You got money lyin' around for this, man?" Miller asked.

"No." He wasn't going to let that deter him, though, so he wandered over to the 'cheap' guitars to see if one of them might work.

"Should you spend money if you don't have it?" Miller asked, hands in his pockets as he loitered behind him.

"Probably not, but . . . I'm not gonna let Clarke be without a guitar," he decided. "She likes to sing. She's good at it." He supposed there was a different way to go about this, like taking Finn to court for destroying her property or something, but that'd be long and drawn-out and possibly end up costing even more money than a simple new guitar would.

"You know what you should do then? Buy her some time at a recording studio," Miller suggested.

Bellamy gave him a look. Did people actually do that?

"I'm serious. She could put together a demo, send it out to all the record labels. And with her looking the way she dos, you never know what it could lead to."

Bellamy thought about that, imagined what would happen if some big-wig record exec heard her singing and liked it, decided to sign her to a label and cut an album. He knew the chances of success in the music industry were slim, but Clarke had a good voice. If she could make it as a musician, she wouldn't have to dance anymore.

...

The bathroom needed to be cleaned, the floor scrubbed and everything, but that was pretty hard to do with such minimal supplies. Clarke crawled around on her hands and knees, using some generic cleaner and one of those obnoxious but effective Scrub Daddy sponges to try to get the job done. She'd really wanted to have some lunch made by the time Bellamy got home from his audition, but she just hadn't gotten around to that yet.

"Hey, Clarke," he said when he walked in the door. "Clarke?"

"In the bathroom," she called. "Not going to the bathroom, though." They'd only been together for a couple months. They weren't at that point in the relationship where she could use the restroom in front of him yet.

When he saw her hard at work on the floor, he sputtered, "What—what're you doing?"

She stopped scrubbing long enough to deadpan, "Practicing for the role of Cinderella." That was honestly who she felt like right now. "No, for some reason, Finn decided to take all the cleaning supplies with him. Why? I don't know, since he never actually cleaned. But lo and behold, here I am, making do with what I've got." This was only temporary. She'd go buy another mop tomorrow. And a broom. And a dustpan. And . . . everything, really.

"I've got something for you," Bellamy said, holding out his hand. "Come on."

Her heart leapt at the prospect of a surprise, so she put the sponge down, grabbed his hand, and let him help her to her feet.

"Okay, close your eyes," he said as he led her out into the hallway.

She did as he said, trusting him to guide her so she didn't trip or run into a wall or something. "What is this?" she asked him.

"You'll see. Keep 'em closed."

Had he brought home lunch? She didn't smell anything.

"Alright, and . . . open your eyes."

When her eye lids snapped open, she caught sight of the most amazing thing sitting on her living room floor, propped up against the couch they'd hauled over last night: a new guitar. "Bellamy!" she exclaimed, her mouth dropping open. "You got me a new guitar?" She scurried over to it, picked it up, and immediately gave it a strum. It sounded good.

"It's probably not as nice as your last one," he said, "but . . . hopefully it'll do."

"Oh my god. Thank you." She played a few chords, realizing how out of tune her old guitar had been. And all she wanted to do was just sit down and play a whole bunch of songs. Some Taylor Swift, yes, because that was still her thing. But other stuff, too. Rock songs, maybe even one of Bellamy's rap songs. She could do a cool acoustic cover or two. "But wait a minute, how much did this cost?" she asked, worrying already that he'd spent too much.

"About two-hundred," he replied.

That was . . . pretty standard. But there was so much other stuff they could have spent that two hundred dollars on. Necessities like the electric bill or utilities.

"It's okay," he said. "We can afford that."

She figured they could, but still . . . "We're supposed to be saving," she reminded him.

"I know, but . . . this is worth it."

"It is," she agreed, not able to fight him on it. She needed a guitar. If he hadn't gone out and gotten her one, she probably would have bought one for herself. "Thank you," she said again, kissing his cheek this time.

"That's not all," he said. "There's this recording studio I checked out today."

Her mind immediately started to turn. Recording studio?

"They're all booked up for April, but they said they've got some openings for May."

"Openings?" What was he talking about? She didn't belong in a studio. She just sang for fun.

"Yeah. Time that we could buy for you to go in and . . . you know, record a demo," he went on.

"A demo," she processed. "My own song?" She wasn't a songwriter. She didn't really have any songs to record.

"Or you could do a cover of something. That'd be quicker," he said. "You could still send that out to record labels, see what happens."

All she could think of was that Coyote Ugly movie and how tough it had been for that girl to even begin to break into the business. "Bellamy, I don't . . . I don't know what to say," she said, a bit overwhelmed by the idea.

"Say you're excited." He looked excited for her.

She didn't want to drag him down with realism, but she felt like they couldn't afford—literally couldn't afford—to go spinning off into flights of fancy, either. "I would be, but . . . how much does something like that cost?" she asked, conjuring up a pretty big number in her mind.

"Well, we can negotiate on the rate," he said, probably as a way of dodging the question. "I mean, it's not cheap, but if it leads to something, it'd be worth it."

"And if it doesn't lead to something?" she countered. "Then we're just out, like, a thousand dollars?" Even though she made money as a stripper, it all ended up going away. The cost of living in this city was extremely high. "Bellamy, I love you for wanting this for me, but . . ."

"But what? You weren't afraid to take a chance when you came here. Why are you afraid to take a chance now?"

"I'm not," she insisted.

"Yes, you are. And this could be your ticket out of that club once and for all."

It all came back to that for him, didn't it? He just wanted her out of there. "Bellamy, you're just so fixated on me quitting that place . . ."

"Well, can you blame me?"

"No, but . . ." She took a breath, trying to phrase it in a way that wouldn't make him feel bad for trying. "I think you're so desperate to get me out of there that you don't realize what a big gamble we'd be taking. The price of being in a recording studio for just an hour could literally pay our rent for a month. What's more important?"

He flapped his hands against his sides, looking a bit dejected. "I thought you'd be excited," he mumbled. "Guess I was wrong." He turned, sulking towards the hall.

"Bellamy . . ." she said, stopping him before he could get too far.

He turned back around slowly, looking . . . disappointed. Let down.

"Are we arguing?" she asked.

He thought about it for a moment, then shuffled back towards her, admitting, "Kind of. But that's nothing new. We've argued before."

"Yeah, but . . . this is, like, a couple-y argument." The other arguments had been more . . . dramatic. This was the kind of thing lots of people disputed. "We're arguing about money."

He shrugged. "It's gonna happen sometimes. We're both gonna get stressed. Even about the little things."

"Money? You think money's a little thing?"

"Well, yeah."

He sounded so sure about that, that money was a little thing. And maybe, in some ways, it was. This was a far cry from arguing about how to handle Roan or how to deal with their feelings for each other. This was . . . totally a boyfriend/girlfriend thing. And in a way, that made it feel okay. "Well, if we're having a couple-y argument, maybe we should make this whole couple thing official," she suggested, looping her arms around his neck as a way of signaling that their little argument . . . it was just over. "Maybe we should get all of your stuff moved in." The apartment would feel less empty if it wasn't . . . well, if it wasn't so empty.

They ended up bringing Harper over for help, and she was all about it. She loved that they were finally dating, that it was all out in the open and she didn't have to keep it a secret or pretend like it wasn't happening anymore. Bellamy practically demanded that Murphy come help, but as predicted, he wasn't willing to do any heavy lifting. He spent most of his time disassembling Bellamy's shower curtain and hooking it up again over in Clarke's bathroom.

As evening settled in and the moving wound down, Bellamy called Miller and Niylah, and they both came by, and Murphy told Emori to come after work. By 9:00, they had a full-on house party going, which hadn't exactly been the plan, but Clarke wasn't opposed to it. Maybe now that she and Bellamy lived together, she could get to know his friend Miller more. And they could totally do some double dates with Murphy and Emori. They all worked a lot, but there had to be a couple nights, like this once, that they all had off.

"Cheers," Murphy said as they all stood around the counter, cans of beer in their hands. (Finn had taken a lot, but he'd forgotten to raid the fridge.) "Cheers to Bellamy and Clarke."

"Bellamy and Clarke," everyone else repeated, and they tapped their cans together in the least elegant toast of all time.

Apparently, Bellamy's resignation to letting her have a drink had been a one-time thing the other day at the club, because just as she was about to do so, he took the can out of her hand. "Bellamy!" she yelped as he handed her a Coke instead.

He just smirked, and she couldn't help but kind of find it adorable that he still insisted she not drink, even though she'd had her first beer back at a party her sophomore year of high school. It was against the law and everything, but . . . that wasn't why he did it. He was just . . . just always trying to take care of her.

They played some music off of Niylah's phone and proceeded to dance and just hang out in the living room after that. Well, the girls danced, and the guys kind of just drank and watched. Miller didn't have the same interest in watching their hips swivel and swirl that the other guys did, but Clarke heard him tell Bellamy, "Damn, she really is good," at one point.

She and Niylah did some overtly sexual moves, but she and Harper were definitely the best dancers there, and they could even mark out some of their routines together without a pole. Emori quickly became intimidated and sat back down on the couch. "Okay, since I can't dance, how about I judge . . . who can give me the best lap dance?" She wriggled her eyebrows.

"I was born for this," Niylah declared, immediately jumping onto the other girl's lap.

"Emori, are you bi?" Harper flat-out asked.

"I don't know," Emori said casually, putting her hands on Niylah's thighs as Niylah rolled her hips atop her lap. "Bi-curious maybe."

"Well, I'm bi," Clarke said, plopping down in between Bellamy and Emori to wait her turn. "But I got my guy." She grabbed Bellamy's shirt and pulled him in for a kiss, but they didn't stop at just one. They couldn't.

"Uh-oh. Make-out! Make-out! Make-out!" Murphy chanted, drumming his fist on the coffee table.

God, it felt so nice to just be able to kiss him, openly, in front of people, without worrying about getting caught. All these people had already known anyway, but now, everyone knew, so there was no need to keep it under wraps.

"You guys are so cute together," Harper said as she took her place on Emori's lap to compete with Niylah. "Way cuter than you and Finn."

"I know, right?" Clarke leaned in to Bellamy, not even sure she'd take her turn with the lap dance game now. Emori was cute and everything, and Bellamy would probably think it was hot to see her grinding on another girl, but . . . she sort of wanted to save the lap dancing only for him.

"Thanks, guys," Bellamy said, wrapping his arm around her. "I think we needed this."

They really had. The days since Finn had gotten home had been . . . stressful. Even kind of isolating. But they did have some friends here in this big city. They weren't like her high school friends by any means, but they were still good people.

"Oh, the party's just getting started," Murphy said, getting up. He gently pushed Harper off of his girlfriend and said, "Emori . . . prepare yourself for my lap dance."

Everyone began to laugh as he drunkenly climbed onto her and began mimicking the moves the girls had just did. But he did them so badly and couldn't have been less sexy if he'd tried.

This is good, Clarke thought, snuggling up to Bellamy even more. This is really good. It'd taken a while, but New York City was finally starting to feel more like a home.