Chapter 23

Since Bellamy worked five days a week and Clarke was juggling a job with school, they didn't have as much time together as they would have liked. Especially not since Clarke tended to fall asleep so damn early most nights. They made the most of what time they did have, though. If she wasn't over at his place, he was over at hers. He spent the night a lot.

Since her clothes, especially her jeans, were getting way too tight to keep wearing, Raven was nice enough to take her shopping for some elastic-waist jeans. If she wore a long enough shirt, she figured they'd just look like regular jeans. Not completely unfashionable. She purchased five pairs, plus a few maternity shirts for when her stomach started getting even rounder, then went home that night and pretended to model all the clothes for Bellamy. Of course, he ended up just taking them all off of her, but that was fine with her.

Towards the end of her thirteenth week, Bellamy had an idea for the second and third trimesters. He read something online about taking photos every week in the same pose, same location, to track how much she was growing. So like an amateur photographer, he got her to pose in front of the closed door to her closet, at a side angle with one hand on the underside of her belly, one hand on the top. He snapped the picture on his phone and declared, "Alright, same time, same place next week."

Bellamy wasn't only enthusiastic when it came to taking pictures. On Friday, he took the afternoon off work and drove her to Walmart when she mentioned baby shopping. She mainly just wanted to get an idea for how much things were going to cost. Diapers and bottles and clothes, things like that. Her favorite app had noted that it was a good time to start budgeting things out, and she felt like she needed to be saving up to get everything she needed.

Bellamy was at the opposite end of the budgeting spectrum. He wanted to buy things now, so he ended up going nuts over the toys. Clarke left him to browse all sorts of stuffed animals, blocks, and books while she looked at the clothes.

"Okay, I found a few good ones," he announced as he caught up with her.

Turning around, she felt her eyes nearly bulge out of her head when she saw what an armload of toys he'd picked up. "A few?"

He dumped them all into the cart and shrugged. "Might as well just stock up now. And look at this." He picked up a princess doll and said, "Perfect, huh?"

"What if it's not a girl?" she pointed out.

"Well, what if it is?" he countered, setting the doll down atop the rest of the stuffed toys. "Are you gonna find out the gender or let it be a surprise?"

"I don't know," she said, looking through a couple onesies with various sayings on them. "But I guess I should decide." There was one that said Here for the Naps that looked pretty gender-neutral, so she went ahead and tossed it in the cart. "I think most women find out during their mid-pregnancy ultrasound."

"And when's that?" he asked.

"Sixteen to twenty weeks, I think," she replied. "I mean, I kinda wanna know, just so I know what clothes to get, but . . . I'm not sure."

"Hmm." He found a onesie that said Party at my Crib on it and chuckled. "I think it's gonna be a girl," he predicted.

"Oh, yeah?"

"Yeah. Just a gut feeling. Hence, the princess doll."

"And all sorts of other toys," she pointed out. God, they were going to add up. "Maybe we should put some of these back."

"No, I want my—your kid to have a lot of toys," he said.

He'd tried to hide that, she noticed, that little slip of the tongue. But she'd heard it.

"Clarke." A distraction in the form of Callie Cartwig meant that they didn't have to linger any longer on the fact that Bellamy had almost just called the baby his kid. Clarke forced a smile as her mom's friend came up to her and gave her an air kiss on either cheek. "How nice to see you," she said, and good god, the woman just always sounded so phony.

"Hi, Callie," she said, surprised to see some dresses and shirts draped over the woman's arm. "I didn't know you shopped at Walmart."

"Oh, not for myself," Callie quickly said. "These are for a holiday charity I'm helping out with. No, I'd never buy anything for myself from here."

Never mind the fact that I am, Clarke thought. In her effort to be more financially independent, she couldn't afford the nicest stores anymore.

"And who is this?" Callie said, giving Bellamy the eye.

"This is Bellamy. Bellamy, this is Callie," Clarke quickly introduced them, "my mom's best friend."

"Hi," Bellamy said simply.

"Hello." Callie's eyes traveled up and down his frame before she returned her attention to Clarke. "Oh, sweetie, I hope you don't mind me saying anything," she said quietly, "but I heard about your . . . situation. Your mother told me all about it. It sounds like it's been kind of rough on the both of you."

Clarke was a bit taken aback by how scandalous she made it sound. A situation? Really? Just how bad had her mom made it sound? "It . . . wasn't what I planned," she admitted. "But I'm adjusting."

"And the father isn't in the picture anymore. Is that right?"

"Pretty much." God, she hated that gossipy tone in Callie's voice. She wasn't going to tell her much, because she knew anything she said could be misconstrued and spread around.

"Oh, you poor thing," the older woman said sympathetically. "But how nice of Bellamy here to help you out with . . . all of this." She looked down at the cart, then up at him with a bright smile on her face. "That's a wonderful thing to do for a friend," she told him. "I'm sure sometimes it's nice to have a big, strong man around to help you out." She was even brazen enough to reach out and touch his arm, give his muscles a squeeze.

Bellamy tried to force a smile, but it was more of a grimace.

Oh, screw this, Clarke thought. No way was she just going to stand here and watch this chick manhandle her man. "Okay, first off, he's half your age," she informed Callie. "Second, he's not a friend. He's my boyfriend. And while my mom might be able to put up with you flirting with Kane, I'm not putting up with this. So Callie, march your thirsty cougar ass up to the counter and go pay for all these clothes you think you're too good for."

Callie gasped, bringing one hand to her chest. "Well, I never . . ." She trailed off, obviously offended, and then huffed, spun around, and stomped off in outrage.

There, Clarke thought, watching her go. Problem handled.

"Damn, Clarke," Bellamy said, staring at her in amazement.

"Yeah. I don't know where that came from." Usually when people annoyed her, she was better about biting her tongue.

"It doesn't take much to set you off right now," Bellamy noted.

"It really doesn't." She cupped her stomach, sort of enjoying the lack of a filter she'd just had. "The baby empowered me. I've been wanting to say something to that bitch for years."

Bellamy grinned, his eyes lighting up with mischief as he said, "I'm really turned on right now."

"Oh, stop." She grabbed hold of the cart and pushed it further down the aisle.

"No, I'm serious," he said, looking all around. "Could we maybe just find a dressing room and-" He stopped short when she grabbed hold of shirt and yanked him forward with her.

...

Bellamy had always loved weekends, but now that he was working full-time, he loved them even more. It was nice waking up on Saturday knowing that he didn't have anywhere to be or much of anything to do. It was even nicer waking up in bed with Clarke, completely naked beneath the covers.

She was still asleep, and he didn't really feel like getting out of bed yet, so he reached over onto the nightstand, grabbed the remote, and flipped on the TV. It was too loud at first, so he quickly adjusted the volume down and flipped to ESPN. Saturday morning meant College GameDay was on, and he wanted to tune in. Especially since the hosts had traveled to UCF.

They didn't show much of the campus, but Bellamy could see that plenty of impassioned fans had turned out for the event. The team was on a winning streak, and there was even talk of them sneaking into the playoff if a couple of the power five conference champs ended up being two-loss teams. Of course, the Knights would have to remain undefeated to even have a shot at it, but it wasn't outside the realm of possibility at this point.

Just lying there in bed, propped up against the headboard, Bellamy watched in interest whatever GameDay ran on TV. An interview with the coach of one school, a sit-down with a quarterback from another. And in between each segment, they once again showed the raucous crowd of fans at UCF, holding up signs and banners and flags and yelling their heads off hours before the game was even set to begin.

It kind of a stung a bit, knowing that no one would ever cheer him on like that again. It wasn't that he missed UCF, because he didn't. He just missed the game.

...

"Thirty seconds left to play."

Thanks for reminding me, Bellamy thought bitterly, even though the announcer was just doing his job. Thirty seconds, and they were a little over halfway down the field. A touchdown would win it. A field goal would tie it.

Screw the field goal. They were getting a touchdown. It'd been a long game, definitely a semi-final match that had lived up to the hype. His guys were tired. Hell, he was tired. They weren't sending this into overtime.

His center hiked the ball to him, and his receivers ran their routes. Despite being double-teamed for most of the night, Zeke managed to confuse one of his defenders and got open long enough for Bellamy to toss him the ball. He caught it easily and ran out of bounds.

"Quick pass to Shaw gives them the first down," the announcer said while the crowd cheered. "Clock stops to move the chains."

Bellamy checked the time on the scoreboard. Five more seconds gone. Time to make it happen. A couple more short passes to get them down in the end zone, and then he or Miller could punch it in. They didn't even need to huddle up as they waited for the down markers to be reset. They all knew the game plan, and they knew how to execute.

He heard a "Let's go, Bellamy!" ring out from the track, and he knew it was Clarke. It was freezing outside tonight, so she and all the other cheerleaders had bundled up in jackets and warm-up pants. She still had the face paint on her cheek, though, just like a lot of other people in the stands.

"Which one's your bitch, Blake?" one of the opposing team's defensive lineman started to taunt him. "Blonde one, isn't it?"

Bellamy backed up a bit, trying to ignore him.

"Yeah, she's a piece," the guy went on. "Can't wait to tear her pussy up when this is over."

Dammit, he thought, wishing he could throw a punch and just knock this motherfucker on his ass. But doing that wouldn't only draw a penalty, it'd get him expelled from the game. So he had to act unfazed.

"I'm gonna fuck you up in this game, fuck her up after."

He knew that guy was just trying to rattle his cage, but it wasn't gonna work. Not in a game so big, a game he'd worked so hard for.

His muscles ached with the strain of four hard-fought quarters as he got back under center and crouched down to receive the snap. It wasn't a particularly good snap, and he barely got control of it. Unfortunately, that screwed up the whole play. He was supposed to drop back and pass, but he ended up sideways, too close to the left tackle. The same guy who'd been taunting him. He found an opening in the offensive line and charged right at Bellamy. Despite trying to scramble away, Bellamy couldn't escape the hit. With a jolt, he felt the impact of a huge body thrown against his, and then he felt himself hit the ground.

"And Blake is sacked!" the announcer boomed as the Rockets half of the bleachers all yelled, probably wanting an unnecessary roughness call. "Hard hit from number seventy-four of the defense."

Bellamy just lay there, his head spinning. I got sacked, he registered. It happened every game, but this one was especially painful. Everything got sort of muffled for a minute, but he was sure the crowd had gone silent anyway.

Faintly, he heard the announcer say, "Timeout for an injured player."

Injured? he worried. No, I can't be injured. He tried to lift his head up, but it just felt heavy.

"Bellamy, stay down," he heard Miller say.

"No." He couldn't stay down. They needed him. That sack put them out of field goal range. He had to get up and get them to the end zone.

"You just got rocked, man. Don't move."

"I'm fine," he insisted, but he must not have looked fine, because the trainer broke through the crowd of guys around him and knelt down beside him.

"Hey, Bellamy, look at me," the trainer said. "How many fingers am I holdin' up?"

"Two." Bellamy managed to lift his torso and prop himself up on his arms. Nothing felt broken, but everything hurt.

"Can you stand?" the trainer asked him.

"Yeah." With a little help from his teammates, he got to his feet, wincing. His left shoulder hurt like a bitch, but that wasn't his throwing arm. He could make do.

"I'm alright," he told the trainer. It was then that he noticed his head coach right there, too, doing his own evaluation. He could read the grim look on his coach's face, the unhappy expression in his eyes, and he knew what was about to happen. He was about to get benched. "No, would you listen to me? I'm alright," he insisted.

But his coach wasn't having it. "Come on," he said, motioning him over to the sideline.

No, Bellamy thought, giving him a pleading look. Don't do this to me.

His legs were shaky and felt like they could give out as he walked, with some help from the trainer, over to the sideline. Everyone clapped for him, home fans and fans of the other team alike. But he had a feeling the other team's fans were relieved to see him take such a hard hit and hobble off the field.

Miller called to him, "Don't worry, man. We got this," and then put his mouth guard back in.

You'd better, Bellamy thought. Their whole season came down to these last twenty-five seconds. He'd never imagined sitting on the sideline for the end of the semi-final game.

The backup trotted out to the field as the announcer said, "Let's hope the young man's okay. Evans comes in as backup. Twenty-five seconds left to play."

Bellamy sat down and got some water, but swallowing hurt. In fact, even breathing kind of hurt a little bit, but he wasn't about to mention that to anyone. That probably meant he had some bruised ribs or something, but he could deal with that after the championship game. If they got there.

He watched his team run the play they'd had in mind, except it didn't go as planned. Evans got sacked, too, not as hard as Bellamy had, but still enough to move the ball in the wrong direction. "Loss of three on the play," the announcer said. "Clock keeps running."

Hurry up, Bellamy thought, his heart pounding as he watched his guys scramble to get back in formation. They went for a quick snap on third down, and the backup handed it off to Miller. Miller dashed forward, but only for a couple yards. Maybe five. Not enough for the first down. Coach called their last time out with nine seconds left in the game, and all the guys came over to the sideline. They didn't look pumped up; they looked like they'd already lost.

"Field goal unit," their coach decided.

Bellamy shot to his feet. "No, coach, let me back in!" he spat. "I'm fine. I can do this."

The coach shook his head doubtfully. "You can't even run."

"I can if I have to. Please!" he begged. "You know the kick's a long-shot. Give me a chance."

Their whole massive huddle was silent as the coach looked him over and mentally debated his options. Bellamy held his breath until he heard, "Alright, everybody listen up!" And that was how he knew he was back in the game.

He felt like he was in some scene straight out of a sports movie as he made his way back onto the field to a thunderous roar of excitement from the Rockets fans. He felt like everything just slowed down and got very still. He glanced into the stands, locating his mom and his little sister. Octavia was hiding her eyes, couldn't even watch, and his mom had her hands clasped together and looked like she was praying.

His eyes found Clarke next, standing on the sideline ruffling her pom poms together. She smiled at him, and he felt a surge of energy, one that transcended all the pain he was in. In that moment, he felt like he could do anything.

It was a good snap from his center this time, one that he had no problem holding onto. The offensive line guarded him well, giving him time to scan his receivers and locate an open one. But Zeke was covered. Dax was covered. Everyone he felt confident throwing to was covered and couldn't get open. He kept his feet moving, did a few fake pumps, but when the same tackle who had sacked him broke free and came at him again, he just ran. Tucking the ball in to his side, he found an opening. It was just a small one, but he slipped through and broke past the defensive line. Everyone pursued him or tried to close in on him, but he kept his legs moving. One of the defenders in the secondary got a hold of him, but he managed to spin out of it and keep going. Suddenly, there was nothing but open field in front of him, so he tried to run faster. Harder. Until there was only the end zone, and he was crossing into it.

Everyone screamed. The crowd shot to their feet and went wild, and he spiked the ball and threw his hands in the air, victorious. Exhausted, he fell down on the turf, struggling to catch his breath and comprehend what had just happened. They'd won. They'd won the fucking game.

"Blake with the touchdown as time runs out!" the announcer blared. Even though he was supposed to be a neutral observer, he sounded excited for them. "Rockets win and advance to the finals!"

The finals. He could barely think, but those words came through. We made it to the finals.

His teammates and coaches all ran to him and helped him up, even though he was in pain and kind of just wanted to stay down. He wasn't sure who took off his helmet for him and who was patting him on the back so incessantly, but everyone was shouting and laughing and jumping up and down. And when he looked at the bleachers, he saw some fans, including some of the young ones with his name and number on their faces, spilling over the railings and racing onto the field.

He really didn't care whether it was his sister, his mother, or his girlfriend who he hugged first, but he had to hug one of them.

"Bellamy!"

He followed the familiar sound of Clarke's voice through the crowd. It was such chaos that he could barely get to her, but somehow, he did. And he didn't waste time trying to say anything. Words felt impossible. He just kissed her, not sure she could ever understand how much it meant to him to have her there for this, to experience this moment with him. This game, this girl . . .

It was the best night of his life.

...

Next to him, Clarke began to move, and Bellamy turned down the volume on the TV a little bit more. It didn't make a difference, though, because she still opened her eyes.

"Sorry, didn't mean to wake you up," he said.

"No, it's alright. I feel like I have to pee anyway."

"Imagine that."

She let out a big yawn, then smiled at him and laughed. "Your hair's everywhere."

"So is yours." It was kind of just a mass on top of her head right now because she'd moved around a lot in the night. "You still look good, though."

"Mmm, so do you," she purred, closing her eyes and puckering her lips. He gave her a kiss, but since she didn't seem to be in that big of a hurry to get to the bathroom, he didn't stop at just one. In fact, he slithered his hands beneath the blankets and pulled her body in close to his, feeling like he might be able to get a little early morning lovin'.

Unfortunately, just as things were starting to heat up, the bedroom door swung open, and in came her mom, jabbering, "Clarke, we need to-"

"Oh my god, Mom!" Clarke shrieked, pulling the sheets all the way up to her neck. "What're you doing here?"

Shit, Bellamy thought, checking to make sure he was covered. They were clearly naked, and there would be no mistaking that, but at least only his chest was exposed.

"I'm sorry," her mom said, shielding her eyes. "I didn't know you were . . ." Backing out of the room, she pulled the door shut, and he heard her repeat, "I'm sorry," even after it was closed. Then she trundled downstairs.

"Great," Clarke said. "This is great. Now she knows that we're together again."

"Well, at least we weren't actually fucking," he said, trying to look on the bright side. "That'd be even worse."

"This is bad enough," she groaned, flinging the covers aside. She got up and declared, "Okay, I have to . . . make myself presentable," and then darted into the bathroom.

"And what am I supposed to do?" he said, but the only response he got was the slamming of the door. "Clarke?" He lay there, pitching a tent beneath the sheets, feeling like he was going to have to rub one out before he headed downstairs to see Abby. He couldn't very well go talk to her with a hard-on, could he?

Fortunately, the mere thought that Clarke's mom had just walked in on them was enough to settle him down, and he didn't even end up having to jack off. He got dressed, ran a comb through his hair since Clarke had said it looked ridiculous, and then . . . noticed that he had a hickey on the side of his neck. Not a very noticeable one, but it was definitely there. Clarke had given him a hickey. Usually that happened the other way around, but . . . well, she'd been on top last night, and he'd sort of just laid there and let her do her thing.

Clarke's makeup was way too light to do any concealing on his skin, so he just headed downstairs and hoped her mom wouldn't notice it.

"Didn't hear you come in," he said as he stepped off the bottom stair.

"I rang the doorbell," she said. It looked like she was just pacing around the living room with her arms crossed over her chest.

"I was kinda spacing out," he admitted.

Abby grunted. "Clearly." She sighed heavily, looking out the back glass doors at the ocean. "Clarke didn't tell me you two were . . . back together," she said. "She said you were just friends."

"Yeah, we . . . we tried that." He wasn't about to go into detail and reveal that they'd ended up sleeping together four times without even technically being back together, but . . . yeah. They'd done that.

"I knew this was gonna happen," she said, turning to face him. "Right when I heard you were back in town, I just knew . . ." Trailing off, she shook her head.

"Well, hey, it's not like it's a bad thing," he pointed out, stepping around the coffee table so he could sit on the arm of the couch. "I know I've never been your favorite person, but . . . Clarke could do worse."

"Oh, it's not that I have anything against you, Bellamy," she assured him quickly. "It's just . . . I'm not sure if you know what you're getting yourself into here."

This was a complete one-eighty from his mom, who'd been all happy for him and proud of him. This was a shitload of skepticism, and it was hard to be patient with that. "I know exactly what I'm getting into," he insisted. "I know that Clarke has an appointment next week with that doctor you recommended. Doctor Jackson. I'm going with her."

Abby's eyebrows arched in surprise.

"And I know we've got at least another week until the results of the genetic testing come back," he went on, feeling like he could really make his point, "so I'm trying to keep her mind on other things so she won't worry. I know what toys she's got for the baby so far, because I picked 'em all out. So yeah. I know what I'm getting into."

Still, despite all that, her mom didn't seem convinced. "You say that now," she said, "but you might feel differently when you're awake in the middle of the night with a baby that won't stop crying, or when you're barely scraping by financially because you didn't anticipate how expensive a newborn would be."

What did she think he was, a moron or something? He knew babies were expensive, and he knew babies were tiring. When he'd been in kindergarten, he'd already been helping his mom with Octavia. That didn't make him an expert by any means, but it gave him a foundation to work from.

"It seems like you just wanna swoop in and play the knight in shining armor for Clarke when she's needy," Abby continued, "which she is right now. Very much so. Very needy. And I just worry that, when push comes to shove, you'll change your mind about all of this. Going out and partying might start to sound a lot more fun than-"

"I've been partying for the past five years," he cut in, growingly increasingly frustrated with this conversation. "I'm over it."

"And now you're just magically ready to settle down?" she challenged. "With a baby? You can't blame me for having my doubts."

She could doubt him all she wanted—he was pretty much used to that—but dammit, just this once, he wished she wouldn't.

"What's going on down here?" Clarke asked as she came downstairs. She was wearing some of her elastic-waist jeans, but she had on a long sweater that covered up the waistband and made them look normal. She'd combed and straightened her hair and put on a little makeup now, too.

"Nothing," Bellamy said, feeling like it was best to keep whatever issues he and her mom were having between the two of them. "Your mom and I were just . . . talking."

"Yes," Abby agreed, and she, too, seemed more than willing not to divulge what they'd been talking about.

"Good," Clarke said. "Um, well, do you maybe want some breakfast?"

Bellamy really didn't want her to stay, and if she did, he was already thinking up an excuse to get out of there. But much to his relief, Abby said, "No, thanks, I already ate."

So you can leave then, Bellamy thought. He actually didn't dislike Abby as much as Abby disliked him, but he needed some space from her right now. Some of the things she'd said had just downright pissed him off.

"I was actually just coming by to talk to you about what you said to Callie yesterday," Clarke's mom said, giving her a stern look. "She called me last night, practically in tears."

"Crocodile tears, Mom. She's not that upset."

The woman from Walmart, Bellamy realized. She probably would have felt him up if Clarke hadn't said something.

"Still, maybe you should call her and apologize," Abby suggested.

"Hmm . . . hard pass."

Bellamy couldn't help but smirk. Yeah, that woman didn't really deserve an apology.

"Clarke." There was a scolding tone to her mother's voice. "This isn't how we treat our friends."

"She's your friend, Mom, not mine," Clarke reminded her. Grabbing her keys off the counter, she said, "Come on, Bellamy. Let's go get breakfast. I'm starving."

"She's starving," Bellamy said, glad to have an escape. He followed her out the door, relieved that Abby didn't follow or try to invite herself along. Sure, she'd probably snoop around the house and find some of his clothes stashed into drawers and hanging in the closet. She'd see his toothbrush and his razor in the bathroom. She'd know that he'd been spending a lot of time there lately. Oh, well, he thought. Let her figure it out.

He and Clarke ended up at the café across the street from Eligius. Just the typical small-town place that served breakfast all day and hosted Bingo night on Fridays. Bellamy only felt hungry enough for two scrambled eggs and pancakes, but Clarke got a whole fucking omelet, hash browns, and toast. She ate pretty fast but still managed to vent in the process.

"And what even was that? 'This isn't how we treat our friends,'" she ranted, mimicking Abby. "Condescending much? God, I'll tell you, at the end of the day, I do love my mom, but sometimes . . ." She gripped her glass of orange juice so hard, he thought she might break it. "Oh, well, though. I'd rather she say that kind of stuff to me than you."

Bellamy held her gaze a bit too long, then looked down at his plate as he tried to figure out how he was going to finish this last pancake.

"Oh, no, she said something to you, too, didn't she?" Clarke realized. "What was it?"

He didn't want to bother her even further with it, so he tried to dismiss it as no big deal. "It's nothing."

"Just tell me," she pressed. "I wanna know."

Yeah, she said that now, but once he told her, it was just gonna upset her even more. He couldn't very well lie to her about it, though, so he went ahead and told the truth. "She said she doesn't think I'm in it for the long-haul with you. She thinks I'm gonna change my mind." It left a bitter taste in his mouth just saying those words.

"Oh god, Bellamy . . ."

"It's fine," he assured her. "I expected it." There were gonna be a lot of doubters and skeptics, so he was just gonna have to prove them wrong.

"No, you shouldn't have to deal with that," she said. "I'm gonna talk to her."

"No, I don't want you fighting with her just 'cause of me." Chances were, an argument with her daughter would just make Abby dislike him even more. "I'll win her over in time," he promised, wishing he felt a little more confident about that.

"She's known you for six years," she pointed out. "How much more time does she need?"

"Just . . . don't worry about it," he reiterated. "By the time this baby's born, she'll be a full-on Bellamy Blake stan. I guarantee it."

"I hope so," she said, pouting. Pushing her now empty plate aside, she eyed his longingly, sighed, and then asked, "Can I have the rest of your food?"

He smirked, amused by her enormous appetite, and slid what was left of his breakfast across the table so she could indulge.

...

Clarke had actually forgotten that she was scheduled to work until a reminder on her phone alerted her to that fact. She showed up at the bar about ten minutes late, but it didn't really matter, because Diyoza wasn't there. It was a lazy afternoon shift for a while, until around 5:00 when it started to pick up. Saturday nights got busy, but there were pros and cons to ending up with a lot of customers in there. Being busy surely made the time go faster, but it was hell on her feet, and her back felt kind of cramped up, too.

Raven showed up right as it was getting dark out, marched up to the bar, and blurted out, "Your mom called me."

"What?" Clarke groaned. "Are you serious?" She never did that unless she wanted dirt on something.

"Yeah. Wanted to know how long you and Bellamy had been back together."

Figures, Clarke grumbled inwardly. "What'd you tell her?" she asked.

Raven shrugged. "The truth. That it's been about a week, but it all seemed sort of inevitable."

"She's getting on my last nerve right now," Clarke admitted. "Oh, and you know who else is pissing me off? My dad. Now that I'm pregnant, he's decided that he wants me to spend the holidays with him. Thanksgiving and Christmas."

"Well, it might be a break from your mom," Raven noted.

"Oh, no, it won't be, because his girlfriend would be there. Alyssa." She rolled her eyes, wishing it was easier to be a little less judgmental of the girl. But really, what interest could someone that young and beautiful possibly have in her father besides money? "Have you seen Alyssa? Have I showed you a picture of her?"

"No."

"Here." She whipped out her phone, found an Instagram picture for Raven to look at, and anticipated the obvious reaction.

"Holy shit," Raven swore in astonishment, "she looks like she could be your sister."

"I know, right?" How old was she again? Thirty-three? Yeah, definitely still young enough to be related.

"You need to go home and de-stress," her friend said, walking around the bar.

"I can't," Clarke said. "My boss is out of town, so it's just me and one other girl."

"I got this." Raven untied the apron from around Clarke's waist and put it around her own instead. "Go home," she instructed. "Lie down. Or get laid. Whichever."

Since Raven Reyes was pretty much good at everything, Clarke felt comfortable leaving her shift in her hands. "Thank you, Raven," she said gratefully. "You're the best."

Raven grinned. "I've often thought so."

Clarke headed straight home, happy to be out of there. When she got to her house, things got even better, because Bellamy was waiting for her, sitting outside on the porch.

"You are exactly what I needed to see right now," she said, walking up to the steps. "How long have you been waiting?"

"Just fifteen minutes," he said, standing up. They must have been fifteen chilly minutes, though, because he had to blow on his hands to warm them up. "Raven called and told me you were on your way home."

So he'd come straight here? She felt so spoiled. A best friend and a boyfriend who wanted to look after her? Awesome. "Well, this is perfect," she said, unlocking and opening the door, "because I actually have something for you."

"A gift?" he said, following her inside. "Lap-dancing? I'd be very happy with lap-dancing."

"No." She set her purse down on the recliner and headed into the kitchen to rummage around her junk drawer for the small, silver key she'd stashed there the other day. "Here," she said, holding it out for him. She'd meant to give it to him last night, but . . . well, sex had quickly become the priority.

"It's a key," he said.

"To this house," she said. "A key to my house. Now you don't have to wait outside if I'm not home."

"That's handy," he said, clasping his hand around it. "And, uh . . . pretty official."

She shrugged nonchalantly, feeling like it was a good logical step in their relationship. "Well, I just figured . . . you're spending a lot of time here anyway. You might as well be able to come and go as you please."

His eyebrows arched, and he gave her a suggestive look.

"Not that kind of coming, Bellamy."

"No?" He chuckled and took his own key clump out of his pocket to hook that new on onto the ring. "Well, thank you," he said. "This is cool. I've never actually had a key to a girl's place before." He jingled the whole key ring and smiled.

"Well, you know . . . you've always had the key to something," she said, trying to be all sultry and seductive as she swayed in close to him, snaking her hands up his chest.

Pocketing the keys again, he inquired, "And what's that?"

"My heart." She shut her eyes and cringed right after the words left her mouth.

"Oh, Clarke, that was so cheesy," he said, laughing.

"I know. I was gonna try to make it dirty, but 'key to my pussy' just sounded weird."

His eyes lit up with mischief. "I do have the key to that, though, too, right?" he asked.

"Well, obviously."

"Obviously." He slipped one hand in between them and touched her through her sweatpants, which were still more comfortable than even the elastic-waist jeans. "And nobody else does."

"Nobody," she confirmed, stepping out to the sides, eager to let him feel her up.

"Maybe I should unlock it then," he said, playing up the metaphor as he untied her pants and started to push them down.

Giggling, she helped him get them off of her and looked around for something to lean back against while he went down on her. Whether it would morph into full-on sex or not was up in the air, but she knew she'd love whatever he gave her. Bellamy had always been focused on her pleasure over his own, but now more so than ever, it seemed like making her feel good was his top priority.