Chapter 29

Clarke felt like she was going crazy. What had begun as a simple lunch outing with her two best friends in the world had turned into . . . this.

"I think you guys should do a unisex name," Raven rambled. "You know, since technically both your names are unisex. Like you could go with Kyle or something. I'm hearing more and more girls named Kyle these days. Or Ashley, like that guy in Gone with the Wind."

"Or you could be inspired by your passion for art," Harper suggested. "Like . . . oh, who's a famous artist?" Her eyes lit up when she thought of someone. "Monet! Yeah, if you have a little girl, you could name her Monet."

Raven made a face. "That's weird."

"No weirder than Kyle."

"Okay, just stop," Clarke snapped, throwing both her hands up. "I can't take this anymore. I've had babies on the brain the whole weekend. I'm pregnant. My dad's girlfriend's pregnant. One of you is probably pregnant for all I know."

"Oh, god, I hope it's not me," Raven groaned, clutching her stomach.

"We didn't come here to discuss baby names," Clarke reminded them. "We came here to discuss Bellamy's birthday. Will you guys just focus on that for, like, a minute?"

Both Harper and Raven fell silent, and Harper sounded like a child who'd just been scolded when she apologized, "Sorry. We'll be good."

It wasn't that Clarke was opposed to discussing baby names with them at some point, but after the weekend she'd had at her dad's, she just needed a break from all the baby business. Plus, Bellamy's twenty-fourth birthday was kind of a priority. "We have to throw him a really awesome party," she said. "Because I know he says he doesn't want one, but I can see right through him. December birthdays always get overlooked because of Christmas, but we're not overlooking his."

Raven took a gurgling sip of her soda and brainstormed, "Okay, how about a football theme then? Or has he had enough of that with the Hall of Fame stuff?"

Clarke really didn't feel like it was a good idea to go the sports route, not after everything he'd confided had happened at UCF. "No football," she decided. "In fact, I don't think it really needs a theme. Just good music, good food, good people. If the weather's warm enough, maybe we could even have it out on the beach."

"That'd be fun," Harper said. "And it's this weekend, right? I think it's supposed to be, like, unusually nice out."

"So we're pretty much inviting the Trunk-or-Treat crowd, right?" Raven asked.

"Right," Clarke confirmed. "Plus Miller and Lexa and Octavia. And maybe his friend from work. He has a work friend."

Harper smiled. "Oh, good for him."

"I know, right?" She wasn't sure if Roan would be able to come, because from everything Bellamy had told her, the man was pretty busy with his wife and kids. But they could at least extend an invitation.

"Miller can be responsible for all the music," Raven said, "maybe play all sorts of stuff he and Bellamy listened to back in the day."

"It's gonna be a lot of gangster rap then," Clarke informed her. "They used to drive around before football games blasting Tupac and Biggie and . . . whoever else was a 90s gangster rapper."

"Snoop Dog," Raven said.

"Ice Cube," Harper added.

With an exaggerated sniffle, Raven fake-cried, "Eazy-E."

Clarke didn't even know who the hell that was. "Whatever. That's what we're gonna get."

"That works," Raven said. "Food . . . we could get something catered, or everyone could just bring something."

"I call chips and dip," Harper said quickly, raising her hand as she claimed it.

"I'll make special brownies." Raven wriggled her eyebrows in delight. "Although none for you, Mama."

Clarke wouldn't have eaten any even if she hadn't been pregnant. She'd gotten high a total of one time in her life, and that had been back in high school with Bellamy. His mom had been working, and they'd had the house to themselves, so they'd smoked a few joints. She hadn't liked it very much, though. It'd made her feel all sluggish and had stunk up his bedroom.

"What're we supposed to get him for gifts?" Harper inquired. "Guys like Bellamy are so hard to shop for."

"Yeah. I mean, I wanna get him something he'll actually like," Raven said, "but mostly I just know he likes you. And he's already got one of those."

"Honestly . . ." Clarke shrugged. "Practical stuff. Like tools. He's got all these plans for a nursery and absolutely nothing to build anything with."

"Okay, good idea," Raven said. "And then I'm sure you'll end the night by paying attention to a certain tool of his, as any good girlfriend would."

Clarke blushed. But yes, that was the plan.

"See?" Raven said. "He's gonna have an awesome birthday."

...

In the days leading up to Bellamy's party, Clarke played coy about the whole thing. In fact, she even led him to believe that they were just going to have a quiet night in. She told him she'd cook dinner and they'd find something good to watch on TV, and even though he put on a smile and said that'd be nice, she could tell he wanted something a bit more celebratory. All of their friends kept the party a secret, too, and on the morning of Bellamy's birthday, they bombarded him with the most generic happy birthday texts ever. He mumbled something about how unlucky people with December birthdays were, then went about his day.

That evening, though, just as Clarke was about to start 'cooking dinner,' their friends came over, practically piling in the house, and they bombarded him with gifts and booze and noise. Bellamy's whole demeanor just changed. He looked genuinely surprised that they were having a party for him; they really had fooled him.

True to the forecast, the weather was nice. Insanely nice. It felt more like a comfortable fall evening than it did the middle of December, so they were able to go out onto the beach and celebrate out there. Miller pulled his truck around the side of the house, parked it on the sand, and hooked up some massive speakers in the bed of it. It was the exact genre of music Clarke had predicted, and Bellamy just loved it. When he wasn't drinking, he and Miller were singing along. (Watching the two of them belt out every single lyric to "Mama Said Knock You Out" was a highlight.) While they drank and sang, everyone else either danced or sat around the small bonfire they'd gotten started, drinking or roasting marshmallows. Clarke didn't sit much, though, because as the hostess for this birthday bash, she felt like it was her responsibility to go back and forth between the house and the beach, always making sure that they had plenty of food, drinks, and blankets out there in case anyone got cold.

When Miller had to take a pee break—he didn't bother with the bathroom and just went in the ocean—Clarke sidled up to Bellamy and asked, "Having fun?"

"Yeah." He finished off the bottle in his hand and said, "A little too much."

"No, you just go for it," she said, patting his chest. "It's your birthday. Live it up."

"Oh, I am." When Miller came back, they . . . howled at each other? Clarke wasn't sure what that was about, but then again, there were a lot of bro rituals guys had that she didn't quite understand. Thankfully, with the party being pretty much an equal balance between the genders, she had plenty of girls to hang out with, too. Lexa was the obvious choice since all the other girls were there with their boyfriends. Clarke didn't want her to feel left out.

"Quite the party," Lexa remarked when Clarke sat down beside her at the bonfire.

"Yeah, I think he's having a good time." He'd definitely be feeling the effects of all this fun in the morning, but knowing Bellamy, he wouldn't regret a second of this.

"I gotta hand it to you," Lexa said, looking over her shoulder at Bellamy, "as far as boys go, he's a pretty cute one. I can see why you never got over him."

"No, I was over him," Clarke claimed.

Lexa shook her head adamantly. "You never were. You used to talk in your sleep sometimes, and I always swore you were saying his name. And you'd doodle pictures of him on napkins and stuff. You're just lucky I wasn't the jealous type."

Well, damn, she had done that, hadn't she? The truth was, she'd never completely forgotten about Bellamy, but she had forced herself to move on from him. It had just never occurred to her that fate could unfold like this, that they might somehow end up together after so many years apart.

Beside them, Jasper and Maya were all over each other, using his jacket as a blanket to lie on. They looked hammered just like Bellamy and Miller were, but instead of using their mouths to sing, they were using their mouths for . . . other purposes. "Oh my god, are they gonna do it?" Clarke wondered.

"Probably," Lexa said. "They had some of Raven's brownies."

Even though she didn't want to be a cock-block, Clarke felt compelled to make sure they were at least going to be safe tonight. So she got up, went over to the young couple, and knelt down beside them. "Hey, wait a minute, you two," she said, pulling Maya's shoulder back to put some distance between her and Jasper. "Do you have protection?"

Jasper looked like he barely even understood her as he struggled to get one word out. "Wh-what?"

"Protection," she repeated. "Condoms, anything? Or are you trying to end up like me?"

Maya laughed nervously, tucking her hair behind her ear. "I'm on birth control," she assured Clarke.

Jasper finally seemed to piece together what this conversation was actually about, and his whole face lit up with excitement. "Wait, are we having sex tonight?" he asked a little too loudly.

"Maybe," Maya replied with a giggle. And then they started kissing again.

"Be safe," Clarke said, leaving them on their own. There was only so much of Jasper's tongue she could see before she wanted to puke.

Her plan was to camp out next to Lexa again, maybe check in on how things were going between her and Costia, but a loud, "Clarke!" kept her from doing that. She whipped her head towards the house and saw Raven on the back porch, motioning her over hurriedly.

Clarke wasn't sure what was going on, but she hustled across the beach. "What's wrong?" she asked Raven.

"Come out front," Raven said, ducking inside. Clarke followed her through the living room and out the front door, and it didn't take long to figure out why Raven had called her over. They had a party crasher wandering around out there: Finn.

"What's he doing here?" Clarke asked. Surely nobody had invited him, right?

"He's drunk," Raven said. "I saw his car pull up when I came in to use the bathroom."

Finn let out a loud belch, opened up the back door of his absolute beater of a car, and grabbed himself a half-empty bottle. Harder stuff than the booze they were using to celebrate Bellamy's birthday. "Nice party," he said, taking a giant swig. "My invite must've gotten lost in the mail."

Clarke stepped down off the front porch, more annoyed than upset that he'd shown up. "What do you want, Finn?" she asked him impatiently.

"What do I want?" he echoed. Upon taking several seconds to think about it—as much as he could think right now—he just shrugged and answered, "I don't know."

Well, Clarke knew what she wanted. Spinning back to Raven, she said, "I don't want him to be here."

Raven nodded in agreement.

"Of course you don't," Finn said, stumbling over his own two feet as he struggled to stay standing. "I'm just a loser. You got an upgrade."

Finn wasn't actually a loser, though. She wouldn't have ever dated him if he had no potential. But he sure as hell was acting like a loser right now, and it was . . . actually sort of sad. He looked like a lost little boy instead of a twenty-two year old man.

"Is it his birthday or something?" Finn asked. "You gonna give him some birthday sex?" Laughing angrily, he muttered, "I wonder what my kid thinks about that."

"Your kid?" she echoed, taking issue with that. He could show up and slur about her and Bellamy all he wanted to, but he'd given up any right to lay claim on the baby she was carrying. "Do you have any idea what your kid even looks like right now, how big it is?" she asked him accusatorily. "What about how much it weighs? Do you know anything?"

He fell silent.

"Oh, that's right, you didn't wanna know," she reminded him, heated now. "So you don't get to crash our party. We don't want you here."

"Well, where am I supposed to go, huh?" he said, throwing his hands up in the air. Some of the liquor spilled out of his bottle.

"Home," she suggested. He had a home, with roommates, she recalled. Roommates who were actual losers and who, unfortunately, seemed to be rubbing off on him.

"Clarke, look at him," Raven said, coming up behind her. "He shouldn't be driving."

As eager as she was to just get him out of there, Raven was totally right. Finn was in no shape to be behind the wheel right now.

"I'll take him," Raven offered.

"Thanks." She hated for her friend to have to miss any of the party, but . . .

"Go back and have a good time," Raven said, giving her shoulder a gentle squeeze as she eased past. She talked to Finn quietly and slowly and was just managing to help him into her car as Clarke headed back inside the house.

The party was still in full swing by the time she got back outside to it. Determined not to let Finn be a damper on an otherwise awesome evening, Clarke pushed him as far out of her mind as she could.

"Everything okay?" Lexa asked her.

"Yeah." She looked around for Bellamy and didn't see him standing next to Miller anymore, but she did see someone wading around in the ocean waist-deep. "Oh god, what happened out here?"

"I don't even know," Lexa responded.

"Clarke!" Bellamy yelled. Indeed, he was in the ocean.

"Yeah?" she yelled back.

"I can't find my pants!"

"What?" Bellamy had taken his pants off while she'd been dealing with Finn?

"I can't find my pants!" he said again.

"He lost his pants when he ran into the ocean," Miller explained.

"Why are you even in there?" Clarke asked him.

"I don't know!"

"Well, get out!"

He sighed heavily, shrugged, and said, "Okay," then started walking out of the water. He was definitely not exaggerating about the pants thing. He didn't have a stitch of clothing on the lower half of his body. Everything was just out for everyone to see.

"Bellamy!" she shrieked, running towards him as all their friends laughed. She heard Murphy proclaim, "This is great footage!" and she knew he was recording. Luckily, it was dark out, and she got to him before anyone could see too much. Taking off her sweatshirt—which was actually his sweatshirt—she tied it around his waist to conceal his junk from anyone's view.

"What?" he said. "I told you, I can't find my pants. They floated away or something."

"I didn't know you meant your underwear, too."

Grinning, he said, "I wasn't wearing any."

Even so, she had no idea how anyone could just lose an entire pair of pants simply by going in the ocean. Chances were, he'd never see them again. "You're so drunk," she said, laughing at his silliness. It was a different kind of drunk than what she'd just seen from Finn, though. Bellamy wasn't feeling sorry for himself; he was having a good time. It was good to see him let loose, because these days, he hardly ever got a break. If he wasn't working, he was doing something to take care of her. He was a pretty good boyfriend like that.

The party wore on for at least another hour, and Bellamy put on new pants for it. Raven returned and only let Murphy know where she'd been. Clarke thanked her profusely for getting her ex home safe and sound, but she didn't care to waste any more breath on Finn. So instead, she made a few s'mores and took part in a spontaneous but relatively tame game of truth or dare. The most scandalous thing that happened was that Maya was dared to kiss another girl, so Lexa, of course, volunteered for the job. After that, it started to get chilly, so they headed back inside with the intention of letting Bellamy open up some of his presents. Bellamy could barely sit upright on the couch, though, so they all decided it was best to just call it a night.

"When do I get to open my presents?" he asked Clarke as she helped him up the stairs.

"Tomorrow, when you're more coherent," she told him.

"Co-what?"

"Exactly." She pushed open the door to the bedroom and walked beneath his arm, supporting most of his weight as he struggled to put one foot in front of the other.

"So you think everyone had fun?" he asked.

"Oh, yeah. But you had the most fun of all."

"Oh, yeah," he agreed emphatically. "And everyone really saw . . . everything?"

"Yep." Fortunately, she'd convinced Murphy to blur that out before he put any video online.

Bellamy smirked. "Hmm, lucky them."

"Lucky me," she corrected, pushing him down onto the bed. "I get to see it more than they do." Poor Bellamy probably would have just lain down and fallen asleep with all his clothes on if she'd let him, so she took his shoes off for him, then unbuttoned his pants. "Happy birthday to you," she sang quietly, sliding them down his hips and legs. "Happy birthday to you." Then she slid her hands up underneath his shirt and urged him to lift his arms over his head. "Happy birthday, dear Bellamy," she went on, lifting his shirt off. She tossed it onto the floor and then pushed him down onto his back, lying on top of him. "Happy birthday to you," she finished up, her voice a whisper in his ear. She kissed his cheek, then his alcohol-soaked lips. He had a little piece of marshmallow stuck in his beard, too, so she plucked that out for him. He didn't exactly look . . . smoldering right now. Not the way he usually did. But he was naked and cute and happy, exactly the way he deserved to be on his birthday.

With a clear destination in mind, she slithered down his body, dropping a trail of kisses along his muscled chest and abdomen. When she got to his cock, she took it in her hand and gave it a few long strokes, then lightly kissed the tip of it. "What do you say, birthday boy?" she asked, her voice low and raspy as she channeled her inner seductress. "You up for it?"

As if in response, his cock twitched in her hand. "Oh, yeah."

"Yeah?" Part of the reason she hadn't protested when they'd decided to forgo opening presents was that she'd been eager to get him alone to have some fun with him. She had actual presents for him, of course, but his birthday wouldn't be complete if they didn't get it on.

She'd thought a lot about how she wanted to give it to him tonight. A blow-job was the obvious answer, so she started sucking on him pretty fervently. But they hadn't had a whole lot of sex this week on account of her work schedule, so selfishly, she wanted to get off, too. Not that she couldn't get off just by giving him head. She could, and she actually had before. But it would be so much easier if he was inside her.

"You're not gonna fall asleep on me, are you?" she teased, lifting her head.

"No," he assured her, though his eyes were half-closed. "I just drank. I didn't have the brownies."

"Good." She bobbed her head up and down his length a couple more times, doing her best to coat it with saliva, and then she crawled back up to straddle him. "Because I want you to fuck me," she told him, peeling her shirt off.

His hands came up to cup and squeeze her backside, and he eagerly asked, "Can I fuck your ass?"

"No."

He pouted exaggeratedly. "B-but it's . . . it's my birthday."

As much as she was willing to spoil him tonight, anal sex was probably pushing the envelope a little too much. "Let's save that for when you're sober, alright?" she suggested. When they tried it that way again, she needed him to be completely attentive.

"Okay," he relented.

"But here." She swung one leg off of him and crawled to her side of the bed, putting on a mini-show for him as she took off her jeans—elastic-waist but still kind of sexy. Clad in only her bra and panties, she got on all fours and stuck her ass in the air to entice him. "You can do what you want with the rest of me," she told him, peeking over her shoulder.

Bellamy didn't need to be told twice. With more coordination than he'd managed all night, he sat up and walked towards her on her knees, positioning himself behind her in a doggy style position. Either he forgot that she still had panties on or just wanted to tease her, because he rubbed the head of his hard cock against the thin fabric covering her folds. The barely-there silky material did little to conceal her desire, as she felt herself soaking through them with every deliberate rub.

How did I ever go five years without this? she wondered, pressing her hips back against him. There was something about Bellamy's body that just drove her crazy. It was more, even, than just a physical attraction. It was like . . . chemical.

When he grabbed hold of her underwear and tore them on the side, she gasped. That gave him open access to her pussy, and he went right ahead and took it. Groaning, he plunged into her, his hands holding tightly to her hips to keep her still. "Fuck," he swore, one of his most common reactions to penetrating her. She loved the way Bellamy's voice sounded when they were together like this. It was even lower than normal, even more gravelly.

"Oh, yeah," she whispered, craning her head back. It felt amazing.

Bellamy didn't take it slow. Tonight was clearly not some gentle lovemaking session. They were both horny, and they wanted to get off, so he drilled and grinded his hips into hers pretty roughly right from the start. "Oh, fuck, you're so tight," he scraped out.

I'd better be, she thought. She did those Kegel exercises for a reason. Hopefully it'd feel just as good for him after she had the baby.

He gave her ass a little spanking as he thrust into her. They didn't ever go overboard with hitting, but she'd never been opposed to a slap on the ass. "You like that?" he asked her breathily.

It wasn't really necessary to give him an answer, but she said, "Yeah," anyway. He knew what she was okay with, knew exactly what she liked. He always had. Nobody had ever known her body as well as Bellamy Blake did. Nobody. "Mmm, you feel so good inside me," she purred, using her words to urge him on. "Give it to me, babe. I want it."

A growl arose from low in his throat, and he picked up the pace. The force of his thrusts sent her whole body rocking forward, to the point where her hands were at the edge of the mattress. "Uh . . . harder," she groaned, completely surrendering herself to the sensation of getting fucked. Even in his drunken state, Bellamy was an absolute stallion in the sack. "Yeah, just like that," she praised him when his cock started to rub at exactly the right angle. "Oh, right there. Right there. You're gonna make me cum."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. Don't stop." Her breasts practically spilled out of her bra as she continued to rock back and forth with him. She was so close that she could feel it building up. It always started down in her stomach and just spread outward from there. Like a firework.

"Oh my god," she gasped as his hips continued to ram hers. He was fucking her so good. Everything just felt so good. "Oh, Bellamy!" She cried out his name as she came, her pussy clamping down on and squeezing his cock on its own accord. He fucked her straight through it, and she squeezed her eyes shut as the pleasure shot through every limb. She felt like she was seeing stars.

Bellamy came shortly after that, right as she was coming down from her own orgasm. She fought to keep herself upright, because she couldn't very well just sprawl out on her stomach with the bump she had. Thankfully, Bellamy disconnected from her, then scooped her up in his arms and said, "Come here," as they lay back on the bed together.

She curled against his side, appreciative of the sheen of sweat on his chest. He'd worked hard to get her off. Even all that alcohol in his system hadn't slowed him down.

"Did you have a good birthday?" she asked him, fairly certain the answer was obvious.

"The best," he murmured against her forehead.

Good, she thought, smiling sleepily as exhaustion took hold. Mission accomplished.

...

The pounding ache in his head was all it took for Bellamy to realize he'd had way too much to drink last night. The evening was . . . hazy at best. He remembered a lot of singing with Miller, some nakedness in the ocean, and some much better nakedness with Clarke after everyone else had gone. The details were fuzzy, but he had the gist of it. Birthday party. A fun one. And now he was paying the price.

With Clarke fast asleep next to him, it was really tempting to just lie there and keep sleeping. Really tempting.

...

Although he didn't have much of a biological alarm clock, something managed to wake Bellamy up the morning after his birthday. Some nagging feeling in the back of his very lethargic brain that there was something he was supposed to be doing, somewhere he was supposed to be.

When he caught sight of the numbers on Clarke's bedside clock, his eyes snapped open, because he knew he was late for . . . something. What was it again? Something with someone from . . .

Fuck, something with someone from UCF.

"Oh, shit," he muttered, flinging the covers aside. He sprung out of bed, causing Clarke to stir, and he quickly tugged on his pants. He'd slept in his shirt and boxers, so hopefully he didn't smell too bad.

He was in such a hurry that he couldn't even bother to stop and give Clarke a kiss goodbye. Nor could he even attempt to be quiet as he slipped out of her room and hurried downstairs. Didn't matter anyway. Abby was awake, shuffling through the kitchen in her work clothes. She stopped when she saw him and looked at him with alarm in her eyes.

"Hi, Mrs. Griffin," he muttered sheepishly, lowering his head as he bolted for the door. He wasn't technically supposed to spend the night there, and her silent but vicious glare was a reminder of that.

His phone was out in his car, but when he checked it, the battery was completely dead, so there would be no calling his mom to let her know he was on his way. Instead, he just floored it, managing to get home in just a few minutes. There was a nice car parked in his driveway, so he parked out on the street, got out of the car, and straightened out his shirt. It wasn't a nice enough shirt to wear, but it was gonna have to do.

His mom scampered outside to intercept him on his way to the door. "Bellamy," she said sternly.

"I know. I'm sorry." He'd promised her he'd be home last night, and he hadn't followed through. He sucked as a son. "How long has he been here?" he asked her.

"Thirty minutes," she replied. "You look like you just rolled out of bed."

"I did," he confessed, heading inside. Doing his best to look a lot livelier than he actually felt, he put a smile on his face and cheerfully greeted their visitor. "Hi, Mr. Desai," he said, extending his hand as he approached the couch. "I'm so sorry I'm late."

"Oh, it's no problem," the coach said, standing up to shake Bellamy's hand. "Better late than never."

He was being nice and everything, but Bellamy couldn't help but wonder if he was actually put off. These coaches' schedules were nuts this time of year with all the recruiting they were doing. Even though Ryker Desai was only the quarterback coach, there were rumors that UCF was going to promote him to offensive coordinator. His schedule had to be packed.

"I do apologize, though," Bellamy reiterated for the sake of being polite. "I know it's a busy time of year for you, between your bowl game and recruiting."

"Don't worry about it, Bellamy," Ryker said. "Gave your mother and your coach and I a chance to watch your highlight reel again. It's very impressive."

"Thank you." Bellamy took a moment to acknowledge his high school coach with a slight nod of his head. He'd cleared his schedule to be at this breakfast, too. So he'd also waited.

Bellamy's mom gathered them all at the table—somehow she'd made it look bigger than it actually was by clearing everything off of it—and started pouring orange juice. That shit looked fresh, like freshly-squeezed. She was really going all out to make a good impression.

"I hear it was your birthday yesterday," Coach Desai remarked.

"Yeah." Friday birthdays were great and everything, but it was possible he'd partied a bit too hard.

"Eighteen," Ryker said. "You're a man now."

Trying to be, Bellamy thought. Although technically, he'd become a man his freshman year when Roma Bragg had decided to screw him.

"Did you do anything fun?" Ryker inquired.

"Yeah, I hung out with my friends and my girlfriend," he said, happy to leave it vague.

"Oh, you have a girlfriend." The coach's eyebrows rose in interest.

"Yeah." That was . . . interesting?

"And is she considering UCF, too?"

Knowing Clarke, she'd end up in the Ivy League or something. She was a really smart girl, a hell of a lot smarter than he was. "No, she's actually just a sophomore," he replied, "so . . ."

Ryker nodded. "Ah, I see."

Bellamy cast a quick glance at his current coach, who was giving him a warning look. With a subtle shake of his head, Bellamy understood that he'd screwed up. Girlfriends weren't something recruiters needed to know about. To them, girls back home were a liability to their players.

"We're not planning on staying together after this year, though," Bellamy quickly added, "so it won't be a problem or anything."

"That's probably for the best," Ryker said. "It's hard to keep the high school relationships going sometimes. But don't worry, plenty of beautiful girls go to UCF. And they like football players."

Bellamy smiled a little, but . . . he felt bad. He felt bad for saying Clarke wouldn't be a problem.

Thankfully, his mom knew exactly how to keep things going when she asked, "Is anyone hungry? I think I made way too much for breakfast."

The conversation picked up as the food appeared on the table, with Bellamy's current coach doing most of the talking to his future one. They talked about all the records Bellamy had set in his time as a Rocket, about some of his most memorable plays, and about what UCF had to offer him. Bellamy's mom chimed in, too, especially with questions about available scholarship money. Bellamy made sure to stay relatively silent and just smile and nod so he didn't stick his foot in his mouth again. Ryker Desai didn't need to know about Clarke. None of those UCF coaches did.

It made him feel like crap, though, sitting there acting like she wasn't a big part of his life when, this year, she'd become one of the biggest. And one of the best. Downplaying her importance to him sort of made it feel like he was betraying her. And that wasn't a good feeling.

...

It was a struggle, but Bellamy managed to drag himself to work that day. He showed up a little late but hoped Emerson didn't notice. His morning had just been a slow-moving one.

"Oh, I feel like my head's gonna explode," he groaned, slumping down on the pile of beams he was supposed to be helping transport.

"Been there," Roan empathized. "One of the downsides of drinking too much."

Yeah, he was pretty sure he'd have a headache all day, but it was worth it for the night he'd had.

"You ever feel like shit in any of those big games you played?" Roan asked him.

"Yeah. But then we usually won, and that made me feel a whole lot better."

Roan chuckled. "I'll bet."

"Bellamy!" his supervisor's voice boomed suddenly. He looked in the direction of it and saw Emerson giving him an angry look. "You're not getting paid to sit around, you know!" he yelled. "Get back to work."

Yawning, he forced himself up and grabbed hold of one end of a heavy beam, helping Roan lift it. "So what's Christmas like for your family?" he asked. "Do you and your wife get to relax at all, or is it all about the kids?"

"No, it's all about them," Roan replied. "We can't afford all the presents they want, so we try to make it fun for them in other ways."

"Yeah, that's what my mom used to do with me," Bellamy recalled. "We'd make cookies and shit. You guys do that?"

"Oh, yeah, cookies and shit," Roan said. "And it's sort of an annual thing for me to dress up like Santa and show up at the front door on Christmas Eve. The girls haven't caught on that it's me yet."

"They like that, huh?"

"Yeah. And I like doing it for 'em." Roan's face took on a special smile, one that Bellamy had quickly learned was reserved just for his daughters. "Makes me feel like a good dad," he said, sounding proud.

It was a good dad type of thing to do. And Bellamy was happy to have heard about it After all, it wasn't like he could ask his own dad for advice. He had to get his ideas for fatherhood elsewhere.

...

"Thanks for tagging along today," Clarke said to Raven when they returned home from their excursion to the mall. "I hate shopping for men."

"I know. It's the worst," Raven commiserated. "Murphy deserves coal, so I don't know why I'm even bothering with presents."

Clarke laughed. But Raven actually had it pretty easy with Murphy. Any kind of tech gadget that with help him with his videos was a win. Plus, he didn't have a birthday ten days before the holiday. That was what made it tough on Clarke. So many gifts back to back.

"I think Bellamy will like this, though," she said, taking the poker set out of her shopping sack. "He's been dropping all these hints about having the guys come over to play poker." On the outside, the poker set looked like a silver briefcase, but on the inside were two decks of playing cards, 650 chips, and five dice. It wasn't a cheap gift.

"Might be the perfect night for us to have a girls night," Raven suggested.

"Might be." If poker night happened, she had absolutely zero interest in being around for it. She didn't know how to play poker, and she didn't care to learn.

"You want me to go put this upstairs for you?" Raven asked, taking the case off her hands.

"Yeah, just hide it under the bed." While her friend went upstairs, Clarke veered into the kitchen to pour herself a glass of orange juice. She'd been craving it all day.

Moments later, Raven came rushing back downstairs, dramatically uttering, "Oh my god. Oh my god."

"What?" Clarke asked, setting the carton of OJ down before she'd poured her whole glass.

"I don't know what kind of kinky shit you guys are into," Raven said, "but Santa Claus is now ruined for me."

"Huh?" Clarke had no idea what her friend was even talking about until someone else came downstairs. Bellamy. Dressed in a Santa suit, hat, and beard. He clearly had a pillow stuffed under the jacket to fill it out and make himself look rounder. "What's this?" she asked him.

He stood on the stairs and flapped his arms against his sides. "My Santa outfit."

"I see that. But why do you have one?"

"I got it today," he explained. "For next year. I'm thinkin' ahead."

Clarke stared at him in absolute bewilderment and shook her head. "I'm so confused."

"I'm gonna dress up. Like Santa," he declared. "Next year, for the kid's first Christmas."

The kid's first Christmas? she thought, feeling herself turn into a mushy puddle of goo when she pictured that. "That's so sweet," she said. "Raven, look at him."

"I'm trying not to," Raven said, shielding her eyes.

"Anyway, I'm sweatin' my balls off," Bellamy said. "I gotta get out of this." Unbuckling the belt, he headed back upstairs.

"Unbelievable," Raven said, stealing Clarke's orange juice from her. "You know, back in high school, I used to think Bellamy was so cool. We all did. But nowadays, I realize, he's kind of a big dork."

That was true, but he was dorky in a way that was also sexy. "He's so cute, though," Clarke said, wondering what had possessed him to go out and buy that costume. Had he just been at work thinking about the baby? Did he do that?

"Please don't tell me that Santa costume was turning you on," Raven said, giving her a semi-disgusted look.

Clarke choked out a laugh. "No," she denied. But Raven gave her a knowing head-tilt, so she owned up to the truth of it and mumbled, "Just a little bit, yeah." It wasn't like she was going to ask him to wear it later or anything, but she'd definitely find a way to reward him for being such a dedicated daddy-to-be.