Hey guys, it's me again! Thank you so much for the kudos and the comments, it's the biggest reward you can give me!
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"See, that was a good try, but the push was too strong. You drifted – right there."
Luna is holding the remote, so that with one quick press of a button, she can stop and either fast forward of rewind the tape.
"You anticipated it, but look, as soon as she circles you follow her right down and you don't wanna cover - you should've covered the post, even if you go VH and lose the rebound, that saves you a goal, you know what I mean?"
Lexa sees Clarke nod, taking a sip of coffee. She's pulled her hair up in a messy bun, opted for a long sleeve compression shirt, and wears her goalie pants to save some time dressing up for practice right after the tape viewing.
"Show me the reaction delay when I missed the high shot", Clarke offers, shuffling through the notepad. "You have it, right? Third period, I think."
"Sure", replies Luna with a couple of clicks on the touchpad of her PC. "There."
It was an extremely quick shot, but through their first couple of months, one thing Lexa has learned is that Clarke takes a lot of pride in her glove. Therefore, she hates giving a goal on a missed catch.
"Erm, maybe you should've just started lower to anticipate. It's usually a personal choice, but I've noticed that you have more mobility going up or on windmills then bringing your hand downwards", Luna suggests her goalie, pointing at the screen with a red laser to give better explanation.
Lexa doesn't say it, but she thinks that since Clarke does good 95 percent of the time, she could do less tape and more practicing for now, especially when there's no game coming up. But on their way to the viewing, Clarke has told her that she requested the meeting. Just like Lexa did. Now look at them go, two little obsessive things sitting in a dark room, pointing out each and every small mistake they did. The good part is, Luna doesn't judge, and sometimes brings up one of their highlights to counterbalance the whole experience. Like she says: it's good to recognize your mistakes, but it's toxic to bring yourself down.
"Oh, big one there", Clarke exclaims, pointing hurriedly at the screen.
"You weren't totally off position, Clarke, you were only a couple of degrees off. See, you just squared too quick", says Luna, forgiving.
Clarke doesn't agree, she shakes her head and scribbles something on the pad. "I'd still redo it if I could, you know, to optimize the play."
"You still made the save", intervenes Lexa, crossing her legs and shrugging.
But it seems Griffin will never be satisfied, being so thorough. She's a perfectionist. "You'd say the same thing if you had to fumble to receive a pass. Even if you scored in the end, the execution wasn't perfect, so that would-"
"No. A goal is a goal, just like a save is a save. You made the best out of it, 'cause if you were off position and still made the save, that means you worked harder for it, versus making a save when you're perfectly ready."
Lexa wonders if she's been too laudatory, but then she sees Clarke's ghost of a smile and suddenly, she's happy with what she said.
"So, Griffin, we've been through the whole game, but you might wanna see Robin Eriksen play?" Offers Luna, ready to press the "ok" button of the remote.
"I know who she is", informs Clarke, shrugging, and it makes Lexa confused because Clarke rarely refuses to watch her opponents' tapes. She even detects a coldness in her tone, not to be mistaken for carelessness – for Clarke does care, yet she doesn't want to watch this tape. Why?
"Her stats have risen even more - she's hit nine thirty last week when they played DC", declares the goaltending coach, referring to the save percentage.
Suddenly, a spark illuminates Clarke's gaze and she changes her mind right away. "Show me."
The screen shows a breakaway, camera focused on the Polis goalie – whom Lexa knows, has played with.
Eriksen is a talent.
She was offered a contract on Lexa's second year with the Scorpions, and from then, she's only been climbing the ranks at fulgurant speed.
"That's particularly good", remarks Clarke when the video shows Eriksen stretching the pad to make an absolute beauty of a save. "I wonder if I would've made it."
"You've made saves like this", Luna assures with a convinced expression.
"I know, what I'm saying is I wonder if I would've made it that time", the blonde specifies, and her jaw starts to clench.
"Bullshit", Lexa blurts out, ignoring Luna's disapproving stare.
"Hey, it's funny, I don't recall asking for your opinion", retorts Clarke stonily.
Here we go again. Griffin, always jumping to conclusions. "I hate where this is going, 'cause it's supposed to be a viewing - and right now all you've been doing is merrily pointing out each of your smallest mistakes and comparing yourself to this still wet being the ears rookie going about, doing saves you do every fucking day. She's got a good team, Griffin, of course she has good stats!" And when Lexa hears her tone, hears the frustration and haste behind each of her words, she wonders why the fuck is this important?If Clarke wants to put herself down, then who can stop her? Me, she thinks, and her brain burns in an effort to punish her for even having this thought.
"She's got my stats, Woods", Clarke answers and Lexa feels the smallest twinge when she hears the cold her surname now brings when Clarke uses it – and this shouldn't be like this, get a fucking grip.
"Numbers don't belong to anyone", Lexa states, and she grabs her bag. "Ladies", she salutes sarcastically, sees the look of bewilderment on Clarke's face and savors it. But as she leaves the room, she hears steps, and as she hears those steps, she thinks fuck, and finds out that she knew Clarke would follow her, for that's what they do these days – bicker, then follow each other around like fucking puppies.
"What was that, Woody?"
She's lost that tone of anger, like she does when she figures out that Lexa doesn't always mean harm, perhaps she should, but she doesn't, and that's how it is now.
"Maybe I'll tell you if you stop calling me that", Lexa snaps, and makes her way to her stall to tie her skates (angrily, one might add).
"You'd like it if I called you commander instead, right? Do you make your chicks call you that in bed?"
"Okay, I didn't bring this up."
"You're right, I did."
It's either the comment or Clarke's amused reaction to her heavy sigh that makes Lexa freeze.
"Then I'll answer your question with another one – why do you wanna know, Buzz Lightyear?"
"Oh, fuck you", Clarke snarls, but her eyes aren't mad, they aren't, and Lexa's heart skips a beat.
"Goddamn, I didn't know you wanted it that bad!"
Lexa acts on instinct and ducks, but it's too late – Clarke's glove hits her right on the head. Quite hard, to be frank.
"You better get your ass out 'cause the next thing I'm throwing is the stick!"
Lexa laughs. No big deal, alright?"Huh. She always brings up my ass, maybe I should take it as a sign- "she starts mumbling, as if to herself.
Clarke was apparently coming up behind her because she feels a push, and turns around as she loses her balance a tad. "Do you not understand the concept of me wearing skates?" Lexa complains, and she accelerates towards the entry of the rink.
"On the contrary, cowboy, I just used it to my advantage."
"You have watched Toy Story way too many times."
"Well, you are so lucky I didn't choose to call you Mrs. Potato Head instead. You got fucking Woody, that's like first pick or something, so be grateful."
At that, Lexa scoffs and gives her best baffled look. "Woody is not first pick, he's wobbly as fuck and I'm way tougher than him."
As she feels Clarke's paddle whip her flush on the ass, she wonders if she should be upset, because how the fuck have they gotten there?It's November, isn't it? Have they not known each other for not even three months? Granted, they're fighting nine times out of ten, but still, holy shit.
"Oh, you're kidding me, right? Are you gonna flex and show off, Lexa, is that what you're gonna do?" Asks Clarke, and it stings Lexa's ego just a bit.
"No, I'm gonna use my great big pipes and throw you the fuck outta here", Lexa mumbles and jumps on the ice, then strides off.
"Alright, go, go, go, ladies, let's push! Again!"
Reeve is a big fan of speed drills, and she likes testing her players' endurance with back and forth endurance skating.
Clarke can see a couple of girls losing their focus trying to keep going, and beat the pain and urge to throw up. For her part, she's alright, and both Charlie and Octavia, her immediate neighbors, are also fine. It goes without saying that Clarke has excellent cardio – she goes on morning runs when there's no practice - that means usually on Thursdays and Sundays.
"Legs usually give first, you should feel the burn by now", informs Reeve, looking at her timer. "I hope you understand the utility of such an endurance drill, ladies. We want to avoid players tiring out during a long presence, because some of you might be staying on the ice for several minutes at a time when there's a penalty to kill or when we're playing against a swift team, that means less time-outs, that means you don't get to whine or drag your feet at the end of your presence."
Out of the corner of her eye, Clarke can see some of her teammates losing their breath, sweat trickling down their brow. The game is next week – that means Reeve can tire them, and she will. The thought doesn't make her panic – she knows she can last a long while, plus, she's used to skating with pads, so she's suddenly losing twenty pounds, and very much appreciates the feeling of lightness and agility.
"Alright, it's been eight minutes, ladies, if you feel like you cannot take it anymore or if you need to barf or something, you may step off the ice", Reeve announces, gesturing towards the vacant benches.
Many players have dropped their pride, and are eager to leave, some of them clutching their sides, others alarmingly pale. Clarke's breath is rough and dry against her throat.
Around the ninth minutes, she spots Octavia and Charlie skating away, drawing unusually deep breaths.
And of course, Lexa's still here.
Clarke looks left and right, and realizes that they're the only two players left. Dammit.Now she really can't stop.
It's way more psychological than she thought. Lexa's been a bit less of an ass, lately, and Clarke had almost forgotten how intimidating she can look when she gives her signature strides that slash the ice and make her large padded frame bounce up and down, leaving an impression of power on her path.
When they share a glance, Lexa gives her a sarcastic "hey, buddy" look and waves. There are two thoughts deeply rooted in Clarke's mind: the first one – fuck, I'm skating against Alexandria Woods.The second one – triple fuck, she's back to asshole mode.
Reeve makes them accelerate.
The sound of blades scrapping against damaged ice echoes through the rink, the whole bench is staring at them, awe-struck.
It's almost as if she can hear Lexa's voice in her head, the smirk in her tone – not cut out for hockey.
But then she remembers what she said in the quiet of the viewing room. Saves you do every fucking day.
Numbers don't belong to anyone.
This ice doesn't belong to you, Clarke thinks in reply, the thought setting a fury deep down her throat, unwinding the soreness in her legs. Then she gains speed, takes bigger leaps, forgets she's a goalie, for she feels like a center.
It seems she's definitely annoyed Lexa, as she's increasing her speed as well, gives bigger pushes.
And that is exactly when Clarke realizes that she's seconds away from breaking down.
Is it the same for her?
Her tongue grates against her palate, desperate to find moisture of any kind, but everything's turned to sand paper and her saliva is thick and dense, hard to swallow. It tastes like blood.
Lexa is sweating profusely, shakes her jersey with one hand to relieve herself of the heat, and the move is like spitting on Clarke, like Lexa's trying to coat the gesture in nonchalance. She smiles at her. A half grin, her little secret weapon.
It's time. Clarke gives it all.
She doesn't really see or feel anything besides the drops of sweat that begin to fly off her face, and the boards that appear closer by the second. She has to give more. She had to show her.
Come on.Who's not cut out for hockey, now?It's not me.It's not me.It's not me.
"Goddammit girls, this is not a fucking race!" Reeve's voice yells loudly. "What part of exercise do you not understand?"
The world stops spinning, and she slows down until she sees the boards, sees the benches, sees Lexa's furious, almost predatory stance. She's huffing, nostrils flaring and jaw set, and Clarke knows that Reeve would be in big trouble were she not their coach.
"What was that, Woods?" calls the woman holding the whistle, eyes shooting darts.
"Coach, we were just-"
"Save the lame excuses, we both know this was not friendly competition. Explain."
The moment she sees Lexa's gaze darken, steel clad and deadly, Clarke knows she is about to step out of bounds.
"Pardon me, coach, but what is there to explain? I'm a fine skater and I won't break when I'm being pushed, that's something you should encourage-"
She's not even finished her sentence that Reeve is already cutting her off. "I will never encourage teammates trying to tear each other apart! You are the captain, Woods! Act like one! Or at last, try to keep the damn title, for god's sake!"
But Lexa has already left the rink.
"Come here, baby. Come here."
He opens his arms and she crawls there, leaves her face hidden in the crease of his neck, and she's safe, now.
He strokes her hair, this wild bunch of locks that get stuck 'round his fingers from time to time – but when it does happen, he doesn't mind, just untangles it all only to plunge right back in the mess.
"Did I do good, daddy? You saw me?"
"Yes, I saw you, honey pie."
She lets out a small whine when he puts her back on her feet, and nudges her softly on the chin to bear his eyes into hers – green, pure, god, so beautiful.
"I got a point!" Her voice is so full of excitement it's almost overburdened.
She desperately wants to keep her happiness untouched yet she sees the flash of dissatisfaction in his eyes, albeit it being so furtive and quick, almost repressed.
She's eight, she's not supposed to notice these things, and to this day, one might think that her daddy didn't make the efforts to hide the defeat in his eyes, as if he wanted her to notice it.
"You remember what daddy told you the other day, right, baby?" he asks, smiling when she nods.
"Uh huh, you said 'we're gonna have to make a little winner out of you'."
"That's a sweet girl." He rubs her head affectionately, kisses her nose.
And that's the moment she will replay from now on, that's how she will remember him, remember that she would've done anything to get a stroke on the head, a pat on the back, a kiss on the nose.
She clings to his arm and he doesn't shrug her off, that means he's not too mad – that's good, that's good. "What's wrong?" Her voice is suddenly very small.
"There's nothing wrong…daddy just thinks maybe next time you could be a little winner, just like daddy when he was young, would you like that?"
"How?" She asks, hanging on each of his words, drinking them as if they're made of pure liquid gold.
"Well, baby, the next time you can score, don't think, just do", he explains as if it's just plain simple. "You'll be my little champion."
"But Mary was there also", she responds, "and she's better than me."
He frowns – she stutters.She shouldn't have said that, daddy doesn't like it when she says such things. "She is not better than you, Lexie baby, you need to understand that you will always be the best, no matter what.Just do what needs to be done, and you'll be a winner, how does that sound?"
"Sounds good!I have to score goals, daddy?To be a winner?"
She has this puzzled expression she adopts when she's not sure what he wants, yet she's always ready to comply.
"You got it all figured out, don't you, smart cookie?" He rubs her head again and it makes her so proud of herself. "The more goals, the better, alright?Winners like you have to work hard, don't worry, daddy's gonna turn you into a little champion."
"Cool!And you'll be proud of me?"That's what matters, that's what she wants to hear.
"Of course, daddy will always be proud of you if you do well", he assures, but the end part, the 'if you do well', it rings inside the eight-year-old's head like an order, like a mantra.
And she'll do well.She'll be the best in the Atom league, she'll score almost every time she sets a foot beside the goal, and daddy will be proud.
But if she misses a shot, if she's setting a goal instead of scoring one, she'll see him watching disapprovingly from the stands, shaking his head silently from side to side.
By the time she'll get to Peewee, he'll have lost his patience and his loving eyes, he'll have realized that she's not as tough as he was when he was her age, and for that, he'll set a punishment for each type of mistake.Consequences, he'll call them, and to her, it'll seem perfectly reasonable, perfectly deserved.She'll want to be called 'Champion' again, because he'll only call her that when she does good, when she obeys.
"Stand up for yourself", he'll tell her, the first time she's checked by an enemy player and is too shocked and out of breath to fight back. "You're a Woods, Lexa, Woods are not sheep, we're lions.Show me the lion."
Her mom will try to talk some sense into of him when she'll see her at eleven, incessantly skating laps in their backyard's outdoor rink, shooting pucks for two hours, going on jogs around the neighborhood.
"This is insane, Will, look at her go, she'll get sick, she'll-" Her mom will start, only to get cut off.
"She'll be stronger in the end."
"But she's just a little girl!"
"She has to show some back bone!"
Then, the summer before getting into Bantam, she'll watch them leave and go to a concert for their 15 year anniversary.
Nothing will ever be the same.
She's prepared to leave as well, but Reeve seems to have other plans in mind.
"Griffin, will you come a second?" She asks, and they're now alone on the ice.
"Sure, coach, anything", Clarke replies like the good little soldier she is, and she's all ears.
Reeve seems conflicted, and a glint of frustration protrudes behind the composure her gaze normally holds. "Do you think I've made a mistake, Griffin?"
"What?" the blonde replies, unsure if she's heard well.
"I've never named a captain this early in the season, but I thought since she's been captain all her life, she'd be what we need. And now I'm having second thoughts… She's a hell of a player, I'll give her that, but she's got the look - she knows all too well how good she is. And that's dangerous."
By now, Clarke understands exactly what she's asking of her. "You want me to say if I approve?"
Reeve feels the need to specify. "Just enlighten me if you can, Griffin. You know this team just as much as me, and if you're unhappy about Woods being captain, I'd like to know."
And it hits her just now. She has the power to strip Lexa of her title with very few words.
"She's definitely got an attitude. I'm trying to see if it's just a façade, at the moment." She explains frankly, and she knows that she is way to good to Lexa.
"Do you honestly think it's just a front?" Reeve asks, stolid.
Clarke will not be the bad guy. "Yes", she affirms, and she first thought she'd be lying, but she's not sure if she is anymore. She thinks about Lexa's small smiles and witty comebacks, thinks of the way she'd thrown her gloves without the smallest hint of hesitation to defend her against Pam Reed.
"Alright, then… You know I value your counsel, Griffin. I guess I could give her a few weeks and see how it goes from there."
Reeve then excuses her, and as she leaves the rink, she thinks - you were too nice, she doesn't deserve it.
Her shock is immeasurable when she realizes that's a lie.
Griffin joining her in the locker room is pretty much the last thing she needs. She's in no condition for a moral lesson – she's barely able to keep her hands from turning into fists, and when Clarke throws her bag and drops on the bench opposite hers, she prepares for the lecture of the century.
Only, she's plunged into a deep, heavy silence. It aggravates her. "What are you waiting for, Griffin?"
The goalie doesn't answer in words, instead, she just clicks open the buckles of her pads and kicks them off way too calmly.
"You're a silent treatment kind of girl, then?" She offers, in denial when it comes to realizing that she needs Clarke to talk, needs it badly, for she's seen happy Clarke, angry Clarke, annoyed Clarke, but never silent Clarke. Silent Clarke worries her.
"Fucking immature", she mutters under her breath, and is relieved when she sees Clarke's head jerk up.
"I'm done with you", Clarke explains bluntly. She's definitely not mad, just uninterested, and as Lexa realizes the trouble she's in, a sickly-sweet panic gives her guts a firm twist.
"What the fuck did I do?" she yells a bit too loudly for her liking.
Clarke gets up, stuffs her gloves in her cubicle, and makes her way towards the door.
"I just got caught up!" Lexa continues, filling her bag as quick as she can.
The blonde turns around and shrugs. "Sure", she allows, nodding softly and leaving the room.
Lexa snaps, and wonders, why the fuck is this important? but it's too late, now. She drove her away, like she drives away everyone. Good job, Woods.Nicely done.
"Wait up", she says in defeat, and hates herself for it, but hopes Clarke is coming back. When she sees a blonde head of hair pop in again in the doorway, she almost, almost sighs in relief.
Clarke doesn't say anything, she just waits - arms crossed, frown drawing the smallest crease on her forehead.
"I'm sorry, alright?" Lexa blurts out, avoiding her glance like a child that's been caught drawing on the wall.
She'd been prepared for almost everything – everything, except what Clarke does next.
Like a human tornado, she throws her bag back inside and gets in Lexa's personal space, hands on the hips. "There you go! That's all I wanted to hear! But of course, you got all stubborn-"
"Don't push it. I said I was sorry", Lexa grunts, throwing the rest of her equipment in her bag.
She's annoyed Clarke, she can see it with the way she sits beside her, staring at the wall. "I told Reeve to give you another chance", the goalie asserts. "Why are you screwing this up?"
She wants to give her an answer, searches for one, and loses control of her conscience. You're just a bad person, is all.He tore you apart, he ripped your skin and put bricks instead.He's taught you how to bite.
"That's how it is", she says, but what she meant to say is I can't help it.
"You want to break me, then? You can't cope with the fact that I'm good, is that it?"
Touché.Suddenly, she's ignited with anger and self hate, wants to shove Clarke away from her head, get out, you have no business here.This is personal.
"I'm used to being the best", she offers, and again, that's not what she wanted to say – she wanted to tell her that if she's not the best, she's nothing.
"Well, I won't go submit, Lexa. You've gotta stop this, or else you'll destroy this team."
"I know, I know. Just…" She trails off, running a hand up and down her face to ease the tension.
Her distress must've shown, for Clarke is now both angry and worried.
"What in the hell is the matter with you?"
"Nothing you need to know."
She's exhausted. There's a throbbing pain in her neck - she needs fresh air, not someone peering inside her private quarters.
"So you do have a sob story… Dark cowboy with a dark past", Clarke finally lets out, nodding softly.
Lexa stares at her like she's this weird specimen she just discovered. "One, this is not funny. Two, is this you trying to pry a heartfelt confession out of me?"
Clarke smirks, but her eyes are still a whirlpool of annoyance, worry and frustration. "For the record, I am extremely funny – you said it yourself. And no, I was just trying to lighten the mood a bit."
"Ha, you're a clever lass."
"Lass? Were you going for Irish or Scottish? In any case, not very convincing." Clarke is mocking her, yet she's more relieved than mad about it. And with that, Lexa caves in.
"Thanks for saving my ass, by the way", she gratifies with just the hint of a smile.
"No problem. Buzz Lightyear to the rescue", Clarke chants with the extended superman fist.
Lexa chuckles. She's warming little by little. "Buzz lightyear the ass saver."
The other woman is quick at losing her grin. "No. No, that just sounds wrong."
They make a little pause, and then Clarke intervenes again, realizing that Lexa's not going to say anything. "Have you seen Toy Story?"
"No."
"I'm gonna do you a favor and ignore this last answer for the moment", Clarke calmly mentions. "But Woody and Buzz weren't friends from the start, if it makes you feel any better."
Lexa is a little startled by the comment. She fidgets with the zipper of her coat, trying to make sense of her thoughts. "No offense, but I don't think we could be friends, Griffin."
Clarke takes it really well – smiles, even, and it'd be almost uncanny if not for the devious glare she adds to the equation. "Is that a challenge?" She asks bluntly.
"What? How can it be a challenge?" Lexa asks, taken aback.
"You're saying we couldn't be friends. That means if I prove you wrong, I win." Clarke explains like it's just basic logic.
"That's twisted… You'd still lose, though."
And that's what sets off Clarke's competitiveness. "Oh, it is so on."
"Alright, then. I just have to stay away from you and I win", Lexa affirms matter-of-factly.
Clarke's face contorts into a pout as she ponders the issue. "But there'd be no challenge for you, then. What if you had to hang out with me and still not be my friend?"
"That just sounds like you're desperately trying to get me to spend time with you", Lexa admits with a suspicious glint in the eyes.
"Or… It's just a strategy to hear your dark and twisty past", Clarke shrugs off.
"You will not get to hear my dark and twisty past."
Clarke smiles confidently, and Lexa suddenly understands that she's been given a taste of her own medicine. Now that's just great.
"What about a quid pro quo? I'll give amazing anecdotes about me if you tell me what's up with dark and twisty Woody."
Lexa grimaces at the nickname, and looks away, uneasy. "That'd only work if you had incredible stories. Like, if you were a secret vigilante at night – which you are not."
"How can you be so sure?" Clarke replies categorically with a cunning grin. "Maybe I'm, hum… The Amazing… Invisible… Unicorn.
Lexa can barely prevent the smile from blooming on her face. "This is so bad it pains me to hear it… And besides, how would you fight your enemies? By shitting rainbows on them?"
"No, by impaling them with my horn."
Lexa frowns, a bit disturbed. "Oh. Geez. Okay. You know, you could've just said yes, you didn't have to go there."
"Did it entertain you?" Clarke asks nonetheless.
"It was more troubling then entertaining", deplores Lexa, shifting awkwardly on her seat.
"You don't wanna hear my other awesome stories?"
She likes to think Clarke's hopeful grin gave her no choice. "Geez, how would I get to hear these awesome stories?" She questions sarcastically with an eye roll.
"Wow, thanks for asking!" Says Clarke with faux excitement. "So, do you… do things?"
"Things? As in what?" Lexa asks, dumbfounded.
Clarke shrugs and leans her head against the palm of her hand. "Well, unless you prefer to just sit down in a dark corner every time you get home."
"But that'd be unlikely", Clarke adds as if it needed to be précised – it's childish, innocent, and Lexa does not find it charming. At all.
"I workout in my garage", Lexa informs half-heartedly, only because Clarke expected an answer.
"How fascinating", Clarke comically gasps (and it makes Lexa smile, but that's a secret). "I go on morning jogs, so that's that."
Lexa sighs deeply, propping her head rearward against her folded arms. She enjoys the attention. "I can see you coming from miles and miles away, Griffin. You're gonna ask me to join you on a refreshing morning jog, is that it?"
"No, don't be ridiculous - you couldn't keep up."
"Excuse me?!" Lexa shouts, and one could almost see the vein popping out of her forehead like in the cartoons.
"I'd run you to the ground", Clarke calmly asserts, preparing to leave.
"Griffin! I'm not done here!"
The goalie stops herself halfway. "Well, if you're so desperate… I guess it wouldn't hurt. But just once."
Lexa grins devilishly, almost unaware of the fact that she's been played to and fro. "Prepare to bite the dust."
Quick peek into the next chapter! On the menu :little jog in the countryside that will gradually set the stage for Clexa, casual party at Raven's to watch the American League game opposing Arkadia and Polis, and a bet will go wrong...
Hope you enjoyed this last chapter, stay tuned for the next one!