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“I have a girlfriend.” He can’t even get a word in edgewise before she cuts him off, without so much as sparing him a glance up from her mac book.
She’s a whirlwind of blond hair, with piercing blue eyes, and Bellamy imagined she would have a wonderful smile, too, that is, if he could ever get her to show it. She had looked stunning from his vantage point in line while he was getting his espresso, but up close, she’s even more gorgeous, and he couldn’t help but be stunned at the sight of her. Even him, perpetual ladies’ man thinks that he would go straight for her.
He usually doesn’t pick up girls in coffee shops, but she’s attractive, so he makes an exception. He loads up on cream and sugar while he collects his thoughts, trying to think up some coy line to start with. All he comes up with is a something about the power outlet she’s hogging. He tries anyway.
He waits a second for her to glance up at him, and he quirks his eyebrow ever so slightly, all charm and grace, moving back into patterns he knows so well.
“ Who said I was flirting with you, princess?” The moniker slips out before he can give it a second thought, but when he does stop to think about it, it fits perfectly. She’s prim and proper and rich, judging by her name brand clothes that she sports like a second skin. (Sue him, he has a sister, after all).
She gives him a look then, and he thinks his heart might melt. It’s by no means a soft look; it’s more of a Are you fucking serious?. He thinks it’s probably a very, very bad sign that he’s totally into that. It takes him about thirty more seconds to discover that he’s royally fucked.
“Princess?” Her nose crinkles in indignation, and it’s adorable but also completely hot. Like he said, royally fucked.
He shrugs. “If the shoe fits.” She snorts slightly as she looks back to her computer, and he’s about to walk away and call it off, since it’s clear she’s not interested and has a girlfriend, for God’s sake, but she speaks up again.
“So, were you flirting with me?” She says, without looking up, and he takes that as challenge. Bellamy smirks, the typical, heart-melting, Blake family smirk. The one that pretty much makes panties fall off their owners. The one that gets free drinks at bars and makes expired coupons suddenly valid. The one that has absolutely no effect on her.
“Princess, if I were flirting with you, you’d wouldn’t have to ask.” It’s cocky and over the top, he knows, but he can’t help it.
“Huh, you think you’re that good?” She looks up at him, now. Just that look makes him grin uncontrollably. It’s borderline friendly, but more hostile and feral, and he’d be lying if he said that didn’t do something for him.
“I know I am.” She muses over this for a second, then her face hardens and she looks up at him, all faux-innocence.
“I would bet you ten bucks you can’t get the number of any girl I pick in here.”
“You would lose.”
“Then take the bet.”
“Double it, and I’ll get it in under five.”
“You’re on.”
He can’t help feel a little swell of pride in his chest that he even managed to get her to talk to him for this long. And he knows that she has a girlfriend, but he really can’t help himself; she’s too intriguing.
The girl waits a second, scanning the joint before she points out a girl in the corner, but of course, the chosen brunette is playing with her phone and has a fucking engagement ring on. Although he knows it’ll be nearly impossible, he can’t back down now, so he just plays it off as easy, smirking at her once more. He doesn’t let any of his internal qualms show on his face, but goes over to the girl dutifully instead.
“Hi,” he says, casual with a hint of sexy. The brunette looks up at him warily.
“Can I help you?” the smile is false, limited to her lips, and plastered on at that. Two seconds in, and he can tell that he has no fucking chance. He sighs, and tries again.
“Look, I’m going to be honest here. I’m not really trying to hit on you or anything, but I made a bet with a girl that I could get your number in under five minutes. And she’s actually really cool and interesting. Look, I promise I’m not going to call you or anything, but I’d just really like to have a shot with this girl, or at least get her to talk to me.”
She bursts into a genuine smile, now, and he hopes she’s just going to take pity on him. “If that’s a pick-up line, it’s a pretty damn good one.” He grins back at her.
“So that’s a yes?” he asks hopefully.
“Definitely.” The girl writes down ten digits as he thanks her profusely. “Hey, text me and tell me how it goes, okay? I’m rooting for you.” He winks at her conspiratorially picks up the slip of paper, waving it valiantly as he puts it down in front of the blonde.
“Pay up, princess.”
“So, you are good.” She pulls out her wallet and hands him a twenty, like it’s nothing. He thinks for her, it probably is. But as she moves to put the number in her purse, he catches her wrist.
“Hey, I didn’t do all that work for nothing. I’m keeping it.”
She raises a perfectly sculpted eyebrow at him, and damn if that isn’t the hottest thing he’s seen yet.
And yet, as if on cue, his phone rings, blasting out classic rock before he can cut in with a snarky remark and maybe get this blonde to pay him two more minutes worth of attention. Miller’s name comes up, and though he’d love to hate him for interrupting, he knows he never really stood a chance with her anyway.
“Dude where are you?” Miller’s gruff voice comes through with anger.
“Um, getting coffee. Why?” The blonde has gone back to ignoring him, so he picks up his coffee off the table and moves away.
“You’re supposed to be helping me move into Monty’s, you ass.”
“Holy shit, I’m so sorry. I’ll be there in ten.”
“Hurry up, Blake,” Miller snaps back before abruptly hanging up the phone. Bellamy has reached the door now, and is putting his phone away when he hears a voice behind him.
“Hey.” He turns.
“Yeah?”
“So were you really flirting with me?” She calls across the nearly empty coffee shop. His heart stops for a second and then he thinks thank god for that stupid line about the power outlet.
“Nah, you were just monopolizing the power outlet, Princess.”
The next time he sees her he’s bartending at The Dropship. It’s busy tonight; a group of girls is out for someone’s bachelorette party, and they keep ordering fruity drinks that take forever to make. He despises them, but they usually tip him pretty well, so who is he to complain, really.
He doesn’t even notice her at first, with her hair tied up in a nice chignon (a little too fancy for this bar, anyway) and her slinky silver dress that stops midway up her thigh. When he does, though, he’s a little taken aback that he’s never seen her here before (almost all the bar’s patrons are regulars), but nonetheless goes over to take her drink order.
“Princess,” he greets casually, and hopes to God that she still remembers him.
“Ah.” She pauses. “You.”
“Yes, me.” he smirks. He can’t help smile a little that she remembers him. It has been weeks, after all. “Now, what can I get for you?”
She orders a screwdriver, and he’s surprised because he doesn’t take her for a vodka type of girl. He tries not to dwell on it too much, but just goes back to smiling and flirting for tips (hopefully) tending to the other patrons. But it’s not until she comes back for round three that she surprises him again.
“Do I get your name this time?” she asks, now actually drunk. He’s surprised though by how well she takes her alcohol, and reckons that she could probably drink him under the table.
He chuckles under his breath but tell her anyway.
“Bellamy, huh?” She quirks her head a little and a mischievous smile falls over her face. He knows he’s so totally screwed that it’s not even funny anymore. And he doesn’t even know her fucking name. Hell, if she asked him to marry him right now, he’d probably just ask her for her ring size.
“Bet you ten bucks I can guess your last name.” And holy shit, he sure as hell wasn’t expecting that. He smiles right back at her, and thinks that bets with the princess are now in his top ten favorite things.
“You’re on, Princess.” Now she’s smirking, like she’s already won. But there’s no way that she could know his last name, right? He’s feeling uneasy now, and judging by the sly smile on her face, she’s planning something.
“Blake,” she says, smiling smugly. “Pay up, buddy.”
“Holy shit. How the fuck -?” He’s already pulled out his wallet and put the ten down. She’s grinning at him, and though she’s a little drunk, his heart still skips a beat.
“You have a sister.” she leaves the bar with a wink.
Best ten dollars he ever spent.
“Got any absinthe?”
“Jesus, Princess. Rough night?” She’s looking pretty terrible, with her blonde hair hanging knotted and tangled, and looking like she hasn’t slept in days. He thinks her eyes are red from crying, too, but that could just be the lighting.
“The roughest.” He’s bartending tonight, but it’s a thursday, so not too many people are out trying to drink away their troubles yet.
“How about vodka shots? We’ve got some strong stuff back there.”
She mulls it over for a second, then juts her lip out in a pout. “It’ll have to do.”
Three shots in he pours her a glass of water.
“Yeah, hell of a bartender, Blake.” she spits at him, “Do you even know what a shot is? I didn’t ask for some fucking water.” He sighs at her rough remarks, but doesn’t take offense. He’s dealt with enough drunks to be immune
“Drink up, Princess.”
“Stop calling me that,” She snaps.
“Well, you’ve never actually told me your name.” He points out mildly, and she scoffs at that.
“Yeah, well keep trying, Buddy.” He ignores it, and goes to clean up or rearrange shit, or just do something that doesn’t involve her. He glances over every couple of minutes and tries not to think about how much he wants to take her home. And for the first time in a long time he doesn’t even want to fuck her, he justs wants to curl up on his couch with her, give her some food, watch a shitty move, and fall asleep with her tucked into his side. This only serves to remind him of how totally fucking gone he is for a girl whose name he doesn’t even know.
When she’s on her sixth shot he goes back to talking to her.
“Wanna talk about it?” he says.
“Cheating boyfriend.”
“Wait, I thought you had - “
“What, a girlfriend?”
“Yeah” he replies lamely.
“Nope, just a fucking cheater of an ex-boyfriend.”
“So you’re not - “
“Gay?” she laughs cynically, and he hates himself for being shitty about her sexuality. She doesn’t seem offended, though. “Bisexual, bitches,” she laughs, and downs another shot.
“But you -” this time she just cuts him off with a look, and he gets the message and tends to other customers.
By the time she’s done, she’s had way too many (he thinks it’s around eight?), and he probably should have cut her off a while back, but her alcohol consumption was probably the last thing he was paying attention to about her. Instead he just calls O to take her home or do something with her; he would definitely be overstepping to take this drunk princess back to his apartment, especially when he doesn’t even know her name. He wonders what he would do with a different girl, if it weren't her .
When O gets there, the girl has her head down on the bar and is singing les mis tunes. If he has to hear “Do you Hear the People Sing” one more time he’s going to throttle someone. And yet, in all of the commotion with O trying to take her home, he still doesn’t get her name.
“I’m setting you up with Clarke.” He’s sitting on the couch, trying to reread Seven Against Thebes when Octavia interrupts, plopping down on the couch beside him.
“What the hell? I don’t need a fucking girlfriend.” He goes back to the passage he was reading and hopes that she drops it. He probably should have known better by now.
“Yeah you do. I’m sick of you screwing random chicks. I really hate having to try and ward of the harem of women you drag through here.”
“First of all, there’s nothing wrong with my sexual habits and - “
“Bellamy Blake, I’m setting you up with Clarke.”
“But -”
“Did I ask for your opinion?” She says. He hates that she uses that tone to get what she wants, but he hates himself even more because he’s the one who taught it to her.
“O, you can’t just force me to date because you want me to settle down. I’m fine. And besides, isn’t it weird to try and set one of your friends up with your brother?” He knows it over at this point; his resistance has only made her more adamant.
“No, it’s not weird. Clarke’s cool. She’s older than me, anyway.”
“Yeah, well it’s still weird.”
“It’s not weird,” she insists. “Besides, she’s totally your type.”
“I don’t have a type, Octavia, since I’ve never really dated anyone.”
Octavia rolls her eyes dramatically.
“You have a type.”
“Yeah? What the hell is my type then?”
“Clarke is your type.”
And when he sees the familiar blonde sitting at the table waiting for him in the restaurant, he can’t help but agree.