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It’s the hottest day of the year, according to every news channel on TV.
It’s supposed to reach one hundred degrees by one in the afternoon, and there’s no way she’s going to be staying indoors in her house where the air conditioner doesn’t even work at the moment, so she takes a sketchbook and some art utensils before trekking to the front yard. Deciding to sit on a chair in the shaded porch, she plops down and opens her sketchbook to a fresh page.
“Clarke, Octavia and her asshole brother that you have a crush on are coming over right now!” Raven calls from inside the house.
“I don’t have a crush on him!” she yells halfheartedly, knowing her attempts of convincing her friend are futile. Mostly because she’s trying to convince her friend into believing a false statement.
Clarke doesn’t know when Bellamy went from Octavia’s asshole brother to Octavia’s gorgeous brother, but she thinks it starts somewhere around the time when he started showing physical affection for her, whether he put an arm around the back of the chair or couch where she was sitting or holding her hand to guide her in a public place.
It was all very confusing. She’s begun to hate the word platonic.
She starts to draw whatever comes to mind, and she doesn’t even realize what she was thinking of until a head of curly brown hair and brown eyes stare back at her. She flips to the next page, frustrated. Is she ever gonna get him out of her mind?
“Something wrong, princess?”
Clarke shrieks, flinging her sketchbook onto the floor and clutching her chest. “Fucking hell, Bellamy, you scared the shit out of me,” she gasps, trying to regain a semblance of composure.
“Sorry,” he apologizes, not sounding sorry at all. “What can I do to make it up to you?”
She hums in thought, looking around for inspiration. Tapping her chin, she suddenly gets a bright idea when her eyes land on her Acura. “You can wash my car,” she suggests, grinning.
Bellamy looks at her car behind him and groans. “No. It’s supposed to be a gazillion degrees out!”
“So? You asked, I answered,” she replies, laying back and crossing her arms behind her head. “Wash my car.”
Octavia bounces up behind Bellamy, who’s gaping at Clarke like she’s crazy. “Wash what now?” she asks, looking between the two.
Clarke smirks. “Bellamy’s going to wash my car.”
Octavia’s smile is amused. “Have fun with that, Bell,” she tells him, before patting his shoulder and walking into the furnace that is the house.
Clarke imagines that Bellamy can just ignore her demands and walk into the house, but she knows he wouldn’t turn down the opportunity to play whatever game they’re playing. He’s too much of a flirt.
Bellamy sighs dramatically before going back down the porch steps and approaching her dirty car on the driveway. She hasn’t washed that thing in about two months, anyway. She’s killing two birds with one stone.
“Make sure you scrub the windows really well!” she yells, opening up her sketchbook.
He grunts in acknowledgement. Clarke goes back to sketching.
A minute later, she hears the gardening hose turn on, and then the sound of water spraying against her car. She looks up, curious. And then she looks straight back down, her face heating up, and not because of the weather.
Because Bellamy Blake is washing her car shirtless.
She can’t resist taking another peek, so she lifts her head again to get a good visual so she can think about it without staring at him. Except this time, he catches her looking at him and her eyes widen. Fuck, fuck, play it cool.
How does one play it cool when Bellamy is standing a few feet away, water dripping down his chest and his curls frizzing in the heat?
“See something you like?” he teases with a smirk.
Clarke huffs. “Put a shirt on, no one wants to see that!” A complete and utter lie, but he doesn’t need to know that.
“Sure,” Bellamy drawls, his biceps flexing as he begins to scrub her car with a big sponge一wait, where did he get that?
“Uh,” she mumbles, too distracted. Seriously, fuck Bellamy Blake. And, now she’s thinking of fucking him, great.
She needs to escape before she embarrasses herself any more than she already has. Picking up her sketchbook, she announces she’s going inside, and she’s just about to make it to the front door when something wet sprays against her butt.
Clarke whirls around. “What the hell?”
Bellamy, donning a shit-eating grin, is facing her with a gardening hose in his hands. One of his hands adjusts the nozzle so that the water doesn’t hit her anymore. “Hmm?” he hums, nonchalant.
“Do that to me one more time and I’m cutting your hands off,” she threatens lowly. She turns back around.
The water hits her in the same place again, soaking her denim shorts, the water seeping into her underwear. Bellamy lets go of the hose, the water still running out of it, doubling over in laughter.
Clarke takes advantage of this, sprinting over to the hose before Bellamy has a chance to realize her plan. She picks up the hose and directs the nozzle at Bellamy, effectively getting him wet. He screams, the water spraying him so hard she can hear it thud against his body. “How do you feel, huh Bell? How does it feel?”
He glares at her, running away and shielding himself behind her car, but she just chases him around. She lets out a gleeful, triumphant laugh every time she hits him with the water again.
By the time she gives up on spraying him, he’s completely drenched from head to toe, his curls sticking to his forehead, his shorts practically a second skin on him. Clarke turns the hose off and drops the hose approaching him. She grins. “Now you have to wash the car soaking wet.”
Clarke doesn’t know how Bellamy can look furious and amused at the same time, but it works on his face. Then his lips turn up wickedly, and she knows she’s not gonna like whatever he’s thinking.
He opens his arms, the water dripping off of him with every move he makes. “Can I get a hug, princess?”
She backs away, eyeing him warily. “You wouldn’t.”
“You don’t know me very well if you think I wouldn’t,” he murmurs, sauntering towards her like a predator would his prey.
She begins to run away, turning for the house. “No, no, no一”
All of a sudden she’s being lifted in the air, Bellamy’s wet arms wrapping around her, making her blue cropped shirt go dark. “No!” she squeals. Squirming in his grasp, she can feel the back of her shirt absorb the water from his chest as he holds her tight against him. Despite the heat, she shivers.
Bellamy’s laugh rings in her ears. Clarke can’t help it; she starts to laugh along with him, her mood soaring through the skies.
Somehow, he maneuvers her body so that she’s facing him now, her chest pressed against his. Her feet slowly reach the ground. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?”
His face is inches from her. If she leans in two inches more, she can be kissing him.
So she leans in an inch more. “It wasn’t bad,” she murmurs against his lips, and Bellamy closes his eyes, anticipating a kiss. Their breaths intermingle in the small space between their mouths.
Clarke pulls away faster than he can blink, leaving him open-mouthed and ready to kiss the open air. Her laughter fills the air. “What the fuck, princess?” she hears him growl behind her.
She turns back to see him glaring at her. “Finish washing my car, and I’ll consider paying you with a kiss.”
Bellamy tries catching up to her, but Clarke races up the porch steps to get inside the house. His long legs easily get him right behind her before she can pull the door open. Turning her around with his hands on her shoulders, he proposes, “How about I finish washing the car after you give me a kiss?”
Clarke pretends to think it over, looking up towards the roof in thought. She looks him in the eye and nods.
Bellamy leans in, and the heat becomes almost unbearable. Clarke thinks she’s okay with a little heat if she gets the feeling of his lips pressed against hers.