Might As Well

Chapter 11

Lexa slept hard. The traveling, the work stress and the pressure of constantly pretending something was real that she wished in a complicated way wasn't fake took the wind out of her sails. Her dream was so vivid that she could smell Clarke's hair. She opened her eyes to a wall of blond curls and held back a gasp before she clamped them shut again. After counting to five, she opened them.

The luscious locks still filled her view.

The sun was low in the sky and pastel pinks and yellows crept across the bedspread. Lexa squinted in the early morning light and pieced together where she was. Her mouth tasted like too many beers the night before and the companion headache came sauntering in slowly. She was in her underwear, but she was warm.

And she was wrapped around Clarke who slept soundly beside her.

"Holy shit," Lexa whispered. She froze with panic.

Clarke didn't budge. She was curled up on her side. Their legs were threaded together. Clarke held fast to Lexa's hand on the arm wrapped around her. Lexa couldn't remember moving, couldn't remember enveloping Clarke's body with her own, but now that she had, she couldn't figure out how to undo it without waking Clarke up and bringing attention to it.

She also didn't want to stop.

Clarke's skin had the warmth of home and was softer than it looked. She was pressed against Lexa and every ounce of her fit perfectly into each and every bow and arch of Lexa's body. She dragged her toes up Lexa's calf as she started to stir. Lexa slammed her eyes closed in panic. With the grace of a safe cracker, she loosened her fingers from Clarke's grip and carefully, regretfully and begrudgingly disentangled their bodies.

With an intense need to be anywhere else as quickly as possible, Lexa silently collected her running clothes from her suitcase and dressed quietly. She turned around for her phone on the nightstand and was met with Clarke in her sleeping, sprawling, almost naked glory stretched out on the bed.

"Jesus Christ," Lexa hissed and spun back around. Clarke's image was burned on the back of her eyelids. She hurried into the hallway and leaned against the closed door, shut her eyes and took the longest, slowest, deepest breath.

"What's up, Lexa!" One of the young guys from the night before appeared to be just now going to bed. She jumped with a start and checked the time on her phone.

"Hey," she nodded politely. It was seven in the morning. He tripped on the stairs. She scurried past him and out on to the silent porch. Another of Aden's friends was passed out on the porch swing.

Looking to put distance between herself and Clarke's majestic, semi-exposed, incredible breasts, Lexa put in her ear buds and took off running.

The property was even better in person than it looked online. There were trails through the woods that looped around the lake. Lexa's feet took her to the tree line to find an escape.

Things were going to get worse before they got better. More and more people were going to arrive all day. She had to give an anticipated toast tonight. She had to parade Clarke around. Her father was coming. She knew it was all her fault, all her idea and she had put herself in this situation, but it was just so much. She could admit that, but she hadn't planned to have such a hard time holding up her end of the bargain not to fall in love.

Love was a little strong. Lust, maybe, but definitely something real and undeniable.

Clarke was impossibly wonderful. She was infectious and contagious. Lexa enjoyed the difference that laughing with Clarke so frequently was making in her daily life. As she skipped past rocks and trees toward the lake, Lexa wondered how on earth she was expected to simply be friends with this amazing woman that had completely consumed her life in the finest way from the moment she entered it.