Mine

Chapter 2

Blake looked at Beatrice Morris standing proudly over at the doorway; hands placed firmly on her hips in an attempt to look intimidating. Well, it worked alright. He was still frozen to the spot, trying to calculate how exactly had he gone from getting hot and heavy with Claire against a wall to being stared down by the Dragon Lady herself. If looks could kill, Blake would have been buried cold with a patch of wild daisies already growing on his grave.

'Get off!', a frustrated whisper. He looked down at the girl who was not Claire in puzzlement. She shoved her fists against his chest and it snapped him out of his thoughts. He pushed off the floor in a swift move and then awkwardly offered a hand to Not-Claire. She ignored his hand as she scrambled to get up and pull down her shirt at the same time. Once she was finally up, she shot him a look that screamed bloody murder before turning her head towards the fire breathing dragon.

Blake mindlessly took in her appearance, wondering how he had confused Not-Claire for Claire. She was a few inches shorter that meant she was a good head shorter than him. Her dark hair was falling out of her messy bun in all directions, courtesy of the death match they had just engaged in. The baggy grey sweatshirt she wore did very unflattering things to her petite form. Blake shook his head. He couldn't see how he had mistaken this cluttered girl for his ex. Maybe because it was dark, or because you're a little buzzed. Or maybe because Claire told you this was her room! He screamed in his head.

Not-Claire took a step forward, her arms already preparing an explanation. But before she could say a word, Miss Morris interrupted her.

'Mr. Cavanaugh, care to explain the purpose behind your late night visit?', Dragon inquired, he voice dropping to a fake-sweet tone. Or as sweet as a dragon could manage anyway.

'Miss Morris, this is a misunderstanding. Nothing-', he began in a placid tone.

'Oh, if it had been anyone else I might have bought it, but with you...', she trailed off in an accusatory tone.

Not-Clair shuffled awkwardly on her feet before attempting to soothe the monster again, 'Miss Morris, this really isn't what it looks like-'

'Enough. I will deal with you soon enough', she boomed again, sending both the accused flinching back as her loud voice ripped through the otherwise quiet night.

Blake could've sworn the floor vibrated with her voice. How do people get sleep around this woman? He thought astounded. It was only then, that he heard snickering coming from the hallway.

The older woman turned her head around to the troublemakers, 'Quiet!'. Ironic.

As the woman took another step into the room, two heads peeped inside the room. Claire. Blake narrowed his eyes at the smirk adorned by the redhead. And then it all fell into place. Oh, well played Clair, he congratulated mentally. He did not like to be made a fool of, and no one ever really did manage to get the better of him, but even from his position, he could respect her trick. A faint challenging smile pulled up at the corners of his mouth.

Miss Morris had halted right in front of him and Not-Clair, who was now pitifully trying to pull the hem of her sweatshirt to cover her exposed thighs Blake realized.

'I think it's time for you to leave Mr. Cavanaugh.', the plump woman was shooting daggers at him. She barely reached his shoulder but she had enough bravdo to send an army of rugby players down on their knees. Blake wasn't any different. And he needed to leave before she could smell the alcohol on him that would just land him in bigger trouble.

'Gladly.', he said curtly before stepping around the breathing spitfire towards the door. He crossed an oh-so-smug Claire and her giggling friend and gave her a look that said 'this wasn't over' prior to walking down the quiet hallway as curious sleepy little heads peeking out of their rooms to observe the commotion.