A/N: I apologize to those who are waiting for an update for my other fic, Living With Mrs Pierce. I got really busy last week and now, got sidetracked by this little bugger. Fingers-crossed, I could keep my word to Vsaint and give you guys a longer update. Except, I just now realized it's literally a pain in the ass writing 10 pages in one sitting.

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Title: This is Not a Love Story

Pairing: Brittany / Santana

Rating: T

Summary: Santana Lopez is a high-maintenance girl. Brittany Pierce is an outgoing, go-with-the-flow type of girl. They can never be more different from each other. They say opposites attract. But then again, they say opposites clash, as well.

Disclaimer: I do not own Glee. Thank heavens.

"Hi, I'm Brittany."

Santana Lopez looked perplexedly at the pale hand that was suddenly shoved towards her face, almost spilling her drink in the process. She need not look at the face of the rude girl who interrupted her mid-drink of her favourite glass of cosmopolitan. The girl was wearing a vintage shirt for heaven's sake—I mean, who still wears vintage shirts these days? She's really not interested in looking at the rest of the merchandise.

So like she had done to the dozens of guys and girls who had the guts to come up to her before, Santana Lopez merely resumed sipping her drink and tuned back to whatever gossip her posse were currently engrossed on.

They always take a hint. Eventually.

Santana is born Santana Angelita Lopez. Kurt is convinced her name literally means "the fallen angel" or Satan, for short. Her father, on the other hand, thinks she's still his sweet little angel, refusing to call her anything other than "mi Angelita corazon" no matter how much begging and bribing she did.

Being the only child to Ohio's richest power couple, she was born to a life of luxury, getting everything she ever wanted with just a small pout and a light whiff of her nose by a doting—and dare she say, whipped—father. Her mother, unfortunately, doesn't share the same sentiments and views on parenting with her father.

Her mother, Evita,

(Yes, it's laughable but sue her. It was part of their heritage naming children after someone famous. Santana's just glad she wasn't named Jennifer. Or Mario.)

made it her own mission pointing out each and every criticism she had on her. It was even like fighting tooth and nail getting any form of approval out of that woman. And even then, it always has to be followed by the inevitable "but."

"That's nice, honey. But, it would have been even better if you got the part of Maria."

"Oh, that outfit is lovely. But, does it have to be so tight around those areas?"

"Santana, dear, it's nice that you chose to stay at home on your semester break. But, do you have to be at home all the time during?"

So here Santana was, at a high-end bar in Columbus—or at least, high-end by Ohio-standards—silently contemplating whether or not she made the right decision of ringing her friends over to share in her misery and boredom—or rather, sharing a table, with her still in her own misery and boredom and them excitedly gossiping about the latest fashions, Hollywood stars, and the huge parties they are missing in New York.

She had a love-hate relationship with each and every one of them. Rachel would later confide in her in a sudden surge of drunken wisdom that the reason why Santana's relationships never worked out was because Santana can't form any kind of relationship with anyone who can't challenge her physically, mentally, and emotionally. Santana, on the other hand, in the same state of drunkenness would only find it hilarious to boop everyone's nose. Then cry pitifully over a melting ice on the floor she, herself, had thrown there.

Quinn is her longest friend in the group. They practically grew up together, fighting over everything from toys, to boys, to the Cheerio captaincy, to Prom Queen, and to the ultimate title of HBIC. The answer of who won, however, would depend on who you ask as both are insisting that they were the HBIC. They've became more mellow now in college, even considering each other best of friends.

Except if some fool mistakenly mention "high school" and all hell would surely break loose.

Mercedes is Santana's home girl. But before that, Santana used to put different things—from strips of paper to felt-tip coloured pen—in Cedes' food. When Mercedes eventually caught on to her and confronted her about it, Santana simply shrugged telling her she was just genuinely curious whether rhinos really eat everything their huge snouts could reach.

It goes without saying, but Santana landed on her father's hospital that day, whining about how nobody likes her even when she was just telling the truth. Her father, Carlos, merely nodded and listened closely to his little angel's morphine-induced ramblings, doing everything to try and understand how her daughter's mind works.

And it also goes without saying, but Carlos failed. Miserably.

Kurt is the fag to Mercedes' hag. Sweet, gentle, obnoxiously well-dressed and prim and proper Porcelain. He believes in fairy tales, and romance, and drama, and c'est la vie and all that jazz. Santana believes in disagreeing to everything he says just to see the grown man cry better than a little girl. The only time Santana stops the timer in her purse she uses to beat her record in making Kurt cry was whenever they talk about fashion. And she won't admit it but she does enjoy it whenever Kurt flails over her fashion choices—at least, someone does.

Mike is the only odd-duck in the group. She's not entirely sure how she became friends with him. He's shy, quiet, nice, well-mannered, soft-spoken, clean-looking and smelling. In short, boring. She did remember a time when she had thrown insults after insults at him. But then, he would just smile this irritatingly sweet genuine smile and at some point, she just got tired.

It's not that fun when the other person isn't cowering.

He does come in handy though when a past fling or a persistent suitor comes up to her and she would just crawl into his lap and nuzzle to his neck until they leave. She can't do the same move with Quinn and Mercedes because those bitches would just call her out on it. Kurt and Rachel are simply out of the question, because come on, the first one is "girlier" than her and the other one can never, ever get a girl like her, even hypothetically—ever.

So yeah, Mike is not that boring, after all. He's. Okay.

And that comple- -

Oh, and then there's Rachel.

And that completes Santana's list of friends. And acquaintances. Although, she was always reminded how lucky she was that they haven't gotten enough good sense yet to leave the abusive, almost one-sided relationship they got going on that they call friendship. Santana just waves it off as them being funny in that distastefully unfunny way they call humour.

I mean, who wouldn't want to be with "the" Santana Lopez?

One word: hot.

Another word: rich.

And yet another word that should be enough for people to want to be with her: San-tana.

Santana sighed as she spins the now empty glass between her thumb and middle finger. She glanced at her friends who were still laughing and unaware of her inner turmoil.

She sighed louder and clinked her glass loudly to a half-empty bottle of wine near her, almost shattering the glass. But it finally got their attention—rightfully so—back to her.

Quinn eyed her suspiciously, debating on whether or not to ask the question. But she knew better than making this drama longer than it had to or yet another tantrum would be thrown and they can't afford that in public especially when they're not yet drunk. "What is it, Santana?"

"Excuse me?" Santana feigned innocence as if it was never her intention to draw attention to her.

Kurt rolled his eyes knowing full well how this goes but continued the gentle prodding. "What's bothering you, sweetie?"

Santana sighed heavily again, putting all her weight into it and adjusted herself in her seat, crossing her legs to get more comfortable and giving everyone a generous view of her legs—she may be down but she has to at least look hot while being down. "Well, if you insist on knowing," which earned her a unanimous silent groan from her crowd "it's just… it's hard to be me…"

"And you say, I'm the drama queen." She heard Rachel grumble but chose to ignore her.

"I mean, I'm the hottest person I know, I'm filthy rich, I am crazy good in bed, I'm nice," the last one especially made everyone whisper their own protests. "Why can't I find a nice girl who would love me for me and treat me like a queen and give me everything I want? Is that so much to ask?"

It was Quinn's turn to sigh, massaging her temples with her fingers. She'd probably need a pill soon for the massive headache she suddenly acquired. "Santana, you had the most number of admirers in this club alone but you turned each and every one of them down."

"Yeah well, it's not my fault they're all losers." Santana shrugged nonchalantly.

Quinn looked at her other friends pleadingly for back up but everyone else seemed to suddenly find the table interesting.

Thankfully, Rachel piped in. "What about that last girl, huh? She looks real cute," nodding her head like a Bobblehead as if her own enthusiasm would magically transfer to her sullen friend.

Santana glared at her as if the girl had grown two heads. Well, who was she kidding. This is Rachel. With the pitch and loudness of her voice, she probably has six other heads under that puke-coloured animal sweater. "She wore a vintage shirt, ripped jeans, and bright-coloured rainbow sneakers," she deadpanned.

Rachel just blinked at her.

"Though you probably won't understand since you still obviously shop at Kidz-R-Us and compared to you, she looked like she's wearing a freaking Oscar de la Renta."

Rachel blinked again.

"Kurt, can you back me up here?"

Kurt finally lifted his gaze from the table hearing the topic has again changed to fashion. "Oh, I hate saying this but I definitely agree with Satan…"

Santana sighed, again.

"Look, gurl, if you don't like the girls that come up to you, why don't you just come up to the girl you like and be done with it?"

Santana shot her attention towards Mercedes, scandalized and deeply troubled with the mere suggestion. "Are you kidding me? Girls can't just come up and flirt with other girls!"

"You mean, girls can come up and flirt with you but you won't come up and flirt with other girls," Mercedes spoke lowly.

Santana gave her a shrug and a small nod as if she's just starting to make sense.

"And why is that again?" Kurt finally got back to the matter at hand after explaining to Rachel for the thousandth time that what she calls "clothes" are actually "trash."

"Because." Santana searched her brain for the perfect excuse without sounding pathetic. "When I was straight, guys always walk up to me. Why wouldn't it be any different now?"

"You were never straight, Santana. You were in the closet. And you're probably partly still in there. Did you get your feet wedged in there somehow?" Rachel asked mockingly looking at Santana's wedge-clad feet imagining a closet somewhere on the floor, earning a laugh from Mercedes and Kurt.

"That's what I meant," Santana glared at Rachel. "And I'm an out and proud lesbian!" Santana defended, narrowing her eyes and daring everyone to say otherwise. "Besides, it doesn't mean anything if I find it funny getting guys riled up sometimes and get their hopes up then watch them lose their balls in the process."

Quinn and Mike had been silent for a while. They can see through Santana's façade, how she's getting more defensive by the minute. They really hope their friends would stop soon or someone would get hurt pretty badly.

But Rachel had other plans. "So, you don't want to walk up to girls because…" Rachel pondered slowly. And then it hit her.

"Is the Santana Lopez afraid of getting rejected the same way she rejects other girls?" Rachel asked excitedly, clapping her hands as if it was indeed fun stripping Santana naked for everyone to see. Mercedes and Kurt hollered and hooted finding the image of Santana getting rejected funny.

If the three of them looked more closely they would see what Mike and Quinn saw—the panic and fear in Santana's eyes at being found out of her deepest secret and the hurt for being made fun because of it.

"No!" Santana protested weakly. "Whatever. You don't understand, anyway. You're straight."

Quinn and Mike looked at each other. This is what they meant when they feared someone would get hurt eventually.

xox

xox

Puck, Sam, Artie, and Tina laughed boisterously as Brittany approached their table.

"Yeah, yeah," Brittany grumbled anticipating the onslaught of jokes coming towards her at her own expense.

"You got shot down!" Puck laughed louder tapping the table for emphasis.

"As if I didn't know already. Thanks for reminding me of something that happened ten seconds ago," Brittany deadpanned.

"Oh man," Artie breathed deeply to contain his laughter. "So, what did you say to her?"

"Ooh, you didn't propose to her or tell her you love her so soon, did you? Because, apparently, girls don't like that," Sam piped in.

"You know what girls don't like? When they always have to do all the work in the bed department," Artie pondered grudgingly.

"You know what girls don't like?" Tina joined in. "Puck," she mouthed to Brittany.

Brittany grinned despite being bummed out by the rejection.

"I didn't know girls don't like it when you do feelings. Because most of the girl trouble I had was because apparently I didn't do feelings," Puck grumbled seriously contemplating whether he had just been tapping in the wrong pool of girls.

"So soon, man," Sam clarified. "Ooh, you know what else girls don't like? When you tell a joke and it's in Na'vi," turning back at Brittany.

"You know waaaayyyy too much about what girls don't like." Tina eyed her friend suspiciously.

He continued, undeterred. "Ooh, and another thing that girls…"

"Sam… Sam, wait!" Brittany cut him out. Normally she wouldn't, but he would keep going until tomorrow and she really wanted to ask their advice on how to re-approach this girl.

Brittany sighed. "That's the point, I didn't say anything!"

"What do you mean you didn't say anything? You must have said something," Puck asked incredulously. In all his years knowing Brittany, no one ever turned her down.

Sam nodded his head feeling like Yoda. "I warned you. Girls like that? They don't want anything to do with blokes like us."

"I'm not even a bloke!"

"Pssh. Don't worry, B. Sam knows no shit." Puck shook his head at Sam. "What exactly happened?"

"Well, I said 'hi,' I told her my name, that's it!"

"That's it?" Puck confirmed.

"That's it! She didn't even look at me or anything," Brittany grumbled exasperatedly.

"Oh, that rude bitch! That bitch would have a thing or two coming if she thought…" Tina screeched indignantly putting Brittany's arm around her waist as she got up and started walking in the direction of the other group. When she didn't feel the arm tugging her back, Tina squeezed Brittany's hand that was limp around her waist.

Brittany finally caught up and pulled Tina to her side. "Calm down, Tina. I don't want you hurting yourself when you storm off up there tripping over the stairs," she deadpanned.

"Hey, I am not that clumsy!"

Sam chuckled. "But you are! You tripped on a freaking fountain. How did you manage to trip on something as huge as that, seriously?" which earned another bout of laughter from the three boys.

"For the hundredth time…" Tina seethed, starting her long explanation.

Brittany shook her head. Their conversations always managed to end up like this. They'd talk about a movie then how they would want to head to the same location the movie was set in until before they all know it, they are all pondering what the baby would look like if a lizard and a unicorn have sex. It's like their conversations have a multiple-personality disorder or something.

She always liked that about her friends. They are all very easy-going. They had hitchhiked their way to Texas getting odd jobs along the way to add to their pocket money and even managed to save enough for a trip to Vegas right across the west coast—where they won more money for a short trip to Mexico—and they accomplished it in just a year after their high school graduation at McKinley. They could hang out at the dullest ditch in America and they would still end up having the time of their life. They would have a pyjama party right in a crowded diner during lunch hour, even Puck who would grumble along the way, and act as if it's the coolest thing ever.

And it indeed felt like it was the coolest thing.

Until life happened.

They were forced to decide about their future and where to go from there. Tina finally attended college with Artie in LA, with Tina deciding in Poli Sci and Artie majoring in Film. Puck left for Nashville, hoping to become the next Johnny Cash or Jimi Hendrix—and even banging Miley Cyrus on the side. Sam got into OSU but up and left after only two months to follow Puck realizing he had the cooler dream.

And Brittany, well...

Brittany went wherever the road takes her. Armed with a camera on one hand, a pen on the other, and a good steady mind in her head, Brittany became a freelance photo journalist. She never planned for any of it to happen, really. All she wanted was to travel the world, relive the glory days with her best friends and take a piece of a town she stayed in with her when she leaves.

But then, this guy came up to her and saw a picture she had have developed for her wall collage back in Lima and told her she could sell it to some magazine. It was a picture of Puck, Sam, Tina, and Artie in Bay City gazing at the setting sun sheeting the Gulf of Mexico in a nice hue of red and orange.

And since then, she had sold a hundred or more of her artwork, each gaining more value than the one before as she made a small name for herself.

At first, she was just happy to not worry about her week's meal and getting a motel with a working shower head without dipping into her bank account. And then, she was ecstatic she could finally afford some new and additional tools for her craft—a new camera, a sturdy tripod, a telephoto lens for her wildlife adventures, a short-range zoom lens for the intricate details of a hand-woven cloth, even short courses on photography.

She knew she had it made when she got a call from this New York-based photo magazine doing an article on up and coming landscape photographers who wanted to send her to India. All. Expense. Paid. Nothing sounded sweeter to Brittany.

And since then, she's getting calls left and right. The jobs were mostly around the U.S. and Europe but she had time. After all, she's still young at the age of 23. Today, America; tomorrow, the world. She couldn't wait to explore new places, meet new people, and learn new cultures.

She knew if her parents were still here, they would be proud of her too, even if she only finished high school.

They had always pushed her to follow her dreams. Encouraged her to go where her little feet could take her. Climb trees even when she's afraid of falling. Learn and experience new things and conquering them—like riding a bike—even when she gets a gash or two on her knee for it. They had always been there; to pick her up when she falls, to clean and kiss her boo-boos away, to sing her to sleep when she had a nightmare.

And whenever she looks at the moon and gazes at the stars, even when she had no food in her stomach during her first year of traveling alone, she just knew that they are still there watching over her, telling her everything is going to be alright.

Brittany looked back at her family now—her own group of lovable misfits—now bickering over whom amongst them is cool and interesting enough to get to be a reality star. She didn't know how much of the conversation she had missed but what she does know is that now is not the time to be anything but serious.

Brittany looked back up to the VIP section of the club at the raven-haired Latina who was now having a seemingly heated conversation with her friends.

The only downside of being a photojournalist is not getting to stay in one place long enough to make a connection and long lasting relationship with anyone. Sure, she had made lots of friends. Even stayed in contact with most of them. But right now, she badly wanted to know, more than anything, just this one in particular. She sighed. She really needed her friends to focus.

"Guys, guys…" Brittany opened her arms wide side-to-side with palms facing her friends, effectively pushing Tina gently who was leaning over her to literally point out why she and Artie are in fact, cooler than Puck and Sam right to their faces. "Can we do me again, please?"

"Hell yeah, I'd do you," Puck commented sleazily, humping the air from where he sat. "Over and over and…"

The eye-rolls and glares he got from both Brittany and Tina immediately shut him up.

Puck cleared his throat to indicate that he would stop messing around. "What were we talking about again?"

"The girl? Shot down? Me? Ring any bells?"

"Ah, yes," Sam nodded enthusiastically but then he stopped. "And what about it" Sam cowered from the glare Brittany gave him. "…again?" he finished pathetically from his once condescending tone.

"I want to get to know her. That's what this is about."

"So you wanted a do over," Puck confirmed but chuckled a while later just realizing how naughty that phrase sounded. "Do over."

Artie scratched his head. "Are you sure?" he asked slowly. "Because there are plenty of guys and girls in here. Most likely less rude and bitchy."

"I know, except. I. Want. Her. And besides, I didn't say she was a bitch," Brittany tried defending the girl she doesn't even know from her friends.

"No, I said she was a bitch," Tina raised her hand thinking they were just talking about who said what exactly.

"Y-eah… we really don't know her at all so we might want to hold off a bit on the name calling," Brittany tried again.

Puck nodded resolutely. "Okay. Here's what you're gonna do. You march up to her and grab her tightly into your arms even when she's screaming and struggling and just kiss her deeply giving her no chance to say 'no'."

"Kiss her?" Brittany confirmed.

"Kiss her."

"I'm pretty sure that's sexual harassment…" Tina mused.

"Ooh, ooh, I know," Sam interjected excitedly. "You walk up to her and say 'Oel ngati kameie. Oeru syaw Pierce. Brittany Pierce. Fyape fko syaw ngar?' I'm telling you, she would flip!" gesturing wildly and jumping from his seat, almost knocking the beer bottles in front of him.

"Yeah, flip you right side up the head," Tina rolled her eyes. "Just go up to her, Britt. Be charming. Cool. Collected," she smiled encouragingly to her friend.

"But I was charming. Cool. Collected," she deadpanned.

Tina thought it some more before she nodded. "And now, make sure she notices you."

"And whatever you do, do not speak whatever it is it was speaking," Artie reminded his friend gesturing at Sam with his face still scrunched in distaste.

"Don't worry, I got that the first time I saw him get slapped for it," Brittany waved him off.

"That was you," Sam grumbled bitterly but Brittany just shrugs him off, already lost in her thoughts as she visualize her objective. Brittany closed her eyes and let out short puffs of breath, psyching herself up. There's no day like today. Well, there really isn't in this case, since after today, it would be pretty unlikely she would see her again.

"Hey, I didn't know you're back here! Oh my god, it's been so long! How are you doing?" Tina cut through Brittany's reverie with her squeal.

Brittany's eyes shot back to the Latina's table only to find it empty. Oh no. "They-they're gone. Sh-she's gone!" she panicked, searching for the girl in the dark low lights of the club.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm great. I'm based in New York now but I hope to see you before the break is over?"

"Yeah, that would be awesome," Tina grinned widely at the boy not seeing the surly look on Artie's face at their interaction.

"Okay, great then. I'm sorry but I really have to get going. I'm the designated driver and my friends wouldn't be too pleased if they can't get to make a mess of my car soon," the boy laughed.

Brittany grumbled to herself having no luck in finding the other girl in the crowd so she buried her face on the table instead cursing herself for letting the girl slip away from her.

"Michael Chang," Tina flirtingly gave him the once over. "Ever the responsible guy."

Mike laughed bashfully. "That's me. I'm sorry, but I really have to go or else my friend, Santana would either find my head amusing as a centrepiece or flood my car with her tears. I'm really not sure how drunk she is tonight but I wouldn't want to take my chances if I want to see you soon."

Brittany subconsciously heard Tina and her friend's lengthy "goodbyes" and the only thought that stood out amidst her self-pity and deprecation is how 'Santana' is a really, really lovely name.

xox

Translation of Sam's Na'vi talk: "Hey. Name's Pierce. Brittany Pierce. What's yours?" Yeah, if you could imagine a blue James Bond with pointed ears and a tail, that's Sam for you.

A/N #2: Review, follow, favourite or do all three. Let me know what you think!

P.S. Does anyone know how to do a proper line break? I can't seem to make the Shift+Enter command work. I'm either that dumb or mods are having a laugh at me trying and failing to make a proper line break.

P.P.S. Now, Lolathe17th, where is my update?