"Hey San?" I yelled as I enter her house. Typical Santana, I thought. She tells she's ready, and for me to come over, and she isn't even ready. God, we're only going to the cinema anyway. Santana, Brittany and I.

"Quinn, mi cariña, is that you?" I hear Mrs Lopez shout.

"Yeah it's me Mrs L, do you know what's taking Santana so long?"

"She's probably still in the shower, she was getting a bit sweaty after the hundredth outfit she'd tried on." Mrs Lopez rolled her eyes, "Feel free to go up there Quinn, she'll be happy to see you, she's been stressed all day. I was convinced she had a date at first. But she tells me it's just you two girls and Britt going to catch a movie, right?"

"Yeah. And thank you Mrs L I will do." I smile politely and make my way up the stairs.

Why is Santana even making a big deal out of this? It's just a movie. With her two best friends. As I enter her room and hear her bellowing the opening lyrics out to Don't Stop Believing in the shower I realise she'll probably be a while.

You see, she has a shower playlist, and as one of her best friends, I know that only the first three tracks are Journey songs, and then there's another four. I spot something on her bed. A book? I sit down and flip it over. Oh my gosh. It's a diary! Santana Lopez keeps a diary, who'd have ever thought. I snigger to myself. I know I shouldn't open it, but I have to. I flip to the most recent page and begin reading it.

Dear Diary,
Her smell. The same smell I crave throughout the day. An exact replica of the smell covering the hoodie I wear to bed every night. Her eyes. The same eyes that caused my heart to
stop the very first time they met mine. The eyes that pierce through my skin and seemingly communicate with my organs, creating a whirlwind of emotions within my heart. Her soul.
The one that's connected so strongly to mine, no words are needed to able us to communicate. Her childlike demeanour. The one I can comprehend oh so well. Her pout. My biggest
weakness. The pout that has the ability to change my answer from no to yes in less than 0.5 seconds. The pout that has got me into trouble so many times before, but still has me
willing to do whatever it takes to make it disappear. Her smiles. The gut-wrenchingly beautiful one. The bubblegum one. The sheepish one. The devious one. The one that can change
from playful to sultry in the quickest amount of time. All of them are nice. But, the first is my favourite, when she smiles that smile, her eyes shine, her face glows, her teeth show and
her cheeks almost cover her eyes. But it's the purest thing you'll ever see. Her touch. The way she runs her fingers down my stomach after we've made love. The way she tickles the back
of my wrist when trying to calm me down. The way she holds me when I'm upset, so carefully, as if I'm a fragile china doll that could smash into a million pieces. Her beautiful
Rapunzel hair, or so I call it. The hair I could play with all day without getting bored. The hair that clings to her forehead with sweat just as she's about to topple over the edge. The
hair that contrasts amazingly with her body, as it moves to any given rhythms. Her heartbeat. The one that matches mine as our naked bodies lie, entwined and connected in every
way possible. The one that speeds up when I kiss certain spots on her body. Her taste. The taste of her lips, that can only be described as a Brittany taste. I have never tasted anything
so amazing in my life. It's my own drug, one that I am beyond addicted to, but refuse to ever seek help against. The taste of her sex, is sweet. But not too sweet. I can't get enough of it. I
love the way she writhes above me, the way she moans as I greedily taste more, the way that she bites her pillow, trapping the murmurs of pleasure threatening to escape her lips. And
oh, those lips. The ones that mould together perfectly mine. The ones that can make my body tremble in complete ecstasy. You see, I hate these things. All of them. I hate how much I
love them. I hate how much I love her. I hate the effect she has on me, I hate how much I love it. I am confiding in you diary, because, you are the only one I feel safe telling this at the
moment. This is the first time I've put into words how I'm feeling. Thanks for being here, Santana.

Oh. My. God. I feel wetness on my face, I reach my hand up to feel it. That's when I realise I'm crying. I hear the singing stop and the shower turn off, I quickly put the diary back where
I found it and put my jacket over it. Then move myself to sit over at her desk. She won't realise I've read it now. She walks with a big smile on her face, which is soon replaced with one
of pure horror. I see her eyes dart to where my jacket is, on top of her diary.

"Santana, hurry, we're meeting Britt in less than half an hour."

"Y-yeah sure. I won't be l-long." She stuttered nervously. I rolled my eyes at her now obvious behaviour.

She took the diary into the bathroom with her, probably hiding it somewhere, when I asked what it was she mumbled something along the lines of 'Keep your nose out Q, you'd think
you had a bigger schnoz than Man Hands', she came out half an hour later looking absolutely stunning.

"You look nice San."

"Thanks Q, it's just something I dug up before, no biggie. And...so do you, look good."

We'd said goodbye to her mom and promised to stay safe and here I am now watching her and Brittany interacting in the front seats of the car. It's so obvious now.

"You nice look g-good. Sorry." I facepalmed, and Brittany just smirked at her, seemingly loving the effect she was having on her. I won't be able to hold back in the future if Santana
ever claims she has 'game', because, truth be told, when it comes to Britt, she has absolutely none.

I see them exchange a kiss, when they think I'm not looking. And now I understand why Santana was so nervous before. Let's just hope her mom isn't as quick to catch on. This should be fun, I'm playing third wheel. And I know it, and they know it, but they don't know that I know it. When did this all get so confusing? Ugh.