Hello again, chums! This two-shot is a little gift for my good friend Cassicio, who commented in her last Life's A Rodeo review about wanting to know the history between Rachel and Santana.
I wrote it in Santana's point of view, since a lot of readers commented on how much they liked reading the first chapter of I Still Care For You.
So, my dearest Cassicio and any others who happen to be interested… Enjoy. : )
My brown leather boots leave behind a trail of dust in the unpaved parking lot of the bar I'm playing tonight. It's so damn cold that I can see my breath in the air as I tip my matching chestnut cowboy hat to Johnny, the muscular, scruffy-looking bodyguard that stands resolute outside Screamin' Willie's. February in Ohio's a bitch; it's a fucking miracle that I'm not knee-deep in snow at the moment. He just grunts to me from underneath the brim of his own weather-worn hat before spitting a wad of tobacco at my feet. I just snort and push past him; we both know Johnny give an arm, a leg, and his first born son to sleep with me. It's unlikely that he'd ever turn me away.
Flipping my long raven locks over the shoulder of my North Face fleece, I step across the wooden threshold and onto the beer-soaked floorboards of the club. Thankfully, it's nice and warm inside the two-storey building, the heat radiating off of the bodies of drunken patrons. They're loud and rowdy, as always, which means it'll probably be a long set. The place is packed tonight, and I grin at this, knowing that it's my fault that the bar is almost full to bursting.
Everyone wants a piece of me… They always have.
I shrug off my jacket and hang it among a pile of others on a line of rusty pegs next to the doorjamb. Some awful Rascal Flatts cover band is onstage at the far end of the club, the lead singer completely butchering the second verse of Unstoppable. As I weave through the sea of large, sweaty torsos, I toss a wave to Chaz, the flamboyantly homosexual bartender that's currently serving a roaring group of customers crammed into one of the small booths along the wall. Chaz and I go way back… He's probably about two hundred pounds soaking wet, but the kid is a third degree black belt. Needless to say, he's nice to have on my side in a bar fight.
When I finally reach the stage, the floppy-haired vocalist ceases his murdering of the perfectly good country classic and immediately hands the microphone to me. His brown eyes are wide as he regards me, like he's turning it over to the Queen of England or something. Then again, I am royalty in this place… A signed action shot of me at last year's Three Hills Rodeo is hanging over the bar. The musicians onstage stand abruptly and move offstage while I step up onto the hardwood and into the glow of the club's balcony spotlight.
"Good evening, Screamin' Willie's," I simper into the microphone, gaining the hoots and hollers of every man and woman in the bar. Behind me, my own band is setting up, having been waiting in the wings for me to arrive. It's a regular thing, my performing here; everyone in Columbus knows that when Santana Lopez is in town, she gives a set at her favorite dive bar in Ohio.
"You all ready to have a good time tonight?" I call to the crowd before raising a fist in the air. I'm met with an overwhelming roar of approval from the mob, followed by a stampede toward the rickety stage. As always, all the girls end up in the front row, screeching adulation at the top of their lungs.
"'Tana, I love you!" An intoxicated blonde shrieks, her breasts nearly popping out of her white t-shirt as she jumps up and down in excitement. I throw her a nonchalant wink, and the second I do, she loses consciousness, slumping into the arms of one of the women behind her.
The mass seems to love the fact that one look from me can make a grown woman faint, and they roar even louder at the display. I, however, am not even looking at the blonde bimbo anymore. My eyes have zeroed in on the woman she landed on: long, curly brown hair, mesmerizing brown eyes, and a smile that makes my heart stop. She serves my wink right back at me, and now I'm the one who's feeling faint. I know that as soon as I finish this set, I'm going to take that beautiful girl into the bathroom behind the stage and ruin her. I'm going to tear her apart with my fingers and my mouth, and she's going to be screaming so loud that my audience will be able to hear her over the house music. She reads my thoughts clearly through my eyes, and when she licks her lips, I know that I have to get through this gig as quickly as possible.
"Nate, what the hell are you waitin' on? Let's give 'em a show!" I bellow to my drummer. He begins pounding into the kick drum behind me, and my lead guitarist Howie follows suit, powering a hard riff through the Gibson amp. My eyes never leave my mystery girl's, even as I start thumping my heel against the stage to the rhythm. I grip the microphone with my left hand and give her grin before I let my voice shake the building.
"I'm thrilled to be a hillbilly,
Hate to have to deal with me;
Probably just end in a fight.
No sleeves, can't read, doesn't even phase me.
Naked, sleeping like a baby tonight."
Half of the patrons in the club are shouting the lyrics right along with me, including the beautiful girl in the front row. Her smile is radiant as she sings with me, and she holds the note on the last word of the verse just like I do, which makes me think she's been to one of my shows before. I quickly shake the thought out of my mind… there's no way I would have missed a beautiful girl like her.
"A gun-packing, bitch-smacking;
Mess with me, it's going to happen,
Loving life, living in sin.
Passed out on the floor, 'sorry' just don't work no more,
Giving up on giving in."
When I finish the next line, I step away from the microphone and give the crowd the finger, to which they punch the air and throw me a rousing "Ah, fuck it!" Even my little siren in the front row joins them in their cry, and this makes me grin from ear to ear.
Good God, I love being famous.
"'Cause I'm a lowlife, and I'm lovin' it.
No, I'm never going to change as long as I live.
I'm a lowlife, so fuckin' deal with it.
'Cause deep down, I really know that everyone is."
I hold out the microphone to the audience, the lot of them practically vibrating the ground with their rhythmic stomping along to the music. They don't miss a beat, hollering the second chorus with power. However, amidst the drunken slur of words, I hear a voice that's clear as a bell. It's commanding, so much so that it moves something in me. My ears prick up and follow the sound, and I'm appalled to find that it's coming from the breathtaking girl I plan on fucking in the bathroom later. She's belting out the lyrics like she's in a recording studio, and I can't resist extending my hand to her.
She blushes slightly and allows me to pull her onstage. I thrust my own microphone into her hand and grab Howie's before giving her a reassuring nod. As soon as I do, she lets it all loose on the crowd, and customers of Screamin' Willie's doesn't know what hit them.
"'Cause we're lowlives, and we're lovin' it.
We got the whole damn world in the palm of our hand.
'Cause we're lowlives, so fuckin' deal with it.
No, you can't change something that you don't understand.
Living it up, living it up,
Being a lowlife."
I'm so aroused by her performance that I can't even stand it, and the heat coursing through my veins causes me to lurch forward and capture those soft, cherry red lips with my own. The audience erupts in deafening cheers when my smoking hot partner finishes out the song. My hands slide into the bends of her hips and grasp the denim belt loops of her jeans. Her own fingers wind themselves into my hair, knocking my hat off of my head and into the mass of women, who tear it apart like lions feeding on a zebra. Before she can deepen the kiss, I pull away and speak directly into the shell of her ear.
"What's your name, babe?"
She giggles flirtatiously in my arms when my warm breath fans out across her cheek.
"Rachel. Rachel Berry."
AN: Yes, it will be a two-shot, so stay tuned, darlings! : )
Santana's song, Lowlife, is sung by the incomparable Theory of a Deadman. Check it out if you haven't already.
