Five hundred twenty-five thousand six hundred minutes-
How do you measure, measure a year?
In daylights, in sunsets, in midnights, in cups of coffee,
In inches, in miles, in laughter, in strife.
It was the beginning of summer, and Santana Lopez was finally free. Free from Sue Sylvester's grueling demands, free from Quinn Fabray's looming presence, free from her parents' constant nagging about her schoolwork. Despite all of this, it was a very petty thing that Santana couldn't escape from most: the heat.
Sure it was the start of June and sure summer is supposed to be hot. But seriously, its Lima, fucking Ohio. It's not supposed to be 97 degrees at 2 in the afternoon. "This heat...is not okay," Santana thought to herself. It's actually kind of funny. Santana could handle being the hottest girl in school. She could handle getting hot and sweaty after three hours of Cheerios practice. But a little summer heat? Fly her to Norway, asap.
Santana wasn't used to hiding at home in the shade wearing a pair of Daisy Dukes she cut unevenly an hour before out of pure desperation and a hot pink T-shirt. She'd already gone from pajama pants to sundress to shorts. Santana had tried everything to cool herself down. She'd fanned herself with her mother's copy of Vanity Fair until her wrist felt like it was going to fall off, she'd drank four glasses of lemonade until realized she didn't really like running to the bathroom every ten minutes, and now she was cursing her tree-hugging hippie parents for not having air conditioning...or a pool.
Oh wait. She knew someone who had a pool. Or at least access to a pool...the one and only Noah Puckerman. Santana smiled, thinking she had finally found a way out of this terrible nightmare. But how was she going to get Puck to agree to let her into some housewife's pool? Sure, they'd flirted the whole school year and made out drunkenly at a few parties, but it wasn't like they were exclusive or anything. They hadn't even hooked up. Whatever, she was hot and that's all it would take. Sex sells; it's proven.
So she picked up her cell phone from across the living room and dialed a number she would soon have on speed dial.
"Hello?" answered Puck.
"It's Santana. I need a favor," she said assertively. She read in Cosmo that men liked women who took charge, and she needed all the help she could get.
"Well, you've come to the right place Lopez. What can the Puckerone do for you?" Puck replied. Santana rolled her eyes at how pathetic he sounded, as if he could get her to do what his stupid whores did for him. She had standards. At least she thought she did.
"It's too hot outside. Come pick me up and take me to one of your above ground pools you clean," she said.
To her surprise, all he said was "Sure, I'll be there in ten."
"Wait, seriously?" she asked. She expected to have to promise him a steamy make-out session, or at least some sort of begging. This was Puck she was talking to.
"Yeah. You get your wish, I get to see your smokin' bod in bikini. Win win situation, babe," he said. Santana had no doubt that he was smirking. She was right.
"Ha. Whatever, Puckerman," she replied before hanging up to find that red string bikini she knew would drive him insane.
By the time he showed up, she'd ditched the T-shirt and was down to the bikini top and the short shorts.
"Looking good," he whistled as she swung open the passenger door of his beaten up truck and hopped in.
"Always," she teased back.
They pulled up to a mansion on the outskirts of town, slipped out of the car, and through the gates onto a pool deck with a large pool of glistening, cold water. Just the sight of the pool elicited a shiver.
Santana was impressed. She liked successful men. She'd always imagined herself married to some hotshot CEO when she was old and wrinkly. Of course, she didn't need to be supported. She was going to work forever; she didn't need to be-or want to be-a trophy wife. "And here I thought you just cleaned cheap dinky pools. I'm impressed, Puckerman. You deserve more credit than I gave you..." she commented.
"I saved the best for you, babe," he scoffed. But he soon stopped, because Santana had shimmied out of shorts and made a perfect dive into a pool, showing off her excellent figure. The moment she landed in the water, her face melted into an expression of pure contentment. And fuck, if that wasn't the hottest thing he'd ever seen...
"So what do you say I join you, Lopez?" he said suggestively.
"It's your pool," she laughed as he shed his shirt and jumped in with her, splashing her in the process.
"Stop it!" she squealed. They continued their game of cat and mouse in the water, swimming back and forth, the sexual tension that had built up all year effusing between them. She'd duck out from underneath him every time he got close enough to have her. But then, she swam into the corner of the pool, with Puck hot on her tail. She was trapped. There was no way out. She expected him to whip a lash of invigorating pool water in her face, but instead he did something else.
He kissed her. Santana Lopez had been kissed before, and to be honest, she didn't really find it that enjoyable. She'd been kissed so many times that they all started to feel the same to her. But this was different. This was nonchalant and carefree, but loving and tender too. It could only be defined as summer.
It was a moment of weakness. She let her guard down and now she was involved. She let herself be charmed by him. She couldn't take it back, even if she wanted to. Now, she was stuck with Noah Puckerman.
And so, it was the beginning of a yearlong affair of love, lust, and everything in between.
REVIEWWWWWWWWWW PLEASEEEEEEEEE. I have the next chapter written, I suppose I'll post it in a bit after everyone's had a chance to review and such.