Disclaimer: I own nothing.

A/N: Huh. So something weird happened. I tried out Jesse/Santana. I don't even ship them. And then I got, like, a lot of reviews. This was intended as a one-shot, but so many people asked for more that I decided on a second part, possibly a few more chapters, and maybe a sequel. So by popular demand, here it is.

"I need to leave."

"Um...explain?"

"Because he's here."

"So?"

"He can't see me with you. You do realize that if he sees you, he'll kick the crap out of you and ask me to have sex with him, right? I really don't feel like sex right now."

"Why?"

"Excuse me?"

"Oh, no, sorry, I meant why would he try to beat me up?"

"You were just discovered as a spy out to destroy us, remember? And you're a total man-diva. Nothing pisses him off more than that."

"Right."

"So, run, for crying out loud!"

"Can I come with you?"

"What?"

"Can. I. Come. With. You?"

"Like...to my house?"

"No, to your barn."

"Whatever."

Santana wondered how exactly she ended up from a casual night at a bar to sitting in her room playing Twenty Fucking Questions with Jesse St. Jackass of all people. About three minutes after they had met at the bar and had been talking, Puck showed up, and afraid of being seen by her player fuck buddy with the king of goodie two-shoes-ness, she ducked out the door and he followed her.

"Shoot."

"What?" Santana asked dazedly.

Jesse rolled his eyes. "You're so out of it. It's your turn, remember?"

"Right," she mumbled into her pillow. "Okay, here's my question. You chose such a girly game. Plus it's super boring. So why are you such a girl?"

Jesse looked her dead in the eye, confused. "I'm sorry? Do you want to see my menacing face? Because I can totally pull that off." He proceeded to pull his face into some sort of weird expression, which ended up looking more like a grimace than anything else. His face contorted on every angle and he finally stopped, insulted, when Santana began giggle uncontrollably.

"Stop, stop, just stop," she laughed. "You're such a weirdo."

"I'm not a weirdo. It's called acting."

"Well, then, you're a bad actor."

"I shouldn't be here. You're corrupting me and damaging my self esteem at the same time."

"Oh, shut up, Jessica."

"That's it," he yelled, grunting as he grabbed a gigantic pillow off her queen-sized bed and whacked her in the face.

"Oh, it's on."

Well. It was more fun than Twenty Questions.

2 hours later.

"Shit. That was exhausting."

"What, the pillow fight or having sex?"

"Both. Oh, stop grinning like an idiot. Yes, it was good, to answer your next question, and when I said I didn't want to have sex earlier at the bar, I meant with Puck."

"Oh, so that didn't apply to me?"

"No. I have more willpower than that."

"Uh-huh. So you'd never go out with me if I asked you?"

"Only if I wanted to."

"Okay, fine."

"Hmph."

"Santana?"

"What is it, St. Jerkface?"

"Dinner Saturday?"

"Whatever."