A/N: Thanks for the follows, favorites, and reviews, ya'll :)

Chapter 2

"Hey, Cruz." Santana barely looked up. Quinn didn't know if she hadn't heard her, didn't recognize her fake last name, or was just continuing to blatantly ignore her.

Quinn had ended up coming alone tonight to Santana's place of employment. Rachel had given her the name of the bar and rough directions, but she herself had refused to come along. She was too afraid of getting jostled in a crowded bar; plus, she worried that if she ordered a nonalcoholic drink, she'd get hosed down with water like a sorority girl at Spring Break. She'd seen the movie, after all. She knew what kind of shenanigans happened at this place.

When Santana finally looked up and leveled her dark gaze on Quinn, she appeared neither surprised nor impressed that Quinn had tracked her down at work. "To what do I owe the pleasure, Quinn?" she said, her face maddeningly unreadable. "You checking out how the Other Half lives?"

Quinn had hoped she could catch the other woman off-guard, but Santana looked as collected as ever. She could count on one hand the times the Latina had truly let her guard down in front of her. "Why have you been ignoring me?" she demanded.

"I don't know what you're talking about." Santana wiped her hands, slightly sticky from pouring shots all night, on the front of her tiny black booty shorts. After spending the majority of her high school career in a cheerleading skirt, she was used to the minimal clothing her new job demanded.

Her top, a white tank top with the bar's name screen-printed on the front, dipped low and afforded Quinn – and every other person in the bar – a clear view of her man-made cleavage. Quinn knew it was hypocritical to judge her for the high school breast job when she herself had had her face surgically remolded to transform from Lucy Quinn to just Quinn. It ended up being something else they had in common – stifling low self-esteem that pushed them to extremes.

"You haven't responded to any of my calls or emails in weeks," Quinn noted, arching a challenging eyebrow. "And since I've been in New York you haven't said two words to me."

Santana shrugged. She grabbed a bar towel and began wiping down the bar top. "I've just been busy. Not everything is about you, Fabray."

"Too busy to even text me?" Quinn was unconvinced. "It sure feels a whole lot like you've been avoiding me."

"I'm talking to you right now, aren't I?" Santana filled a glass pint with beer from the tap and shoved it down the bar to a waiting patron.

"Yeah, but that's because you're at work. You can't be rude to me and you can't run away."

"That's where you're wrong, Q. I get bonus points for being a bitch – the tourists eat that shit up. It's half the reason I decided to work at this dump." She glared at the man standing next to Quinn. "I'm gonna start charging you for that real estate you're taking up if you don't order something soon," she barked as if proving her point.

He mumbled something about a Heineken, which Santana promptly grabbed from a cooler beneath the bar. She used her ring to snap off the bottle cap and slid the beer bottle across the smooth surface of the bar top without so much as a smile.

"And the other half?"

Santana's dark gaze swept over the bar and its patrons. "Eye candy," she said with a smirk. "Have you seen how hot my coworkers are?" Her lecherous grin widened. "Course, I'm still the hottest chick here, present company excluded," she said, nodding reverently at Quinn. "By the way, what can I get you to drink, Blondie?"

"Can you actually make mixed drinks or are you just a pretty face?" Quinn returned. She'd come here tonight, not really knowing what to expect, but she was starting to feel a little braver, and she hadn't even had anything to drink yet. She took that as a good sign.

"Let me guess…" Santana leaned across the bar, closer to Quinn, her flat stomach pressing against her side of the bar top. "You like your booze like you like your women – something sweet and girlie."

Quinn wasn't going to take the bait. "Whiskey. Neat."

Santana barked out a humorless laugh.

"Is something funny?" Quinn asked, quirking a pale eyebrow.

"We don't have tea cups, Fabray."

Quinn didn't find the humor in Santana's suggestion. She had impeccable manners, yes, but she wasn't the one with the Trust Fund.

When it was clear Quinn wasn't going to continue this charged back-and-forth, Santana poured her the drink. When Quinn reached for her purse, Santana held up her hands. "It's on the house," she grunted. "You should get some reward for taking time outta your busy schedule to come all this way to save Berry."

Quinn pressed her lips together. "Thanks." She lifted the well drink to her lips and took an experimental sip. The whiskey burned when it hit the back of her tongue, but she remained impassive so as to not do something else Santana could taunt her about.

"Well as you can see, I've actually got to work; I can't entertain you all night. But feel free to stick around and enjoy the show," Santana winked. "Rumor has it some hot Latina chick is singing tonight."

Quinn nodded, impassive. She turned away from the bar and Santana and inspected the growing crowds at Coyote Ugly. The bar was far from her scene, but she tried not to judge. It was one of the many things she was trying to stop doing in her attempt to break away from High School Quinn Fabray.

The music over the PA system became perceptively louder and some kind of alarm started going off. The bar patrons, rather than looking worried or rushing to the closest exit, made a collective cheer. When a few of the bar staff scrambled on top of the bar, Quinn realized what was happening. The show was about to begin.

She immediately recognized the song as the opening notes blared over the speakers. The other bar patrons whistled and cheered in anticipation. A spotlight turned on and shown down on Santana who stood in the center of the main bar. That easy, maddening smirk curled the edges of her generous mouth. She brought a microphone up to her mouth. "Welcome to Coyote Ugly."

The crowd erupted with another shrill cheer and even Quinn couldn't help smiling. There was something so natural and right about Santana being the center of attention. She'd never before witnessed someone completely captivate a room with just their raw energy. It was undeniable that Rachel Berry had a talent, but that was only after opening her mouth. All Santana had to do is stand there. "Make sure you tip your bartenders."

The song picked up and Santana launched into a practiced routine. A few other employees danced on either side of the bar top, but it was clear that Santana was the star of the performance.

Santana had always possessed an abundance of life. Other people, Quinn included, were just going through the motions. And nowhere was this more apparent as when Santana performed. Even if she was only singing over the jukebox and dancing for a few hundred co-ed spring breakers, at least she was still performing. Quinn didn't even sing in the shower anymore.

A leggy brunette wiggled her way closer to Santana on the bar top stage. She wore the same standard white tank top and illegally short shorts as the other Coyote Ugly employees, so she looked like part of the act and not just an over-exuberant patron. Santana's broad smile curved into a leer and she beckoned for her coworker to dance a little closer. Soon, they were dancing back to back, both shaking their hips to the too-loud music.

Quinn tried to appreciate the performance in an objective, detached way, but she couldn't help the anger coiling in her stomach whenever the dark brunette bartender flashed a flirtatious smile in Santana's direction. She looked altogether too cozy, flinging an arm around Santana's shoulders as they sang the chorus together. Quinn cringed. The other bartender sounded horrible and clearly had never heard of harmonizing. This wasn't a real show, she decided after not too long. It was glorified karaoke. She was glad Rachel had decided not join her tonight. The pint-sized diva would have complained the entire time.

When the song came to an end, Quinn grabbed her things. She had seen enough and the whiskey she'd ordered wasn't going down without a fight. The trip to the obnoxious tourist-club had been a complete waste of time. This wasn't the time or the place to confront Santana.

But just when she was feeling resigned and had convinced herself it was time to go, Santana appeared at her table, looking a little flushed and breathless from the energetic performance. "You're still here."

"Don't worry." Quinn wiggled out of her booth seat. "I was just about to leave."

Something flashed across Santana's face, some unreadable emotion that Quinn wasn't able to place before it disappeared altogether. "I'm done with my shift," Santana said. "Some of the girls wanna go dancing at a gay club in the Village."

"That's nice."

Santana sighed dramatically. "Do you wanna come with or do you have to get home to Tubbers?"

Quinn clutched her purse a little tighter. "That's not a very nice name. It wasn't nice when you called me it in high school, and it certainly isn't nice to call Rachel now."

Santana rolled her eyes. "I'm glad you've turned into the Defend-Berry-Crusader," she snarled.

"What's your problem?" Quinn put her hand on her hip. "Why this attitude?"

"I'm always like this," Santana said, looking away briefly. "You just haven't been around me lately."

"And whose fault is that?" Quinn challenged. She tilted her chin up. "You've been ignoring me since Valentine's Day."

Santana's eyes flashed angrily. "Well it certainly didn't take you long after hearing the news about Rachel to come running to New York and save the day. I could be shooting up distress flares over here and you wouldn't have noticed."

"I came here to see you too, Santana," Quinn shot back, not letting her play the victim. "I felt obligated to talk with Rachel though. I know what she's going through – an unplanned teenage pregnancy with a guy who's not your actual boyfriend? It's all scarily familiar."

"I suppose so," Santana snorted noncommittally.

Santana's response infuriated Quinn. No one could push her buttons so quickly and efficiently as the Latina it seemed. In more ways than one. Half the time she didn't know if she wanted to punch her or fuck her. The intensity of those emotions honestly frightened her.

"So are you coming or not?"

Quinn narrowed her eyes. "I'm coming."

Quinn always felt a little nervous when she used her fake ID to get into a bar or a club. She'd originally gotten it so she could get into more places with Richard, her psychology professor, but since Valentine's Day she hadn't had a reason to use it. Richard still called – she just chose to ignore his invitations. It was just a matter of time before he moved on to another freshman girl she figured.

The bouncer at the Greenwich Village bar barely gave her ID a glance before taking her cover-charge money and offering a lukewarm welcome to her and the other women in her group. Quinn didn't know why she'd thought an entourage of five attractive women would have caused more of a scene at the queer establishment, but the butch bouncer had looked unimpressed.

Once inside, they elbowed their way to the bar and successfully ordered drinks. For a few moments afterwards they hovered hear the bar, just sipping their alcohol and bobbing to the music until a booth opened up. Quinn found herself being ushered in the direction of the recently vacated table and promptly squeezed between a blonde and redhead while Santana and the disconcerting brunette from before sat on the other side. They'd all introduced themselves during the cab ride from Coyote Ugly to the Village, but Quinn had been too preoccupied with the way Santana and the brunette had been talking, heads bent close together, to pay attention or remember their names now.

"God my feet are killing me," the redheaded girl with a cute upturned nose complained as she eased onto the bench seat. "Those new boots pinched the hell out of my toes all night."

"But at least you looked hot in them," the blonde girl responded.

The redhead raised her glass. "Hell yeah, I did.

Quinn wondered if all the girls at the table were gay. None of them looked wide-eyed or uncomfortable being at the Village club, but perhaps that just came with the experience of working at a bar like Coyote Ugly. She hoped she didn't look like the poor country cousin, slack-jawed and blinking at cross-dressing men and women unabashedly making out in the darkened corners of the bar. She liked to think of herself as cosmopolitan – her family had taken numerous out-of-country vacations when she was younger – but New York City's nightlife made her feel like she was on a different planet altogether.

"So how do you two know each other?"

Quinn snapped her attention back to the table. The redhead stared at her intently, waiting for a response. "We went to high school together back in the day," Quinn supplied. It had been less than a year since graduation, but their fake IDs suggested otherwise.

"Oh, in Alaska?"

Quinn shot a look in Santana's direction, but the Latina only shrugged.

"Yeah. Alaska." Quinn had no idea what kind of Tall Tales Santana had been weaving, but she wasn't going to be responsible for blowing her cover. Quinn herself was skilled in the practice of half-truths. She hadn't recently had the opportunity to practice her craft, but she figured it was like riding a bicycle.

"Do you live here?"

"No, Quinn's too fancy for this rat-infested town," Santana interjected before Quinn could respond. "She goes to Yale."

"Holy shit," the redhead swore. "Like Yale Yale? You must be a total brain."

Quinn looked down at her drink cupped in her hands. "I do alright," she mumbled. Normally she was more than okay telling people she went to Yale. But in this group of girls, where she already felt out-of-place, it only made her feel like an even bigger outsider.

One of the girls from Coyote Ugly leaned closer – a tan blonde whose pigtails made her look younger than Quinn. "So what's Alaska like? I hear the male-to-female ratio is crazy – like 10 guys for every girl."

"Oh, I like those odds," the redhead chimed in. She and the blonde high-fived each other. Apparently they weren't all lesbians, after all.

"Do wild animals roam the streets?" the blonde asked.

"Pretty much," Quinn confirmed. She took a sip of her drink and tried not to visibly gag. Her Screwdriver tasted like all vodka and no orange juice. "Every once in a while a black bear would wander into town, but for the most part the animals were pretty harmless." Quinn turned her attention to Santana. The girl in question was nursing her drink. "Except remember that time when those elk trampled our campsite, Rosie?"

Santana's eyebrows lifted. "How could I forget? You were buck ass naked when that bitch took down our tent."

"Well, it's not like you had on much more," Quinn countered without hesitation. She couldn't help but notice the way the dark brunette from the bar kept looking back and forth between Santana and herself, carefully observing their interactions.

"Naked, huh?" The brunette whose name Quinn didn't care to learn hiked an eyebrow. "Sounds like there's a good story there."

Quinn plastered on her sugariest smile. "Rosie, I think you should tell it. You always tell that story the best."

Santana pursed her lips, but beyond that her Poker Face held. "I didn't come here to swap stories. I came here to dance." She rose from her seat and stared down the table. "Who's coming?" She tossed back the rest of her drink and slammed down the empty glass.

The bar brunette scrambled immediately to her feet. "I'll dance."

Why doesn't that surprise me? Quinn silently fumed.

Santana's gaze fell hard on Quinn, who had remained seated. "You coming, Q?" She nodded in the direction of the busy dance floor teeming with young, willing and attractive bodies.

Quinn made a big show of wiggling into her seat. "No. I'm fine right here. I think I'll make friends."

Santana licked her lips. Her expression was unreadable. "Suit yourself."

Quinn tried to be polite and pay attention to the women with whom she was sitting. They were all attractive and were paying keen attention to everything Quinn said. But she continually found her gaze being pulled in the direction of the dance floor.

That Santana was a provocative dancer didn't surprise her. She looked at home in the center of the dance floor just as she'd looked like a natural with the spotlight on her at Coyote Ugly with people chanting her name, albeit a false name. But what was disarming is the way Santana's heated gaze continually returned to Quinn's table. She didn't know what that was about.

Despite the invite to the club and the later invite to dance, she still felt like a third-wheel. She hated this feeling. She didn't know why Santana needed to have all these other girls with them tonight. She was only in town for the weekend; why couldn't Santana have ditched her coworkers for one night so they could spend time together and talk?

The redhead and blonde at her table continued to chatter uselessly, but their words muffled together like the adults' voices in a Charlie Brown cartoon. All Quinn could focus on was the fiery Latina wiggling and grinding on the dance floor, looking like she hadn't a care in the world, and how that bitch brunette from the bar clung to her like a koala bear on a eucalyptus tree.

Quinn recognized the emotion. Jealousy. When she saw Santana leave the dance floor by herself and walk in the direction of the neon-signed bathrooms at the far end of the club, Quinn stood up and excused herself from the table.

It was now or never, Quinn told herself as she maneuvered through crowds of drag queens and women with alternative-lifestyle haircuts. She didn't exactly know what she was going to say to Santana once she cornered her in the women's bathroom. She only knew she couldn't continue to idly stand by while Santana ignored her for the attention of other women.

Quinn pushed the bathroom door open to find Santana standing in front of a row of sinks, washing her hands. Even under the unflattering halogen lights of the women's bathroom, she looked undeniably edible. Before leaving Coyote Ugly, she'd changed out of her uniform. Gone was the trashy white tank top and black booty shorts, replaced by a form-fitting pale yellow dress that contrasted attractively with her dark complexion. Quinn's hazel gaze swept from her raven hair, pulled back into a long ponytail; to the thin, but muscled arms and the capable hands currently working up a sudsy lather; down to feminine, yet defined calf muscles, propped up in black heels. Her skin was slightly flushed from her activities on the dance floor.

Santana looked up into the vanity mirror when the restroom door swung wide open. Quinn glared at her from just inside the entryway. "What?" Santana demanded. She grabbed some paper towel and dried off her hands.

"Why did you insist on bringing me here tonight if you were just going to ignore me?" Quinn put her hands on her hips. "I could be back at your apartment being ignored instead."

Santana spun away from the mirror. "I didn't bring you here, Quinn. I just invited you to tag along. This isn't a date," she snorted.

"I never said it was a date, Santana," Quinn angrily shot back. "Just because we had sex doesn't mean I want to date you now."

There. She'd said it. Out loud. They'd had sex. She felt her knees buckle and she grabbed onto the paper towel dispenser with one hand for stability.

"Don't flatter yourself," Santana scoffed. "You were never on my radar to begin with."

"So it's gonna be like that?"

Santana shrugged. "Don't know what to tell you."

"So you wouldn't have a problem with me taking someone home tonight?" Quinn challenged.

Santana didn't hesitate. "The Hobbit might freak out a little. She's weird about strangers in the apartment. Plus, I think she's always had a crush on you."

"I'm not talking about Rachel," Quinn growled. "I'm talking about you."

"Go ahead and get your mack on, Q," Santana encouraged. "Have fun." A lazy grin settled onto her lips. "I'll even buy the next round and help grease the wheels."

"You're an idiot."

Quinn grabbed the other woman on either side of her head, practically tearing her ears off, and pulled her in for a crushing kiss. Their bodies smashed together inelegantly, hips knocking against each others. Quinn dropped one hand to Santana's hip and grabbed a fistful of dress, pulling her impossibly closer. She pressed her lips hard against Santana's, nothing gentle about the embrace. She wanted to make Santana feel her. She needed Santana to feel something.

Just as abruptly as she'd started the kiss, Quinn jerked away. Santana licked her kiss-swollen lips and stared at the blonde. Quinn's eyes were darker than she'd ever seen them.

Santana's heart leapt in her throat at Quinn's next words: "Take me home, Santana."

TBC

A/N2: *wicked laugh* I love cliffhangers. How about you?

A/N3: If you've read my other stories here at or have checked out my profile, you know I also write original stories as well as fan fiction. My latest novel, Winter Jacket was released yesterday and is now available at Amazon in hard copy or e-book. I hope you'll check it out! - Eliza Lentzski