Santana had thought she knew what it was like to be completely relaxed and comfortable and happy. She was wrong. This, this was true domestic bliss. Cooking, cleaning, taking care of Beth, snuggling on the couch watching a movie and missing the ending because they were making out or asleep, napping when Beth napped, making love at night until physical exhaustion demanded rest.

It was only two days, but it was two of the most enjoyable two days of her life.

When Shelby set her alarm clock Sunday night before crawling into bed, Santana's mood fell. Tomorrow was Monday. Monday meant school, which meant they were going to have to pretend that none of this had happened. Shelby wouldn't be her history sub since Mr. Larson was due back, but she was subbing for a sophomore math class, and they had Trouble Tones rehearsal after school.

"It'll be fine," Shelby said, reading Santana's mind. Santana allowed herself to be kissed, deeply. "I promise." Their lovemaking was quiet, a controlled burn instead of the wildfire of the previous two nights.

The morning came too soon. Santana was alone in bed when the alarm went off, Shelby having risen at least an hour earlier with Beth's schedule. She fumbled with the unfamiliar clock, hoping she turned it off as opposed to just snoozing it, and rolled out of bed and into the shower. It wasn't until she was combing her hair that she realized she had nothing to wear to school that day. Sure, Shelby's weekend-wear worked fine in a pinch, but she couldn't go to school in workout clothes or Shelby's sophisticated wardrobe. Neither was her style. She also remembered that she'd left her car in the Lima Bean parking lot. She hoped it hadn't been towed. She moved quickly to dress in her temporarily loaned clothes and left her hair wet, pulling it into its usual high ponytail. Shelby was packing Beth's diaper bag when she rushed through the living room, tugging her boots on.

"Where's the fire?" Shelby asked, dumping a final scoop of powdered formula into a bottle that was going to day care.

"I don't have anything to wear. And my car is still at the Lima Bean. I hope."

"It's okay, I'll take you." Shelby moved more quickly, packing the day's snacks and accessories with practiced ease.

"I can't wear this," Santana gestured at the grey sweatpants she was wearing with her black designer boots. "And we can't show up at school together."

Shelby laughed. "To your car." She put on her coat and boots – she must change into those killer heels at school – and wrestled Beth into her little coat and hat and grabbed her keys and purse. Santana grabbed the diaper bag and her own purse and held the door for Shelby as she carried Beth out to her SUV parked in the adjacent garage.

Santana was stressed. She hated being late on accident. Being late by choice, to make an entrance, that was a whole other matter. Being late because she planned poorly was a personal embarrassment. She felt herself calm a bit when Shelby leaned across the console between them to bring their lips together.

"While we still can," Shelby said when she sat back and started the engine. Santana exhaled, feeling a bit shaken by the adrenaline of rushing around and the reality that they were about to begin playing a very dangerous game of shadows. "It'll be all right," Shelby said reassuringly, reaching over and finding Santana's hand to hold as they drove the few blocks to the coffee shop where they had had their study session Friday evening. It felt like a lifetime ago.

Santana breathed a sigh of relief when her black BMW was still sitting in the parking lot. She hopped out of Shelby's vehicle hastily, needing to rush home to change and get to school on time, and needing to avoid the urge to kiss her goodbye.

"See you at rehearsal," Shelby called before Santana slammed the door. Santana smiled and waved from her own car before speeding back to Lima Heights Adjacent.


School wasn't as difficult as Santana had feared. She only saw Shelby in the halls once between classes, and she managed a casual greeting as they passed. She even enjoyed her American History class. She missed Shelby being the class's substitute, but found that she had retained everything they had covered at the Lima Bean Friday night. Her hand was first to go up every time Mr. Larson asked a question. She loved being right.

The true test came after school. She waited in the Trouble Tones rehearsal room with Mercedes, Brittany, Sugar, and the rest of the girls making small talk about their weekends – Santana said she and her parents had gone to Columbus – and grumbling about their second place finish at Sectionals. When she heard Shelby's heels clicking down the hallway toward their room, her heart raced.

"Hi, girls," Ms. Corcoran said as she entered, a stack of sheet music and songbooks in her arm. "I know we're all bummed out about Sectionals, but that doesn't mean we give up working toward perfection – for ourselves, not for Tickles the Clown."

She spread out the music selections across the top of the piano so the girls could see the titles: all songs from the big Broadway musicals – Phantom of the Opera, Les Misérables, Hair, A Chorus Line, Cabaret, Evita, Annie, Chicago, Gypsy.

"I want each of you to pick your favorite song from your favorite show. For three weeks you will work on it with me and on your own, and perform it in front of the rest of the group. Your peers will score your performance, and you will write me a 500-word essay on your performance and experience in the Trouble Tones."

"We have to write something?" Brittany asked, looking worried.

"Yeah Ms. C. I didn't join the Trouble Tones to be judged by my peers and write papers. I get that we lost, but our season's over. Why are we being punished?"

"This isn't a punishment, Mercedes. Our season may be over, but your lives are just beginning. We spend our entire lives being judged by our peers. Most of you will be going off to college next year, entering the workforce. That's real competition. Solo competition. It's a rarity that someone has your back. Most people are waiting for your failure so they can capitalize upon it."

"I'm not worried," Sugar chirped, unfazed as always, Annie already in her hands. "I'm destined for success, my daddy always says."

Santana chimed in, trying to maintain her usual confident, domineering demeanor. "So when I win, what's the prize?"

Shelby smiled, her left eye twitching in what Santana wondered was meant to be a wink. "That remains to be seen."

"Don't get ahead of yourself, Santana," Mercedes chided, reaching for the Hair songbook.

They weren't to let anyone hear or see their performance until competition, which meant they each signed up for a twice-weekly private after-school rehearsal time. Santana grabbed the signup sheet and claimed the first spot for her own before anyone else could. 2:30 to 3:00 Tuesday and Thursday was hers.

The rest of rehearsal was spent photocopying sheet music and discussing their songs with Ms. Corcoran, with some girls kicking around performance ideas with one another, others being highly secretive.

"Santana?"

Santana looked up from the Chicago songbook in her lap at Shelby waiting in the doorway.

"Have your song picked out?"

Santana held up the music book, not keen on announcing her choice in front of the rest of the group.

"Let's go get your copies made." Shelby smiled and waited for Santana to join her before turning and walking toward the teacher's lounge where the big school photocopier was kept.

"Hi," Santana said after a few steps.

"Hi," Shelby replied, glancing down at Santana. She was a couple inches taller now that she was in heels. "What did you decide?"

It was difficult to walk down the empty hallway side-by-side with Shelby and not reach out to link their hands, or arms, or lips; she made sure to keep a safe distance between them. She opened the songbook, holding it so Shelby could see the title.

"'All That Jazz'? I should have guessed."

"A sultry jazz number? Please. I got this."

Shelby chuckled and held the door marked TEACHERS' LOUNGE open for Santana. "I'm sure you do."

When Shelby closed the door behind them, Santana resisted the urge to flip the lock and push Shelby up against it. Instead, she followed her to the photocopier and gave Shelby the book to let her copy the proper pages.

"Any ideas for your performance yet?" Shelby asked, noticeably avoiding eye contact.

"I'll probably just recreate Catherine Zeta-Jones' from the movie. That was sexy."

"Not putting any originality into it?"

"I didn't say that," Santana retorted, almost letting herself get defensive. "I just haven't gotten that far yet."

"I can help you come up with some ideas. What time did you sign up for?"

"Tuesday/Thursday at 2:30."

"Eager to get started," Shelby said as she flipped the songbook to copy another page.

"Eager to see you," Santana said quietly, daring to reach out and let her hand rest on Shelby's lower back for a moment.

Shelby's eyes fluttered and closed. She took a breath. "We need to be careful."

Santana took her hand away, but she understood. "I know. We're doing okay so far, right?"

"Yes," Shelby said after wetting her lips. She wore a bright smile when she turned to face Santana and pulled the stack of warm photocopies off the tray. "All done." She seemed to hesitate before striding for the door to walk back to the rehearsal room, Santana by her side.

"Mercedes?" Shelby called when she stopped at the doorway, letting Santana walk past her. "See you tomorrow, Santana."

Santana hesitated before gathering her things. She had anticipated waiting for Shelby to be finished with the girls and maybe taking her to dinner, or at least visiting her later in the evening; certainly she hadn't expected, 'See you tomorrow.' She wiped the look of disappointment off her face before turning with a smile.

"Sure, Ms. C."


'Tomorrow' couldn't come soon enough, as far as Santana was concerned. She knew she was being overzealous, letting her feelings dangerously overflow. She didn't want to be here, in her bed, staring up at the ceiling. She wanted to be in Shelby's bed, staring up at Shelby. She had to stop herself from giving in to the thoughts swirling through her mind and forced herself to sleep – tomorrow would be better if she didn't give in, alone, tonight.

Santana didn't see Shelby in the halls at all the next day. It seemed to be one of those rare days when all of McKinley High's teachers were present.

When the bell rang at 2:30, Santana felt heat rush over her. Rehearsal was what was scheduled, but there would be no rehearsing if she had her say. As she walked toward Shelby's room, she could hear her plucking out the opening beats of "All That Jazz" on the piano. Shelby was apparently anticipating a rehearsal. She looked up when Santana entered.

"Hi! How was your…"

Santana closed the door behind her, immediately locking it. She turned and pulled the shade over its window without saying a word.

"…day. Um, Santana…?"

Santana ignored the question and stalked forward. She knew what she wanted. She knew Shelby knew. She caught Shelby's chin in her hand and was kissing her before she had sat down astride the piano bench. Shelby whimpered and Santana pulled back.

"Shh."

"We can't do this here."

Santana reached for the buttons on Shelby's wine-colored silk blouse, undoing them quickly. "Yes we can."

"We agreed to be careful." Shelby wasn't stopping her, just protesting. Weakly.

"And we will be." She pulled the cover down over the piano's keyboard and brought their mouths back together before her hands slid inside Shelby's loosened shirt, moving over her breasts. She'd missed their soft curves.

She felt Shelby sigh, and then her cool hands resting on her knees. She could feel her fingers twitching with desire.

"Touch me," she breathed against Shelby's lips. "Please." She took her hands from Shelby's breasts to unbutton her own jeans – she should have planned her wardrobe better, she realized, but it was too late now.

Shelby wasn't hesitating anymore. She pushed her tongue into Santana's mouth as she pushed her hand down the front of her jeans. Santana exhaled hard, remembering not to moan. She reached for Shelby, but the angle was awkward, and Shelby's arm was in the way.

"I can't reach you," she whispered between kisses.

Shelby stood, pulling Santana with her, and moved to mirror the way Santana was straddling the bench, but her skirt stopped her.

"Why do you always wear these tight skirts?" Santana asked as she reached for the hem. "You drive me fucking crazy with them."

Shelby quirked a smile. "Language. You kiss your mother with that mouth?"

"Just you," Santana said as she pushed Shelby's pencil skirt up until they could sit down again. She accidentally groaned when Shelby anticipated the move and slid her fingers firmly home when she sat.

"Shh," Shelby reminded before kissing her and pulling Santana's hand between her legs.

Santana couldn't believe they were actually doing this. It was beyond erotic. They kissed until it was too difficult, settling for breathing against each other's mouths.

When Shelby's hand accidentally hit the piano, Shelby froze, and then smiled when she understood why Santana had pulled the cover over the keys. The piano remained blissfully silent. She kissed Santana with renewed energy and used her grip on the piano for leverage.

Shelby's tongue back in her mouth was enough to do it for Santana. She whimpered, and breathed hard, and squeezed Shelby's thigh with her free hand, hoping that was enough communication.

"Me, too," Shelby whispered before covering Santana's mouth with her own again.

Santana grabbed the back of Shelby's neck, holding onto her for dear life as they climaxed together. They kissed until their bodies began to calm, until Santana felt like she was going to suffocate from the heat. She broke away with a gasp and let her head drop to Shelby's shoulder. She pressed a wet kiss to her neck and breathed on it, seeing goosebumps rise. She felt Shelby's arm wrap around her back, pulling her closer.

"I can't believe we just did that," Shelby said quietly, still a bit winded, her chin resting on Santana's shoulder.

"Me neither," Santana breathed. She felt Shelby playing with her hair and closed her eyes.

"You planned it."

"Maybe," Santana replied, pressing another kiss to Shelby's neck. She couldn't see the clock from her angle, and she hated to ask, but knew she had to. "What time is it?"

Shelby snorted a laugh, and Santana lifted her head and sat back. "What?"

"Not even 2:40."

"Shit," Santana said with a laugh, and then covered her mouth, her eyes smiling at the look of mock scolding Shelby was giving her. "Shoot. That was fast."

Shelby placed a soft kiss on her lips and wiggled her hand out of Santana's jeans. "That was hot."

Santana grinned and reclaimed her own hand. "So hot."

Shelby brushed the back of her hand against Santana's face and stood, shuffling backwards a bit awkwardly until she was away from the piano bench and rolled her skirt back down her thighs. "Bathroom. Then let's try to get some actual rehearsal in."

Santana stood and buttoned her jeans, starting to follow Shelby.

"Uh uh," Shelby said, stopping. "I'm going to the teachers' lounge. I'll meet you back here in a few minutes." She peered around the shade as casually as she could and, seemingly satisfied, unlocked the door, opened it, and walked away.

Santana rushed toward the girls' restroom, resisting the urge to skip.

Shelby was at the piano again by the time she returned, playing through her chosen song. She glanced up when Santana entered and smiled, nodding for her to close the door. Santana left it unlocked this time, though.

"Are you ready?" Shelby asked, not pausing her playing. She shifted her eyes to the sheet music waiting on the back of the piano, winding the melody back to the intro.

"Sure," Santana smiled, glancing at the lyrics briefly.

"I'm not wearing underwear," Shelby said as casually as she'd greeted her.

Santana gaped.

"They were wet." Shelby was still playing the song's introduction on repeat, as though she were discussing syncopated rhythm and not her lack of underwear.

"Um, where…are they?" Santana stuttered. Not that it mattered. She wanted to lock that door again and make her scream.

"I don't remember. Maybe they'll show up somewhere. Ready?" She played the introduction one more time, louder, prompting Santana to come in.

"Come on, babe, why don't we paint the town – and all that jazz," Santana sang. "I'm gonna rouge my knees and roll my stockings down –"

"Good. Now, sultry," Shelby said quickly.

It wasn't difficult, given the way her hormones were racing. "– and all that jazz. Start the car, I know a whoopee spot where the gin is cold but the piano's hot."

Twenty minutes later, Santana had gotten herself fully under control and was enjoying working through the song with Shelby. They were chatting about potential choreography when Sugar knocked on the door and walked in without a response.

"Hey Ms. Corcoran. Wow, Santana, you sounded amazing. I know we aren't supposed to listen in, but I couldn't help it. By the way, Ms. Corcoran, my dad sent this paper with me, he said to give it to you to sign and bring it home with me."

"Sure," Shelby replied. "Santana, do you have a pen in your bag?"

"Yeah," Santana shifted her backpack around so she could dig through the zippered front pocket, freezing when she unzipped it. She glanced up to see Shelby waiting patiently, hand outstretched, eyebrow quirked teasingly.

"Find anything?"

"Yeah, I did," Santana said, clearing her throat as she stuffed the lavender-colored panties into a corner of her bag to find a pen to lend to Shelby. "Here."

"Thank you," Shelby said as she signed Sugar's document and gave it back. "See you Thursday."

"Bye," Santana managed, images flooding her mind of Shelby straddling the piano bench, of Shelby and her tight skirts, of Shelby wearing nothing beneath her skirt right now. She let her bag swing back and pushed passed Sugar, needing to get some fresh air.