I rest my hands on either side of the sink as I stare absentmindedly into the water that is coming out of the faucet in front of me. I have probably been in the bathroom long enough to attract unwanted attention, but I don't really care at the moment. I just really needed to find a place to myself for a brief moment to gather my thoughts, and the bathroom seemed like the only logical solution. I glance up into the mirror to meet my own eyes, filled with doubt and, if I squint hard enough, something that closely resembles fear.

"What're you even doing, Santana," I ask my reflection. I stare at myself for three more seconds before shaking my head and returning my attention to the water below me.

I rub my hands together, working the coconut scented soap into a bubbly lather as I replay everything that has happened thus far at this failed wedding. It all started when I was standing outside of the chapel, just out of anyone's line of sight, where I was working up the courage to finally make my way inside. I knew I'd be seeing Brittany and Sam together, and it was just taking me a few minutes to work up the nerve to face it. I didn't even notice her come up beside me until she had spoken up.

"Are you actually going to go inside, S, or just try and listen to the nuptials from out here?" She had said to me, her smirk clearly evident in the tone of her voice.

"I'm just giving everyone ample time to get settled before I go inside. I'm far too hot to be moseying in with the rest of the mediocre looking." She rolled her eyes at my retort, but smiled anyway.

"Such a typical response."

"Well, I'd ask you the same question, Q. What are you still doing out here ice princess?" I had asked, finally turning to face her.

"Same as you. Biding my time before I go in. I almost didn't even come back for this," she admitted, as she turned back to face the chapel. "It doesn't feel like home anymore."

I nodded silently in agreement. I knew exactly what she meant by that, because the more time I spend away from Lima, the more and more it becomes unrecognizable. "Rachel says the same thing."

"So, do you want me to hold your hand on the way in to keep you stabilized or what," she asked, her smirk from earlier returning.

"Please. I can handle this like I can handle Puckerman on his horniest of days."

"Fine, I'll see you inside then," she said innocently before she turned towards the chapel. Before I could stop myself I had reached out and tugged on her sleeve.

"Wait, just hold on for a minute," I winced at the pathetic tone in my voice.

"Yes?" I wanted to slap her feigned look of innocence right off her face.

"Maybe, you know. We can walk in together. I mean, you're not nearly as hot as I am, but you're still a far cry from everyone in there. Might as well garner as much attention as possible." I tried to be as cool as possible, but I'm sure the apprehension in my voice was obvious to Quinn; she had always been so damn observant.

"I never thought I'd see the day where Santana Lopez would be nervous to run into an ex," she had teased with a shoulder bump. It was enough to result in the immediate aversion of my eyes, and my typical foot scuffing. I hated how accurate her assumption was, but I could do nothing to even remotely pretend that THAT wasn't the case at all. Even though it was my decision to break up my long distance relationship with Brit, I was still devastated to find out she had moved on so quickly. And to make matters worse, with Trouty Mouth. You can imagine how shocked I was since I could have sworn it was just last year ago when he was madly in love with Mercedes. Quinn had hit a still very sensitive subject, and to her credit, she knew it the minute the words came out of her mouth

Her expression immediately softened, and she apologetically rested her hand on my crossed forearms. "I'm sorry, San. That was a bad joke on my part. Listen, I have a feeling tonight is going to be a very long night. How about we stick together?" I nodded with a small smile to show my appreciation and we walked into the chapel together. We had been inseparable the remainder of the evening.

Now here I am, cowardly hiding away in the women's restroom struggling to figure out just what the hell is going on. Let's recap shall we:

At the church she made a comment about hating all men, and then referenced Gloria Steinem, probably one of the gayest straight feminists out there. When we got to the reception she immediately pulled me onto the dance floor with her, even after she had received several invitations from some, I'll admit, attractive men. Then, after I dragged her to the bar where we flashed our fake ID's, she complimented my dress while grazing her hand up my arm in a manner deemed a little more than platonic.

While we continued to harbor our alcohol craving we engaged in probably the most genuine conversation we'd ever exchanged in our entire friendship. She asked about my life in New York, and how well I was adjusting to living with the wannabe Barbara Streisand and Lady Pants. She even went as far as to say how proud she was of me for following my dreams and not settling for Louisville when she knew it wasn't what I really wanted. And I, in turn, inquired about things in New Haven and surprised myself when I realized that I was actually genuinely interested in what had been going on in her life. Even more than that, I was actually happy things were going her way. And just before I retreated to the restroom to gather my thoughts, she admitted to enjoying slow dancing with a woman.

All that other stuff aside, I'd be lying if I said I hadn't been noticing all the lingering glances and chanced physical contact Quinn and I had been exchanging. My particular favorite was when I had some cake frosting on my bottom lip and she stepped right up to me and wiped it away with the pad of her thumb, all the while biting on her bottom lip as she did so. And even though her eyes were undeniably fixed on my lips, I couldn't ignore how the color of her normally cool hazel eyes, were now dark with arousal.

Am I really going to do this?

Everyone knows Quinn is straighter than a ruler, but right now I can't seem to shake that look in her eyes. Clearly, this is going to be something that we both can blame on our current inebriated state, not to mention that she is totally hating on the entire male population right now while I'm still recovering from the whole Bram thing. And let's face it, Quinn is fucking hot. I'll be the last one to admit it to her face, I'd sooner die than give her that satisfaction, but you would have to be completely blind not to notice it. And as much as I hate to admit it, there is something about her arrogant demeanor that drives me crazy, in both good and bad ways.

I finish washing my hands and adjust some of my loose curls around my shoulder, retouch my make up and give myself another once over through the mirror. I've weighed the pros and cons, analyzed the events of the evening and considered heavily the outcomes of any scenario. I can only raise my chin confidently and through the mirror, give my famous Santana Lopez smirk.

"Fuck it."

And just like that I'm exiting the restroom and bee-lining straight for a particular blonde.

"…And ultimately I think I've just decided to drop out of show business all together and sign up with the Ringling Brothers circus."

"Sounds great, Rach," I offer half-heartedly before I realize what exactly it is I'm agreeing to. "Wait, what the hell? There's no way I'm going to let-"

"Relax, Santana, I'm just kidding. While I've always found the circus to be quite entertaining, being around that much fire, and that many elephants scares the hell out of me. It was just my way of bringing you back to reality."

"Oh, very funny Berry. We'll see who's laughing when I've successfully smuggled three elephants wielding fiery batons into your bedroom." She smiles at me, completely unfazed by my empty threats.

"You've been quiet the entire car ride, Santana," Rachel says sympathetically. "I know you're nervous but I promise you, it will be okay."

"How many times do I have to tell you, I'm not nervous." I know that definitely wasn't the most convincing argument just by the way Rachel looks at me, so instead of instigating more harassment I, instead, turn back to the window to return to watching the trees outside as they whiz by in a blur. Kurt and Blaine picked us up twenty minutes ago, and we still have probably another ten minutes left in our travels, which is ample amount of time for me to continue to dwell in my thoughts.

I had been replaying that bathroom scene since our plane touched ground in Lima yesterday. That could have been the turning point of everything that happened between Quinn and I. At that moment, staring at myself in the mirror of that bathroom, I could have made the responsible decision to ignore everything that had happened and just continue on with the evening without letting anything else go further. But nope. I let my ego dictate my actions that night, and it was a losing battle ever since.

"Santana, you have us three. We're the only ones that know what happened between you and Quinn. Well, besides Quinn of course," Kurt offers from the passenger seat in front of me. He turns to face me, gently patting my knee to offer assurance. "You don't have anything to worry about. It's been a long time, and you my friend, are a force to be reckoned with. We'll be with you the entire night. Plus, you look fabulous."

Leave it to Hummel to make someone feel better by stroking their ego. Admittedly, I do look fabulous. Rachel made good on her word and we spent the entire day in a spa and finished the day with her glam squad getting ready for the reunion. After a much needed massage and sauna session, her team went to work on my hair, and makeup. I'm now rocking a middle part, my hair falling into loose waves down my back, and get this…highlights. I may or may not have had a minor panic attack at the idea of highlights, because I usually prefer the natural look, but the end result definitely won me over. The new do combined with my skin tight grey snakeskin dress matched with white pumps had even Blaine staring as I walked towards their car. I've never been one to shy away from attention, but even that isn't enough to ward off the butterflies in my stomach.

With my permission, Rachel had taken it upon herself to fill in Kurt and Blaine on my rocky history with Ms. Fabray. According to Rachel, they had gone through the predictable gamut of emotions: confusion, skepticism, apathy, giddiness, blah blah blah. I had to mentally prepare myself before meeting up with them, but much to my surprise I was merely met with a comforting smile from Blaine and a reassuring hug from Kurt. All he said was, "You got this girl." It wasn't much, but for whatever reason it was comforting in all the right ways. Like I said before, who would have ever guessed that I'd be best friends with Kurt Hummel and Rachel Berry?

"And Brit," I add, chancing a glance at Rachel next to me. She scrunches her brow in confusion, I'm assuming trying to pinpoint when it was exactly that I told my ex-girlfriend. "Brit knows too."

"When did you tell her?" Rachel asks, turning a little to face me better. I however do not return the gesture and simply continue looking out my window.

"Yesterday. Just after we landed. I met her for coffee. She and Sam are staying at the hotel just around the corner from McKinley." I can feel Rachel's curious glare from next to me even though I'm facing the other way, and I can definitely feel Kurt's curiosity emanating from the glances he keeps throwing my way through the visor mirror.

"And…" Rachel urges, unable to contain her curiosity.

"And, I told her," I respond casually shrugging my shoulder. Rachel crosses her arms, indicating that this response is not satisfactory. I don't know why I let her get to me. It's probably because I know just how good of a friend she is and it kills me that I've somehow developed this good conscience. "Brittany is one of my best friends, and I've never kept anything from her. Plus, I felt like I could use as many allies as possible for tonight."

"How did she take it?" This time it is Blaine who asks from the driver seat.

"She took it well. It really didn't surprise her all that much, because, according to her, there was always some sexual tension between Quinn and I. I don't know how she came to that conclusion but you all know Brit. She's always had some weird sixth sense about stuff like that."

Rachel nods accordingly, and sighs as she turns back to sit the right way in her seat. "Quinn won't be the only one there, Santana. There will be several alums that we can catch up with to keep you distracted," Rachel offers with another one of her genuine smiles.

"Speaking of others," I say turning slightly to look at Rachel. "How the hell is Artie invited to this? I mean, I understand Tina and Blaine, since they are Mike and Kurt's plus ones, and Brit because…well, Brit just always finds a way around the rules. But Artie?"

"Artie is Puck's plus one," Blaine explains, glancing at me briefly through the rear-view mirror. My eyebrows instinctively shoot up, and I'm sure that Rachel is wearing the same look of shock on her face next to me. "Not like that you guys. Puck and Artie just remained really good friends. You know, after Puck came out of juvie and declared Artie his community service. They've been best buds ever since."

I laugh quietly, kicking myself for automatically going to the gay assumption. I guess I never really paid much attention to how much Artie and Puck hung out in high school because I was too busy throwing verbal daggers at the four-eyed underclassman for stealing my woman. To be honest with you, Artie had never really done anything to me in high school, and I'm sure his being deathly afraid me played a large part in that, but still. He and the other guys from Glee were there for me during my whole coming out debacle, so that means something.

We pull into the parking lot of the posh country club that was the decided venue for our reunion, and just like that the tiny butterflies in my stomach have magically grown into Boeing 747 sized pterodactyls. The clubhouse overlooks, what I assume is the 18th hole and is surrounded by ponds and towering maple trees. Even in the dark of the night I can still make out the bright red, yellow, and orange leaves that hang loosely from the branches above. I love Los Angeles, but there's no denying the beauty of an Ohio autumn. I pull my black pea coat tighter to shield myself from the evening chill and shove my hands deep into the pockets. I glance around the parking lot at some of the other patrons making their way into the clubhouse. I recognize a few guys from the football team, and a couple of former Cheerios, but no one really worth rushing up to for an enthusiastic greeting.

Speaking of greetings, I hadn't really given much thought as to how I would tackle that particular dilemma when the time came. And now that that scenario is potentially only a few minutes away I slowly begin to panic. I scan the parking lot nervously for a familiar blonde head while in my head trying to come up with the strategy that will make me look and appear both enviously cool and ridiculously hot. However all I can picture is my signature awkward wave followed very closely by, what I'm sure will be some unintelligible noises. I'm fucking screwed.

Rachel weaves her arm around mine just as I'm taking another deep breath, exhaling slowly. She gives my arm a quick squeeze and offers me one of her award winning smiles. I feel another arm weave it's away on through my unoccupied arm, and I'm not surprised to see Kurt flanking the other side, also donning his best smile.

"God, you guys are such cheeseballs," I chastise, rolling my eyes in good nature.

"Ladies, I don't think there's any denying the fact that we are the hottest bitches here," Kurt says confidently, squealing lightly with excitement.

"I'm not normally one to boast about my appearance, as staying humble has been detrimental in keeping a good rapport with my fanbase." I sigh to myself, throwing my head back in impatience as Rachel continues to ramble on. "However, I have to agree with you this time, Kurt. We look fabulous. Especially you Santana. Mission complete."

"Oh my god, can we not you guys," I plead at both of the theatre geeks attached to my arms. "Can we just get this over with as quickly as possible?"

"Okay then, lady lover," Kurt says as he extends his free arm towards the entrance of the clubhouse. "Lead the way."

I'm slowly coming to terms with the fact that I have reached the point of no return. In a matter of minutes I will come face to face with the one person that broke me so long ago. I have, in the past nine years, created so many different scenarios in my head as to how my inevitable meeting with Quinn Fabray would play out. They've ranged anywhere from a mature, level headed approach to me resulting in a pathetic weepy mess. However, all the scenarios result in one of us storming away without ever looking back. I guess, now's a good a time as any to find out.

I take another deep breath, straighten my back and square my shoulders. I'm ready, and I've made the firm decision to accept whatever outcome is of the evening. "Okay, lady and gentlemen," I say, meeting Rachel, Kurt and Blaine in the eyes with my most convincing confidence. "Let's do this."

I don't really know what I was expecting when we walked into the banquet hall reserved for the McKinley class of 2012. I guess I was expecting the same cheesy nylon balloon decorations mixed with cheap streamers and an even tackier theme. That was, after all, what all of our high school dances consisted of, even the important ones like homecoming and prom. Not to mention we were never allowed to venture anywhere other than McKinley's very own old, dingy gym that always smelled of failure and stinky boy sweat. Well, much to my surprise, the banquet hall at the country club was nothing that I was used to.

The large room housed several round tables that each sat ten people. All the tables were decorated with ivory colored linens, a simple yet elegant fall-themed centerpiece, and several lit candles that matched the color of the linens, the light flickering from the wick matching the color of the incandescent chandeliers that hang from above. In the center of the room was an adequately sized dance floor, and just boyond that a stage and the DJ. If I craned my neck just a little bit I could see the bar in the room next door. There were no tacky decorations, or cringe-worthy appetizers that consisted of some questionable meat product wrapped in what one could only assume was an old pancake.

Patrons mingle around the room in dark colored suits and flattering cocktail dresses while carrying around glasses filled with champagne, wine, whiskey or scotch or some other amber colored beverage. Waiters and waitresses weave their way in and out of the crowd gracefully, offering platters of tuna tartar, cilantro and chili rubbed grilled prawns, or prosciutto wrapped gouda atop toasted baguettes, just to name a few. This was very much an adult party, and even though the attendees were the same people I went to high school with, nothing about any of it feels familiar in the slightest bit.

We've been at this shindig now for just over an hour and I have yet to report anything of substance. Upon entering the hall, we were immediately surrounded by Artie, Tina, Mike and Brittany. Brittany, who is always a welcomed energy, immediately wrapped me in a bear hug, kissed me on the cheek and proceeded to barrage me with compliments. Of course I had to return the gesture, because lets face it, Brits has always looked stunning and after all these years she's managed to maintain her very fit dancer's body. I have to work relatively hard at my good physique by regularly attending spin classes, going on morning runs, not to mention trying to maintain a reasonably healthy diet in my busy lifestyle. But Brittany maintains her weight and ideal tone effortlessly because what she does for a living gives her that extra perk.

Mike and Tina are living a peaceful life in Chicago where Tina is a high school English Teacher, and also in charge of their Glee club. Mike still dances, but more recreationally than professionally, teaching kids and adult hip hop dance classes on the weekends. During the week he is a Pediatrician; looks like he followed in his father's footsteps. After all that hoopla and unnecessary whining from both him and Tina he ended caving and giving in to his father's demands after all.

"It's not like that," Mike had explained earlier. "I loved dancing in college, but after a while I realized I couldn't do it for a living. And I love kids and helping kids, so now I get to do both. The demands of a pediatrician aren't as extensive as those of surgeon, so it allows me to still dance on the weekends." He and Tina have a 4-year old daughter, named Lily and are expecting their second in a few months. I always knew they would end up together, no one could ever calm crazy Tina down other than Mike, and Tina has always been supportive of whatever made Mike happy. It's comforting to see that things have worked out for them.

Artie and I didn't really exchange much conversation during the initial greet, mostly because the conversation was quickly taken over by Rachel and Kurt. We exchanged cordial hello's, but that was pretty much the extent of our interaction. As I stated before, Artie and I had a rocky relationship and high school, and even though I've moved past all of that and left the immature behavior in 2012, I'm not sure how he feels about me. So rather than be fake, or pretend like I never admitted to his face that I didn't mind being a bitch, I decided to excuse myself from the group to quench my thirst. Now here I am, an hour later, sitting miserably by myself at a table, scrolling idly through my emails on my phone. While it's been nice "revisiting" memories from the past, there have been the occasional, "you were so terrible back then," comments that I was worried about. On top of the occasional reminders of how much I sucked in high school, there has been no sign of the one person I was dreading slash looking forward to seeing the most.

"Do you mind if I join you?" I look up from my phone to see that Artie across the table from me, holding a glass of chardonnay in his hand. He smiles kindly, and rounds the table skillfully with one hand and sets the glass of wine down in front of me. "You've been nursing that same glass of wine since you got here. I can only assume that's not even cold anymore."

"Yes, you're right," I nod, smiling gratefully. "Thank you."

"So, Santana, Rachel tells me you're very good at your job," Artie says pulling a bottle of beef from the cup holder attached to his wheelchair.

"She only says that because I managed to get her a meeting with Tarantino last week," I scoff. It is rumored that Mr. Tarantino is planning a prequel to the initial Kill Bill, and he's looking to cast some other lead roles. While I'm having a hard time picturing a katana wielding Berry, who can't even slice a tomato without nicking her finger, I think it would be a great way for Rachel to break out of a specific casting type.

"No, she speaks very highly of you Santana," Artie says without missing a beat. "She says you're the hardest working person she knows."

"And?" I ask, narrowing my eyes speculatively.

"And nothing."

"You don't have any sarcastic retort, or witty comment you'd like to add?" I cross my arms across my chest, preparing myself for whatever it is that Artie has to say.

"No. I told her that that didn't surprise me. You know, you being a hard worker and all." This catches me off guard, because the last thing I was expecting was a compliment from one of the victims of my torment from my high school days. "Don't look so surprised, Santana. You always were a hard worker, I've always thought that about you. You scored in the top ten percentile of your graduating class, you were the co-captain of a National Champion Cheerleading team for three consecutive years, part of a national winning Glee club, and got a full scholarship to college. You may have partied hard in high school, but there's no denying that you definitely put in the work."

"Wow, uhm…I uhm…I don't know what to say Artie," I manage to mumble. "Thank you."

He gives me his famous close lipped smile and nods. We sit in a comfortable silence for a little bit, watching our fellow Alum dance to whatever throw-back song the deejay is playing.

"Artie, listen," I begin. He turns his wheelchair to face me, wearing a look of curiosity on his face. "I know I wasn't exactly the friendliest to you in high school." He quirks an eyebrow, expectantly. "Okay fine, I was a bitch in high school. But I just wanted to apologize for the way I treated you back then. You never did anything to deserve to be treated like that. So you know…yeah, I'm sorry."

Artie stares at me quietly for a few seconds. I start to shift uncomfortably in my seat under his scrutiny. "You were definitely awful in high school." I sigh loudly, fully prepared for whatever else he wants to throw in there. "But, I never believed it was because you were a bad person, and I know it aint 'cuz you didn't like me, because you and I both know I'm fly," he boasts, brushing imaginary dirt off his left shoulder, which makes me chuckle. "I think you, just like all of us, had a rough time in High School. You know, it may have taken you a little longer than the rest of us, but you seemed to have found the right place for you."

I never gave this kid enough credit. Other than the fact that I always thought he was by far, the best male vocal in the entire Glee club, half the time I couldn't even remember his name. That's probably because I would always refer to him as "wheels," "four eyes," and/or "cyborg." I always made it a point to not let my academic achievements and extra curricular activities be the reason for my attention in high school because I always associated those things with slushies. So I made it a point to attract attention by being the fiercest HBIC in all of Lima. It's flattering to know that Artie thought more of me than a cheerleader and a bitch, but at the same time it's somewhat uncomfortable. I'm not used to genuine compliments, even from Rachel, let alone from someone who I probably exchanged 10 sentences with in high school, all of which were unpleasant.

"So," I clear my throat. "What have you been up to Artie? Last I heard you were attending a film school in Brooklyn."

"Yes, I graduated at the top of my class," Artie beams, and I'm thankful for the sudden change in topic. "I started out small, doing local commercials, but eventually worked my way up. Now, I can honestly say I've managed a pretty successful career in documentaries. One of which was featured on HBO."

"That's amazing Artie, congratulations," I say genuinely, offering my proudest smile. "What was the documentary on?"

"Cheerleaders, and the regime of their strict and sometimes unfair coaches."

"Oh shit, I totally watched that," I exclaim excitedly. It was a very well done documentary, and highlighted everything that was cheerleading, from the short skirts, to the inside backstabbing, to the eating disorders. It was very easy to relate to because I had been a part of such a thing my entire high school career. If it weren't for Glee club it would have been all I knew. "It was really good, Artie. Wow, I'm officially impressed."

"It's one of my favorites out of all the documentaries I've done," he says, blushing subtly. "I tried to get some comments from Sue, but I was quickly denied and then threatened to be rolled from the tallest hill she could find." I shake my head in disgust. Of course that was the response of Sue Sylvester. She will go to any lengths to protect the reputation of both herself and that of her precious Cheerios, regardless of who she hurt along the way.

"Well, congratulations," I say raising my glass in his direction. He nods humbly before clinking his bottle with my glass just as a familiar song starts to play. "Holy crap, are they playing 'Gold digger'?"

"Yes, that is definitely Gold Digger," Artie laughs, turning to look at the crowd on the dance floor, which has erupted with energy. He turns back to me with an indiscernible look on his face. "What do you say, Lopez? How about a dance? To celebrate our new found…understanding." I can only laugh and nod. Artie backs away from the table and with a chivalrous bow, extends his arm in the direction of the dance floor to allow me to lead the way.

After a couple songs, Artie and I were soon joined by Mike, Tina, Rachel, Kurt and Blaine on the dance floor. We continued to dance in a group through several songs, even managing to recreate some old Glee choreography through some familiar tunes like Florence and the Machines "Dog Days are Over." The dance floor became increasingly crowded as each song passed, and soon I was desperate for a break, a drink, and some cool air. After a while I managed to stealthily sneak off the dance floor in the direction of the bar.

It's curious how something can be plaguing your mind for days, for years and it is momentarily forgotten through the power of music. I was enjoying myself so much so on the dance floor, surrounded by my friends and the awesome music of Katy Perry and Pink that I allowed myself to forget about the one thing that was to be the most important part of the entire evening. I allowed myself to let my guard down, and it is for that reason that I was so caught off guard at the sight of her, sitting at the bar casually, by herself, ordering a drink from the bartender.

And just like that I am nineteen again, brushing away the bangs that fell loosely over her eyes, struggling to breathe as she straddled my hips tickling me relentlessly, brushing the pad of my thumb across her cheek, snuggling under one blanket with her watching our favorite Pixar movie on the television. Just like that I'm kissing her under the rain, kissing her under the stars, kissing her under the safety of my linens. Just like that, I am running my hands up and down her body, I am intertwining my fingers with hers as she tries desperately to control her breathing, and just like that she's throwing her head back in complete euphoria, shutting her eyes tightly as she whispers my name across her lips. And in that same instant, I am nineteen again, begging her not to leave me, crumbling onto the floor, racked with tears while her footsteps float further away.

Suddenly the air in the room is thick and heavy, and the temperature is stifling. I can feel the blood rushing to my cheeks, my palms grow cold and clammy and I am slowly finding it harder and harder to breath. What the hell was I thinking? I was kidding myself into believing that I was ready to come face to face with the ghost from my past. I wasn't ready for this, I was never ready for this, I may never BE ready for this. Hell, I didn't even have any sort of admirable story about anything life changing to brag about or make me seem more interesting.

Let's face it, my profession happened to be a result of a mixture of sheer luck and the fact that I was best friends with one of the most talented people I know. That combined with all my failed relationships plus the fact that I can't get over a particular blond, and my life, ladies and gentlemen, is dripping with mediocrity. Of course this was never a problem before, and up until this very moment I was perfectly content with how my life has turned out. But all of a sudden, standing here just a few feet from everything that I believed to be perfection, it doesn't seem good enough.

Maybe it's because for as long as I've known Quinn she has strived to be the best at everything and she never settled for anything less (except for maybe that brief period our senior year when she got kind of cray-cray). Being around her was always such a constant reminder of how much of a slacker I was, and I think there was always a small part of me that believed that I did not deserve to be loved by her.

As I stand a few feet away from her I take moment to admire how beautiful she truly is. She's wearing a midnight blue dress paired with a black belt and some black pumps. Her hair is parted down the middle and falls in loose waves around her shoulder. She looks flawless and every bit as gorgeous as I remembered. If anything, time has only been generous to my old friend. In a split second I make a hasty decision and turn on my heel in the opposite direction. She hasn't seen me yet and if I can make it to the other room without being noticed I can at least compose myself a little better before attempting to start a conversation with her.

I've made it back into the main hall and I can feel a wave of relief wash over me. I rest my hands on my hips and take in deep slow breaths, and I talk myself down. I wish Rachel was here, at least she would be able to talk some sense into me, to calm me down while feeding me lines of encouragement at the same time. I can feel my heart rate slow down and my breathing is slowly beginning to even out. I did it, I managed to avoid the most awkward reunion ever.

And just as my heartbeat falls back into rhythm and my arms fall easily at my side, I'm thrown again into immediate turmoil. There is a soft hand on my bicep, someone leaning into me ever so slightly from behind and the most sultry voice that I have ever known speaking into my ear.

"I know I've used this line before, but I must say…you are killing it in that dress."

A/N: Hi everyone. First off, just wanted to say thank you for all your reviews and your continued support. You're all wonderful, beautiful people

Secondly, Sorry for the super long delay in updates. School and life is starting to slow down so hopefully I'll be able to update more. Anyway, any questions or comments, feel free to hit me up here or on tumblr. Thanks again for your support and encouragement guys, means the world! Looking forward to hearing from y'all!