A/N: Thank you so much for the reviews and alerts! You all are awesome!
Disclaimer: Don't own the show nor am I affiliated with it in any way, unfortunately.
Chapter Three
Santana was pissed. It was four thirty in the morning and she was freezing her ass off at a bus stop five freakishly long blocks away from her house. She would have to take two buses just to get to a gas station near enough to the site so that Puck could pick her up. The DART system didn't exactly run routes out to the rig after all. Puck offered to take her the whole way but he lived clear across town and that boy could barely make their shift on time as it was. Santana knew if he had to come all the way out to her house they'd both be really late for work.
The roughneck shivered under the flimsy shelter, clutching her heavy coat tightly around her body. "Fucking Terri," she muttered, cursing the unpredictable woman and all the trouble she'd caused. The autobody shop had been backed up and wouldn't be able to even touch her truck for several days. She could take it home in the meantime, but there was no way Santana was taking it out looking the way it did. So, stubborn as always, she decided to tough it out and haul her ass around on public transport. It didn't mean she had to enjoy the experience, however.
"Fucking Terri."
She rocked herself back and forth on the cold, metal bench, hoping the movement would generate some heat. The whole Terri fiasco had been weighing on the young roughneck's mind, and while she was ticked beyond belief at the older woman, she couldn't help but reflect on what got her there in the first place.
Santana was a player and she never pretended to be otherwise. She loved women and she truly believed that the best way to convey that love was through physical touch and mind-numbing orgasms. While some might find it distasteful or disrespectful even, Santana thought nothing illustrated her reverence for women more than her desire to sample from the rich bounty of beauty that came into her life. She worshipped the women she was with.
She just couldn't commit to them.
And she never hid that fact from her hookups. She was almost brutally honest with the girls she bedded, and she paid the price for it often enough, losing out on some spectacular tail because of how explicit she was about her intentions.
But Terri's persistence and subsequent revenge had unsettled her. Sure, she was used to the occasional begging or clumsy, way-too-obvious stalking. And okay, there may have been harsh words or foul glares at times, and she may have been slapped in the face more than most. But Santana had never taken any of it seriously. Yes, it was irritating, but the pleasures she gained certainly outweighed the mostly infrequent annoyances, and for each negative encounter there were at least a dozen mouth-watering, spine-tingling, toe-curling experiences to counteract it.
But Terri? Terri was in a league of her own when it came to crazy. It started with a few phone calls that the roughneck brushed off politely, explaining again and again that she wasn't interested in a repeat or in starting anything serious. She'd been magnanimous to start, telling the older woman how good of a time she'd had and how Terri'd find someone new in no time. Blah, blah, blah.
But when a paunchy, middle-aged man came barreling at her at Joe Jack's claiming that she'd taken advantage of his wife, Santana had been shocked and livid. One thing she didn't do was sleep with other people's women. At least not knowingly.
After a brief shoving match, the bouncers at JJ's had thrown the incensed man out and the roughneck had been left seething. She'd changed her cell phone number the next day and avoided JJ's for weeks (which was a bigger sacrifice than it seemed as the old honky-tonk was practically her second home). And after a while, with no other incidents, she'd assumed that unfortunate chapter in her life was finally over.
That was until the jilted woman had shown up at her work and royally trashed her truck.
It was just too much fucking drama, and the roughneck vowed to be more cautious and explicit in the future—to be clearer about what sex with Santana Lopez meant and to choose her lovers with greater care. She wasn't looking for a girlfriend, a wife, or even a friend, really. And she'd make damn sure her future hookups understood that.
"Fucking Terri."
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/
"You disgust me!" Sue bellowed into her loudspeaker. "My grandma can run faster than that and she's dead!"
The offices of Sylvester, Bieste, and Schuester were temporarily shut down with only a few interns and senior associates actually working on business matters and making sure the phones were answered. The majority of the employees, Bieste and Schuester included, were instead holed up in a dank, steamy gymnasium three blocks from the office running wind sprints under the steely-eyed direction of Sue Sylvester.
"Run it again!" she barked into her loudspeaker.
"Sue! I think that's enough," Will breathed, bent over with his hands on his knees and panting heavily.
They'd been at it for hours, performing numerous sit-up and push-up drills, chucking large medicine balls to one another, and running countless laps around the massive gym.
"What was that, William? The sound of your repulsive, flabby gut smacking against itself drowned out the sound of your overly shrill and surprisingly feminine voice."
"Sue! Enough," he shouted.
"Pathetic," Sue spat. The start of the Dallas Law Association annual softball tournament was a week and a half away and Sue was on a rampage. She was determined to whip this sorry bunch of overly-privileged daisies into shape, and by the look of the groaning, writhing mass of sweat-stained, dry-heaving humanity doubled-over before her, she had a lot of work to do.
The first step was daily workouts that started at seven in the morning and ran until she felt they could go no longer or take no more. The second step was softball-centric drills with their little lesbian A-Rod which included batting practices at night and fieldwork Mondays and Sundays. And still she wasn't convinced it was enough.
The relentless woman had committed herself to success in all things and she would force her team to rise with her or they would die trying. And for Sue Sylvester, that wasn't hyperbole.
She lifted the speaker to her lips again. "Back at the office looking presentable in 30! If you're on the list," she gestured to her personal assistant, Becky, who started handing out papers, "you've got mandatory batting practice with Chita Rivera tonight at eight." A loud groan met the news, and Sue turned on her heel, a grim look adorning her face before stalking out of the gym.
"Oh. My. God," Quinn wheezed, falling onto her back and clutching her aching sides. "She's fucking insane."
Brittany crawled up next to her and planted herself, face first on the hardwood floor. "I think I'm dying, Q. Do you think it hurts this much when you're dead?"
Quinn chuckled and patted the girl on the shoulder absently, too exhausted to lift her head or tear her eyes from the ceiling.
"How are we supposed to make it through the tournament if we can't move our legs," Brittany whined.
Before she could respond, Becky appeared and thrust a flyer at them. Quinn reached up blindly and closed her fist around the loose sheet of paper.
"Practice at eight. Latecomers and no-shows will be fined," Becky informed them simply before hustling on to the next cluster of exhausted employees.
"Can she even do that?" Brittany asked, her voice still muffled by the floor.
"Who knows," the lawyer huffed. "I for one don't want to find out. Come on," she said, pulling herself up onto shaky legs and reaching a hand down to the tall blonde. "We better get going before the battleaxe comes back and makes us run another lap."
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/
The Big Bat Batting Cages were relatively empty that Thursday night. Sue had assigned 11 employees to batting practice—ten ladies, including Quinn, Brittany and Mercedes, and Kurt. At eight exactly, the team hustled out of their cars and found their instructor/ringer swinging away in one of the cages.
Santana was dressed in grey sweatpants and a tight, dark blue tank top. Her hair was pulled into a ponytail that trailed out from under the helmet fit snuggly on her head. They watched in awe as she cracked ball after ball, the automated machine hurling them at her at what seemed like record speed.
The group fidgeted nervously at the rate and velocity of the pitches, thoughts of concussions, black eyes and bruised bodies flittering through their minds.
Kurt turned wide, anxious eyes on Quinn. "We're not getting in there are we," he whispered. "I just got a facial and my skin's particularly delicate at the moment. I'll bruise easily."
Quinn shrugged. "I think you can make it go slower. There's no way I'm getting in there with those things coming at me like that. I'm not getting killed for Sue. I don't care how much she's paying me." Quinn paused and watched Santana hit another blistering ball across the cage. "I don't know. What do you think, B?" She turned when she didn't receive a response, "B?"
Brittany stood, transfixed on the scene in front of her. Her mouth hung open slightly as her crystal-blue eyes raked up the body of the roughneck. Santana was stunning, and Brittany let herself linger on the firm ass that jut out and flexed through the young woman's sweats as she leaned her upper body forward to prepare for the next pitch. Eventually, Brittany's eyes moved up to feast on exposed shoulders that tensed and rippled as the girl swung, contacting the ball with a smack and rocketing it forward. Brittany licked suddenly dry lips and exhaled slowly.
"B!" Quinn called out, hip-checking her friend to break her from her staring.
"What? What?" Brittany said, flitting her eyes distractedly towards the young lawyer, annoyed at having to pull away from the captivating ringer.
"Forget it," Quinn answered, shaking her head. "I just wanna get this over with and all this gawking isn't getting us anywhere. Santana!" she shouted, catching the roughneck's attention.
Santana turned and threw a wide smile back at the group, punching the tip of her bat against the machine behind her and stopping the pitches. "Hey guys," she said, removing her helmet and tossing it to the side. "Good to see y'all. I was just warming up. It's been a while since I've picked up a bat, ya know. 'Though that may not be the best thing to admit being the ringer and all." She smiled cheekily and winked before clasping her hands together and stretching her arms above her head, thrusting her chest out in the process. Half the women there swooned on the spot.
Brittany couldn't tear her eyes off the dark beauty and she felt herself flush. She stared unabashedly at every inch of exposed skin, marveling at the girl's long, lean muscles and tracing the beads of sweat that ran down her neck and collected in the hollow at the base of her throat. A stray drop slipped past the tiny reservoir and slid down her chest and between her cleavage before disappearing beneath the dark tank top.
Brittany turned away suddenly, forcing herself to avert her eyes and steady her nerves. Her mouth was dry and she sucked on her teeth to generate some moisture. What's wrong with me,she questioned the unfamiliar feelings, clenching her fists to try and calm her racing heart.
"So," Santana stated, her low voice startling the blonde. "I know Q and Britt," she threw a charming half-smile at the tall attorney before turning to the group. "And … Kurt and Mercedes was it?" she questioned. At their nods, she continued, "who else we got here?"
After Quinn introduced the group, the team from Sylvester, Bieste, and Schuester took seats on a low bench outside the batting cage and turned expectant eyes on the brunette standing in front of them.
Santana couldn't help but chuckle at the awkward-looking group. They had their protective helmets on askew and held wood bats clumsily between their legs. Their nervous fidgeting and wide, innocent eyes made them look like kids trying out for their first little league team.
"Okay," she started, clapping her hands together briefly. "We're gonna take things real slow to start. I just wanna see what kind of general skills you got first. So we're just gonna take a few easy swings. No pressure," she assured them. "Who wants to start?"
They all turned to look at each other anxiously, no one wanting to be the first person to embarrass themselves at bat, especially in front of the stunning ringer.
"I'll put the machine on the lowest setting, I promise," she continued.
Suddenly, Kurt coughed loudly and shoved his shoulder against Brittany who was seated next to him. The tall blonde stumbled forward, catching herself with a hand against the concrete and just keeping herself from face-planting on the ground.
"Brittany!" Santana enthused, smiling sweetly at the surprised girl. "Come on up!"
Brittany threw a glare over her shoulder at Kurt, her narrow, cobalt eyes boring into the young man who simply shrugged and recrossed his legs.
Santana and Brittany entered the cage, the roughneck's warm hand guiding the lawyer in by the small of her back.
"So the ball's going to come at you real easy. Just take a swing and show me what you got, okay?" She brushed loose, flaxen hair away from Brittany's face, causing a hot blush to rise in the blonde's cheeks.
Brittany swallowed nervously, gripping the bat in both hands and taking her place in the batter's box. The bat shook unsteadily from her loose wrists. She looked over her shoulder at Santana, biting her lower lip.
"You ready?" the roughneck asked. At the young woman's nod, she hit the button and a slow lob eased its way over the plate.
A second after the ball dropped to the ground behind her, Brittany swung with all her might, spinning herself around at the lack of contact and ending up in a wobbly stance face-to-face with the roughneck who grabbed her forearms and held her steady.
"Whoa there," Santana smirked, squeezing the blonde's arms gently. "Okay, okay, that's not bad at all. Try keeping your eyes open next time, though. You almost double your chances of making contact with the ball if you can see it coming first." She smiled adoringly at the lawyer.
"We're so screwed," Kurt whispered, earning him a punch to the shoulder from Quinn.
"No, no," Santana interjected, seeing the crestfallen look on Brittany's face. "Look, here," she said, coming in close and wrapping her arms around the blonde's waist. She spun her around so that the lawyer's back fit tightly to her front. "It's all about technique." The roughneck shuffled them back into the batter's box. "Spread your legs." She felt herself blush uncharacteristically at the sound of the request. "Um," she cleared her throat, "shoulder-length apart."
Due to their differences in height, Santana had to press her body into Brittany's back in order to reach the lawyer's arms. She allowed herself to indulge momentarily, smiling into a warm shoulder and dragging her fingertips lightly up the blonde's sides. She lifted her head, resting her chin on Brittany's shoulder, and placed her mouth up close to her ear.
Eventually, she ran her hands down Brittany's arms to the strong grip the woman had on the bat. "Not so tight," she whispered, tickling the blonde's ear with her breath. Santana could see the light raise of goose bumps on the woman's neck and licked her lips, her tongue almost brushing Brittany's sensitive skin because of their proximity.
But even with Santana right in her ear, Brittany had to strain to hear the ringer's instruction over the rushing of blood in her ears. Her face felt like it was on fire and her legs trembled against the roughneck's body.
"Relax," Santana cooed, reveling in the feel of the woman in her arms. "Bend your knees a little." She pushed her pelvis forward into the blonde's butt, forcing the taller girl to bend slightly. "Bring your arms up," her hands slid up Brittany's arms until she reached her elbows and lifted. "Elbows high."
The roughneck let go with one hand and adjusted the bat. "Hold it … there. When you swing," she brought her hands down to Brittany's hips, squeezing them firmly, "you're gonna put your hips into it and swivel on your back foot. Okay," she paused, squeezing the blonde again, "swing." As Brittany brought the bat forward, Santana pushed her crotch against the blonde's backside and turned their bodies into the swing.
Brittany didn't know how she was able to move at all. It felt like she was hyperventilating even as she tried to keep her breaths low and slow. But the closeness of the roughneck and her soft, raspy voice in her ear was causing them come out in quick, uneven bursts. She felt a little drunk, her head swimming with every sensation, and the only thing that was keeping her upright was Santana's firm body behind her.
"There," the roughneck said suddenly, clearing her throat before pulling back and moving towards the pitch controls. "Just like that," Santana continued, forcing herself to make her voice light and casual, all the while trying to tame the white-hot desire coursing through her veins.
Fucking Quinn, she thought. If it wasn't for that stupid promise she made to her friend she'd be shoving the tall blonde into the nearest bathroom stall and rocking the conservative lawyer's world. The roughneck was certain Brittany'd be way into it; they had practically dry-humped in the batter's box and Brittany seemed more than responsive to her touch.
But Santana Lopez never broke a promise, and so she resigned herself to calming her raging libido and keeping it in her pants for once. No matter how uncomfortably hot and slick they got.
Brittany felt the loss of Santana's body immediately, a cold chill snaking up her back in place of the slow-burning heat of the roughneck. She turned disappointed eyes back over at Santana, a light pout tugging at her lower lip.
The roughneck chuckled quietly. It'd be so fucking easy. Stupid, fucking Quinn. "Ready to try it for real?" she asked.
The lawyer exhaled slowly. She looked up into bright brown eyes that sparkled under the lights and nodded shyly.
"Okay. Eyes open. Knees bent. Weight on your back foot. Elbows raised." Santana watched the blonde adjust herself at the direction. "Here it comes." She pushed the button and held her breath.
Brittany forced her eyes open. She ran through all of the steps in her head quickly, and when the small, white sphere came hurtling at her, she cocked her hip back and swung.
There was a loud crack and the bat vibrated in her hands. Brittany watched with wide eyes as the ball careened off her bat and hit the back fence with a clang.
"Now that's how it's done!" Santana called out proudly, clapping her hands in approval. Cheers rang out from the group and Brittany turned around excitedly, jumping up and down and shrieking with the rest of team, her fist and bat waving high in the air.
Santana found it all incredibly endearing and she smiled openly at the scene. "Okay, okay, let's not bust open the champagne just yet," she said good-naturedly. "Good job, Britt." She extended her hand, palm up.
The animated blonde blushed at the compliment and slapped her hand into the brunette's, holding it tightly.
"Ready to try it again?" Santana asked, resisting the urge to bring the pale hand up to her lips and releasing the lawyer's grip instead.
The roughneck let Brittany swing at about a dozen balls, and she made contact with most but not always cleanly which caused the baseballs to skid off the side of the bat and fly foul.
"You're swinging like half a second too early," Santana instructed, leaning casually against the fencing at the back of the cage, her arms crossed over her chest. She attempted to project a calm, professional demeanor but in actuality, Brittany was driving her crazy. The blonde had developed a nervous little shimmy before each swing, shaking her ass a second before the pitch was thrown. It had so thoroughly distracted Santana that she'd missed the first half Brittany's cuts.
The roughneck pushed off the fence and approached the blonde. "Don't chase it. This ain't the big leagues. You're probably not gonna get change-ups or breaking balls so you don't gotta worry about a lot of movement in the pitch."
Brittany nodded eagerly, even though she didn't understand a lick of what the woman just said.
"You want to hit the ball when it gets right around … here," she gestured to a spot in front of the blonde. "Try it again." Then, without thinking, she slapped Brittany on the butt before walking back to the machine.
Brittany blushed and smiled goofily at the firm tap. She hit a few more balls, each a little better than the last until finally Santana couldn't think of how to prolong their time together any longer. As much as Santana was enjoying the view, she knew she had to work with the others as well.
"Really great job, Britt! You'll be knocking 'em out of the ballpark in no time." She threw her arm around Brittany's shoulders and escorted her out of the cage, finally turning to the group and smiling. "Alright now, who's next?"
Nine excited arms shot up with a few ladies actually jumping out of their seats and waving their arms around eagerly. Santana's smile turned a little devilish at the sight. Even Kurt had flushed at how Santana was working with Brittany and held his hand high in the air, wiggling his fingers and smiling toothily at her.
Only Quinn remained seated, rolling her eyes at her colleagues and slouching back disinterestedly.
It'd be so fucking easy, Santana thought. Like shooting fish in a barrel. With an AK47. These ladies were chomping at the bit to get to her and Santana knew all she'd have to do was say the word and she would be drowning in hot, high-class lawyer ass for weeks.
Stupid,fucking Quinn,Santana grumbled to herself.
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/
Fucking Terri. For a second, Santana reflected on the amount of time she'd spent that day cursing various people out in her head. It certainly felt like more than usual, but sitting at another bus stop at close to midnight after a long-ass day, meant Santana had neither the energy nor inclination to give a fuck.
She checked her watch and threw her head back in frustration. The late hour meant that buses were more infrequent and she had at least a 30-minute wait for the next one. She stretched her legs out and blew out a long, heavy breath.
Actually, the last few hours of her day had been pretty entertaining, and the roughneck smiled as she reflected on eclectic group of misfits she'd be working with. Each of them had taken their cuts, some taking to it quicker than others, but they all seemed pretty eager (Quinn being the notable exception). Santana knew they had a lot of work to do and they were never going to be a world class softball team, but she figured they were only competing against other lawyers so she didn't think it'd be that difficult to put up a decent showing.
The roughneck was pulled from her thoughts by a slow moving car rolling up next to the bus stop. She thrust her hand into her jacket pocket and fisted the small cylinder of pepper spray she kept on her at all times. She was feisty and all kinds of badass, but she was no dummy. As the car pulled closer, she could see that it was a gorgeous silver Lexus LS 460, but Santana knew better than to assume the opulence meant it no longer posed a threat. Freaks came from all social classes after all. The passenger window slid down slowly and she sucked in a quick breath and brought the pepper spray out of her pocket, holding it close to her side.
"Hey, you need a ride?"
Santana relaxed at the familiar voice, ducking her head so that she could get a better look at the beautiful blonde behind the wheel. She smiled disarmingly once she caught hold of those vibrant blue eyes. "In that? Hell yea!" Grabbing her duffel bag, she stood quickly and rushed up to the awesome ride.
Brittany chuckled at Santana's sudden energy and leaned over the seat to push the door open.
The roughneck took one last, all-encompassing look at the Lexus, whistling long and low at sleek lines and wicked grill. The thing was smoking hot and she couldn't wait to check out the interior.
Santana had a soft-spot for cars, for anything motorized that could go really fast, actually. After they got their driver's licenses when they were teens, she and Puck had tried to convince the salesman at the local Cadillac dealership to let them test drive one of the luxury vehicles. Santana had even worn her skintight tube top and hot pants that left nothing to the imagination, but, in the end, the too-thin dweeb in the starched shirt wouldn't budge.
When she started earning a regular paycheck, the first thing Santana started saving for was a brand, spanking new ride. Her Dodge Ram may not be an Escalade or a BMW, but she took pride in her truck and it was one of the few status symbols she actually put stock in.
But this, this was fucking epic! The seats were butter-soft and she swore heat was coming up through the frickin' leather! She fiddled with every little switch, button, and knob she could reach. When she flipped the control that opened the sunroof, Brittany reached over and grabbed her wrist lightly, stopping her from toggling the switch back to close it.
"Leave it," Brittany said quietly, giving Santana a soft, warm smile. The roughneck's childlike curiosity and enthusiasm had taken her by surprise at first. For all of her playfulness and bravado, Santana always seemed so steady and grounded. Sure, they had only interacted a handful of times, but in each instance, Santana seemed so even-keeled and put together.
But seeing her now, wide grin, little dimples on clear display as she toyed with all the bells and whistles of the car, Brittany couldn't help but be enamored by the young woman. It was so endearing, so cute that the blonde made a promise to herself in that instant to elicit that look, that wonder and unrestrained delight in Santana as often as possible.
The roughneck returned a shy smile before looking up through the sunroof at the dark, Texas sky. They were still in the heart of the city and the city lights drowned out the stars, leaving only an expanse of blue-black night as far as the eye could see.
"So," Brittany broke the silence, gaining Santana's attention, "where are we headed? You can punch the address into the GPS if you want."
"Sweet!" she enthused, leaning forward and punching buttons on the center console. "This is so boss."
Brittany chuckled. "Thanks. Sue's a bit of a tyrant, but she pays well," she said with a wink. "So what did you think of practice? Is there any hope for us?"
Santana laughed, settling back against the door to get a better view of the driver. "Well, y'all are pretty green," she said, rubbing her jaw dramatically. "And I thought we were doomed when Kurt decided the best tactic was to simply hurl the bat at the ball." They shared a smirk. "But you're not all that bad. Mercedes can really whack the ball and I think Tina'll be a beast with a little more confidence. And if Quinn can get the stick out her ass for five minutes she'd be decent as well." She smirked playfully before reaching out and nudging Brittany on the shoulder, "and you're gonna be a maniac out there, I can tell."
Brittany blushed and tightened her hold on the wheel. "I don't know about that."
"Sure. You're like super fit and your hand-eye coordination is solid. Come on, there's no way those legs are just for show." Santana let her eyes linger over the large expanse of skin visible from below the girl's cotton shorts. Strong thigh muscles tensed as the blonde pushed against the accelerator. "You gotta be into some kind of … physical activity."
The lawyer could feel the weight of the girl's stare running over her body and she fidgeted under the intense gaze, not daring to meet Santana's frank appraisal and keeping her eyes glued to the road instead. "Uh, I guess we'll find out next Saturday, huh?" she replied with a little quiver in her voice.
The roughneck chuckled at her obvious discomfort. She knew she shouldn't be flirting with Brittany, but she just couldn't help herself. She was Santana Mother-Fucking Lopez. It'd be almost unnatural for her to not flirt with the woman. She'd still keep her promise. Flirting wasn't sex after all.
"So," Brittany cleared her throat and tried to redirect the conversation, "do you always take public transportation?"
"My truck's in the shop actually. It'll be a couple weeks yet." She sighed and shook her head. Brittany chanced a glance at her and raised her eyebrow in question. "It's a long story," Santana continued. "Trust me, you do not want to know."
She let the subject drop with a small smile and they finished the ride in companionable silence. When they finally pulled up Santana's driveway and parked, the blonde sat back and took in the beautiful, two-story Craftsman with its long wrap-around porch on the first level and stunning white columns set in stone bases framing the entrance. The forest green home had soft white trim and looked inviting and warm, and Brittany was surprised by how large and domestic it all seemed.
"Wow," Brittany breathed. "You live here?"
Santana grabbed the duffel she had set on the floor by her feet and pulled it onto her lap. "Yea," she said with a bit of pride in her voice.
"By yourself?"
"Uh-huh," Santana shrugged. "You wanna come in and check it out?"
Brittany bit her lip and glanced at the clock on the console. It was past midnight and she had an early day with Sue's bootcamp in the morning. "I really would, but it's already so late. Raincheck?"
"Definitely." The roughneck gathered her things and stepped out of the Lexus. She leaned down, sticking her head between the open door. "Thanks for the ride, Britt. Get home safe, okay?"
The blonde nodded and Santana took a moment to appreciate just how beautiful the young lawyer was. With a quick smile, she finally closed the door and made her way up to her home.
"Santana!" Brittany called out through her open window, causing the roughneck to drop her bag on the stoop and jog back towards the vehicle. "How are you getting in to work tomorrow?"
Santana crouched next to the driver's door and placed her forearms against the window. "Gotta take the bus, but don't worry about it."
"What time do you need to be there?"
"Britt, it's okay. I'm good."
"What time," Brittany said firmly, catching and holding the woman's gaze.
Santana shook her head at the persistence, grinning softly to herself. "I gotta be there by six."
"I'll be here at 5:30. Don't be late." She gave the woman a faux-stern look, pale blue eyes twinkling in the moonlight.
"You don't need to-"
"5:30, San. See you then." The lawyer reached over, squeezed Santana's hand briefly before sitting back and grabbing the wheel.
"Thanks, B."
The roughneck leaned against one of the columns on her porch and watched the silver Lexus pull away, waving goofily until the rear lights were no longer visible down the street. She sighed wistfully into the night.
Stupid, stupid, fucking Quinn.
A/N: Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed the chapter. Please take a moment to review if you get the chance. I love hearing from you and hope to do my best to keep you entertained. :) So let me know what you think!
LC: Thanks for the Psycho!Terri shout-out! Wasn't sure anyone would notice! :)