Chapter 4

"Other than right here, right now?" Santana winks and kisses the air in front of her, Brittany blushing despite herself. "Sorry," she continues, laughter playing across her lips. "I couldn't help myself."

"Uh huh. Now answer the question,"

Santana gasps exaggeratedly. "Aren't you going to say it back?" Her mouth hangs open so her front teeth rest on her bottom lip, drawing Brittany's attention to the cherry-red lipstick adorning them.

Wow. She's hot. Brittany blushes and grins unashamedly before responding. "You haven't asked me yet!"

"Fine. My favourite place is London,"

"Why?"

"It's like New York, but the subway is cleaner and the people are grumpier. I studied there for a year after I hightailed it out of Cow Town," she explains, feeling oddly warm at Brittany's encouraging smile. "What about you?"

"Right here, right now." She blows Santana a kiss and wonders whether or not she's being ironic, which is something she's never really caught the hang of.

Santana presses her right hand to her heart and sighs. "So sweet. So, so sweet."

"But really, it's Luang –"

"Prabang?" Santana interrupts, perking up from her slumped position.

"Yeah! In Laos? How did you know about it?" Brittany winces almost the second the words leave her mouth and a little ghost of hurt crosses Santana's face. She wasn't thinking, and she curses inwardly. "I mean, because you were saying about my type, and that –"

"Brittany," Santana says, any offence at Brittany's comment quickly covered up by her trademark fake-moderate-smile. "It's fine. I booked the trip one evening with Quinn when we'd both been at the wine and were feeling some epiphanies and real meaning to our menial little lives coming our way. I didn't mean it. We actually went to Phuket the week before and spent most of the time drying up while finding ourselves in the depths of the Mekong River,"

"Wow," Brittany says out loud, nodding her head and sitting up. "I went with –"

"A few friends on a backpacking trip around south-east Asia. Please tell me you wore shoes while you were out there," the Latina replies playfully, folding her arms.

Brittany shifts, her eyes widening. "Why should I have worn shoes?"

"There were a shitload of gravestone-hippy-toes out there. I saw this Australian girl and I just wanted to vomit all over her crusty feet, and it wasn't even alcohol poisoning. Quinn actually burst into tears when she saw this guy's toenail just fall off in our lodge,"

Brittany laughs properly, fully, and it fills the whole lift until Santana finds herself smiling properly too. Her ongoing silence is answer enough for the smaller woman, and she wrinkles her nose in disgust. "Gross. Did you have dreads by the end, too?"

"Are you my stalker?" Brittany shoots back, giggling. "So I take it wasn't the place for you?"

Santana debates for a few seconds whether or not to preserve her image in front of her blonde stranger. "No, I loved it," she answers finally, looking at the floor of the lift as she speaks.

"I understand. There's something about it. You liked it more than London?"

"No. It's like once you're a city girl, you're always a city girl, you know?"

"Denver is a city!" Brittany argues, pouting.

"I guess you're just a free spirit," Santana says, a hint of sarcasm creeping into her tone.

"You think you have me all figured out, don't you, Ms. Lopez?" Brittany puts on an Italian-American New York accent and Santana chuckles. "I assure you, I'm full of surprises."

Santana waggles her perfectly waxed eyebrows as her mood lifts and lifts and lifts. She doesn't feel so tired anymore, and she hopes she doesn't look it. "Next question, please,"

"Why do I have to be question master?"

"Because it was your dumb ass idea," Santana puts on her best 'don't mess with me' voice and face, and the shock on her face is clear when Brittany flips her two fingers and screws up her face in defiance. "Wow, feisty."

"You weren't expecting that!"

"Whatever," Santana rolls her eyes. "I wants my question!"

"I'll give you a question when you admit you like the game." Do the Spanish accent again. Santana inhales sharply, her mouth in a perfect o. "That's right. I went there!" Brittany snaps her fingers in a z formation, and Santana kisses her teeth.

"Are you a pre-teen girl?"

"You're avoiding the question!" Brittany exclaims, her light voice steadily rising. "You know what it is? You – like – the – game."

When Santana doesn't respond, instead looking pointedly at the lift doors and studying them intently, Brittany takes it as an excuse to continue. "What's that, Santana? You don't just like the game, you love it?"

Santana sticks out her bottom lip, and a very expensive red Chanel lipstick hits Brittany on the left shoulder in the next split second.

"Shut up!" she says after a few seconds of appreciating the sound of Brittany's giggling. Seriously, what is this chick's deal? She puffs out her chest, straightening up. Please. You're Santana Lopez. Yes, blondes are your thing, but not ones who rib you and take the piss out of you. Pull yourself together. Cut her with your vicious, vicious words. But Santana can't, or she doesn't want to insult the woman laughing at her sat opposite her. How come? "I have no strong feelings for or against the game."

"I'll take that, then," Brittany grins. "Okay, how old are you?"

"That's a crappy question." Santana retorts grumpily. "And will you throw my lipstick back?"

"Tough nuggets, answer it. And no, I think it rather likes it over here," she jokes, prodding the air in front of her.

Santana stares at her, bemused. "Britt, what are you doing…?"

"Figuratively poking you in the ribs. Anyway, answer the question!"

"Uh, didn't your mother ever teach you not to ask a lady her age?"

"Unless you want me to guess?"

"Guess if you want!" Santana rolls her eyes gently, sincerely doubting the blonde will have the balls to render an estimation as to her age.

She's almost immediately proved wrong. "25!"

Ouch. "I'm 22…" Santana replies flatly, wincing and grinding her teeth.

Brittany doesn't seem embarrassed at all, shrugging her shoulders. "You should go to bed earlier. I mean, you're beautiful, but you look super-tired." Frankness was never a weakness of Brittany's.

Santana coughs lightly to hide the awkwardness she feels at the slightly barbed compliment coming from her counterpart. "I guess you're… 21."

"I'm almost 22. But yeah, perfect!" Brittany claps her hands together, beaming. "See, you knew because I get at least 7 hours of sleep every night."

Santana screws up her face, trying to remember the last time she ever slept for that long.

Brittany continues to chat amicably. "So, does that mean we're in the same school year?"

"I guess it does. Next question,"

"Please. You can't rush the magic," Santana shakes her head, smiling, and Brittany clicks her tongue as she thinks. "I know! Oh, this is a good one…" She nods, clearly very pleased with herself.

"Put me out of my misery,"

"How was your high school experience, then?"

"That is a good question. I'm afraid it doesn't quite negate your terrible one about age, though. How long have you got?"

tbc.

So I just got back from New York where I saw plenty of Santana-types on the upper east-side. My mom affectionately refers to them as 'power Latinas', and I wish I was one. :(