Chapter 7: Avoided Regrets

After work, I sprint up the stairs to my apartment to find Rachel reading on the couch.

"I thought you had an audition."

She doesn't look up when she answers. "I got a call back for Rent, so I'm saving my voice." Her eyes peak up from the book for the first time. "Why are you out of breath?"

"I have a date."

Her book is pushed aside, body flung over the back of the couch and around my neck before I can react. As she squeals, I waddle across the room, peel Rachel off, and drop her back onto the couch.

I walk towards my room, and her squealing subdues into giggles. "What now?" I ask as I turn to see her looking at her phone.

"Quinn's just texting me how Santana is acting."

I roll my eyes, walk into my room and open my closet only to march right back to the living room. "Ask Quinn what Santana is wearing tonight."

I have never seen such a conniving look on my friend's face.

"That would be cheating, Brittany."

"Just ask her." I take a step closer.

"No."

"Just do it."

"No."

"Please."

"No."

Losing patience and time, I pounce towards the couch, but Rachel is a step ahead of me, jumping to the other side.

"Consider what you're doing, Pierce. I called for backup."

Quinn's "hello" from the speaker on Rachel's phone ceases my confusion.

"Quinn, Brittany is attacking me. Tell my fathers I love them."

I take another lunge and catch her around the waste before she can run away. "Quinn!" I yell towards Rachel's outstretched arm. "Very stealthily tell me what Santana is wearing tonight."

Rachel's body slumps beneath me in defeat, but she doesn't give up control of the phone. I hear Quinn's footsteps through the speaker and give Rachel a gloating smile, finally releasing my hold on her. The next time we hear Quinn's voice, she isn't speaking to us. "Brittany wants to know what you're wearing on your date."

I face palm, missing Santana's answer through Rachel's laughter.


I knock on Santana's door before I can allow myself to get nervous. It opens to reveal Quinn with a phone to her ear.

"Yeah, it's her."

I stare at her impatiently from my spot in the hallway when her eyes drop to my chest.

"No, she must have buttoned an extra one on her way here."

I cover my shirt with my hand and push past her to find Santana coming out of her room.

"Oh, hi. I was going to be sitting nonchalantly on the couch, acting like I was reading a magazine, but this works too."

"I thought you had been waiting by your door so you could make an entrance." I wink before we both turn at Quinn's voice.

"They're making witty banter. No they haven't complimented how the other looks yet."

Santana and I wordlessly agree to leave, but not before I grab the phone from Quinn's hand. "Now they're plotting revenge on the brunette on the other side this line."

Santana chips in, "And her blonde girlfriend."


We're seated on an outside patio. The waitress has long past taken our empty plates and replaced them with drinks. A guitarist and trumpet player are set up in front of the crowd; a unique combination but a nice one nonetheless.

"Is working in insurance a long time plan for you?" Santana's voice steals my attention from the music.

I take a drink from my glass, taking my time with an answer. "It's not what I imagined doing, but now that I am, I can see myself there for a while."

"Do you enjoy it?" We've had this conversation before, but now without managers within earshot, I allow myself t to give an honest answer.

"Enjoy isn't the word I would use, but it allows me to go home and not worry about work or paying the bills in my mailbox. It lets me have the life I want outside of work. That's what I like about it."

She holds my eyes for a few seconds before responding. "And?"

My lips twitch, unsure of how she read me so well. "And it's taken me a long time to understand the business. I'm not smart enough to just pick up another job."

She takes no time in defending me from myself. "You're smart. You help me with work every day."

"Yes." I respond, giving her a look that says I'm not pitying myself. "But that's three years of knowledge you're picking up in a few weeks." My gaze shifts to the couples dancing near the musicians. "The things I'm good at don't pay much. Nor do they let you keep your work out of your home."

Santana follows my line of sight. Nodding in understanding. "If you judge a fish's intelligence by its ability to climb a tree, it's going to believe it's an idiot."

"Huh?"

"Einstein said it. Or maybe it was Gandhi. I don't' know, I think I saw it on Pinterest."

I can't help but laugh. She joins in and takes me by the hand. "Come on, Flounder, teach me to swing dance."


When the musicians pack up their things, Santana and I succumb to the fact that the night has to end eventually. I park in front of her building and get out to walk her to her apartment. My hand is on the handle to the complex when a hand several shades darker rest on mine. I meet her eyes with a question in my own.

"I still want you to walk me in, but I know Quinn will be waiting up with an ear to the door." Her chest constricts with a large breath, but her eyes never waver from my own. "And I don't want to chance her interrupting this time."

Her hand reaches for my face, brushing her fingers across my cheek before resting on the back of my neck, gently coaxing me forward. I oblige, dipping my head the few inches to meet her. Our lips meet tentatively at first, but when my hand moves to her lower back, drawing her in, our bodies mold together, and our lips act on their own accord. The kiss is soft, my lips' every nerve ending at full capacity, unwilling to miss a single sensation, and letting the rest of my body in on the pleasure.

When her tongue sneaks through and meets mine in a chaste caress, I can't control the soft moan that leaves my body, nor can I help a smile as the sound is mimicked across from me.

Our lips part, and our foreheads rest together as I keep my eyes closed a few more seconds; letting my head settle and curse the part of me that even considered not going down this path.

When my eyes finally open, they are met with brown ones watching me behind long lashes. "Walk me the rest of the way?"

We arrive in front of Santana's door, two clear voices coming from the other side. "Is she kissing her?"

"No, they're just standing there."

"Give me a boost so I can see."

Santana gets a look of mischief, and before I catch on, she's shoving the door open, resulting in a blonde and brunette sprawled on the floor.

"Would you like to come in for a few minutes?

"I'd love to." I say as I accept Santana's offered hand and step over the bodies on the ground.

We take a seat on the couch; hands still clasped, and are immediately joined by our two friends.

"So, how'd it go?"


We stay later than I intend, but not as late as I would like. The more time I spend with Rachel and Quinn, the surer I am they were made for each other. The more I sit on the couch, the surer I am my shoulder was made to support Santana's head. I have one arm around her waist and the other rests on my lap, her own hand in mine. When I feel a change in her breathing, I check to find closed eyes.

I feel the stares of the other two; their soft smiles meet my own.

"Is this what it feels like?" I ask.

"Is this what what feels like?" Rachel responds.

I don't answer her. We share a knowing smile before I turn my gaze back to the beautiful women with her head on my shoulder.