A/N: Thanks for the continued readership and support! And thanks to JJ for her unabated enthusiasm and ninja-precise guidance.
Chapter 11: Slow Dancing In A Burning Room
So here's what you missed on Dandelion: Bar!Santana came to Justine's birthday party as Brittany's not-date but when Brittany started having a friendly conversation with a guy in front of her, Santana totally freaked out and left and she wouldn't explain why. Lab!Britt and Santana drove down the California Coast toward Hearst Castle together, talking about everything and nothing because they're totally smitten with each other but they still haven't had sex. Violet!Britt and Santana keep hanging out and even though it's pretty hard for Britt to be around a girl she likes so much who is off limits, she offered to help Santana get a gift for her boyfriend for their five year anniversary. And that's what you missed!
I went back to the party, upset with Santana, but mostly at myself. I knew I shouldn't have lashed out at her, but why was I putting up with her awful behavior? I deserved better. I grabbed another drink, tipped it back into my throat, and picked up another. Justine saw me, and I was thankful that our house was full of people when she raised her eyebrows at me. I couldn't handle her "told-you-so" commentary.
I went back into the living room and found Vance chatting up a cute brunette in the corner. He was smiling and focusing on her like she was the only person in the room. That had been me under his gaze twenty minutes ago. But now I felt out of place in my own apartment.
I went up to them, hoping to cut into their conversation. I didn't so much want to flirt with him as to feel included in a conversation. That was normal, right?
But if I'm being totally honest, I did want to flirt with him. I was angry at Santana and getting attention from someone like Vance would make me feel better. I may have adored Santana, but wanting to be flattered by someone else wasn't a crime.
As I drifted into the kitchen to get my fourth drink of the evening, I found myself wondering what it would be like for Santana to be the one to find me just past the throes of passion with someone else. Would she blow up? Cry? Feel like I'd felt when I discovered her in bed with someone else?
Would she have any feelings at all?
I almost wanted to have a one night stand just to find out.
But Vance's fixation on the brunette seemed impenetrable. I finished my drink and got another, drowning out the awfulness of Santana's rejection. If I'd learned anything as a bartender, it was that alcohol was the solution to every fool's maladies.
After I was feeling significantly buzzed, I wandered back into the living room to find a group of people crowded around our coffee table playing Cards Against Humanity, filling up the room with raucous, drunken laughter. Willing to try anything to distract myself, I joined in.
After a few rounds, I had left the feeling of Santana's ice completely behind. I was frothy with laughter and drink, and the evening blurred on until I somehow found myself in my bed - alone - under my covers, sinking toward sleep.
In the morning I awoke to a soft knock on my door. Groggy and aching, I groaned and rolled over, burying my head under my pillow and cursing the light that glared into my room at this hour of the day. The knock came again and I mumbled from under the pillow, "Come in."
The footsteps that entered weren't Justine's. I lifted my head enough to look at the floor through the slat between the mattress and pillow and was surprised to see the bottom half of Santana's legs, her feet sliding towards me in her favorite sandals.
"Morning, Britt," she whispered.
I lifted my head, letting the pillow teeter and flop off as I blinked at her.
"Morning," I croaked.
She sat on the edge of my bed, tipping my torso towards her with the dip of the mattress as she placed a bag and cup on the edge of my desk.
"How are you feeling?" she asked.
I sighed, rubbing the bridge of my nose and feeling the sharp throb behind my eyes. "I've been better."
Santana put her hand on my sleep-warm back and ran across it a few times.
"I brought you a nice greasy breakfast sandwich and some cocoa," she said. "I thought you might need it."
Surprised by her kind gesture after her inexplicable awfulness last night, I turned onto my side and looked up at her.
"Thanks," I said.
She gave a distracted nod as she looked around my room, avoiding eye contact. It was silent for a moment as I tried to figure out what the fuck her angle was this time. Avoiding me one day and being sweet and thoughtful the next? Nothing about her made sense.
"I'm sorry for being such a bitch yesterday," Santana mumbled, looking down at her nails. "I was... having a rough time," she said vaguely. Then she finally made eye contact. "Sorry I took it out on you."
Relieved that she knew she'd been mean to me, I nodded and extended my hand to her. She took it without hesitation and gave it a little squeeze as she bit her lip.
"Do you want to talk about it?" I asked.
She shook her head, her hair swinging in front of her face. "I just want to move on. We can go to the movies today if you want," she offered. "If your head feels okay."
Relieved she was back to being her sweet self, I rolled onto my back and smiled at her. "Sounds good," I said. "Thanks for breakfast."
Santana reached forward and moved a strand of my hair out of my face. She studied me, seeming to contemplate something quietly as I tried to appreciate the moment through my hangover. My head was pounding, and since Santana had arrived, my heart had started pounding too, making it hurt more.
"Did you want to rest some more? I can do some work if you'd rather be alone..."
Knowing that I might not see this sweet side of Santana again soon if I willingly let her leave, I squeezed her hand. "Did you bring breakfast for yourself?"
"No."
"Why not?"
Santana's eyes darted around and she shrugged. I got the sense that she felt like bringing her own food to my house would be too intimate or too casual or weaken her gesture of apology. Which, granted, was a nice gesture, but it still didn't explain her behavior. Apologizing for behavior didn't help me understand it.
"Did I do something last night that made you angry?" I asked. "Besides talk to that guy?"
Santana lowered her head and shook it. "No. I overreacted to that," she mumbled. "I'm sorry."
I nodded, still perplexed. "Do you want to talk about it?"
"I mean... I said I was sorry," she said, inching away from the subject I really wanted to talk about, which was our relationship. But she was so skittish, and it occurred to me that her jealousy over a harmless conversation might be an indicator of her insecurity. After all, sex was one thing, but intimacy was another. When I thought about it, I'd never been intentionally intimate with her. Maybe she needed me to tell her with words how I felt about her rather than asking her on dates or showing her with my body and attention. Everyone's ears work differently.
I squeezed her hand. "You know you're special to me, right?" I murmured.
Santana looked up through her lashes and gave a subtle nod, sucking her lower lip under her teeth. Then, to my delight, she said very quietly, "You're special to me too."
I felt my body exhale in relief, and half my headache faded. We were back to normal. Normal for us, at least. Whatever that was.
And that was good enough for now.
I smiled and leaned up to peck her on the cheek before darting into the bathroom, peeing, brushing my teeth, splashing some cold water on my face, and drinking a big glass of water. Then I walked back into my room and hopped into my bed, scooting over a few inches and lifting the cover, offering Santana a space.
Relieved, Santana leaned down and tucked herself next to me, her body going soft into the warm spot I'd left with my own. She nestled into me and I wrapped my arms around her. We'd just had a fight was all. Couples had those, right? Even if we weren't an official couple yet. Santana was scared, and that could make anyone pick a fight. My willingness to fight back out of frustration hadn't helped.
I stroked her hair and relished the calm, quiet of the morning. We basked in each other for a long time, and I vaguely listened to Justine getting ready for her day. Santana and I lay in each other's arms for a while, adjusting our necks or arms every minute or so. It was soothing.
And then, once the front door closed behind Justine, Santana tilted her head up to me with a smile. It wasn't long before my lips were on hers and we were curling into each other, drinking each other in, peeling off layers of clothing as our panting and grasping and humming escalated. Then she was on top of me and her fingers we inside me and I was delirious with pleasure, relieved and desperate to be closer. If there was any part of Santana I never doubted, it was the way she was when she was naked against me. She was always strong and sure of herself. It was comforting and arousing all at once.
After we'd finished, she turned to me with a sated grin and pressed a kiss to my cheek.
"I don't know what I was worried about," she said. "That guy's got nothing on me."
"You can say that again," I giggled.
"That guy's got nothing on me."
I laughed and she smiled and I knew we'd made up.
"Can I sing it?" she asked, giggling to herself. She was giddy, practically loopy with happiness.
"Sing what?" I asked, confused.
"The song."
"What song?"
Santana chuckled to herself some more before she flopped her hands on the sheets on either side of her body and sang quietly but enthusiastically, "I just had se-exx... And it fe-elt so good..."
I dissolved into giggles with her, rolling into her body as I tried to wrestle her out of her dorkiness. Or maybe I wanted to join her in it. I just knew that in that moment, I was happy, and she was happy, and we were naked, and I felt closer to her than ever.
My half-hearted attempt to quiet her only served to make her sing louder, and I wrestled her down harder until we were both laughing so hard and we were so tangled together that we collapsed and ended up kissing through smiles for a few minutes.
When she pulled away, calmer, she still couldn't resist saying, "And I didn't even put a bag over your head."
That earned her a playful smack on the hip and giggling "Shut up," as I kissed her again.
If fighting with her resulted in sweet, steamy makeup sex like this, then perhaps fighting wasn't the worst thing in the world.
We took a shower together, spending what must have been an hour kissing under the spray. My headache had completely evaporated, and aside from being hungry and pruny, I felt great. We dressed and took turns brushing out each others' hair before we inhaled the food Santana had brought. When that still wasn't enough, we ventured into the kitchen where we made pancakes, laughing as we spilled flour and dripped batter. We didn't even bother with two plates; we piled a big stack on one plate, drowned it in maple syrup, and ate off it together, smiling with the sweetness and stickiness of our morning.
Once we'd cleaned up our mess, Santana checked her phone. "Oz is playing at two."
Remembering her offer to go to the movies this afternoon, I smiled and murmured, "Okay."
I went into my room to get us some sweaters before we made our way down to Santana's car, sealing ourselves inside. We drove to the theater without saying much, Santana seeming to disappear into her mind. It didn't bother me. After being close to her all morning, I didn't need to talk much. We found parking and walked into the theater, Santana walking a bit faster than usual, even though we weren't late. She gave her gift certificate to the person working the ticket counter, then handed me my ticket without making eye contact.
"You want popcorn?" she asked.
"Only if you do," I said. We were still full of pancakes, but it was nice to have something to munch on.
"Regular butter?"
"Perfect."
Santana kept her chin down as we waited in line, flicking through her phone a few times. She ordered our popcorn with a stiff voice and handed it to me once we'd checked out. As we walked toward the theater, I studied her. Had something happened to make her retreat a little bit? Was she stressed about an assignment? Avoiding someone she knew in the lobby? Did she have a hard time with groups of people? Whatever it was, it eluded me.
Once we got into the theater, she seemed to calm a bit. We made our way up the stairs to the way back and selected two seats in the middle. Santana sat rigid in hers, arranging her purse in the seat next to her, turning her phone on silent and checking a few more things. She held the popcorn while I got settled, making sure not to move too quickly and spook her. She was very spookable, and I didn't know why.
I looked around, relieved the theater was mostly empty. If my theory that Santana didn't like crowded places was right, she'd feel more comfortable this way. We played along with the pre-show guessing game, mostly so we didn't have to sit in awkward silence. We didn't get any of the answers right, which always feels a bit humiliating.
Once the lights dimmed and the previews started, Santana eased back into her chair a bit more, slumping and putting her feet up on the seat in front of her. There were a few clusters of people around the theater, but it was seventy-five percent empty. I suppose the movie had been running for a while, so it was predictable.
Once the previews were over, Santana adjusted herself again. Then, to my surprise, she sat forward, flipped the arm between our chairs up, and gave me a flirty smile as she lifted her arm, offering to let me snuggle into her side. I did so eagerly, relieved that she was okay again. Maybe she had just been anxious for a little while. That was okay. I get anxious sometimes too.
As the opening credits rolled, Santana reached into the popcorn and took a single piece out with her fingers. Then she held it up to my lips and waited for me to take it. Grinning, I did. She repeated the action a few times before feeding herself a few pieces and then holding up another piece for me to eat. Wanting to encourage her sweet, playful gesture, I tilted my chin forward and took not just the piece of popcorn in my mouth, but one of her fingers too. Holding it gently with my teeth, I slowly started to suck. Santana tensed and quivered against me as I drew her finger deeper into my mouth, running my tongue along the bottom. When I let her finger go, she exhaled. She had definitely liked that.
Not wanting to heat things up too fast, I took the next few pieces of popcorn she offered without teasing, allowing the salt to adhere them to my tongue long enough to be pulled inside and crushed, leaving her fingers untouched. Then, after a few minutes, I repeated what I'd done to her finger and was rewarded with a soft, breathy whine in my ear. I smiled around her finger before releasing it and settling back into watching the movie. As much as I loved teasing her, hooking up in a movie theater was a bit tacky, and I knew if I got her any more worked up, we'd start making out, which would lead to wanting more. So I left the finger-sucking as it was, pressing a kiss into her shoulder as a promise to follow through once we were behind closed doors.
The movie seemed way too short. It felt like we'd only been snuggling for a few minutes when the credits started rolling. Santana extracted her arm from around me and leaned forward, collecting her purse and rolling up the half-empty popcorn bag. She gave me a tight smile and we left the theater.
I wasn't ready to lose the warm snuggling feeling so soon though. We'd had over five hours of sweetness without anything changing. I suspected crowded places made her anxious, so I told myself I had to wait until we were outside to get close to her again. Just enough time to shake the snuggle wrinkles out of my clothes and get a few breaths of fresh air.
In the lobby, as I predicted, Santana zipped up again, stashing the popcorn in the trash and looking around her with nervous, darting eyes as she headed for the door. I followed partly to her side and a step behind, letting her find the path that felt best for her. It didn't really matter how we got there as long as we got back to the car.
Once we were out in the sun - it's one of the weirdest things ever, leaving a movie theater in the daytime - I thought everything would be okay. Fresh air makes things seem farther apart when it's not too hot. I thought Santana would breathe easier and we could slip back into our snuggling, stretching out the sweetness of our makeup sex and pancake syrup even longer. So I nudged up against her with a playful smile and slid my hand into hers between our bodies, gripping her palm as I gave her a sneaky, flirty smile that told her I couldn't wait to get into the privacy of her bedroom or maybe even her car.
But to my surprise, she violently jerked her hand away from me, leaping away as though I'd shocked her. I felt like she'd slapped me in the face. And then she gave me a look that was all ice and daggers and I felt punched in the gut too.
I was so surprised I couldn't speak. The sting of her glare silenced me.
What had I done wrong now?
x
I found a parking spot and Santana sprung out of her seat as soon as I put the car in park. I could feel her excitement as she darted over to me before I'd even gotten out. She laced her hand with mine as she helped me find the button to lock her car, then pulled me toward the entrance.
Inside was a predictable visitor center, with souvenirs and snacks and displays of maps and tourist attractions. She walked me over to a board that detailed the various tours of the castle.
"Pick any one you want," she said, gesturing to the five options we had for touring what must have been an enormous castle. "We should start with this one," she said, pointing to the starter tour before her hand drifted over the rest, "but after that we can do as many as we have energy for. We could do all five if you want."
I studied the tour options, seeing the photographs of the castle grounds and great halls and works of art and pools. Everything looked amazing, I didn't know where to start, other than the starter tour. Finally I looked at Santana and said, "Which one is your favorite?"
"All of them," she said, seeming to ground herself a bit. "But I love this one," she said, pointing to a tour on the board.
"That's the one I want," I said, not even bothering to look where she was pointing. She loved this place so much and I loved being around her and I wanted to see her happy.
"Are you sure?"
"Yep."
She grew bouncy again and squeezed my hand. "Okay."
Reveling in her unhindered excitement, I let Santana lead me to the ticket counter and then the bus; up the winding hill where we strolled through lush gardens, crystal clear pools with fountains, and gold-plated statues; and walked through halls lined with priceless art, stately furniture, and the most stylish architecture of the castle's era. It was a treasure to behold. Almost as precious as the expression on Santana's face when she watched me experience it for the first time.
After going on three tours, our legs were aching and our stomachs were growling and we decided to call it a day. Santana suggested we not take the coast road home. It was getting dark, so I nodded and gripped her hand as we walked back to the car.
As we wove back through the trees and boulders and cliffs on our way back to the highway and a new calm washed over us. We still talked, remarking on the things we'd seen that day, but the playful spark that had been in our conversation on the drive down was now a soft glow. At one point, I took Santana's hand and just held it for a long period of time as we drove through the twilight back to San Francisco in silence. And it wasn't awkward. It was as wonderful as eating cupcakes with her.
"Can we stop for cupcakes?" I asked.
Santana looked at me with an amused smile. "I was thinking dinner first, but of course." She nodded to my phone where it rested in a cup holder. "Find a place."
I grinned and picked up my phone, not letting go of her hand as I found first a pizza parlor and then a cupcake shop that was still open.
An hour later we were full of pizza and sitting on a bench outside a mom and pop bakery with a plate of cupcakes on a table in front us.
I realized that the cupcake I was holding had pink frosting, and given the right tongue technique, could easily be moulded into a vagina. I was surprised my brain had turned a dessert into something sexual. Maybe it was a result of all our pent-up sexual energy. As I briefly contemplated using the cupcake to tease her, I felt my face grow warm.
Santana picked up a cupcake and studied my face. "You're blushing," she said.
"No I'm not," I grumbled, busying myself licking the frosting off the edge of my cupcake. I felt myself getting warmer, and I knew Santana was right.
Santana hooked her finger under my chin, tearing me attention away from my dessert. She made intense eye contact before twisting her torso enough to kiss me, soft with only a little tongue against my lips. Then she broke away and murmured, "I'm really happy to have you as my girlfriend. Even if you blush easily."
I felt a relieved, giddy giggle bubble up through me. She'd said it. She'd said I was her girlfriend.
But I loved playing with her. Her playfulness was the most surprising and fun thing about her. "Girlfriend, huh?" I said.
"Girlfriend," she said, winking. "Unless you have other offers."
I dropped the game and smiled. "No," I hummed. "I want to be your girlfriend."
"Good." She kissed me again, brief and soft before she lifted her cupcake to her lips and licked some of the frosting off.
I sat looking at her, not feeling the need to speak. We had reached that level of intimacy; we didn't have to talk to be comfortable. We could just sit and enjoy each other's company and not get anxious about what silence meant. It just meant we adored each other and would rather be together than alone. If we could do that, we could do lots of things and not have them be awkward.
I thought about my decision to wait to have sex with her. It had been about making myself feel safe under the guise of creating intimacy, right? Well, now I felt safe and intimate.
And, as inklings tend to happen, I got the sense that I was ready to have sex with her. She had been patient and kind and had taken me on heartfelt adventures. She's bared herself in precisely the manner I'd intended for us to get to know each other. And while the pressure to have sex would always be there, probably more from myself rather than her, it didn't feel so awful anymore.
I wanted to have sex with her. The idea of being naked and talking about our bodies and kinks and histories didn't feel threatening or scary. It sounded wonderful.
But I didn't know how to tell her that. Usually I just started kissing someone until clothes started peeling off, but that wasn't how I wanted it to be with us. I wanted it to be special and intentional. I also didn't want to experience crippling anxiety afterwards, which meant I wanted her to get tested first, which meant we had to talk about it.
I thought about the best way to ask her to get an STD test. Should I make a joke? Send her a text later tonight? Use the cupcake?
But instead of saying something, I started kissing her. There weren't many people on the street, and kissing in public was okay as long as it didn't get too steamy.
But I must have underestimated my kissing because soon Santana pulled away. She kept her eyes closed and took a deep breath to calm herself. Every time she pulled away like that, I felt a twinge of guilt and flattery. By just kissing her, I aroused her. It was a good feeling and didn't make me uncomfortable at all, especially now that I wanted to be naked with her.
I was just about to whisper that I was ready when she tapped my nose and said. "Tell me something about freckles."
I smiled, loving that we had made this our game now. "I have lots of them," I said. "Do you have any?" I joked. Clearly, from her pristine skin, anyone could tell she didn't have freckles.
"Actually," she said, growing coy. "I do. Well, not freckles, but beauty marks. One here," she said, pointing to the familiar mole on her shoulder. "And two more somewhere else," she said, glancing away coquettishly.
"Somewhere else..." I echoed, intrigued and playing into her game.
She gave a smug nod, then looked down in her lap. "Twinsies. One on each side," she said, tapping a few inches in from each hip bone. "But only special ladies get to meet them."
I loved the fine line of sexy and safe she was walking. She wasn't pushing me to have sex, but she was keeping up the intrigue and making me feel desired.
"Could I be one of those special ladies?" I said, playing up the adorable personification of her beauty marks.
She grinned and nodded. "Definitely. My freckles would love to meet you."
I leaned forward, nuzzling her nose and giving her a peck on the lips.
"But only when you're ready," she added. "They'll be patient."
I decided the best thing would be to be honest with her. I would want her to do the same, right? So I bit the bullet and brought it up with her.
"I've been thinking about that," I began. "We should get tested soon."
Santana's face fell from its playfulness into surprised eagerness. "Yeah," she said. "We should do that."
I smiled at her willingness. "Yeah?"
"Whatever you want," Santana said. "I'll do it."
Relieved and excited that we were talking about something sexual besides how we weren't doing it, I smiled. "Okay."
There was a quiet silence as Santana looked at me to gauge whether or not I was really in with both feet. Wanting to assure her, I picked up another cupcake.
"Actually I got tested about two months ago. Everything came back negative. I haven't been with anyone since," I said.
"Good to hear," Santana said.
"Yeah."
"I'll do it this week," Santana said.
There was a tense moment of silence as we licked the frosting off our cupcakes in what suddenly seemed like a very lewd fashion.
Wanting to assure her I was feeling good about my decision, I gave her a playful smile and said, "Next weekend should be fun."
"Should be..." Santana said, staring at me. Then she set down her cupcake and looked at me with a serious expression.
"Are you sure?" she asked. "I don't want to pressure you."
"You're not." I gave her another coy smile as I stuck out my tongue to run it down the center of the cupcake, intentionally teasing her.
Santana watched me with her teeth pressing into her lower lip. "Okay, then..." she breathed.
Suddenly saddled with a sense of urgency to get back to the car, we devoured the rest of our cupcakes and threw away the wrappers. We walked back to the car holding hands and slid inside. She didn't even bother putting her keys in the ignition, letting them lie in her lap as she turned to me with a sexy smile and cupped my face. I smiled back, leaning toward her, giving her the kiss I knew she wanted, the kiss that was too juicy for a cupcake shop.
Soon our faces were sticky with the frosting residue that had coated our tongues, and our bodies were twisted around the confines of the center console. We had dealt with the physical limitations of making out in her car plenty of times, but this time it seemed exceptionally annoying.
Panting, I broke away and said, "Do you want to get in the back seat?"
Santana exhaled and nodded, not even opening her eyes. She hung there in disbelief for a moment before springing into action, hopping out of her seat and slamming her door closed before the back door opened and she eagerly climbed onto the bench that was her backseat. I followed suit, grateful it was dark and her windows were tinted as we sealed ourselves inside and started kissing again.
Santana's kisses were even more eager and determined, though she never got sloppy. She was a master kisser, to say the least. We'd been kissing for over a month and I hadn't gotten bored yet.
"God, you are so sexy," Santana breathed. "This is going to be a long week."
I smiled but felt a little guilty. I knew Santana was sexually frustrated, especially now that there was an end to her frustration in sight.
"I'm sorry," I mumbled, sitting up off her. "Would you rather we not make out like this?"
She fixed her hands against my back, holding me in place. "No," she said, urgent. "No, I definitely want to keep doing this." Her breathing was deep and quick, as though she had been jogging a short distance. "Gives me something to work with until I'm cleared."
I smiled at her confession and leaned back down, fitting my mouth to hers. After a moment, she popped her lips off as though I'd kissed her mid-sentence.
"Sorry, does that weird you out?" she asked.
"What?"
"That I think about you..."
I giggled at her and kissed the tip of her nose. "No," I assured. "It's a compliment."
She exhaled in relief and kissed me again, feverish.
And because I knew it was only fair, I nuzzled into her neck and murmured, "I think about you too."
At that Santana shuddered. "Fuck..." she moaned. "I'm calling the clinic first thing in the morning."
Taking that as a cue that we should take some heat off, I pecked her on the cheek and sat up.
"Tell me something about…" I looked playfully around the cab of her car before deciding to go with the elephant in the room. "Sex."
Santana panted, sitting up and smoothing her hair as she collected herself, resigned to holding out for another week.
"I'm planning to have lots of it next weekend," she said, smug.
I smiled, gathering her hair behind her heck for her. "Me too," I said. "With a girl who treats me like a princess."
x
Callie had been really sweet to me since I told her about the camera. I came into work the next day to find a cupcake in my locker that she'd decorated the frosting like a breast, complete with a pink M&M for a nipple. I laughed and ate it, glad for the sugar boost before my shift.
Things at Jez felt routine again, which I was glad for. I'd worried it would be tainted by what Dr. Turner had done, and I was relieved to find nothing had changed in the Box. The only thing that was different was I found myself doing more choreography, walking through routines between customers in preparation for the classes I was now teaching.
My first few classes as an instructor at Swivel were great. The students liked me, and while there was bound to be some turnover as people adjusted to me after working with Cassie, it was minor, and the girls promised to bring friends to my classes to fill up the few vacant poles. I wasn't making the kind of money I'd made with Turner, but it was enough to justify permanently modifying my schedule at Jez so I could teach four days a week. I'd been at Jez long enough to have a good relationship with the show manager, so my request was put into effect immediately. It meant I had to work a few morning shifts, but I was okay with that, since I still got my Friday night Booth shift - that was big money - and I still got to dance with Callie a few times a week. I still hadn't decided what to do with my car, but I figured that was a decision for another day.
When Thursday came, I woke up with a strange combination of excitement of dread. Santana and I were having lunch before I took her to the massage parlor down the street to get a gift certificate for Isaiah. Any normal friend would have relished the opportunity to be helpful, but because I liked Santana as so much more than a friend, I knew it was going to be a painful ordeal.
She arrived a few minutes late, hair perfect as always as it draped over the shoulders of her red wool coat. I loved that coat on her. It made her skin and lips and hair glow. It made her even more beautiful, which I thought was impossible. But it did.
She seemed to be in a good mood as we walked to a café down the street. She was especially talkative, which was a relief. My work in the Booth at Jez had taught me how to find things to talk about with any idiot, but talking to a beautiful girl I cared about while at the same time keeping appropriate boundaries in place was more exhausting than catering to the bizarre and perplexing sexual fantasies of my customers.
Santana chattered away about her plans for her upcoming February Break, saying she had thought about going home to Texas, but was going to save her money to go to a writing workshop in Oregon later in the year.
"What kind of workshop?" I asked, blowing on my tomato soup.
"It's a journalism retreat," she shrugged.
"What about your book?" I asked.
Santana gave me a sad smile. "I don't think now is a good time to focus on that..." she said.
I had to wonder if I'd pushed something she wasn't interested in or if she was selling herself short.
"Are you ever going to do it?" I asked, making sure I didn't sound too invested or judgemental.
"Yeah," Santana said. "Just not right now."
I nodded and looked down into my soup, wondering what to talk about next. Luckily Santana asked about how things were going at Swivel, and I was all too eager to fill her in.
"It's fabulous," I said. "I've only taught three classes, and I've already had a few repeat students."
Santana grinned. "That's awesome. Is Cassie happy?"
I shrugged. "She's happy she doesn't have to teach on weekend mornings after working late."
"What about you? Won't you be tired?"
"Yeah," I said with a dismissive shrug. "But her job is harder."
Santana's brow crinkled. "How so?"
"She has direct contact with her customers on the floor. I just stay in my little terrarium and dance. If I'm working the Booth, it's all talk."
Santana nodded. "Your job still sounds impossible to me," she mumbled. "How do you get through the week? I'd always be exhausted or grossed out all the time." Then her eyes widened, realizing she could have offended me. "I mean- not that it's gross. I just, I imagine your customers aren't all attractive and they're probably rude sometimes."
I smiled, appreciative of the delicate way she asked her questions. "When I started, Callie told me the most important thing I needed to learn if I wanted to last was that I needed to commit to spending a lot of time taking care of myself."
"How do you do that?"
"It's different for everyone. I'd say ninety percent of the girls consider weekly pedicures the bare minimum for self care. Our feet are always sore from our shoes, but it's a psychological thing too."
Santana nodded and took a bite of her food, waiting for me to continue.
"I get massages every few weeks. And I think a big part of my self-care is what I do at Swivel, whether I'm teaching or learning. Exercise and dancing are how I take care of myself."
Santana kept nodding pensively as she chewed.
I pointed to my bowl with my spoon. "Food too," I added. "I make sure I have good fuel. I'm lucky Justine is a good cook. And you know, spending time with friends. Getting good sleep. Basic stuff to keep me happy and healthy."
Santana smiled and asked how Justine was doing, and the conversation drifted off towards food, drink, and the weather.
After we cleared our trays and said goodbye to the clerk at the counter, I steeled myself for the task of helping Santana buy her boyfriend a gift. It didn't help when I opened the door to the street and was greeted with a gust of January cold as we headed outside. We trudged back towards my apartment on the way to the massage parlor.
Once we got inside the peaceful waiting area, I didn't feel any better. I was fidgety and resentful that I'd agreed to do this. Why had I offered to bring Santana here? She didn't need me to hold her hand while she bought a gift. It had just been a dumb reason to hang out with her and now my stupidity had put me in an awkward position.
When the attendant came out from behind a curtain and greeted us with his inauthentic spa-smile, I winced. "Helloooo," the man cooed. "How can I help you?"
Santana approached the counter and looked at the small framed spa menu. "I wanted to get a gift certificate for a massage," she said.
"Great," the man said, picking up the menu. "We offer a variety of options. We have a standard fifty-minute Swedish, which is always good. You could go a bit longer or deeper with a ninety minute or a shiatsu. Some people prefer the lighter touch of the hot stone option, which is very popular lately. Personally, I like the Thai massage. Some people say it's better than sex."
Cringing at his casual mention of sex around the most vanilla person in the world, I tried to pretend I was looking at the overpriced lotions and oils on a wooden shelf beside the counter. Santana gave an insincere giggle and looked at the menu as the man offered it back to her. She studied the prices and then said, "Oh, they have a couple's massage." She looked up at me and lowered her voice as she asked, "What do you think?"
I clenched my stomach at the thought of her undressing for a massage next to her boyfriend as I forced myself to smile and nod.
She turned back to the man and said, "I think we'll do that."
The man gave another inauthentic spa-smile. "Great choice. Did you two want to schedule that now?" He glanced at me as he turned to the computer and my whole body hurt.
He thought Santana was buying a couple's massage for Santana and me to have together.
I had known going to buy a gift for Santana to give her boyfriend would be unpleasant, yet I was still overwhelmed with how terrible I felt. The man's assumption that we were a couple was an unexpected punch in the gut.
"Oh, it's not for us," Santana said, mumbling a bit.
I tried to take comfort in the fact that she didn't laugh, but it was hardly a consolation.
"My mistake," the man said.
"I'll just take a gift certificate," Santana said, avoiding looking at me.
She seemed to take forever to purchase her gift certificate while I feigned interest in some organic hypoallergenic massage oil. She asked if I'd help her pick out a few more things and I begrudgingly agreed. Like I did in the Booth sometimes, I put myself on autopilot, avoiding any conscious thought or feeling when at all possible.
By the time we were done picking out a card and a nice tie for Isaiah, it was time for me to go to work. Somehow leaving Santana to go take off my clothes was both relieving and awful. It pointed out the contrast in our lives: she went to classes and on tasteful dates with her boyfriend when we weren't hanging out; I went to an electric pink petri dish and took off my clothes for anyone with a dollar. I almost felt like I needed a transitional activity between Santana and Jez, but I had lingered in her presence for so long, I couldn't stall or I'd be late and get knocked down a pay rung.
Heavy with the realization that she was perfectly committed to her vanilla boyfriend in a way she would never be to me, I let Santana drop me off a block away. Somehow, getting out of her car made arriving at Jez all the more awful.
When I got inside, I set about putting on my fake schoolgirl outfit; the white button-down shirt was no bigger than a bra and rested beneath my breasts, and the skirt was literally three inches long and looked more like a belt. Paired with my Ellies and two neat braids, I looked like a perverted Britney fantasy. I liked the outfit though. It was different than the usual leather or lace most girls wore in the Box.
Jez had the funniest dress code to me. It was the opposite of any school dress code where skirts must be to the knee and straps must be a few inches and no midriff can show. At Jez, our skirt couldn't cover our whole ass or pussy, our nipples had to be visible at all times, and belly button jewelry was as common as earrings.
As I stepped out of my everyday panties, I saw there was a small dark smudge on the fabric. At first I was surprised. With birth control, I always knew when my period was coming and I could plan for it. But since I'd stopped sleeping with Turner, I'd gone off it, so my cycle was all out of whack. Cursing, I looked in my locker for my toiletry kit, which consisted of babywipes, painkillers, tampons, and a pair of scissors to cut off the string. But when I looked in my usual spot, it was nowhere to be seen.
"Shit," I breathed. I turned to the girl changing next to me. "Do you have any tampons?" I asked.
She shook her head, not making eye contact. "I use a cup."
"Dammit," I breathed. I tried the lock on Callie's locker, but it was closed firm and I didn't know the combo.
I rushed into the bathroom, remembering there was a machine that dispensed tampons for a quarter. But after feeding the machine three quarters and getting nothing in return, I hit it with my hand, letting a satisfying bang reverberate through the tiled room.
I was so fucked.
Frantic, I pulled out my phone.
There was a message from Santana: I had fun with you today :)
Trying not to get sucked into her sweetness and forget that she was off limits, I ignored her note and called Justine. Hopefully she would be home and would be able to save me. But she didn't pick up three times in a row.
I was so screwed. I had to be onstage in five minutes. I couldn't leave to go pick up tampons or I'd be knocked down the pay scale again or maybe even fired. I couldn't lose my job over my period.
But I also couldn't work with blood dripping out of me. My anxiety about my dilemma settled into my stomach, and I started feeling overwhelmed.
I tried to calm myself. Where had I left my toiletry kit? I realized after just a minute of chastising myself for removing it that I had brought it home to refill a few weeks ago and hadn't put it back in my bag. I could even picture it on the top of my dresser next to my deodorant and bowl of bobby pins.
Desperate, I called Santana.
"Hey!" she chirped.
"Hey," I said, trying to keep my panic low. "Are you busy?"
"No, why? Aren't you at work?"
"Yeah, but I just got my period and I don't have any of my stuff. No one else is in the dressing room and I'm screwed."
"Oh," Santana said. "I always wondered what strippers do about that."
I gave a pained chuckle. "We cut the strings off our tampons."
"Makes sense," Santana said. There was a brief pause before she said, "Do you need me to bring you something?"
I let out a relieved sigh. I couldn't believe I'd actually called her to ask her to bring me tampons. It was embarrassing. And that's coming from someone who is hard to embarrass.
"If it's not too much trouble," I said.
"Sure, no problem. What kind do you want?"
"Just regular tampons and some Motrin. I'll pay you back."
"I'll drop it off in the next twenty minutes. Will that be okay?"
"Yeah," I said, hopeful I could fake something until she showed up.
"Do I just go to the front desk?" she asked.
"Yeah, I'll tell the attendant I'm expecting something."
"Perfect."
"Thank you so, so much," I said, sighing in relief.
"No problem at all," Santana said. I could hear her smile.
She was such a sweet girl.
I finished getting dressed, jerry-rigging a temporary solution to my flow problem that I hoped would last for the next twenty minutes. Then I steeled myself and clopped up the stairs into the Box.
The next fifteen minutes were the longest I'd ever spent in the Box. I was so nervous about bleeding on something, but luckily I didn't. After what felt like five hours, there was a tap on the door and I raced over to it, slinking down the stairs to receive the bag the attendant was holding out to me. I was disappointed I wouldn't get to see Santana, but I realized that I was in my Violet costume and I didn't really want her to see me with my tits out - not because I had any qualms about my tits, but because I knew it would make her uncomfortable.
The bag the attendant handed me was heavy for what I'd asked for. I frowned and opened it, peering inside.
Tucked next to the tampons and Motrin was a bottle of water, a bar of chocolate, and a big, gooey brownie from Starbucks.
At that, I burst into tears. I liked Santana so, so much, and her sweetness felt like torture. I sat in the dressing room crying for ten minutes before I wound my way back into the Box, not even caring if I got in trouble.