Title: Inside Out
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Santana's back from Indiana for Senior year. She lived her five years ago, but there's something different about the place.
Warning: G!P
Notes: After finishing STAMTB, I just started writing. It won't be a super long fic, but I'm just rolling with it at the moment. Enjoy.
/
The sun is shining, the trees are waving side to side in the light breeze, and there's a thin layer of sweat covering Santana's skin.
Her trucks engine decided to conk out on her way home from the gym, and so she's bent over the hood, hands working at the engine to patch it up to at least get her back to the local garage.
She's not too far out of town, only a ten minute or so walk, but she's full capable of fixing the piece of junk she calls a truck. Her pops was a mechanic, owned his own garage couple years back, works in the local now, and she grew up around this type of stuff. A steaming engine is a very common place out here, with the sun beaming and soaring temperatures and so it only takes a few rolls of tape and a top up on the coolant before the truck is roaring back up again.
She's sliding behind the wheel once more, turning the radio all the way up and belting out one of the top songs on the charts, the light breeze now lifting her hair over her shoulders as she heads back into town.
/
It's been a rough couple of years.
She grew up here in Lima, but her mom left when she was a kid, leaving her dad to raise her and they relocated to Indiana when she was just turning thirteen because he got some management job in a tyre firm. Said job ended up letting her dad go due to a loss in the markets, which meant they had to move back here. Luckily, or not so luckily really but they weren't that close, her abuela died a couple months back, leaving a large four-bedroom house with a pool, and it was an offer they couldn't refuse, especially given the situation they were handed.
So, here they are, with Santana living her last year of school at McKinley High, where naturally all the students from McKinley Middle School went, and so she's well acquainted with them.
Which, in some ways was good, because she found Quinn and Rachel in the local coffee shop on her first day – friends she used to have sleepovers with when she was younger. They weren't really like friends friends, but after they'd recognised each other and traded phone numbers, they made this group chat and just started talking.
It was nice, but Santana wasn't alone, and thanks to them having history, she didn't have to explain her… situation.
See, she wasn't like normal girls. When she was born, there was some sort of birth defect which meant she had… an extra appendage.
Bar that, she's totally female, but it always left her feeling a little excluded. None of the rest of the girls had it but after some research she found it wasn't entirely uncommon in the world, but it wasn't common in Bumfuck, Ohio and it had kept her a little guarded. She knew that had she been like the rest of the girls, she'd rule the school, be Head Bitch In Charge working for Sue Sylvester whilst dominating the Cheerios and the school, but life just wasn't destined to be that way for her.
And it's not like the entire school bullied her or anything when they found out after some girl tweeted a picture of Santana asleep at a group sleepover once – yes, it was completely traumatic at the time – but it outed her in a way she hadn't prepared for. However, in spite of the miniscule brain cells these students had, they couldn't make fun of something that intrigued them at the same time.
Because she's hot. Like, smoking hot.
And has a vicious tongue. That comes in handy.
Still, she made sure not to make a habit of befriending people, because there was always that concern that it was for different reasons, but not Quinn and Rachel. No, they were cool about it. They asked a couple questions but otherwise, treated her like the girl she is and always has been. They had no interest in what was in her pants – they weren't trying to get in them – so they paid it no mind, and both made a habit of defending any abuse that was thrown Santana's way.
(Even Rachel Berry was known to slap a bitch for Santana, despite being as intimidating as a blind hamster. The girl is fierce when she's pissed.)
(Quinn was just a constant fear to most students so the comments were always minimal around her. That bitch is a known psycho.)
The grocery store comes into view as she pulls down Main Street. People litter the sidewalks, a serious lack of corporate retail stores surrounding, and as towns go, this one isn't so bad. It's small, the kind of place where everyone knows the three mailmen, and there's only one school that serves all the years, but it's familiar, and safe.
Although she can't help but feel there's something bigger meant for her. Something better than this place.
She hops out the truck, hoping it'll turn on again when she returns and makes her way into the grocery store, greeting Mr Rogers, the elderly guy that's ran this place since it opened back in 1964. He flashes a toothless grin, but returns to his pipe and newspaper quickly, uninterested because Santana comes here all the time. The guy's cute in that old person way, and she holds a special place in her heart for him.
There are two bags in her hand when she leaves, and she rolls a piece of gum into her mouth before she starts up the engine, throwing an arm over the passenger seat to peer through the back window. Her foot presses on the gas, slowly reversing when a flash of blonde comes into view and she's forced to slam down on the brakes before she almost knocks the dumb ass that's ran behind her car.
She's out in an instant, rounding the rear of her truck and stopping at the image before her.
There's a blonde girl, about Santana's age, reaching down to the road to pick up a tabby cat, and the words leave her mouth before she can stop it.
"Watch where you're fucking going," she spits, her brows pulling together and fists balling at the side. All she needs is to plow someone over in her truck and go to jail or something, especially when the girl fucking ran out behind her truck.
"You watch where you're going. You nearly ran over this cat," the girl retorts, straightening up and Santana's eyebrows fly up to her hairline, eyes trailing over the blonde in front of her.
There are impossibly blue eyes sparkling at her, narrowed slightly and shit, the girls fine. Her cheekbones are razor sharp, and her blonde hair is pulled back into a high ponytail, and Santana's desperately trying to ignore the sheen of sweat glistening over her skin, which is covered with running gear because it's tugging at something low in her stomach
Blondie is like, super fucking attractive.
Blondie's also got legs. For days.
"Whatever," she grunts and pulls her gaze away, annoyance covering her face again. The girl's hot but Santana's still pissed. "Take your cat and move away from the back of my truck."
"It's not my cat."
Santana stops. What? "Whose cat is it then?"
The girl tilts her head to the side, face screwing up like she's trying to understand a foreign language, and Santana can tell she's pissing her off. It makes her chuckle internally, the satisfaction seeping in. Although she does register the unease tickling the back of her brain. She's used to being an asshole, but this girl's making her feel bad for it.
"Does it matter?" The blonde clicks her tongue and shakes her head, clearly giving up on the exchange as she brushes past Santana, their shoulders touching briefly. It sends sparks down tanned arms but she flexes against it. "You nearly ran it over, so next time, you watch where you're going," she continues sharply, before disappearing behind Santana, cat in hand.
Santana just rolls her eyes and climbs back into the cab of her truck, unable to pull her stare away from the blonde girl walking down the street, away from her, completely flabbergasted by the event that just occurred.
What just happened?
/
Quinn is waiting outside the local garage – which also happens to be where she works at the weekends – when she gets there.
She texted her ten minutes ago, asking her to pick her up because she needed to drop her truck off. Her friend had agreed, and she throws Santana a hurry up from her car parked out frontas Santana hands the new mechanic her keys and explained what she did to patch it up. The mechanic looks confused, obviously assuming someone like her couldn't possibly know anything about cars despite the fact she actually works here, and she snatches the ticket off him and tells him not to let anyone but her dad touch her truck as he's on the late shift.
Those three brain cells he possesses can be super dangerous around heavy machinery. And it may be old, but Santana loves her truck. It used to be her dad's when he was a teenager.
"Rachel's waiting and I'm not taking the stick for being late," is the first thing Quinn says as Santana slips into the car. Brown eyes roll.
"Shove it, Fabray," she replies and smiles too-sweetly at her friend. "My truck broke down and I need to get these groceries home first, so I'll call Berry and tell her to meet at mine."
It seems to put out the fire the blonde held on Santana's approach because Quinn pulls the car away from the sidewalk and heads towards Lima Heights. "You're annoying."
Santana laughs, throatily and kicks her feet up on the dashboard. "You love me."
/
The groceries are all unpacked, neatly organised in a way Santana has to keep the kitchen otherwise her dad forgets where everything is and ends up having cereal for dinner.
Rachel's letting herself in as they're gathered around the kitchen counter, sodas in hand and elbows leant down against the cool marble. Santana casts a quick glance to the girl and eyes the soda, offering a silent question. Rachel nods and throws her bag on to the countertop, hopping on to one of the stools as she takes the drink, sighing loudly which means she's about to moan.
Great.
"Glee club have to perform at the game tonight," she announces, for once not looking excited at being the centre of attention.
Quinn cocks her eyebrow and leans against the side. "Why is that so bad?"
Santana knows why. There's a certain football player that Rachel's been pursuing – and that's putting it in the kindest way possible, because the girl's kind of a stalker – and performing in front of him, means performing in front of the Cheerios which of course is home to his popular, bitchy girlfriend, Kitty, who takes every opportunity to embarrass Rachel. Some of her previous success stories have been involving spaghetti and a poor remake of Carrie at the homecoming dance and being egged at Regionals.
If Santana had been there, she would've intervened, but she's just arrived in town, she doesn't want to be involved in high school drama just yet.
"Jake's there," she answers. "And so is Kitty."
Quinn meets Santana's eyes and sucks her lips in. "We'll come watch," she says and brown eyes narrow. Why is she offering that out? "We'll make sure nothing happens, Rach."
Santana guesses she's free tonight. Her only plans were to sit in the garage and watch her dad fix her truck, maybe complete an assignment or two so maybe attending a game might be more entertaining, but still, Quinn could've asked. She could have had plans.
"Yeah, sure," she rolls her eyes and takes a sip of her soda. Yeah, okay, she could have had plans. Her social life is as existent as fucking dinosaurs. "But I'm only defending you Berry, not your choir buddies."
There's a smile tugging at Rachel's face and she makes that weird squeak she does when she's happy as she jumps down from the stool and claps excitedly in one spot. This girl not only dressed like a child, but acts like one, too and even if she is really annoying, it's also weirdly likeable.
Quinn and Santana look at each other though and just laugh.
/
The one thing that's the same in every high school, is the cliques.
Jocks and cheerleaders are at the top, followed by the Puck heads. The AV nerds, band freaks and Glee kids are at the opposite end of the scale, and then there's like, everyone else who just lingers somewhere in the middle, depending on who they're dating.
But at football games, no-one really cares because all eyes are on the game. Everyone's united, a fucked up dysfunctional family who cheer on their team and hurl insults and petty remarks at the opposing team.
So, when they turn up, Quinn and Santana make their way to steps to the bleachers, spotting a couple free spots on the middle row. Her eyes are scanning around, finding the spotty Popcorn vendor who she's seen shoved into the lockers in the hallway multiple times and calls out her friend's name, asking if she wants some popcorn because she skipped out on dinner and now entirely regrets it. The blonde nods and Santana tells her to go get them seats as she heads on to the guy with a couple dollars in hand.
But it's really difficult navigating through the bleachers because they're not only tight as hell, but all the students are rowdy and loud, jumping up and down doing the wave in support of the football team and creating an obstacle course. There's popcorn littering the benches, soda stains covering some of the plastic too and it only takes the wrong nudge of an elbow as Santana stumbles, losing her footing and throwing her arms out to the rails beside her.
Then there's a hand grabbing at her bicep, preventing her from colliding heavily with the bleachers and blood rushes to her cheeks, the embarrassment of falling over in front of everyone clouding her mind. God, how humiliating. Tripping over in front of half the school in one of the biggest games of the seasons. Maybe the match has started because fucking score.
This will haunt her for years to come.
"Nice trip?" A voice flows through her ears and her eyes snap to the owner of the hand wrapped around her arm.
It's the fucking cat girl from earlier. The one she nearly ran over.
But this time, the blonde is clad in a Cheerios uniform and of course, she's a fucking cheerleader. She's tall, athletic, fucking drop-dead gorgeous. That's like the top three requirements for getting in, regardless of actual dancing ability. That's something Coach Sylvester always said could be taught, but can't make a troll, a princess. That woman sure does have a way with words.
Despite being completely humiliated at the last minute or two, Santana clears her throat and pulls herself up, freeing her from the blondes grasp and gathers herself. Her eyes trail up and down the girl, her head tilting in a cocky manner and she grins, unable to prevent the next few words coming out her mouth.
"Not as nice as those legs," she retorts and the blonde's mouth pops open into a small 'o', eyes widening with shock, and another Cheerio runs up beside her and tugs her away, eyes not leaving brown ones until they physically have to.
Santana chuckles to herself, loving the thrill that buzzes through her as she makes her way to the Popcorn vendor and buys a couple of bags.
/
Quinn's eying her when Santana takes a seat beside her.
"What was that?"
Santana hands her friend a bag of popcorn and looks around to see what she means. "What was what?"
Hazel eyes narrow and Quinn takes a piece of the snack, studying the brunette. "Down there, when you fell over."
There's an amused smile pulling at the blondes' lips, and Santana mentally notes to remember every embarrassing thing Quinn's ever done from here out and rub it in her face for years. She knows that's what Quinn's going to do to her.
"Some girl helped me," she explains, because if she's honest, she doesn't know what happened, either. That's the second time today she's been in this situation. "I nearly ran over her at the grocery store, this morning, too."
There's an odd silence between the girls. Santana stares out at the football field watching the players come on the pitch, Cheerio's dancing and singing on the side-lines. Her eyes search for a familiar figure, but she can't see her and so she switches her attention back to her friend who's just looking at her. What the hell does she want?
"What?"
"Some girl is Brittany Pierce. And you nearly ran her over?" Hazel eyes study her again like she's trying to see through a lie. Santana just nods. Did she fucking stutter? "And that's not something you thought to mention this afternoon?"
"Well, no, because I don't even know who Brittany Pierce is–" Santana mimics her friends voice which earns a flick to the ear. She can't deny the name rolls nicely out her mouth, plus it suits the girl. Not that names ever don't suit people. Unless they're babies and they're called Keith. That just never works. "Ouch, bitch," she adds, snarling at the blonde at the pain shooting through her.
"That's Senator Pierce's daughter, Co-Captain of the Cheerios," Quinn lists but Santana just stares blankly. This literally means nothing to her. Well, she knows who Senator Pierce is, but like, that just means the girl is super rich. "She's like, the second most popular girl in school. You could've had your ass handed to you for that stunt."
Santana throws a piece of popcorn at her friend and laughs. So fucking what if she nearly knocked the girl over? She did walk behind her truck. "Not my fault she doesn't look where she's going."
In the background, the Glee Club begin singing in the centre of the pitch and it pulls them away from the conversation. The game's about to start, and this can wait for later.
"You'll be next on Kitty's hitlist, now," Quinn adds.
Santana just waves her off with her hand and pays attention to the pitch in front of her, ignoring the urge to search for Brittany.
(She thinks she likes that girl.)
/
Somehow, Rachel gets through without a hiccup.
Nothing happened during the Glee performance, or the game, or the celebration after when the McKinley Titans got a touch down in the last three seconds and won the match, and for that, Santana's relieved. As much as she wanted to have a reason to kick Noah Puckerman in the balls for laughing at her friend – he's just an arrogant jackass, but also the most popular guy in school and star quarterback – she's glad that Rachel and the other Glee kids got away without any issues.
They're making their way out of the bleachers, following the sea of students that surround them and Rachel comes bouncing up, clapping excitedly like a child again.
Sometimes it's endearing, sometimes it's straight up annoying.
"Before you say anything, just don't."
Quinn snarls at you. "Shut up Santana," she defends and looks back to Rachel. "The performance wasn't terrible."
Rachel giggles and rolls her eyes. "Thanks guys, and Santana, congratulations on your trip."
She's not used to being the one being bullied here. It's always Quinn and Santana against Rachel because it's just so easy and super enjoyable and she's instantly defensive, her arms folding across her chest and eyebrow quirking up in a way that says fuck off before her mouth does.
"Fuck off, Faberry," you hiss and turn on the ball of your feet, moving quickly through the crowd. Her friends laugh and follow swiftly, and she huffs away because fuck those two. Everyone trips over and shit, she's seen Quinn face plant the school field a couple times when Coach makes her do laps as punishment for being late to class.
Except her strop is quickly interrupted when someone barges into her hard. Her sneakers squeak against each other, feet fumbling until she loses balance for the second time that night and just knows that someone just fucking knocked her over on purpose. But Quinn is there, sturdy beside Santana and manages to loop her arm through hers so she doesn't fall flat on ass. She mentally notes to thank her after she's released on bail for killing the asshole that just shoved into her.
Her head snaps around, eyes locking on to the retreating figure she recognises as the smirk of the fucking NoahPuckerman.
"Puckerman," Santana growls lowly, her eyes trained and teeth baring slightly. "Fucking asshole," she yells, loud enough for the nearby students to whip their heads up to leer in on the interaction.
The football player tilts his head up and blows her a kiss. "Careful Lezpez," he laughs through is words and nudges his elbows out to his teammates who chortle alongside him. "Don't wanna eat shit again."
Fucking great. The entire school already knows if they hadn't seen it.
Santana brushes down her jeans and flips the guy off, watching as he heads back into the school, helmet tucked under his arm. The rest of the team follow suit, and she turns back to her friends, silently thanking her with a small smile because the embarrassment is too much right now to form words. The need for alone time, away from these douchebags, burns through her and she grabs her phone out her pocket, shooting a text to her dad to ask if her truck is ready yet. He's usually pretty quick with repairs, and it's been a few hours since he started his shift.
He replies almost instantly. Ready and waiting kiddo x
"Can I grab a lift to the garage?" She asks, slipping her cell into the shirt breast pocket. Quinn says yes and they head towards her friend's car, Rachel blabbering on about the performance and how cute Jake looked when he took his helmet.
She misses the blue eyes that watch her from across the parking lot, the apology on behalf of Puckerman slipping away into the night.
/
It's the weekend, and Santana's working at the garage.
It's the middle of summer and it's so fucking hot that the fan twisting in the corner of the office is barely even touching Santana. She groans and throws then pen on the desk in front of her, eyes watching the clock tick by on the wall as she counts the hours until she finishes. Or at least gets a call out. Picking up broken down cars is better than sitting in a hot cubicle and she sends a prayer to the heavens for someone to just break down in the middle of the highway.
Or like, to the side. She doesn't want them to die.
She pushes up from the desk, rounding it and heading out into the main garage to the water cooler on the side. She fills a cup and sips it, wincing at the lukewarm temperature of it. They really need to fork out for an ice machine, or at least a chiller for the cooler because in the dead of summer, warm water is not the one.
The sound of the phone starts blaring from inside the office, and she dribbles down her chin, momentarily wiping at her tank top and cursing herself for having temporary throat paralysis because apparently she can't swallow anymore. Her dad laughs from across the garage, waving at her to signal he's going to pick up the call and does so, twisting his cap around to face backwards on his head as he answers.
He's one of those cool dads. He's a young one too, having Santana at only 18 and they are more like best friends than father and daughter, but when he sold his garage and they moved to Indiana, he lost some of his shine. Santana thinks it's something to do with her mom leaving, but they've never really spoken about it.
Moments later, he's putting the phone down and coming out the office, a yellow post-it note in hand. Santana takes a long sip of her water and crumples the paper cup up in her hand, throwing it into the trash, knowing this is one for her and grabs the garage tow truck keys off the wall, meeting her dad in the middle of the floor.
"SUV is overheated off route 81," he says and winks at his daughter. "Mind getting this one?"
She's been waiting for this. "No problem, pops," she quips and smiles as she heads towards the tow truck. "Love you."
"Love you, kiddo," her dad replies, dirty rag polishing his greased hands. "Drive safe."
Santana nods and slams the truck door, heading off to the job.
/
She spots the car from about a mile out.
There's not much traffic around this area, despite it being off one of the four roads out of Lima, but forests cover it for miles and there's a few questionable houses down dusty track roads. The black SUV is parked in a small gravel path off the main road and there's a girl sitting on the hood, legs pulled up to her chest and she's looking off into the distance.
Santana beeps her horn once as she approaches, pulling in in front of her and tugging the main brake up. She clambers out the cab of the truck, pulling a branded but faded baseball cap with Lima Garage Co. printed in red on the front from the back pocket in her jean shorts, shoving it on her head and moves to the back of the tow truck to greet the customer.
Except it's not just any customer.
Of course, it's Brittany.
Of course it's legs.
She laughs to herself, because obviously it's her, and she prays she doesn't trip over her own feet. Bad things happen in threes, right?
Blue eyes snap to her and a smile of recognition pulls at Brittany's mouth. She's sliding off the hood and coming towards Santana without a hesitation and folding her arms over her chest.
"We meet again."
Santana forgoes the greeting and pulls out a notepad, writing down Brittany's name on the ticket and the make of her SUV. "So, it seems," she offers a smile. "What's wrong with the car?"
"It made a weird sound and then the engine conked out," the blonde explains, looking over her shoulder to the vehicle. "Think I went over a rock or something."
Her knees are pressing against the gravel without second thought, hands digging into the sharp stones. Her eyes scan the bottom of the car and sure enough, there's liquid seeping out from somewhere it shouldn't be seeping out from. There's a large dent in the underside of the car, and she can't see properly but she thinks she can see an actual tear in the metal and yup, the car is screwed.
"You'll need a tow back," she explains, writing down the notes to give her dad when she gets back. "Think your suspension is somewhere on the highway."
Blue eyes widen and Brittany shifts her weight from one leg to the other. "Oops," she whispers and looks up through long lashes. "I've only just passed my test."
"Maybe you should do a re-take."
It's not meant to be mean, but the blondes face twists with uncertainty, so Santana offers a smile to follow her words. Brittany squints slightly, taking her lower lip between her straight, white teeth and giggles lowly. Shit. That did something to her insides.
Girl's hot and cute.
"Will you take me home?"
Santana heads to the tow truck, beginning the process of lowering the hook to the bumper of the SUV. Her thumb presses down on the down arrow of the controls and she taps her boots against the rear wheel, watching the hook fall to the gravel at her feet.
"I'll take you to the garage, we don't do home delivery service," she states and it's true. It's not part of the service to take people home after dropping their car in for repair. Funnily enough, it's not named Lima Garage and Chaffeur Co.
"Oh," the blonde drops her head to look at her feet, making small circles in the dirt. "My dad's out of town, so there's no-one to pick me up."
Santana doesn't know what makes her do it. Maybe it's the way the girl looks really small right now, like a lost kid at a shopping mall. Maybe it's the way blue eyes look up at her and ask a question that her mouth doesn't. Maybe it's because Brittany's having this weird effect on Santana's stomach and she just feels this urge to please the girl, even if it means putting herself out the way.
Sure, she's got time because she's not off the clock for a good couple hours but she could be… sitting inside a hot office without air conditioning? Okay, maybe dropping her off isn't such a bad idea. Maybe she could long it out. Only to shorten her workday. Not for any other reason.
(Sure.)
"I'll take you on the way, if you're not too far out."
Brittany snaps her head up, grinning ear to ear. She nods, fluttering her lashes in a way that Santana will see in her dreams for the next few nights, and she forces herself to look away, clearing her throat and coughing on purpose like that's the reason she needed to look away. Even she doesn't believe that, she needs to make sure the other girl believes it.
She doesn't know why the blonde makes her so hot under the collar.
"I'm a couple blocks away from the Country Club," the blonde tells her. Of course she is. Her father is a senator, after all. He probably owns half the damn club.
"Yup," she pops the p, resisting the urge to roll her eyes. She does it so often, one day they'll roll back and stay there. She moves to the front of the SUV and hooks the car up, heading to the cab to grab the tablet the girl needs to sign as the machine works and slowly begins tugging the car into position. "That's on the way."
It's a lie. The garage is in the other direction, but Santana guesses the blonde didn't call in her breakdown so maybe she doesn't know where the garage is exactly. The insurance is registered to her father, Rick Pierce, the tablet in the tow truck reads as she prints out some forms and she prays that Brittany doesn't say anything more, because she wouldn't even know how to respond if she called her out.
"Thank you," is all the blonde says when Santana returns and hands over the tablet for signing. "Just here?" She gestures to the dotted line.
Santana nods. "Thanks," she pulls the tablet away and juts her chin toward the passenger door. "You can get in while I finish up."
Brittany shoots a small smile but climbs into the truck.
Santana releases a breath she didn't know she was holding.
/
By the time she's hooked the car up, filled out a few more forms and sat in the prime-time traffic for a solid 45 minutes, the sun is going down.
She knows her dad's shift ends at 6, and its not far off that now, but she wants the car to at least be registered and checked over before the garage shuts, which isn't going to happen if she drops Brittany off because yeah, she isn't on the way. She scolds herself internally for agreeing to do this. She really doesn't want to spend her Saturday night at the garage with pops, even if she knows there's a couple more hours left thanks to the express repair option.
"Think I'm gonna have to drop the car off first," she says, breaking the silence that's been lingering in the cab. Her hand readjusts grip on the wheel, her other by her chin, elbow leaning on the open window. "Don't wanna keep my dad at the garage too late, tonight."
Brittany looks at her, confusion in blue eyes. "You don't have to repair it now," she says. "It's late already."
Santana can't help but chuckle in a non-amused way. One of the reasons she had so much paperwork to fill out was because whoever called in the breakdown also paid an extra couple hundred dollars for the express repair service.
It's something the garage offers to people who have far too much money, because it usually involves working on the vehicle until it's fixed which eats into the non-existent overtime budget. Most people in this town just wait for the next business day, with it not being a fancy place or anything, but there's a select few that have zero patience and a thick wallet and well, seems like Rick Pierce is one of them.
"Your dad paid for express," she explains and shrugs her shoulders, briefly meeting Brittany's eyes. "It's a complete fix order."
There's nothing more she wants than to go home, stick on Netflix and fall asleep on her bed because today has dragged. But seeing as their financial position as a family isn't great, she knows the couple hundred dollars would do them good, and she won't leave her dad alone to fix it. She doesn't know everything, but she's great at being an assistant and loves learning more about cars.
"I don't need my car back that quickly, my dad is just…" Brittany takes a deep breath and blows it out slowly, her eyes drifting to the window. "He just likes things done, you know?"
He's an asshole hovers at the tip of Santana's tongue, but when she meets the blondes gaze, she sucks it down. She doesn't need that right now. She looks deflated, like a tyre with a slow puncture. It doesn't sit well with her.
"It's cool," she tries to play it off, sucking her lips into her mouth, eyes now trained on the road. "I'll drop you off after, if that's okay. Get him started on it then I'll go back."
Brittany nods slowly, her hands toying with the hem of her shorts and Santana swallows against a thickened throat. Those legs are really distracting.
"Isn't that a bit out your way now?"
Yes.
"Nah, it's cool," she tries again, rolling her eyes at herself. Using cool doesn't necessarily make what she's saying sound cool, and any other words would be great. She's so very aware of how lame she's probably coming across.
So, she doesn't say anymore.
Brittany doesn't either and a strangely comfortable silence settles between them for the rest of the ride.
/
"Santana, mija," the older man comes out the main garage door, throwing a dirty rag over his shoulder. His overalls are now covered in grease, and Santana wonders what he did when she was out. Swim in oil? "You're late."
"Traffic, pops," she flicks off the engine and slides out the truck. "Underside is damaged," she explains and hands over the notepad in her pocket with the details on it. "I've got to drop the customer off, so I'll be back in a bit."
There are fingers wrapping around her wrist, rough pads pressing against her pulse. Dark eyes, similar to hers but older, more worn, glance down at her. "Dropping off a customer?"
Shit.
"She's a friend," Santana blurts, hoping Brittany hasn't got out the truck yet because she wouldn't exactly call them friends. Another thing to add to her list of recent embarrassments. "From school."
Her dad hesitates, like he doubts what she's saying as he's fully aware Quinn and Rachel are her only friends. Then something clicks in his mind, his eyes flashing to the cab of the truck and it's like he's found his answer because he drops his hand, smiling softly at his daughter and winks, heading to the back of the tow truck to unhook the SUV.
God, she really hopes he isn't going to ask questions later. There's nothing even to ask.
"Brittany," she calls, and it's the first time she's said her name to the girl.
It flips her stomach in a way she isn't familiar with. The blonde sticks her head out the window, eyebrows up and expression open to listen to whatever Santana's saying to her. It's a little cute. Scratch that. It's really fucking cute.
"We gotta take my truck," she points to the vehicle outside, behind the garage. "Leave my dad to get your car out."
Brittany doesn't question it, instead stepping out the tow truck and winces at the breeze at covers her skin. Goosebumps form, and Santana's reaching for one of her spare work jackets hanging up by the office, offering it out. The blonde takes it silently, unsure for a second, but then she's pulling it up her arms and it all feels too nice for a second, her standing there in Santana's jacket.
She looks good in Santana's clothes, and that fucking tug is back, low in Santana's stomach.
But it all feels too much, too weird. Like, giving Brittany a jacket should be normal, it shouldn't feel like she's offering out something more, but it's not and it's a really weird vibe around them. Santana's not sure how to feel about it and she must show it too, because the smile drops from the blondes face and Santana has to clear her throat for like the hundredth time today as she twists quickly on her feet and makes her way to her truck.
/
"How come I haven't seen you around before?"
It doesn't surprise Santana that Brittany wants to talk to her. Yeah, there was comfortable silence in the ride back from route 81, but there's been too much silence now, especially for the proximity they're in and she can't avoid it any longer. Not that she was trying to avoid it, just that she didn't really know what to say.
She's never struggled with making conversation before.
"I transferred back a couple months ago," Santana explains, stopping at a red light. "I lived in Indiana for a few years, but we had to move home."
She doesn't mean to say it like she wants to explain why she had to move back here, but it prompts the question and Brittany's the first person outside of Quinn and Rachel who seems genuinely interested in her. It's a shock to the system, because Santana keeps to herself for her own personal reasons, and she usually has no trouble. Seems like she's struggling with a few things tonight. Yet she has this blonde in her truck, asking her personal questions and she feels her guard shooting up, unstoppable and strong.
"Just because," she answers, and Brittany doesn't flinch. It surprises Santana. Her fingers tighten around the wheel at the discomfort she's feeling. She's trying not to be stand-offish, but it's just natural.
"Some of the girls on the squad said you and Kitty went to middle school together."
She's been asking about her? Interesting.
"You asking people about me?" Santana has a coy smile playing at her lips and Brittany smiles, the air suddenly lighter than it was a minute ago.
"Not exactly," Brittany turns in her seat, foot tucking beneath her leg on the seat and left side pressing into the back of it. Her temple rests against the headrest and blue eyes burn into Santana's temple. "The cat belonged to one of the girls on the team, and some of them saw me catch you when you fell at the game."
Good. Brittany remembers that.
"Yeah," Santana coughs awkwardly, trying not to remember that particular event. "Thanks for the reminder."
The laugh that comes from the blonde grips at Santana's chest and she shakes her head against the feeling. Why is Brittany having this effect on her? She's just another cheerleader, another daddy's girl, but not in the way Santana's a daddy's girl. She's more like daddy's slugger.
"You hang around with Quinn and Rachel, right?"
Again, it strikes Santana that Brittany knows this much about her. Sure, she'd been watching her too – observing, more like and not in a Rachel-Berry-stalker kind of way, but she's just been… noticing her around the halls. Being popular means that people talk, and Santana just happens to listen when they talk about the co-captain, which is why she also knows that what she's feeling is entirely inappropriate because Brittany's not single and definitely not interested in Santana due to the fact she's dating the infamous asshole, Noah Puckerman.
Girls hot, and Santana's not the only one that knows that.
"And you're dating the quarterback," she shoots back and Brittany's surprised, but she's smirking, too.
"So, we both know about each other," the blonde starts, eyes serious but very distracting. "But we've never spoken?"
Santana's not quite sure what the other girl is getting at, but she knows there's a reason she's never spoken to her. They have two completely different lives, barely any classes together, and not to mention the whole status thing. Brittany's a Cheerio, top of the pile, and Santana's not a loser but she's just like drifting around in the middle, blending into the background.
There's a large white house that comes into view as she pulls around the corner, reminding Santana of Washington DC. She'd put in Brittany's address into the map's app on her cell and it had led her here, and she shouldn't be shocked at the sheer size of the place because after all, it is a senator's house. That's a hefty paycheck and a rewarding lifestyle, and it's clearly well spent because not only is this house massive, but it's beautiful.
Like one of the inhabitants of the residence.
"Guess our paths just don't cross often," Santana slows down her truck, pulling up outside the gates to the large building in front of her.
She's not sure whether she should go in, or just drop the girl off here so she hesitates. Brittany doesn't though, pulling her cell phone out from her bra – Santana gulps– and presses it for a few seconds. The large gates begin to open, and Santana takes that as a sign to drive her up to the house. Fuck knows how long the driveway is going to be. Miles, she expects.
She doesn't switch off the engine when she rounds the gigantic fountain in the centre. She just puts the car into neutral and waits, hands falling from the wheel to her lap where her thumbs idly rub around each other.
"Well maybe they should cross more often," Brittany ends the silence and reaches across the gap between them, her hand finding Santana', who, in reaction, can't help but flinch at the touch. Shit. She didn't mean to do that in a bad way, she just isn't used to people touching her. She isn't used to someone who's offensively beautiful touching her bar Quinn, but Santana doesn't want to bed the girl or she would have already.
Not that she wants to bed Brittany or anything. She's just attracted to her.
"I don't bite, Santana."
The thought of whether she'd even told the blonde her name briefly flickers through her brain, but it's quickly removed when there's lips pressing against her cheek, and everything just sort of blurs out. Heat rushes to her face, and she thanks her family for her golden skin because her blush isn't as obvious, especially when she's as tanned as she is due to the high heat and blaring sun.
"Thanks for the lift," Brittany whispers and she's so close Santana can smell the soft perfume coming off her body. "And I'm gonna keep your jacket so you have to see me again."
Santana's heart momentarily stops, her throat thickening instantly and then the blonde is sliding out the car, tugging the sides of the clothing tight into her body as she makes her way up the grand stairs and in through the too-large front doors.
It takes a good minute before she can put the truck into drive.
/
Her dad is already underneath Brittany's SUV when Santana gets back to the garage.
The lights are flickering when she climbs out her truck, and after entering the building she spies several car parts on the metal cabinets surrounding the car rack, and she fingers the punctured piece as she approaches her father. Some rock that girl must have hit. It has to have been a fucking boulder with the size of this hole. She chuckles lightly to herself and when she looks up, finds quizzical eyes staring down at her.
"Pass the wrench please, mija," her dad's looking at the tool on the side closest to her. "And who's the blonde?"
Santana sucks in a breath, unable to to fight the smile that pulls on her face. She hands over the wrench and rolls her eyes, turning around to hide that smile.
"Just someone I've recently crossed paths with," she replies, forcing a shrug because it's just so normal, her making friends and all.
Her dad beams a grin at her, and doesn't ask anything else.
/