Sorry for the ludicrous wait. The semester is over though so I should be a lot more steady with the updates. Although I do plan on spending copious amounts of time sleeping, catching up with friends I neglected these past months and also with getting fat. I hope you guys are still reading! Oh and I would actually LOVE a beta reader. So, if anyone is interested in being internet friends with me and tricking the world wide web into thinking I'm literate, hit me up on here or my tumblr (whotastesthecatfood).

Oh and Katie M, you guessed right about the movie. Four for you.

Auditions were the worst.

Brittany waved goodbye as yet another hopeful star for "Bright Eyes" sauntered out of the door, her eyes brimming with hope and fear. This hadn't been easy. Casting never was, especially when it came to certain niche movies like the ones Brittany and her team made. The door slammed shut. She looked over to Bailey who had the same beaten look, Brittany knew her own eyes mirrored. "How many more left?"

The casting director, Shauna, sat to Bailey's left. She leafed through her papers, "Ten more here and then tomorrow we fly down to San Diego for a half day of auditions. Billy's going to be there."

Brittany let her head flop onto the table with a thud. "Why is this so hard?"

"Because nine out of ten of these so called aspiring actors littering around Los Angeles's street like junkies, suck." Shauna said not looking up from the papers. "I wanna shoot myself in the face."

Bailey took a long sip from her scalding coffee, she sat the cup down as she licked the liquid from her lips, "Stop whining, the next actress is about to come in. Look hopeful."

Brittany pulled herself back up from the table, blonde hair falling into her eyes. Auditions were definitely the worst. They were tedious and time consuming. She hated having to sit through bad actor after bad actor. Or finding an actor that was great, but just not great for the part. Or finding an actor that was great and great for the part, but inherently knowing that it was going to be a bitch working with them and cutting them off at the legs for that reason alone. It's hard to make films. A lot harder than those outside of the business are aware of. She wasn't going to spend her time dreading it because she chose some pretentious hipster actor or conceited airhead actress.

Also and Brittany had only recently been able to admit this to herself, the reason these auditions seemed far more excruciating than her first two movies was because she couldn't shake the gnawing at the back of her mind that kept repeating she was giving away Santana's part. Not that Santana had any claim to the role, but she was giving it away even though she knew she wanted it. Santana, in the brief encounters they've had, hadn't admitted it. But, Brittany saw the look in her eyes the day in the boardroom, right before she began to reach out for the screenplay. Santana Lopez wanted to be in this movie.

The door to the small room opened again and another young, cheerful actress with blonde hair breezed inside. Brittany smiled as Bailey introduced everyone. She then made a note in her logbook that if this girl got the part, the hair color had to go.

Santana laid across her bed, her feet propped against the headboard staring at the ceiling. She wore only her t-shirt and panties and her hair was tousled. At the moment, she was in the middle of coming down from another extraordinary orgasm when a tummy rumbling from the other end of her bed pulled her out of her thoughts. She glanced down at Tina who sat up, blanket tucked under her arms, back against the headboard and asked, "Do you want food?"

Tina shook her head as she scooted out of the bed, "I'm meeting some friends. But, thanks."

Santana eyes raised at the sheer normalcy of the act. The woman had just spent the past half hour getting Santana off and now she was just going to hang out with her friends? The thought was strangely pedestrian and oddly comforting. "What are you guys doing?"

Tina balked as she pulled on her underwear. This was not the way things went. Santana never asked about her personal life. The only reason she knew the very little she knew about Santana was because Santana would go on these short lived tangents. But on the rare occurrence they happened, she talked more to herself than to Tina. She never asked for Tina's advice and Tina never offered it, she simply nodded and listened. Sometimes that's all people needed and it seemed to work well enough for Santana. In the case that it didn't, Santana never said a word. "We're uh...going to lunch at this place downtown. The Planet. Then we're going dancing."

Santana's eyes closed as she listened to Tina redressing herself, "Isn't The Planet that place with all the lesbians?"

Tina let out a small laugh, "Straight people go there too. But, yeah. Lots of lesbians. I'm meeting my boyfriends friends. One of which is a lesbian. "

Santana smirked as she sat up, turning around to face Tina where she dressed at the end of the bed, "You have a boyfriend?"

"Yes." Tina replied as she stuffed her feet back into her heels. "His name's Mike." She's not sure why she added that little tidbit. But, this felt like a conversation, so she at least should try and make it interesting. "He's a dance instructor. It's actually his studio we're going to after lunch. We're learning how to Salsa."

Santana was quiet for a moment as she devoured this new information. These were the intimate details of Tina's life. It was silly she was just learning them. Five minutes ago, she had her fingers buried deep inside of Santana and only now was she getting around to mentioning that she had a boyfriend named Mike who was a dance instructor who hung out with lesbians.

"Does he know you do this?" Santana's voice was quiet. The question made her uncomfortable and she wasn't sure why. Tina's eyes clouded as she slipped back into her coat and shook her head.

"No. But, I have bills." Tina shrugged as she watched Santana. She was so small against the enormity of the bed. For a moment it looked as if Santana was going to say something. But, her lips pursed as if she was fighting herself from keeping the words in. So typical.

Tina grabbed her keys off of the dresser and smiled, any darkness on her face long gone, "I'll see you soon, Santana."

Santana nodded as Tina walked out. She wasn't sure what surprised her more, the fact that Tina's boyfriend didn't know she was a call girl or the fact that people still introduced their girlfriends to their friends and went out and took dancing classes. And she wasn't sure why either of them were surprising in themselves. Most women keep the fact that they sell themselves for cash quiet. And why wouldn't you introduce your friends to the person you're seeing? That's how it works? That's how the real world works.

Santana had a tendency to forget about trivial things. Her life was superimposed against everyone else's reality. The food was better, the houses were bigger, the cars were faster. The rich were powerful and the poor didn't exist. But, of course with the abundance of luxury came the absence of humanity. In her world, the two couldn't coincide. Or at least she couldn't make them and she hadn't met a soul who could. Maybe she was looking in the wrong places? Maybe she was looking hard enough? Maybe she had already found them and didn't notice. Which would be an incredibly easy thing to do seeing as though she hid behind a twenty foot gate and bought silence. She couldn't remember the last time she hung out outside of some club or even in the daylight. She couldn't remember the last time she was invited out to something that didn't have anything to do with her job or that wasn't a family function. Quinn was the first and last friend she'd ever made.

She needed to remember that.

So basically Mike Chang had an awesome girlfriend. She was edgy in a way that Brittany found only Asians could be. Also, she had an enormous, toothy smile that reminded Brittany of a porn star she once fell in love with through her computer screen.

She was so relieved when Mike phoned out of the blue asking if she wanted to finally meet Tina and attend a dance class with them. It was a couples course, so she decided to make Noah Puckerman, a development exec at Universal tag along with her. He was fun and goofy and when he wasn't trying to get into her pants (which was seldom), he was actually pretty decent company to be around. Besides that she needed answers. Santana and Puck had dated for about seven months after her first film and word on the street was that although they'd broken up, they had yet to stop the physical aspects of their relationship.

An hour into the class, Tina and Puck decided to mutiny against their partners. They sat along the mirrored wall of the room, their faces flushed but happy as they watched Mike lift Brittany, twirl Brittany, do things to Brittany's safety that made Tina gasp, Puck hoot and everyone let out a relieved breath of air when her feet touched the floor again.

Later that day, after thoughts of Tina and normalcy had dissipated from her mind, Santana watched as Quinn made a beeline for her liquor cabinet as soon as she stepped foot inside. "I fucking loathe actresses."

Quinn was a producer for Focus Features, an exclusive niche independent production company that had a stellar reputation for putting out films that were not only commercial hits, but thought provoking as well. Quinn's hands worked rapidly pulling out a bottle of brown liquid-whatever and pouring herself a stiff drink. She swallowed the drink with a sting and a sated breath. Her heart beat slowing and nerves unwinding at a snails pace, she poured herself another glass, turned around to Santana and smiled, "No offense."

"None taken," said Santana as she shrugged, "I hate them too. What happened?"

Quinn's head shook as she walked over to the chair across from Santana's couch and sat down, "What always happens? They get a couple of films underneath their belt and start to think they're hot shit. As if they can't be fired."

"Clearly they haven't worked with you."

Quinn grinned over the rim of her glass, "Clearly."

Santana met Quinn in high school, their freshmen year. They'd tried out for the cheer leading team and because everyone else sucked and/or had the most insane acne she'd ever witnessed they were forced to become best friends. Junior year, they'd tried out for captain, Quinn won the title. But, that didn't stop Santana's own rise to infamy. Her classmates (and teachers) either feared her or wanted to fuck her. Or both. Everyone ate from the palm of her hand except Quinn. She never took Santana's shit. She never let her get away with anything. Thankfully. She isn't sure where she would be right now if she hadn't had Quinn's hypocritical moral compass steering her in the right direction. Or at least in a better direction.

"You need a girlfriend."

Santana's head jerked over to where Quinn sat, paranoid. "Shut up."

Quinn rolled her eyes, "We're in your house, stupid." She sat her glass, sans coaster on the mahogany coffee table. She was the only one who knew Santana liked girls. She knew about Tina and her brief foray with Puckerman's assistant while they were "dating." (If you call a couple of photo-op dinners and late night drug fueled sex sessions, dating.) Quinn kept it to herself for the most part. She saw it as something that would come to a head sometime or another.

Santana sat up straight, her feet dangling to the floor, uncomfortable. "I don't need a- anyone."

"Yes, you do. It's Friday night and you're relatively attractive, rich and everyone in this town wants to do inappropriate things to your body. Yet here you sit in this absolutely tacky home staring at me and the walls." Quinn gave a pointed look that Santana chose to ignore.

"I don't need anyone. Why would I?" She gave Quinn a brash grin, "I have you."

Quinn let out a hollow laugh. "We are not good for each other. We've never been good for each other. Maybe if we realized that and did something about it we would both stop being so miserable."

Santana nodded her head in agreement, "Maybe." But, if Quinn wasn't good for her, then who was?

Evening fell and with it the sun and with the sun's falling a beautiful pallet of pinks and oranges and reds stained the sky, illuminating the ocean. Brittany sat on her patio with Noah, drinking ice cold beer and taking in the scenery. She smiled as a giggle floated in from the house where Mike and Tina had drifted off to. "They're so happy."

Puck took a drink of his long neck, "Yeah, they are," he murmured.

"What about you?" She shifted in her chair, blonde hair falling into her eyes. She tucked it behind her ear and gave him a saucy look, "Who are you seeing?"

He raised his shoulders as he grinned, "You know me."

"So the question I should be asking is who aren't you seeing?"

Puck let out a dry laugh, "Exactly."

"Santana Lopez?" She questioned in a soft voice. Her main reason for asking Puck to hang today was to get the scoop. But, now that she had brushed the subject she couldn't help but feel uncomfortably invasive. Who was she to dig into her personal life? And why was it so important for her to know?

Puck shook his head. "Negative. She's been seeing some director guy from France. I think she's going to be in his next film." He made a face as if to say, go figure.

"Does she do that a lot?" asked Brittany, "Date the people she works with?"

He let out another chuckle as he cocked his head in her direction, "You got it backwards blondie."

Brittany licked her lips as she took another swig of beer, her throat suddenly dry as she waited for the Noah to spill, "How so?"

"Come on, Britt. It's Santana Lopez. You've heard the rumors. Hell, I've personally told you like half of them. The Puckster doesn't lie. Unless, I'm trying to get in your pants in which case anything goes. But at this moment, I can honestly say I'm not trying to sex you up."

Brittany's eyes fell as certainty hit her like a speeding bullet, "She sleeps with guys to get the parts."

"Bingo!" said Puck "Why the sudden interest in her?"

Brittany tugged at her bottom lip with her teeth. The truth felt like a poison overtaking her body. She had to shake this school girl crush with haste, "No reason."

When things became too much for Brittany, her work suffered. Her thoughts would race around running into each other, short circuiting her creativity. When she couldn't write, she danced. Dancing required little to no thought. The only rule she had when she danced was, don't fall down. But, in all honesty she's even broken it a time or seven.

Because of this. Because of her world and her words piling up on each other, Brittany found herself at The Planet with Alice and their friends Bette and Tina. At night, the quaint cafe turned into an all girl dance party, called Radar that Carmen DJed. Brittany and Carmen were together for two years. So she knew exactly what kind of beats Brittany liked and like a dutiful ex-girlfriend she played them non-stop as Brittany hogged the dance floor.

Which is exactly what Brittany did. Except the dancing didn't keep the thoughts away the way it usually did. They meddled with her body's movement, invasive like a cancer. So what if Santana slept around? Brittany liked sex too. A lot. It was on her top five favorite things. So, what if she was the town bicycle? Brittany liked bicycles too. She could make room on her list and add bicycles as a favorite thing. She dipped down to the floor, her body grinding against the air as she came up. She made a point to never judge anyone. She knew she was...quirky. She knew that some people didn't get the weird little anecdotes that flew out of her mouth before she had the chance to stop them. Like the time she was standing in line at Starbucks and told the stranger in front of her that her hair smelled like lemon grass and the pot brownie she consumed on vacation in Canada. This was a compliment, a huge one. But, the woman made a face that said "I hate you" and asked Brittany to back away from her. Judgement fucking stung.

She wondered if that's why Santana looked the way she looked. So pretty and perfect all of the time. Always dolled up. She wondered if she took the make up off would she see the stings from the whispers. Because there were whispers. Hollywood never shut up. If she heard them, she knew Santana had to of too.

This was a bad idea. No. This was a shit idea. No, worse. Whatever came after bad, shit idea. Was this idea. But, still she went along with it. Sunglasses securely on of course. Quinn grinned back at her as she lead Santana through the crowd of pulsing bodies- all women -mostly beautiful. She clenched tighter to the pale hand in her own as her heart raced. She could leave now. She could get out of here before anyone saw her and started asking questions.

They sidled up to the bar and Quinn ordered their drinks. Santana took a deep breath as she collected herself. This was social suicide. She was cocking the trigger to blow the brains out of her career. The bartender held out their drinks. Quinn grabbed them both and shoved one into Santana's face, "Drink."

"I gotta get out of here, Quinn," Santana said instead of taking it. "This is bad for me. Someone could see me here!"

Quinn sat the drink down as she wrapped her arms around Santana's waist. Right as she opened her mouth, a squatty brunette woman sporting a crew cut clapped Santana on the back. "Your girlfriend's beautiful!"

Santana's face screwed up offensively, "She's not my girlfriend." But, Quinn's eyes lit up and an enormous smile split across her face, "Thank you!"

The woman nodded as she moved along. Quinn turned back to Santana, "They think I'm hot! I've always been a lesbian favorite. I think it's my hair." She giggled as she took a sip of her drink.

"This isn't fun for me, Quinn." Santana wiped her clammy palms against her legs. She took a deep breath, but the frantic look in her eyes remained. "I want to go."

Quinn surveyed her friends face, her heart breaking. Santana was never comfortable. Ever. Not here with people who understood what she felt. Not out in the world where she was afraid of telling people who she really was. She moved her hands to Santana's glasses, but before she could remove them, Santana's fingers pressed into her own.

"Don't," snapped Santana.

"No one is paying attention to you. The room is dark and just like I told Kanye West a couple nights ago at that Fashion Rocks party, you look ridiculous in these things."

"They stay on." Santana's voice was weighed down by fear. A sound that made Quinn's face contort with pity. She hated that look. She hated the way she could practically smell Quinn's compassion. It was nauseating. "Fine."

Santana swatted Quinn's hands out of the way and pushed the sunglasses onto her head. She let her eyes adjust to the dim lights of the crowded room. So many women. It was like being in Baskin Robbins, but instead of 31 different flavors of ice cream. There was 31 different types of girl. Except more than 31, like 100. And quite a few of them looked liked they tasted better than ice cream. They all looked so different.

And they all looked the same.

Her eyes slid over to the DJ booth. A stunningly brunette Latina worked the turn tables. Santana inwardly patted herself on the back. Her people looked damn good. She watched for a moment as the DJ looked up, locked eyes with someone on the dance floor and erupted into laughter. A laugh so full, she doubled over in her stand.

Quinn followed Santana's line of sight and grinned, "I Googled her. Her name's Carmen de la pica Morales, also known as DJ Sugar...You like? "

Santana shook her head slowly from side to side, "She looks like my cousin, Marisol."

Quinn studied the DJ, who at the moment was making a motion for a beer in between her giggles. "Oh, she totally does." She shrugged as she turned back to Santana, her arms again snaking around her friend's waist. "Doesn't matter. You have a platter of hot women before you. Go forth!"

Santana couldn't help but laugh at Quinn's eagerness, "You honestly don't think I'm going home with any of these women?"

"Why not?"

Heat flushed her face as anger boiled, "You fucking kidding me, Quinn?"

Quinn stepped back, making sure to keep her hands on Santana's hips, "No, I'm not fucking kidding. You're gay. Everyone else in this room, not including myself, I can only assume is gay. What's the problem?"

Santana swallowed back the insult that was on the tip of her tongue, something about Quinn fixing her own shipwrecked love life instead of prying into Santana's, instead frigid air breathed past her lips. Quinn was being a friend. Or whatever. She was trying to help. Whatever. But, Santana didn't need.

She wasn't ready for it.

"Look, Q, I know you're tying to be like concerned or some shit but-" Her voice got stuck in her throat as the DJ booth caught her eye again. There Brittany was, grinning as she held out a beer to the the woman at the booth. The DJ was trying to conceal a smile and maintain a glare, her hands placed on her hips. She watched their silent interactions. The smiles, the way they leaned in to speak. They had to known each other.

And then Brittany leaned over and kissed the woman on the cheek. Santana's heart sank.

And then Brittany kissed her on the forehead.

Santana's heart sank lower.

Another kiss to the nose.

And lower she sank.

Quinn whistled lowly, "Kurt owes me twenty bucks. I totally called that at Zimmerman's party."

"Called what?" Santana croaked, her eyes never straying from the booth. She watched as Brittany took the other woman's hand and spun her around. Why was she feeling like this? Why did her heart feel like it was suddenly six times heavier than usual.

"Writer girl being in to chicks. You don't pull that much lesbian innuendo in your films and still be straight at the end of the day. Just saying. Anyway-" Quinn brought her attention back to Santana, "I think you should at least try talking to someone. If anyone recognizes you and asks why you're here, we'll say I'm a fledgling lady lover and you're helping me get my gay wings."

Brittany embraced the woman, gave her a quick kiss on the top of her head and scampered out of the booth. Santana shook her head as she pulled her focus back to Quinn. "I want to leave. Now."

Not waiting for Quinn to protest, Santana turned on her heels. She pushed roughly through the women wanting to be anywhere but where she was. Every stepped toward the door, she felt her heart getting lighter. In a minute she would be out of the place and onto safe ground. But, as she reached the exit, the unthinkable happened. Before she had a chance to do so, the doors opened and in strolled Noah Puckerman and some fore lone guy with a goatee. He had the same smug smirk that Santana thought Puck had trademarked years ago.

Noah grinned as he took her in, "Santana Lopez, what the fuck are you doing here?" He gave her a quick hug and then waited for an answer. Her tongue suddenly felt thick and useless, she swallowed back and opened her mouth, but no words came out. The truth had never been so close before.

A light hand was placed on her back and her eyes fluttered close in gratitude at the sound of Quinn's voice, "She's here with me. I was nervous about coming by myself so I made her come with me. Hey Puckerman."

Puck clucked approvingly, his eyes registering knowingly, "I always thought you were gay. Is that why you never gave me a chance?"

Quinn grimaced, but she shook her head to the affirmative, "That's exactly right, Noah. I didn't give you a chance because I'm into girls. It wasn't because you were at the time screwing my best friend or because you have the personality of a wet cardboard box and the sexual prowess of a thirteen year old boy with Tourette's Syndrome."

Puck balked. The man beside him laughed, "I like you. What's the gay one's name, Puckerman?"

"This is Quinn Fabray and of course the wonderful Santana Lopez. Ladies, this is the world renowned Mark Sloan. He's a plastic surgeon, just in case either of you are in the market for one."

Mark held out his hand to the women, when he took Quinn's in his own, he gave her a pointed look. "I would just like to go on record to say that although I'm a recent father to an teenager, I still rank number two on my ex-sex friend's hit list. She's dating women now, so we had to cool it."

Quinn grinned, "Who's number one?"

Mark shrugged, "Her girlfriend. But, there's a love thing in their too. I think that if she were ranking on sheer physical attributes, I would win."

Quinn laughed. Santana rolled her eyes. The last thing she needed was for Quinn to be found a fraud and they would have to give another lie for what they were doing here. She pried Quinn's hands from Mark's and forced a smile that was mostly all sneer. "We have to go."

"Fuck no. We just got here, Lopez." He took her hand from Quinn's and steered her back into the crowd. "You gotta meet the crew. We're in with the owner, Kit, so we got a sweet table by the stage."

He gave her a smile that the dark room misconstrued as warm as he lead her through the crowd. It was happening again and she couldn't stop it. Somewhere in the pit of her stomach nagged a notion, a truth. He was leading her to Brittany's table.

And he did.

Thankfully, Brittany's back was to her, so she had a chance to compose herself. A curly haired woman, a little older than Santana- maybe thirty-five -raised her glass of wine to Puck as she saw him. "You made it!" Her smile was genuine and her brown eyes were warm.

The woman had her hand intertwined with a blonde around the same age with docile features. Her lips thinned against a smile as she waved at Puck. None of this made any sense. Women didn't welcome Puck. They shunned him. Or tried to hit him.

When Mark and Quinn caught up, Puck went around the circle with introductions. Santana learned that the two women holding hands, were Bette and Tina. They'd been together for fucking ever. Next to Tina was a woman she recognized but couldn't place a name with until Puck said it, "Dana Fairbanks." A pro tennis player. Was she a lesbian too? Next to Dana, was a woman with a pixie cut, similar to Quinn's but without the pink. This was Alice. And when her eyes slid over Santana's body, she had never felt more like a piece of meat.

"And this..." Puck tapped Brittany's shoulders and she turned from the skinny Joan Jett look alike she was laughing with, "Is Brittany Pierce and Shane McCutcheon."

Brittany's blue eyes grew as she took in Carmen. The woman next to her waved. They nodded politely as Puck introduced Santana and Quinn and then turned back into their conversation. Either unimpressed by the introduction of a famous star, or uninterested. Or was that the same thing?

Every one except Brittany who still hadn't shaken that deer in headlights look from her face. Puck, Mark, and Quinn made themselves comfortable as they sat. Brittany stood and grabbed another high back chair from a nearby table and pulled it over for Santana.

Chivalry. She wasn't expecting that.

"Thanks." She mumbled as she sat down. She discreetly tried to motion to Quinn, but she was too enraptured with Mark and with blowing their cover to notice her.

"So..." She heard Brittany start, "Why are you in a gay bar?"

Tina's voice strummed inside of her mind, "It's not just a gay bar. Straight people come here too." She repeated the words she was told not eight hours ago.

Brittany was watching her with slightly glazed eyes and a smirk. Like she knew those lines were rehearsed. Like, she knew the truth.

But, she couldn't.

Because she didn't.

"Why are you at a gay bar?" Santana asked.

"Because I'm a fucking awesome ex-girlfriend." replied Brittany as her eyes shifted back over to the DJ booth. "And because it's a Friday night. Where else would I be?"

And then it clicked. She's not sure why it took so long. "You're gay." It wasn't a question. But, Brittany nodded anyway.

"Also known as heteronegative."

"That's how you know my cousin? Did you guys date?"

"I told you at her party, I met her through Arizona." Brittany smiled as she she nodded disapprovingly, "You're a terrible listener."

"So you dated, Arizona?"

"It's a rare occurrence, but not every LA lesbian fucks their friends. Although, once I did go with Alice and Cristina to a brothel. People don't get married there."

Santana's eyes brows quirked, "What?"

"Chapel." said Brittany. She stretched out her arms, her back bending. Her short dress riding up her toned, pale thighs. Santana snapped her eyes away from the flesh.

The sex dream. The panting in her ears. The fingers inside of her. This was the body that did all of those things. She felt a flush begin to creep up her neck, under her jaw and heating up her cheeks. She swallowed hard as she pushed away the mental images, "What about it?"

"It's not the same as a brothel." Brittany's eyes lazed over the crowd and then back to Santana. She smiled.

"Yeah. So?"

Brittany gave her a confused look, "I don't understand your question."

She shook her head, "Never mind."

Santana looked uncomfortable Brittany mused. Like that time she was getting gas in Meredith's truck and she had pulled up to the wrong pump. The tank was on the other side. So she had to go back in after turning the truck around and ask the woman at the cash register to start the meter over again and when the woman had asked why, she had to explain it. But, she's not good at talking in crowds. The line was only four feet deep, but that was big enough to cause her to stutter. And stumble.

And start talking about her cat.

Santana looked like Brittany was sure she looked that afternoon. Unsure of what to say. Unsure if everyone in the store was judging her. Unsure of where to place her hands. She watched as Santana clenched and unclenched her fingers. She was so beautiful. Even with all of the confusion and tension shading her features, she was the most beautiful woman Brittany had ever seen.

And the scent.

She knew better than to lean over and smell her, but her scent was so fucking nice. Everything about her was so...nice. And familiar. But, how could that be?

She leaned over and tapped Santana on the leg, "Do you want to dance?"

The moment the question came out of her lips, Brittany regretted it. Santana looked as if she just asked her to murder an infant. "What?"

"I just..." Brittany hummed nervously, "You looked uncomfortable sitting here. I thought you would feel better dancing. The DJ here is amazing."

"Are you hitting on me?" asked Santana, her eyes set firmly. Brittany had been asked this question before, by other women. She had been all those times and even if she hadn't been, she liked to see their faces light up when she said yeah. Being hit on by a hot chick was a compliment. Brittany felt complimentary.

But, with Santana it was different. She shook her head slightly, "No."

And she meant it.

This seemed to be the right answer because Santana let out a deep breath and chuckled, "Good."

She fiddled with her fingers as Brittany counted the beats to the song that was ending as Carmen smoothly transitioned to the next. Rhianna's "We Found Love."

Brittany stood, her body already swaying, "I can't sit here while something this glorious is on. So do you want to come? In a totally platonic, not-hitting-on-you-gay-girls-can-dance-with-straight-girls kind of way?" She held out her hand in front of Santana, her fingers tickling the air.

No one had bothered her yet. If it somehow got out that she was in a gay bar, she had Quinn as an alibi. Girls dance with girls. That's just how it's done. So she stood, grabbing Brittany's hand. It was soft, softer than any guys she had held, softer than Tina's and Quinn's. Softer than she had thought they would be.

Softer than they had felt on her body in her dream...

Brittany pumped a fist into the air. "I feel like Will Smith right now!"

Santana knew her way around a beat and around a body. In the dark, sweat inducing dance floor while Rihanna sang about love and yellow diamonds, Brittany could feel herself falling.

It's happened before. Frequently. There was something about the raw energy of two bodies colliding with each other and a melody that made Brittany weak at the knees. She was usually intoxicated to some extent as well. But, nevertheless, she could feel her emotions wrapping around her dance partner, in the exact same way she would wrap her arms around their waist.

And she did. Santana froze momentarily as Brittany's arms snaked around her waist to pull her in, but she quickly recovered the rhythm.

Except this was the part that Brittany usually stepped back. She would thank the woman for the dance and excuse herself to get some air. She would regain her footing in the world, remind herself that it was an illusion and the feelings would dissipate. It was the strangest thing. Going from zero to sixty and then back down to zero in under two minutes.

She wondered if anyone else could do that? Or was she special?

But, was it special to be able to turn your feelings off without a second thought the way she could?

Was she broken?

She tightened her grip around Santana as she tried to push away her intrusive thoughts. The dance floor wasn't the place for them. As she ground her hips against partners, a hitch of breath caught in Santana's throat. Hearing it, Brittany grinned into Santana's hair. She spun her around so that Santana's back was against her front. Sure, this was the part where she usually walked away. It kept things simpler.

She liked simple.

The last time she went against the routine and she stayed locked in a dance with a girl, she fell in love with her. The kind of love she wasn't sure existed. The kind of love, songs were written about.

Her eyes drifted over to the DJ booth where Carmen and Shane leaned into each other, smiling.

Brittany couldn't think of a single day she regretted being with Carmen. In all honesty, the scariest thing about ending with her, was thinking she would never see her again.

So, maybe lightning could strike twice? Santana let her ass grind into Brittany's pelvis causing the taller woman to grip tighter at her hips and squeeze her eyes shut. Thank God for the shitty lighting.

Santana's momentum was finally waning. They danced through track after track, from Tiesto to Cascada, back around to the ever present Cher. When finally Santana, flushed cheeks and all gripped Brittany's shoulders, grinning. "I have to take a break!"

Brittany smiled as she leaned in, "Do you want something to drink?"

Santana shook her head. Brittany clasped their clammy hands together and did her best to ignore the electricity she felt as she lead Santana through the bodies and over to the bar where she ordered two beers. She passed one over to Santana and held hers up to cheers. Santana rolled her eyes as they clinked their bottles together.

"You're a good dancer." Brittany said, doing her best to lean in and come off the least predatory as possible. An arduous task, seeing as though Santana stood in front of her, panting. Her tan skin was flushed and a slight sheen of sweat coated her features. The tight shirt, pushing her breast up and directly into Brittany's face wasn't helping either. Not that Brittany was complaining.

Santana nodded, "Of course. My people weren't given these asses to just sit on. You're good too."

Brittany smiled receptively. You're good too. Santana said it with such lackluster emotion, but the words felt better than the time her name was announced for an Oscar. Silence engulfed their small space. Santana's dark eyes peeled over to crowd, her pupils dilated. There was something about her. Half of the time she looked terrified and the other half her posture smacked of boredom. Brittany took this small window of oppurtunity to take in Santana's features. The full lips, the plump cheeks, the way her body was rigid against the back of her barstool. As if she was waiting for something to happen. Maybe she was still uncomfortable?

Maybe she could still here the whispers?

Santana turned back to Brittany and grinned, the corners of her eyes crinkling in the most adorable way. "What?" She asked.

Brittany didn't know what to say. "I like your face." Seemed way to informal for a woman who had spent the better part of their time in the past insulting her. So, she said the next most logical thing she could think of, "Does this mean you don't hate me?"

Santana's smile fell. She took another swig of her beer and sat it on the bar. She bit at her top lip and for the first time that night, her demeanor eased. "I don't hate anyone. Except Sarah Jessica Parker, but I have good reason."

Brittany grinned. Santana didn't elaborate and Brittany wasn't about to push her. It was enough to know that there was a tiny glimmer of hope for a friendship. Or at least...

"Are you busy tomorrow?" asked Brittany.

Santana shook her head, "I have a mani/pedi thing at noon, but other than that, no. Why?"

Brittany took a second. Was she doing what she thought she was doing? Was she going to regret this in the morning when she awoke in her bedroom, safely away from the illusions of the dance floor. This Santana was the same Santana she had outright denied before. This Santana was the same Santana who spread her legs for shitty movie parts. What was so different now? Was anything?

"Tomorrow we leave for San Diego to do some more auditions. But, I can meet you early before we go to audition you." The words tumbled out before Brittany could bite them back. She licked her lips in anticipation. Santana didn't look enthused. Usually when she offered actresses auditions they went into sudden hysterics. But, Santana didn't do that. Instead the rigidness came back and with it the uncomfortable eyes.

Such bright eyes.

"Okay," Santana finally said as she picked up her beer and took another swig.

Santana's reflection stared back at her through the mirror. This night wasn't going how she expected. Which wasn't a bad thing. In fact, it was the exact opposite of a bad thing.

It was a great thing.

Quinn had been too involved with drooling over Puck's old friend to get so drunk that they had to leave early and Santana had to listen to her cry for the rest of the night. This lesbian place had good music. And nice women.

Brittany's friends were nice. A little abrasive-especially the one called Alice, but they were funny. Hysterical even.

The cherry on top, though, was Brittany. She was this weird, blonde, flexible dance goddess. Everything about her was so unexpected. The audition? Totally unexpected. She doesn't know what changed the writer's mind, but she's grateful for it. This could be the exact role her career needs. A chance to show the world and Hollywood especially that she was more than just a pretty face. The stock character. She could show them that she didn't have to sleep her way to the top.

Not that she would be totally against sleeping with Brittany...

A rap sounded at the bathroom door and Puck's voice followed as he pushed the door open and entered, "Man meat comin' through!"

"This is the girl's bathroom, Puckerman." Santana said looking at him through the mirror.

He grinned as he sidled up behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist. "It's unisex." The room fell silent as he watched her reapply her lip gloss. He was giving her a look she was all too accustomed with. He smirked as he trailed his fingers down her arms and to her hands where he covered them with his own. "You were so hot on the dance floor tonight."

Hairs were beginning to stick up on the back of her neck. Not from arousal, but from something a lot more dark. She knew where this was going. "Of course I did."

"And you and Brittany together? Fucking smoking." He nuzzled her neck. Puck never admitted he knew she was into women, but he hinted around it. After her tiny foray into his assistants pants, he made sure to drop little telling hints. He knew the risk of coming out, he knew she had to stay in. And like every other stupid fucking ridiculous person in this business, his silence could be bought.

"Yeah?" She heard the tone in her voice drop. A habit she'd conditioned herself to do in situations such as this. She turned in his arms, pressing herself against him. "Not as hot as you and I together though, right?"

Puck grinned, "You got that right, babe."

Alice smirked as she watched Brittany as Brittany watched the bathroom. "Are you fucking kidding me, Pierce?"

Brittany grinned and turned around, "What?" She knew the obvious attempt of oblivion was futile when it came to Alice. She was the nosiest person Brittany had ever met. If there was a scoop, Alice would get to the bottom of it.

"You're totally into actress girl. She's hot." said Alice. "If you don't bring her over to the dyke side I might have to do it for you."

Brittany rolled her eyes as she stood making her way to the bathroom. She opened the door and was met by the tell tale grunts of two people trying to fuck quietly. Brittany grinned. This wasn't the first time, she had caught people doing the dirty. The Planet's bathroom was notorious for it's lewd encounters. Maybe that's what was keeping Santana? She was stuck in her stall, not wanting to disturb the tryst. As Brittany dropped down to check, her heart sank. The only occupied stall was the one emitting the moans. And that discarded red pump resting on it's side was definitely Santana's.

And that gruff voice moaning, was definitely Puck.