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When you get back to school, one of the junior Cheerios confronts the two of you in the locker room.
So, are you two an item or something? she asks. She sounds incredulous, but that could just be because it's death to question your authority directly, and she knows it. I mean, I heard from, um, someone—at least she's smart enough to omit the name—that you're sleeping together.
Your belly twists. You feel Brittany looking at you, but you don't dare look back. You have the next two seconds to decide whether to lunge at her, nails protracted, or play it cool and deny it.
Then, at once, you know just what to say.
No. We're not an item. Your voice drips with sweetness. The girl shivers, knowing retribution can't be far behind. But we did fuck.
Britt gasps. The other Cheerios gasp. Ponytails swish as all eyes pivot to you. They're scandalized, awed, fascinated. Perfect. Why didn't you think of this before?
Don't tell me you never wanted to get your girl sex on. Britts and I had the balls to try it. You turn to the girl who confronted you, whose skirt dangles limply in her hand. Oh, worried I'll come after you? Don't flatter yourself, Stubbles. You're not nearly hot enough.
You hold your pinkie finger out to Brittany, who, taking your hint, links it in hers and grins. The room suddenly shifts to averted glances and noisily slamming locker doors.
The trick works. Word gets to Coach Sylvester, who, true to form, uses it to her own advantage. You're in line to assume the throne of the exiled Quinn, and Britt will take yours as lieutenant captain. But you know Sue won't let you have it for nothing. She names her price: you two must seduce Finn Hudson away from the hobbit.
Easy.
Linking pinkies with Britt in the hallways feels remarkably natural. You wish you'd done it a long time ago. No one is looking at Quinn anymore, at the way she and Puck seem to be dating now. All eyes are on you two. Boys want you. Girls want you. And since everyone knows you're not really together, everyone's hoping for a shot. Sometimes you feel turned on, feeling their attention and Britt's finger linked to yours.
Finn caves so easy it's not even fun. He takes you to Breadstix and has no idea that you and Britt are playing footsie under the table.
Brittany loves going public. But you have to keep her in check. Sometimes she tries to go too far: nuzzling your neck in public, kissing your cheek. You explain the difference between what you're doing and what she's doing. She nods as if she understands, although you know she doesn't, not really.
Once Berry starts dating that Jesse kid, it makes things a lot easier. You drop the Finn thing like last month's Cosmo. You tell Britt it's still okay to cuddle in Glee. By now you'll admit that you'd miss it too much if you stopped.
Later, you seduce Finn by yourself—another power play, on Britt's advice—and it occurs to you that you haven't had sex with anyone but Brittany in a couple of months. Finn's terrible—no surprise there. He's just so tall and unwieldy and goofy. A virgin. Comes in less than two minutes. As you ride him, working to warp speed, staring at the red digits of the clock beside the motel bed and longing for it to be over already, you tell yourself that you'll start having sex with guys again as soon as you find better ones.
Meanwhile, the Finn thing shuts up those whispers in remote corners of the hallways that you're a—well, they've stopped saying it now. You chase Mercedes away from Puck just for good measure.
Then again, since you and Brittany went public with your friends-with-benefits status, the benefits have more or less dried up. Keeping it up now feels like pushing your luck.
After winning Cheerleading Nationals, you and Britt have hallway capital to spare. Enough even for Glee.
To celebrate, Britt comes to spend the night: you pop in a marathon of high school movies—Clueless, Fast Times, Breakfast Club, Mean Girls—and make out through most of them. You feed each other popcorn—playfully, but it turns you on more than you care to admit to feel her tongue prying each kernel from your fingertips—and fall asleep at two or three. You even let her be the big spoon.