A/N: Prompt from an anon; Rachel & Sam are room-mates (in college) and Santana tries to set them up. Thanks!
If you had asked Sam Evans two-thirds of his way through senior year of high school if he would have ended up at an "artsy" school instead of a technical college or somewhere he'd be able to flex his physical, jock-type muscles, he would have laughed at you - even if his dismal SAT scores should have prepared him for such a non-intellectual future. And though he had spent most of his time at Finn and his mother's and step-father's house, with certain weekends and holidays at the Berry men's house, in talks of his future and what he wanted to do, he still couldn't have told you exactly what his plan was for after high school. Too wrapped in Brittany as he had been, stuck in love's tight clutches until her abrupt break-up and even more abrupt departure, he would have stared blankly at you.
So, probably, asking him how he'd ended up in New York, roommate to one Rachel Berry after Kurt Hummel had moved out, Santana Lopez barely there with her co-habiting with one Cassandra July, would have to be just as much of a hopeless endeavor as the other, first question. Fact was, there he was on a scholarship, playing catch up with the other NYADA students, determined as he was to meet up with where Rachel was. Maybe it was male pride, maybe it was hoping his stripping background would get him somewhere, or maybe it was something else. Whatever it was, he knew he was there to stay – the experience of being Rachel Berry's roommate notwithstanding.
Still, Santana's comments didn't help in the least.
"I'm just saying," she said blithely, taking a swig of the beer Cassandra had bought her, lips pausing on the lip, "Rachel's hot shit."
"Really," Sam rolled his eyes, "Hadn't noticed."
Smirking, Santana pointed at him. "Yeah, don't even play that card with me, Trouty Mouth. You want her!"
Sam brandished his beer bottle. "Oh yeah?" he retorted, glaring at her, "Why?"
Her eyes drifted down. "That boner of yours whenever she prances in not enough of an answer?" she raised her eyebrows. "I mean, damn, Guppy Lips!"
Sam's hands automatically slapped down over his lap. "Jeez, Santana!" he protested, "Have you – no."
Dark eyebrows wiggled. "Just leave it to me, Sammy. Since she's so het it's disgusting," Santana's upper lip curled, the faintest hint of regret of in her voice, "I've made it my mission to gets you two together."
Sam stared at her. "Why?" he growled.
Santana stared at him, smirking, her finger against her lips. "Just go with it."
Jaw clenching, Sam rolled his eyes, throwing his hands up. "Whatever," he forced, bringing his beer bottle to his lips, "Like anything'll even come about with this."
Santana's fingernails played along the glass of her beer. "Just you wait, Sammy," she hummed, giving the boy an innocent glance, mind grinding gears behind her face, "Just you wait."
And, even if it was a practice in futility, Sam waited. He watched as Santana buddied up to Rachel, full of suggestive smiles and eyebrow wiggles, pretty sure what she was referencing was him whenever he caught the end of their conversations. If it was about Finn or Brody, god forbid, Sam did his best to be and play clueless. If Rachel liked him for him, wonderful! He just… Didn't know how to… Go about making sure that was what she was talking with Santana about.
Finally, a couple weeks between his conversation with Santana and nothing happening on Rachel's end, Sam had had enough. Staring at himself in the mirror, slapping aftershave on and deciding he needed a haircut, shrugging into a shirt and jeans, knowing he had a change of clothes at the school, he slinked into the kitchen. "Hi," he smiled at Rachel, eyes taking in her fit body and bright countenance.
"Hi, Sam!" she smiled back, finishing with her smoothie, "How are you this morning?"
And, instead of his usual answer, Sam reached out, circling her wrist, tugging her hand away from the blender. "I know," he started, staring down at her, "That Santana's been talking to you."
"What?" Rachel asked, eyes wide.
"And I also know what she's been saying to me. So. Rachel." Sam swallowed. Looking down at the girl he'd probably been interested in since high school, he felt his throat constrict. "Go out with me?"
When Rachel's lips pursed, parting a second later, he forged on, "As on a date."
Rachel blinked. "Sam?"
"I mean it."
Blinking again, Rachel's wrist rotated in his grip, fingers brushing against his palm. "Oh…kay," she breathed, the sunniest of smiles he'd ever seen before on her face, "I'd like that. If you and your cute lips are serious."
"Really?" he blurted.
Rachel laughed, taking a step forward. "Really, really."
If you had asked Sam if he would have ever asked Rachel out on a date, his heartbeat almost thundering out of his chest as he did so, he probably would have stared at you, automatically denying it.
Good thing, he thought, smiling down at Rachel, feeling helpless against her expectant, happy expression, Santana had gotten to him first.