Chapter Five

It seemed as though the blonde badass was doing a damn good job of laying low the next few weeks at McKinley. There were no fights, no flooding of bathrooms, and no being late to class.

There was, however, an incident with the chemicals in his science class.

You couldn't blame him for that one though.

He just wanted to see if he could be a secret Jimmy Neutron in disguise.

That shit obviously didn't go well if Mr. Harrison's non-existent eyebrows had anything to say about it.

But while Brett seemed to be doing a good job of ignoring the incident that had occurred a few weeks prior, Santana found that she couldn't take her mind off of it.

Those electric blue eyes that held so many emotions, she could just get lost in them.

His calm attitude yet rocky demeanor.

His-

Woah! Calm the fuck down, she chastised herself mentally as she finished changing in the Cheerios locker room. She was the only one left after a grueling practice. Quinn was waiting for her in his car outside, so she picked up the pace just a tad.

And only a tad.

Quinn was her best friend, but Santana Lopez still didn't rush for anyone.

After tying up her hair in its signature tight ponytail, she clutched her bag against her body and made her way out of the locker room, walking along the track to her ride.

Out of her peripheral vision, she saw a lone figure jogging on the other side.

A flash of blonde hair definitely got her attention.

She angled her body toward the stranger, taking in his bare, chiseled chest and loose fitting running shorts. And...those sunglasses.

Brett.

Santana watched in fascination and curiosity as the mysterious boy pushed himself faster and harder, sweat clearly present on his body, even from a far distance. He seemed zoned out, or maybe it was just her imagination.

And holy hell, why was she watching some guy she hardly knew like a creeper?

She shook her head emphatically, tearing her eyes away and continuing her walk to Quinn's car.

"Santana?"

She had been watching for so long that she hadn't even noticed Brett was already so close to her, in his shirtless, beautiful glory.

What?

Doesn't mean she's in love with him. Or those eyes. Or those muscles. Or that cute ass-

"Um, hello?" Brett tried again awkwardly, rubbing at the back of his glistening neck. Should he call for help or...?

Santana jumped slightly, finally brought back from her musing. Brett could have sworn he saw a slight blush creep across those perfect cheekbones.

He smiled on the outside this time, a genuine smile at that.

Santana truly was beautiful.

"Stop staring at me like that!" Santana snapped, glaring at the random ass guy who just seemed to be making her fall apart at the seams.

Brett held up his hands as a show of surrender, his signature smirk still playing on his lips. "My apologies, Angel Eyes. I saw you standing here looking a little lost, thought I could help you out."

He could definitelyhelp her out, he thought dreamily, but stopped that thought short.

New Brett might be an ass, but all girls deserve more respect than that.

"Just-you-ugh!" The brunette rambled, scrunching up her face in frustration. "Just stay away from me, okay?"

Brett watched on with an amused facial expression, letting out a short chuckle as he wiped a bead of sweat off of his forehead. "But wasn't it you who was watching me?"

Oh, shit. So he did see.

Before she could respond, Brett was already starting on another lap, his broad shoulders shaking in what looked like laughter.

Santana wasn't ashamed in the least to say that she watched his ass as he went.

And damn, she liked what she saw.

"When were you going to tell me about your sexual escapades with Santana Lopez, Brett Pierce!"

Brett rolled his eyes for the thousandth time, readjusting his feet that were currently propped up on Rachel's coffee table.

The tiny diva had already asked him about ten times to take them off, but it was just so comfortable and when he pulled the puppy dog face, Rachel finally caved.

"First of all, who even says sexual escapades anymore?" Brett looked at his friend incredulously, plowing on before Rachel could interrupt. "And second of all, Santana spits on the ground I walk upon. Besides, maybe she's just not my type like I thought." He shrugged noncommittally, hoping Rachel wouldn't see through his lie.

Rachel seemed to frown at this from her spot on the recliner for whatever reason. And Brett didn't like it one bit.

"What's wrong with short brunettes, Brett? They are highly appealing to many people, thank you very much!" And now her sadness seemed to turn to anger.

Maybe Brett wasn't the only one with a personality disorder.

Brett's inner Lola could cook up some Mexican food for Rachel's inner crazy person too.

Then again, Rachel was just always crazy. So Lola could just cook for all of Rachel's crazy.

"Um, no, nothing's wrong with them. I don't really want to talk about it, firecracker." He honestly hoped she'd get the hint and just leave it at that. And she did.

They continued to watch TV in an awkward silence until Rachel got up from the recliner and sat down next to Brett on the couch, leaning into his side and throwing an arm around his middle.

The blonde smiled softly, he knew he hadn't upset his new friend. He was glad.

It was quiet for a few moments before Rachel's voice broke through the silence once again.

"Do you like her? People are talking and I see the way you look at her." Her voice was small, shy. Brett had no idea why.

"I don't know what I like anymore, Rach."

And the two left it at that once again.

The next morning Brett was late to school, and for once, he actually cared.

He had a project due and if he didn't turn it in, he would actually flunk out of the class before the damn thing had actually begun.

He revved his engine faster, feeling the wind whip at his face and flutter harshly against his gray and black baseball shirt. His sunglasses pushed deeper into the corneas of his eyes as his speed further increased. When he stopped at the first intersection, he glanced over to his left out of impatience, and had to do a double take.

Of fucking course.

They just had to be late on the same damn day.

There in the next lane was Quinn Fabray's mustang, Santana sitting up and center in the passenger seat. As if feeling his stare, she looked over and chocolate brown eyes widened in surprise, before a soft smile played across her full lips.

That lasted for all of a second before her eyebrows furrowed and her normal scowl was back into place.

Brett still thought she had never looked more beautiful.

Quinn chose that time to acknowledge his presence, narrowing his eyes and revving his own again as if challenging Brett to race.

And hell if he was one to back down from a challenge.

Both boys nodded slightly to the other, Santana looking confusedly between the two of them, not quite understanding what was about to happen.

When the light turned green, both the mustang and motorcycle roared down the street like bats out of hell, Brett getting slightly nervous as a curve in the road up ahead came closer and closer.

Quinn could easily maneuver around it with his car, but the taller blonde's wheels might not be able to handle the lack of traction.

Slowly, Brett slowed as Quinn still shot forward ahead. Brett was able to see Santana looking furious, swatting at Quinn as if he had just kicked her puppy.

The only thing was, Brett was too focused on the beautiful girl to notice how close the turn actually was, and as his eyes widened behind his tinted sunglasses, he yanked his handlebars to the left and put down his foot as a last ditch effort.

Both Quinn and Santana watched in horror as the badass they had known for only a few short weeks skidded off of the street and into the bushes along side it.

Well.

Fuck.