Author's Note: Just a very short Teresa-centric side-story ficlet from the point of view of her friend, Kate. Takes place right in the middle of Don't Want To Wake Up Lonely and is pre-Santaresa. It's been sitting unfinished for a while.

Gotta Get With My Friends

If you wanna be my lover, you gotta get with my friends
Make it last forever, friendship never ends
If you wanna be my lover, you have got to give
Taking is too easy, but that's the way it is
~Wannabe, Spice Girls

"How did your showing go?" Kate asks when Teresa gets home. She's lounging on the couch in her flannel pants and fuzzy slippers, cozy and comfortable as she surfs through the television channels. It's nowhere near as late (or as early) as when Teresa works at the bar, so she'd stayed up to check in with her best friend and roommate tonight.

"It was... interesting," Teresa answers, collapsing onto the couch next to Kate.

"That sounds ominous," Kate muses, curious. Teresa's showings are typically pretty uneventful—a bunch of stuffy socialites and wannabe hipsters pretending to be art critics for a couple of hours—and her typical answer to that question is simply the number of paintings, if any, she'd managed to sell.

But not tonight.

"I ran into Rachel Berry and her wife."

Kate's brows furrow, and she silently mouths the name—the way she does whenever she's trying to recall some obscure piece of knowledge that's dancing just outside her recollection. "Why does that name sound familiar?" she finally asks.

"She won a Tony last year."

Kate snaps her fingers, suddenly enlightened. "Oh right! The hot Broadway star you met." She's never been quite as into the theater scene as Teresa, but she definitely remembers hearing about Rachel and then having her pointed out when she'd been cajoled into watching the Tonys. "The one with the hot but icy girlfriend."

"Who is now her hot but icy wife," Teresa supplies with a nod, unbuttoning the black vest she's wearing with one hand.

"Did they buy a painting?"

Teresa chuckles a little. "They did, actually. They also tried to set me up with their friend, Santana."

"That name sounds familiar too," Kate notes, frowning.

"It should." Teresa rolls her eyes. "Remember that woman who used to show up at Ten Degrees at least once a week and ask for my name, my number, and my consent to fall into her bed?"

Kate absolutely remembers that woman. Teresa had told her at least one new colorful story every week for about a year. "Your Latina Lothario."

Teresa nods. "Mmmhmm. That's Santana."

Kate laughs. "And they still bought a painting after you laughed in their faces?" Teresa purses her lips, eyes guiltily darting away, and Kate's laughter abruptly stops. "Teresa?"

She shrugs sheepishly. "I gave them my card and told them to have Santana call me."

Kate shakes her head in disbelief. "Okay, I know I told you to get back in the saddle and ride a couple of cowgirls to get over Olivia, but I thought you were looking for a slow trot and not a one trick pony."

Teresa chokes back a laugh. "You really need to step out of the rodeo arena with those metaphors."

Kate kicks her leg with the toe of her fuzzy slipper. She happens to think her rodeo metaphor is fantastic, but, "Seriously, T. I thought she was a player."

"She was. And honestly, she probably still is," Teresa admits, shrugging again, "even though her friends seem to think she's ready to settle down."

"You don't believe them?"

"I believe that they believe it."

It's pretty clear from the expression on her face and the tone of her voice that she doesn't believe it. "Then why give her your number?"

Teresa sighs, staring at the floor for a long, silent moment before she finally answers. "I guess I'm curious. I mean, if nothing else, Santana was always entertaining, and...not unattractive."

Kate has known Teresa for a long time now, and she knows when her friend is purposely underplaying something. Even if Teresa hadn't cared much for this Santana person's attitude back in the day, she'd admitted on more than one occasion that the woman was smoking hot. "You do wanna ride a cowgirl!" Kate exclaims, grinning triumphantly. It's about time Teresa took her advice and had a little uncomplicated fun.

"No," Teresa denies with a laugh, shoving Kate's shoulder. "And it's not like I even agreed to see Santana. I only said she could call me if she wants. She'll probably say something crude and offensive in the first thirty seconds and I'll hang up on her." She laughs again and shakes her head. "But on the off chance that she's actually changed, it might be nice to go out with someone who, to my memory, isn't shy about who she is or what she wants."

"Ah, I get it," Kate says sympathetically. "She's the opposite of Olivia." Teresa's ex had done a real number on her, keeping their entire relationship behind closed doors for two years and making her second guess every little word and gesture whenever they were outside of Olivia's fancy, uptown apartment. The woman also hadn't been overly supportive of Teresa's burgeoning art career or job at the bar, even though that's where they'd met.

"Yeah," Teresa admits, her expression a little sad. "And since the last couple of women I tried dating since Liv have been…"

"Too much like Olivia," Kate interjects knowingly when Teresa pauses just a little too long in her attempt to be gracious. Those women might not have been in the closet the way Olivia Jefferson had been, but they were just as prim and proper and, frankly, boring, making them not right for someone like Teresa.

Her friend nods. "I figured, what do I have to lose?"

Not much as far as Kate can tell. Teresa can pretty much take care of herself in the dating department. Yeah, Olivia had turned out to be a really bad investment on her part, but the woman had been smart and successful and pretty good to Teresa in the beginning—really, she hadn't exactly been bad to her ever, just totally unwilling to ever make their relationship public. Teresa won't be letting any Latina Lotharios do her dirty, no matter how hot they are.

Kate still believes that when, two days later, Teresa tells her that, "Santana called me."

"Yeah, how did that go?" Because Kate can't actually tell from her tone or her expression.

Teresa shrugs, though there's a tiny grin tugging at the corner of her lips. "We're meeting for coffee on Wednesday."

"Must have been a really good call then." Especially when Teresa had spent a year turning down the woman to her face.

"Not especially."

"But…?" Kate prompts, sensing there has to be something Santana had said to peak her friend's interest.

Teresa gives her a look. Kate thinks of it as her I'm-too-cool-for-this-conversation-but-I'll-humor-you look. (She is not, in fact, too cool for anything. She's secretly a giant nerd.)

"But she looked up my paintings on the gallery's website," Teresa admits, trying to look nonchalant about it but failing.

"And that was enough to hook you?"

"I'm not hooked," she protests, far more believably. "Just...impressed that she thought to do it and, therefore, more open to giving her a chance. She sounded different than I remember too. Less cocky, I guess." A wry smile appears on her face. "Or maybe it's just that my memory of her is slightly exaggerated after three years."

Kate supposes that could be true. "And if she's still a player?"

"Then it'll be one bad coffee date," Teresa reasons, sounding completely unconcerned. "I've had a lot of those."

"Yeah, you really have," Kate agrees, grinning.

"Shut up," Teresa huffs in mock outrage before tossing a pillow at her. Kate catches it easily, laughing as she tucks it safely back into the corner of the couch, but she does let the subject drop, figuring this Santana person will probably end up being nothing more than one more bad coffee date after Wednesday.

"So, what are we watching tonight?" she asks, content to hang out with her roommate before their work schedules have them missing each other for the next few days.

There's no more talk about Teresa's lovelife—or Kate's current lack of one, for that matter—for the rest of the night, and as expected, Kate doesn't actually see Teresa again until Thursday evening for the scant hour between Kate getting home from work and Teresa heading out to the bar, but she damn well makes sure to ask, "So how'd the date go?"

Teresa's mouth quirks into a crooked smile. "It wasn't exactly a date."

"Close enough," Kate dismisses, heading to the fridge to grab herself a bottle of vitamin water. "Did she try to charm you back to her place for a little silk sheet samba?"

Teresa barks out a laugh. "No. And please don't use any bad, Latinx euphemisms when you meet her."

Kate stops, bottle of water halfway to her mouth as she eyes her friend curiously. "Oh, I'm meeting her now, am I?"

"No," Teresa denies quickly—a little too quickly. Her cheeks instantly pinken, and her gaze dips to the floor. "Maybe," she admits a little sheepishly.

Kate lowers her bottle as she takes in Teresa's posture and the blush and the nervous lip bite. Realization washes over her. "You like her."

Teresa sighs and runs anxious fingers through her hair, ruffling it into even wilder spikes. She meets Kate's eyes with an almost guilty smile. "Yeah, I think I actually might."

It's not what Kate was expecting. "Well, I'm definitely meeting her," she decides immediately. "And if she's still a player, I'm kicking her ass."

Teresa chuckles at that. "Oh, don't worry. I have no intention of becoming a notch on her bedpost. If that's all she's after, I'll kick her ass myself."

Kate hums in acknowledgement as she lifts the bottle to her lips. She doesn't doubt that Teresa means that, but she also hasn't seen that particular look of hopeful interest on her friend's face since she'd first met Olivia. Teresa can absolutely take care of herself, but it never hurts to have an extra pair of eyes to watch her back. Kate makes a silent promise to do just that. There'll be no Latina Lotharios taking advantage of her best friend on her watch.