Finally, after a couple more seconds of the silent exchange, Brittany cleared her throat and looked down at the coconut cake. Just as she grabbed her spoon, she remembered she had a job to do, one that required her completely unbiased opinion.

Well, so far this was going terribly. Not that the main course wasn't good, quite the contrary, but even if it hadn't been, she was pretty sure she'd still write Santana the best review just for her gorgeous face and wicked words.

"You chose well; my pastry chef makes a mean coco cake."

Brittany smiled as she cut a small piece with her spoon and brought it to her lips, eyes closing as she moaned in appreciation. "Wow."

"Told ya," Santana chuckled. "Mercedes is a rockstar."

After she took in the rush of flavors, Brittany swallowed. "Mercedes Jones?" Santana frowned confusedly. "Yeah. How do you—"

"I still work at the Culi Mag," she blurted out, suddenly aware her knowing who Mercedes Jones was could compromise her job. She didn't want Santana to be suspicious of her knowing so much, so naturally she tried to cover her tracks. The Culinary Magazine was the first food related paper she'd worked at, although it had started out as a crummy internship. She'd been there during her whole relationship with Santana, but a couple months after their breakup, Shelby had contacted her and offered a much more promising job at Cuisine.

"I wrote an article on the pastry industry, and her name came up when I was researching." She tried to shrug off.

"Oh. I thought you'd have quit by now..." Santana trailed off. "I mean...they kind of treated you like crap."

Brittany looked down, knowing she was terrible at lying. "It got better."

Before Santana could open her mouth, Brittany cut another piece of the cake. "Want a bite?"

"Sure. I mean, it's not like I eat this every weekend," the chef chuckled.

Brittany smirked and lifted the spoon, letting it hover inches away from Santana's lips as she stared at her. "Well?"

Santana shook her head with a smile before she set her forearms on the table and hunched forward, moving her face so she could wrap her lips around the spoon. She took her time, sinfully so, looking intently at Brittany until she pulled the spoon back towards her and Santana sat back in her chair, chewing a mouthful of cake.

Brittany couldn't stop looking, looking at those full lips she'd kissed only Saturday, looking at those deep brown eyes that made her dizzy with want. If she could just...

But no, she couldn't. Not while her review could make or break Santana's career. Sure, her restaurant had only opened a few months ago, but the business was difficult enough without having to deal with a bad review. Not that it would necessarily be bad—Brittany was quite impressed for now—but she still intended to come back at least twice, and who knew what her taste buds would like or dislike?

From her seat, Santana was sure she'd never seen Brittany look so desirable. It was silly really, but the way she held herself, the way her eyes hinted at everything words couldn't say, had Santana completely captivated.

"God, I want you," she breathed out. "I want you back."

"I know you do," Brittany recovered, "but you can't have me."

"Why not?"

"Don't play games. You know why."

Santana swallowed, opting for the honest route this time. "I know I was a shit girlfriend. But let's be real, you were too."

"That's not a great way to get me back between your legs."

"Just let me finish," Santana bristled. "Look we were young, we both fucked up a lot. But it—I mean, it could be different..." she paused, eyes finally darting back up to look at Brittany. "We had good times too, didn't we?"

After a beat, Brittany tilted her head to the side. "What are you doing?"

"I—"

"We argued all the time, Santana. We fought, and yelled, and argued some more. That's all we did. Every week, and for the dumbest reasons too."

"That's not all we did," Santana muttered. It was sweet, a sort of childish grumble that made Brittany smile.

"You're right. We fucked a lot too."

Santana couldn't help but smile, a small chuckle escaping her lips. "Damn right."

They both looked down before Santana frowned again. "I still think it could be different this time."

"Yeah?"

"Totally."

After flicking a breadcrumb distractedly, Brittany sighed. She didn't want to hurt Santana, but she knew they couldn't go down this path again. "Last week we barely said hi before you managed to piss me off. Two days after, we almost had sex on my couch."

Santana blinked, then frowned. "Okay, so maybe it's not that different, but—"

"Santana..."

"Fine. Suit yourself."

Santana looked down at her nails as her ego bruised. She could have anyone she wanted anyway; she was gorgeous, talented, and successful. Brittany Pierce was not the only hot blonde with a taste for pussy.

"I don't even know why I bothered asking anyway," she intoned, chin held stubbornly high, "it's not like I don't have any other options."

Brittany rolled her eyes; she'd anticipated Santana acting like she didn't have a care in the world, but it was still grating. "Yeah? Is that why you haven't had sex in over a year?"

"Whatever. Just...enjoy your desert." Santana cut the conversation short, not liking the way Brittany's rejection felt. Not liking it one bit.

She got up and glanced at her before walking back towards the kitchen. When she got inside, she frowned. Holly, Tina, and Kurt seemed to be talking animatedly, with Kurt looking frazzled and Tina stuttering. Well, that was new.

"What's going on?"

The small group turned to her. "That's what I was trying to tell you earlier," Kurt started. "We've got a bit of a...uh, code red."

"What do you mean?" Santana prompted.

Kurt looked at Holly before he scratched the back of his rather sweaty neck. He'd never liked being in the kitchen much. "Do you remember when I introduced you to my friend Rachel Berry?"

Santana groaned. "Yes, unfortunately."

Kurt ignored her. "I mentioned her biological mom is the boss of Cuisine, and she recently renewed contact with her through her fiancé Jesse who works there..."

"Okay..."

"Rachel told Kurt that Jesse was supposed to review Adjacent," Holly cut in.

Santana swallowed, chuckling nervously now. "Um yeah, so what's wrong? St. James is a pretty laid-back food critic, why are you guys—"

"Long story short," Kurt interrupted her, "Rachel overheard Shelby tell Jesse that he didn't have to review Adjacent after all." Kurt gulped. "Susan Spite is doing it."

Santana blanched, "Oh fuck."