The next day, after staying away from the apartment as much as possible and trying to screw my head back on right, I end up at Sloppy Babies. Remembering what Rory said, I ignore the line forming at the side of the building and head to the front instead.
"Whoa, you're cute and all, but I know you see there's a line," a tall, wide-shouldered guy says as he points to the line of frustrated people. "For you, though, I could possibly offer a trade." He runs his hand through his mohawk and smirks.
"I have this." Not wanting to hear what creepy things he has in mind, I hold out the matchbook Quinn gave me.
"Damn it," he grumbles, and his creepy smirk falls. "Santana give you that? God, that bitch always takes the good ones!"
"Who?" I ask, confused.
"Oh, not Santana?" His smirk returns. "So Quinn then?"
"Yes, Quinn." I nod, somewhat relieved that I recognize a name.
"Alright, go on in." He unhooks the red rope to let me pass through. Nodding my thanks, I duck inside, anxious as to see what all that fuss over this place is about.
"Whoa," I breathe out as my eyes dance around the room. There is a low stage surrounded by circular tables directly in front of me, as well as a long, crescent-shaped bar counter off to the side that somewhat faces the stage. Almost every seat is filled at both the seating area and the bar.
Each waitress is donning a different costume, all form-fitting and revealing, yet tasteful. My throat tightens as I take in their sparkling outfits: lacy corsets, ruffled skirts, garters, stockings, feathered bows, high heels, the works! I have never had an issue with acknowledging that I like both men and women, so seeing a place packed with beautiful people doesn't bother me too much.
"Pick up your jaw before someone trips over it."
Embarrassing to be caught gawking, I quickly shut my mouth and turn to the voice. To my left is a smirking young man. Like the waitresses, he too is wearing an outfit: a sleeveless black leather vest with a deep purple ascot and a black bowler hat tipped to the side of his head.
"I-I was just looking at their costumes. They're so—"
"Fabulous? Thank you." He smiles proudly and buffs his nails on his chest. "Each and every one of them, one of a kind, crafted by yours truly."
"Wow," I breathe out again as my eyes drift back over to the waitresses. "Is this some kind of strip club?"
"Strip club?!" He gasps and holds a hand to his slightly exposed chest. "Honey, I should have Santana wash your mouth out with Jagermeister!"
There's that name again. Who is Santana? Ignoring his comment, I go back to admiring my surroundings. Though there is live music playing, the stage is empty. Only white lights shine down against the thick red curtains while bluesy music plays in the background.
Suddenly, the band stops, the white lights dim, and colored ones come on, causing the crowd to clap and holler.
"Ah, showtime." The guy smiles and nods to the stage before starting to walk away. "Enjoy!"
The red curtains lift to reveal a familiar blonde, who walks gracefully to the mic stand. My eyes nearly bulge out of my head as I register Quinn, dressed in a long black sequined gown, singing.
And damn, can she sing.
I find myself walking down the sloped stairs to the bar. Luckily, there is an empty stool at the very end of the bar, where I can wait for Quinn to finish.
As I glance down to the other end of the bar, I see the bartender swiftly taking orders and smoothly hanging out drinks. I can just barely see the side of her face, since most of it is covered by dark, flowing curls. Unlike the waitresses, she is wearing a black leather vest. It looks very similar to the one the guy earlier was wearing, though hers is slightly tighter and doesn't cover up much. When she leans over to hand a customer his Bud Lite, the edge of her vest rises about two inches to reveal smooth, caramel colored skin.
Tearing my eyes away, I watch as she skillfully handles liquor bottles, spinning one in the palm of her hand while filling shot glasses with another, all while keeping her eyes on the customers. She looks so overworked by herself behind the bar, but at the same time, she looks like she can handle it.
I peek up at the wall of bottles, then back to her, and want to laugh. She's so tiny compared to it, and I instantly wonder how she reaches up there. Maybe there's a ladder? My eyes drift back down to the different styles of glasses hanging on the racks set up on the back counter until a different kind of rack blocks my view.
When I finally realize that I'm staring directly at the bartender's boobs, I quickly straighten up and feel my whole body heat up from embarrassment as I blink my eyes to find hers.
"And what can I get for you?" She snickers, obviously aware of my accidental leer. "Milk?"
If possible, I turn even redder. "I, uh..."
"Just kidding." She casually lifts one shoulder. "I'm used to it."
"Sorry," I mutter nervously and finally calm down enough to stare back into chocolate brown eyes. "I'm actually just waiting to talk to Quinn."
"Good luck with that," she laughs, hands busy popping caps off beer bottles and handing them to the guys next to me. "Quinn's such a prude. It's sad, really."
I frown at her talking so rudely about such a nice person, but before I can defend Quinn, she's already asking for my drink order again. "Can I just get a water?" I ask politely, not really in a drinking mood.
As she arches one perfectly sculpted eyebrow at me, I'm able to really look at her. She has her dark, wavy hair tossed over one shoulder, the ends stopping just below her breast. Her hair looks so soft, the kind of soft that begs to be touched and played with. Her tanned skin contrasts against her dark clothing, and each time she hands a customer a drink, her vest slithers up higher to reveal a hint of her toned stomach.
This girl drips sex appeal. She knows that she's attractive, and I can tell from every little smirk and wink that she uses it to her advantage.
"This must be your first time here, so I'm going to pretend like I didn't hear that, because you're wearing white, and as much as I'd like to hose you down and get you nice and wet, I'd miss finally having something pretty to look at over here," she replies with a wink, causing my heart to beat a little faster and the tips of my ears to heat up. "But I need you to order a real drink, okay?"
I don't want to dwell too much on her comment; being flirty is probably in her job description, and she probably does it to get good tips. "Umm, I guess I'll take a rum and Coke."
"Rum and Coke, really?" she asks, unimpressed, as her nose scrunches in disgust.
"Well, yeah, I—"
"Hey lady!" a man slurs from the other end of the bar and waves his hand for her attention. She continues to look at me for one more second before lifting her brow and turning around.
"I have a name, asshole, and it ain't lady!" she growls. Then, she smiles sexily and refills his drink before snatching his money away. The guys on that end of the bar cheer and whistle at her outburst; I guess they're okay with it.
Hell, I'd be okay with her talking to me like that too.
I shake away the dirty thoughts as she walks back down to my end of the bar with a brightly colored drink in hand, then sets it down in front of me. "For you."
I smile at her offering but then narrow my eyes at her. "This isn't a rum and Coke."
"It's something way better," she answers confidently, then smirks. "You'll like it."
"Oh yeah?" I challenge. "What's in it?"
"Just a little TLC." She shrugs casually.
Puzzled, I look at her with furrowed brows. Tender love and care?
"Tequila, lime, coconut."
"Oh!" I sputter and giggle as I bring the drink closer to my lips, then pause. "You left out the roofies, right? I'm allergic."
Her cheeks bunch and her eyes squint cutely as she laughs. "You think if I wanted to take you home, I'd have to drug you?" I nearly choke on my drink, causing her to laugh even harder. "No, there aren't any roofies in there."
"You sure?" I ask with a raised brow.
She smiles, then presses her pouty lips together as she steals some guy's beer and raises it in the air like a salute. "Bartender's honor." She nods solemnly.
"Okay, cool!" I grin and take a sip...then another, and another, and another.
"Good, huh?" she asks cockily, leaning on the counter closer to me. It takes all my brainpower to keep from staring down her vest and remember how to talk correctly.
"God, yes," I sigh and set the drink down. "What's it called?"
"Whatever you want," she calls over her shoulder as she turns to help customers at the other end of the bar. "I made it just for you!"
I practically swoon as the words leave her mouth. She is so freaking charming and dreamy and sexy and a whole bunch of other things that I shouldn't be thinking about when I'm supposed to be heartbroken about my boyfriend cheating on me just yesterday.
Waiting for Quinn ends up taking longer than I expected. Too busy to venture my way again, the bartender and I don't talk much after our encounter. I'm about halfway done with my drink when an even smaller brunette appears from the back door.
"Nice to see you finally showed up," the bartender scoffs as the two cross paths.
"Don't start with me. I'm not in the mood," the shorter brunette huffs as she begins to line up shot glasses on the counter.
The bartender laughs sarcastically as she pours whiskey into the glasses. "You're not in the mood? You were supposed to be here two hours ago! I'm the one who should be pissed, Rachel."
"Well, excuse me for not wanting to be in the same room as you!"
"So now you don't want to be in the same room as me?" Sneering, the bartender spins to face Rachel, their bodies just inches apart.
As the girls stare at each other, the bartender smirking devilishly while Rachel just glares, the men begin whistling and chanting, "Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!"
"You're such a bitch!" The shorter brunette snaps, then grabs the drink closest to her and throws it on the girl in front of her. The crowd goes wild.
"What the fuck? Are you serious?" she growls as Rachel stomps off.
As she starts to wipe some of the alcohol dripping from her cheeks, another voice rings out angrily.
"What the hell is going on over here?" An older woman with choppy blonde hair emerges from a back door and cuts off Rachel's exit.
"Rachel is fucking crazy and threw a drink at me!" the bartender huffs, patting her breasts with a dish towel while the men closest to her beg her to let them do it. I want to march over there and knock them off their stools for the nasty things they're saying, but she doesn't seem to hear them. Or maybe she just doesn't care.
"You wasting my alcohol, Berry?" the woman questions as she crosses her arms.
"Santana is a pig!"
So that's Santana.
"I don't give a shit what kind of animal you think she is. You are not to waste my alcohol! You think this stuff grows on trees?"
"But Sue—"
"Shut it. If you didn't sing so damn well, I would fire your ass on the spot. You make me a lot of money, though, and I love this place too much to lose it." Rachel looks down at her feet apologetically. "Get out, and don't come back until you get your shit straight."
Rachel proceeds to slip back into her jacket, then disappear through the same door Sue entered.
I watch as Sue rolls up the sleeves of her blazer and handles the customers while Santana finishes getting cleaned off. "I'm so tired of these catty little arguments," she grumbles as she approaches my end of the counter. "Why the hell did I think it was a good idea to have so many females in one place?"
"Because we do everything better." Santana smirks as she reappears in front of me, then smiles at the guys next to me. "Ain't that right, boys?"
The whole bar roars with cheers as she chuckles. Sue shakes her head at Santana's antics, then looks at me quizzically. "You sing?"
"Uh, no, not really," I stammer nervously.
"Useless." Shaking her head, she walks to the other end of the bar.
Useless? That sounds familiar. Before I can start throwing myself a pity party, though, I catch Santana looking my way again.
"Want to make it a two-time thing?" she asks, nodding to my drink with a seductive grin. I swallow dryly at the huskiness in her tone, but before I can answer, or at least try to, a familiar voice answers for me.
"Hey, hey, she's off-limits!" Quinn's voice chastises as she sidles up next to me.
"What, you're rejoining the dark side?" Santana teases and wiggles her eyebrows at the blonde next to me.
Quinn just rolls her eyes at the girl. "No. This is my new friend, the one I met at Rory's, so please spare her your slutty ways."
"Oh, so you're Brittany."
"San. No," Quinn warns.
Santana just grins and looks like she's about to say something extra flirty when Quinn turns around to face me.
"So I see you found me," Quinn sighs as she leans against the counter. "Enjoy the show?"
"Yeah, it was amazing!" I reply earnestly. "I didn't know you could sing like that."
"I'm not that good." She shrugs modestly. "I'm just filling in for Rachel. She's the real singer. I usually work back here with Santana."
"Really?" I ask, surprised.
"Mhm, but they've been having issues lately, and Rachel's a bit of a drama queen, so here I am." Quinn's voice trails off as she goes behind the bar to pour herself a drink.
"Hey, is that water you're getting over there, Lucy Q?" Santana calls from her end of the bar jokingly. "You know the rules about that!"
"Fuck you!"
"Maybe later!"
Laughing, Quinn comes back around the bar to stand next to me as I gape at Santana, surprised at how easily they tease each other about their sexualities. I'm beginning to wonder if this place is actually some sort of gay bar.
"I'm kind of confused. Rory said that you're a babysitter, but there definitely aren't any kids here."
Quinn giggles and shakes her head. "We're not actual babysitters. Have you ever seen Coyote Ugly?"
"Of course." I nod. "Who hasn't? Hot girls dancing on bars, totally!"
"Well, Babysitters at Sloppy Babies are like Coyotes at Coyote Ugly."
"Ohh," I hum. "That makes sense, I guess."
"Yeah. Anyways, how'd everything go today? You look a lot happier than the last time I saw you," Quinn comments as she takes a gulp of water.
"Fine, I guess." I shrug. "I mostly stayed away from home and did my own thing. I don't want to accidentally run into Sam. It sucks, because I can't really move out, and I can't ask him to leave either since he pays most of the rent."
"That does suck," Quinn sighs. "Hopefully you'll find a good job soon. That situation is way too awkward to stay in forever."
At that moment, Santana makes her way back over to us.
"What are you two gossiping about?" Santana smirks as she dries off a glass, her eyes fixed on mine, causing me to flush slightly. The bar has quieted down to the point where Santana is able to spend a little more time on our end of the counter.
"We're just talking about relationship stuff," Quinn answers as she sets her glass down. "Boyfriend problems."
"Oh, gross," Santana grumbles and scrunches her face up cutely.
"Well, with the way things are going with Rachel, you should probably take some notes," Quinn teases, causing Santana to stop her drying and glare at her, unamused.
"Rachel and I aren't a thing, damn it. She wants to, but—" Santana abruptly stops talking, then peeks at me shyly before looking back over to Quinn. "You know me, Q."
"Sadly." Quinn sighs in fake annoyance, then bumps me with her shoulder. "Santana's all about her feelings and expressing them properly, if you haven't noticed."
"Oh, shut up!" Santana huffs and throws the dirty towel at Quinn's face, then laughs when Quinn squeals in disgust.
"I have a second act, Santana! Kurt is going to flip his shit when he sees he has to redo my makeup now," Quinn grumbles as she throws the towel back at her and heads off in the direction of the stage.
Snickering, Santana sets the towel on the counter. Then, as if remembering my presence, she clears her throat, slaps on her cocky smirk, and leans on the counter toward me, her eyes darkening and her voice turning sultry. "So, you're single, then?"
My lips part as I stare into deep brown eyes. Just as I'm about to answer, we both jump at Quinn's voice.
"Off-limits, Santana!"