Hey, y'all! Since it's been a while, I've decided to do a reupload of the chapters. Don't worry, all the content of the story will be the same—I'm not changing it in any way. I just decided to rewrite the first few chapters (for my own satisfaction), so I'll be uploading those here.
If you can, please leave a review! I love hearing what you guys think about the story!
Enjoy! :)
Walking down the busy streets of New York City never fails to bring a smile to her face—unless she's on the way to work or something. Looking at the tall buildings surrounding her, Santana takes a deep breath of the fresh air.
But, the air in the city is usually polluted with a mixture of engine exhaust and cigarette smoke, so she starts silently choking. A few people send her confused or worried glances as she passes, more than likely thinking she's another one of the insane inhabitants who tend to litter the streets.
She continues down Lexington Avenue, catching her breath, as she heads toward her usual lunch spot. She meets her best friend, Quinn, for lunch at least once a week—they don't get to see each other much otherwise.
Weaving through groups of tourists, she finally makes it to the small Italian restaurant they found on their first visit, a few years before they moved to the city.
When she enters the restaurant, she looks in the direction of their usual table, seeing the back of a head with short blonde hair. She greets the hostess, walking over to the table and taking a seat across from Quinn.
"You're late," the blonde greets, not looking up from her menu.
"Blame the tourists," Santana responds, unraveling the napkin around her silverware and placing it on her lap. "Did you already order?"
"Drinks," she responds. "Water for you, iced tea for me."
Santana rolls her eyes and picks up her menu. "I hate water," she mutters under her breath.
"That's what you get for being late," Quinn says with a smirk, obviously hearing Santana's comment.
Santana looks over her menu for a few moments, looking at the new weekly specials added. She doesn't know why they even bother looking at the menu anymore—they always get the same thing every time.
"How's work been?" Quinn asks, breaking the silence.
The waiter appears a moment later, carrying their two beverages. Santana shoots him a thankful smile before responding.
"Going," she responds, sipping her water. "You do what you gotta do to get to the top, right?"
"Shelby still not letting up?"
"Never." Santana shakes her head. "It's like the woman has it out for me."
Quinn shrugs her shoulders. "Maybe that's a good thing? They say authoritative figures are harder on those they know have the most potential."
Santana stares blankly at her friend, only blinking a couple of times. After a moment, she opens her mouth and points her finger at Quinn. "Have you been talking to Berry recently?"
Based on the way Quinn's cheeks turn red and her gaze automatically turns to her lap, Santana already knows the answer. She starts to say something, but Quinn interrupts her.
"She invited us to her opening night," she says. Santana watches as she rummages through her purse and pulls out two paper tickets with Funny Girl written across the top in big, bold letters.
"Oh, hell no." Santana shakes her head defiantly.
"Oh, come on, Santana," Quinn starts, leaning forward to force eye contact. "Whether you want to admit it or not, she's our friend."
"That explains why we haven't heard from her in almost two months," Santana challenges. "I told her when we moved here that I was giving her one chance—it's on her for screwing it up."
Quinn raises her brows at Santana, unbelieving of her words. "You know she was busy with rehearsals."
Santana shrugs. "Sucks," she says nonchalantly. She crosses her arms over her chest and maintains eye contact with Quinn, her stance unwavering.
Neither girl says anything until the waiter returns to the table, pen and notepad in hand to take their order. Santana can't help but notice the way he keeps looking at her—occasionally for too long.
She's quick to give the guy her order, but with the way Quinn keeps looking between the two, Santana knows she's caught on as well. She does her best to avoid eye contact with either of them, showing her water glass extra attention for a few awkward moments.
It's only when he starts walking away that Santana feels like she can breathe again. Her shoulders visibly deflate as she lets out a breath of relief.
Meanwhile, Quinn's looking at her with a smirk and an eyebrow raised in amusement. She starts shaking her head and chuckling at Santana's behavior, shifting in her seat as she gets ready to speak.
"You're impossible," she laughs.
Santana snaps her attention over to her friend, narrowing her eyes. "Excuse me?"
"You heard me."
"Doesn't mean I understand it."
Quinn shrugs, leaning back in her seat. "You're impossible; simple as that." Santana leans closer, urging the girl to explain herself further. "You just—" Quinn starts, looking at the ceiling as she considers her words. "Okay, how long has it been since you've been out with someone?"
"What does that have to do with anything?" Santana asks, already over with where this conversation is heading.
"Answer the question," Quinn rebuts.
Santana sighs, trying to recall the last time she went on a date. "Few months, I guess?"
"Uh—" Quinn laughs, cutting herself off. "It's been a lot longer than that, Santana. I've been on a date more recently than you, and the last one I went on was in January."
"Yeah," Santana shrugs, "a few months. That's what I said."
"It's almost been a year," Quinn corrects.
"It's weird you keep track of my dating life more than I do," Santana deadpans.
"What can I say?" Quinn asks. "You're nicer when you're getting laid." She sips her iced tea as Santana's jaw drops, finding amusement in the way she rendered her friend speechless.
"That is—" Santana shakes her head. She stutters, not knowing what she can say to argue Quinn's point. After all, she is more pleasant when she's engaging in those activities.
Even Berry could figure that out.
"Why don't you date more?" Quinn asks, getting straight to the point.
Santana rolls her eyes at her friend's bluntness. There's a reason she's an aspiring lawyer.
"I just don't have time," she responds.
"Bullshit," Quinn immediately challenges. "You stay home every Friday night to read or do a puzzle."
"Exactly," Santana agrees, "and that's not time I'm willing to give up."
Quinn shakes her head and looks down in defeat. She knows she's not going to win the argument.
"Look, you can't die alone, Santana. You have to put yourself out there. Talk to people!" Quinn exclaims, tapping the table for emphasis.
"Oh, and you're doing so great in that area?" Santana challenges, chuckling.
"I didn't say I was," Quinn responds. "But at least I try."
Santana crosses her arms over her chest and leans back in her seat. She can't admit that Quinn may have a point.
But, what's so wrong with being alone? She'd never have to support anyone else, worry about their wellbeing. If anything, it could help manage her stress—only fending for herself and maybe a dog later down the road.
Santana never got the big deal about being in a relationship. There's never been anyone that captured her attention enough that she wants to put the effort into continuing things with them. And sure, she's had a few hookups or one-night stands, but that's just an effort to keep herself satisfied.
"Are you still listening?" Quinn interrupts her thoughts.
Santana doesn't respond; instead, she looks up at her friend and purses her lips.
That being enough of an answer for Quinn, she continues. "Put yourself out there."
"What? With this teenage waiter?" Santana snarks. "Yeah, no thanks."
Quinn rolls her eyes. "Not him. Anyone. Just start talking to people."
"Are you forgetting how many crazies roam this town?" Santana deadpans. "I value my life."
"Okay," Quinn wracks her brain for another suggestion, "then join an online dating platform."
Santana's eyes widen in disbelief. "Once again," she pauses. "I value my life."
"Oh, it's not so bad," Quinn says, waving her hand dismissively. "I've been on plenty of Tinder dates."
"Didn't one guy bring his baby teeth?" Santana asks, challenging Quinn's point.
Quinn squints her eyes, wracking her brain for the memory. "Oh, yeah; I forgot about him." She cringes at the memory. "He was a really nice guy, though."
Santana mockingly smiles sweetly. "I'll pass."
Quinn groans and puts her head in her hands. "This is what I meant when I said you're impossible," she mutters.
Santana hears what she says, but she makes no move to argue. She knows she's impossible—she has standards. And she's not lowering them for anyone, whether Quinn likes it or not.
"Oh!" Quinn exclaims, suddenly sitting up to look at Santana. Santana's startled by the sudden movement, so she raises her brows and looks at Quinn expectantly. "You don't trust randos, right?" she asks.
Santana nods in response, curious about Quinn's angle.
"How about a blind date then?" Quinn's eyes light up at the idea. "Would you go out with someone if someone you trusted handpicked them for you?"
Santana cocks her head and regards Quinn for a moment. Reading her body language, she picks up the girl's motive. "You already have someone, don't you?"
Quinn meekly smiles at Santana, shrugging her shoulders slowly. "Maybe," she drawls out.
"Quinn!" Santana groans. "Why are you like this?"
"Supportive? Encouraging? Motivational?" she lists.
"Manipulative. Exhausting. Intrusive." Santana responds immediately after.
Quinn sighs, shaking her head. "I just want what's best for you, Santana. I really think making more relationships—platonic or romantic—would help with that."
Santana considers Quinn's words, knowing her friend has good intent. She wouldn't do anything to put Santana in harm's way, or do anything to spite her—she can trust Quinn.
"Fine," Santana relents. "I'll go on this stupid date."
Quinn's face lights up in a cheeky grin, and she squeals and taps her feet on the floor excitedly at her agreeance.
/
The day of the date, Santana wakes up with a ball of dread settling low in her stomach. She never looks forward to public outings, but going on a date with someone she's never even met feels so much worse.
Quinn's persistence never stopped throughout the week, either. She's constantly texting Santana with details on the date or how excited and proud she is that Santana's going out of her comfort zone.
There's no getting out of it now.
And, much to her chagrin, her workday flies by faster than she likes. Before she knows it, Santana's looking at her reflection in her full-length mirror, checking to make sure her appearance is acceptable for a casual first date.
They're not going anywhere fancy. She requested to just meet for coffee at the local cafe down her street.
She decides to walk to the cafe, thinking she'll need the few minutes of fresh air before the inevitable claustrophobia surrounding the situation settles in. Her walk to the cafe would usually be refreshing, but she can't stop worrying about the outcome.
She doesn't even know this person. The only thing she knows is Quinn thinks they'll be a good match—which is usually not an easy feat when it comes to Santana.
How bad could it go, right? All she's doing is having coffee with him. Just a nice cappuccino and pleasant conversation. It's not like they're meeting on any serious terms—just casual chitchat.
Santana gets to the spot about fifteen minutes before she's supposed to meet her date. She looks in the windows, surveying the lobby for any sign of the guy Quinn described.
When she sees no sign of him, she enters the cafe and sits at a nearby two-seater. She pulls out her phone to pass the time, but she keeps the corner of her eye on the front door for anyone new who walks through the door.
She plays Candy Crush for a few minutes before getting aggravated at the impossible level she's on. She puts her phone back in her pocket for the time being, deciding that starting the date in a foul mood wouldn't help her case.
Santana taps her fingers on the table impatiently, checking the time every so often so she can count the minutes until he'll be there. She's on her third time check when a tall blonde walks up to her table with a kind smile.
"Can I get you anything?" she asks, folding her hands in front of her grey apron politely.
"Uh, yeah—" Santana stutters. "I'll, uh—I'll just take a small black coffee."
She knows the last thing she needs right now is more caffeine, given that her nerves are apparently already showing. But, the coffee would give her something to do with her hands, making her feel less awkward.
"You got it," the blonde says, giving her a single nod before walking away.
Santana can't help but watch the girl saunter off, somehow glowing with positivity and confidence. It doesn't take long for her to return with a small brown cup, steam floating on the top of it. She sets it down with a quiet "enjoy" before walking back to the front counter.
Santana watches as she interacts with a few other customers seated throughout the store, approaching their tables with the same mega-watt smile she gave Santana. Her coworkers seem to enjoy her company as well, a brunette crafting drinks behind the counter laughing at something she says as she wipes down the counter.
Santana's so entranced in the blonde's movements that she doesn't sense the new body approaching her table. Just before he sits down, Santana snaps her attention over to the man, standing when she realizes he's looking directly at her.
"Santana?" he asks, a weird, obnoxious flirty tone in his voice.
"Yeah," she responds, outstretching her hand. "Sebastian?"
"The one and only." He kisses the back of her hand instead of shaking it, like she intended, and Santana has to fight the grimace threatening to take over her expression.
"Nice to meet you," she says, clearing her throat as she sits down.
"It's always a pleasure," he replies, following her movements. When he sits down, he pulls his leg up to cross over the other, holding his shin as he leans back in his seat.
Now that they're seated, Santana notices the arrogant smirk on his face, and she instantly knows this date was a mistake.
"May I ask how your day has been?" he starts the conversation.
Santana nods, moving a piece of hair behind her ear. "It's been fine. You?"
"The best," he responds with a smile.
He doesn't say anything more before looking around the cafe, spotting the blonde and her coworker talking behind the counter. He quickly raises his hand and snaps his fingers three times, clearing his throat to get their attention.
The blonde moves her gaze over to him, and he raises his eyebrows expectantly, urging her to come over. Santana puts her face in her hands in embarrassment, not wanting to be associated with him.
"Excuse me," Sebastian starts when she arrives at the table. "But, aren't you supposed to be tending to the guests instead of gossipping behind the counter?"
The blonde cocks her brow in surprise and looks over at Santana. Santana gives her a meek smile, trying to apologize for Sebasitan's behavior before she returns her focus to Sebastian.
"We were actually discussing—"
Sebastian raises his hand, cutting the blonde off midsentence. "It doesn't concern me. What does concern me is your lack of customer service skills. Now, I'll be the bigger person here and not report you, given that you'll take my order now and return with it immediately."
Santana can see the blonde's jaw clench, but she complies nonetheless.
"Fine," she replies, doing her best to give him a smile. "What can I get for you?"
"Thank you," he smiles sweetly. "I'll have whatever Santana's having." He waves his hand in Santana's direction, causing the girl's gaze to shift back over to her.
She nods before walking off, returning only a moment later with a cup identical to Santana's.
Santana watches the girl work, amazed at how well she's able to maintain her patience. If she were in that position, it'd take everything she had not to throw the scalding liquid in Sebastian's face.
"I apologize," Sebastian speaks up after a moment. "Some people are just so rude."
Santana bunches her cheeks in mock amusement. "Right?" she chuckles.
"Now," he leans forward and rests his arms on the table, forcing eye contact, "I don't want you to take that personally."
Santana scoffs and leans back in her chair, crossing her arms over her chest. "The hell is that supposed to mean?" She doesn't try to hold back her hostility.
"Well," Sebastian laughs, motioning toward Santana's cup. "You ordered before your date arrived—that's not the most polite thing to do."
"Excuse me?" Santana chuckles bitterly. The audacity this guy has—criticizing your date after not even five minutes of meeting each other? "I'm sorry for getting impatient, but you're the one who showed up," she checks the time, "almost twenty minutes late!"
"Well," he reaches for his coffee cup, blowing on it before taking a small sip, "we can't all have schedules as free as you, sweetie. My position at work requires tireless effort."
"Since when did working at a reception desk become tiring?" Santana challenges, narrowing her eyes at him.
Sebastian visibly falters, clearing his throat as he sets his cup back on the table. He shakes his head, contradicting Santana's point. "Many people underestimate the vigorous nature of a receptionist position."
"I'm sure," Santana responds, her tone laced with sarcasm. She maintains her position, leaning as far as she can from him and keeping her arms folded.
The vein in Sebastian's forehead becomes more visible by the second with his aggravation of Santana's resistance.
"Well," Sebastian starts, wiping his hands on the sleeves of his collared shirt, "I wouldn't expect you to know much about that, given your occupation, so we'll move on."
Santana cocks her head to the side, unbelieving that his man keeps insulting her so nonchalantly and doesn't seem to comprehend the issue in it.
"Excuse me?" she repeats, this time a fraction louder.
"Quinn told me about your occupation," he shrugs, "at a recording studio. And, while that's endearing," he gives her a smile, "someday you'll have to find a real job."
His tone is so sweet and calm—it's like someone wouldn't know he was insulting them if they didn't hear the words.
"Oh, so one where I kiss ass to my boss all day and hope he'll treat me with a little bit of respect?" she bites.
"Don't you do that already?" he chuckles, taking another sip of his coffee.
Santana scoffs, shaking her head. "You know what? This is over." She stands from her seat and grabs her purse and coffee.
"Wait," Sebastian says, following her movements. He reaches out to touch her, but she moves away before he can make contact. "Was it something I said?"
Santana stares at him with her mouth slacked. His expression shows that he genuinely doesn't know what he did—he thinks it's acceptable.
"No." Santana shakes her head. "It's just you."
His shoulders visibly deflate at her words, his posture morphing into one of defeat for a moment. Santana walks past him without another word, setting her sights on her comfortable, quiet living room, where she just wants to sit and read to escape tonight's events.
But just before she reaches the door, she feels a firm grip on her bicep, pulling her back and spinning her around. She comes face to face with Sebastian, and his brows are furrowed in anger—much more intimidating than the twink that was just sitting across from her.
"Walk away, and you're throwing the best opportunity of your life away," he threatens. Santana can look at his eyes and see he's not going to hurt her, so she has no reason to be afraid in that aspect.
But she feels trapped. Like she's back in high school, being sought after by all the guys, being pressured into dating a few of them. It's that helplessness he holds that she finds familiar—he doesn't want this to be the end. Not for a relationship's sake, but more for his ego.
Santana's not putting up with it.
"I'll take the risk," she responds, attempting to pull her arm away. As she moves, his grip tightens, and he shakes his head.
"Sir, I'll give you ten seconds to remove your hand."
A voice echoes through the café, and they both turn to see who the owner is. The blonde from earlier is standing in front of the counter, phone in hand. Her jaw is clenched, and her brows are tightened with intensity.
"If you don't comply, I have no choice but to call the police," she continues.
Santana watches the blonde more than Sebastian, looking at the stern stature the girl maintains. It's strange to see someone so bright look so serious in a matter of minutes.
The change is somewhat…
Santana doesn't finish the thought since she feels the grip on her arm loosen, followed by a slight breeze as he storms past her and out the door. She takes a deep breath, relieved Sebastian's gone, and the date's over.
"You okay?" the blonde asks, stepping closer to Santana. She puts her phone back in her pocket, giving Santana her full attention.
"Yeah—yeah, I'm okay," Santana assures, nodding. "Thanks."
The blonde smiles. "Don't mention it. Us girls gotta look out for each other, right?" she teases.
"Totally," Santana chuckles, nodding her head in aggreance. "Although," she juts her thumb over her shoulder, pointing in the direction Sebastian left, "I think I could've taken him if needed. You don't mess with people where I come from."
The blonde laughs. "And where is that, exactly?" she plays along.
"Ah, I can't give that away," Santana responds. "It would compromise my facade of an innocent, delicate, gentle girl."
"I see," the blonde says, nodding her head. "Well, now I'm a little disappointed I didn't get to see your moves in action."
Santana shrugs playfully. "That's everyone's wish. Weird that people want to see the ugly side."
The blonde laughs, taking a few steps back toward the counter. "There's no part of you that's ugly."
Santana's taken aback at the comment, and she feels heat creep up her neck and into her cheeks. It's been so long since someone else besides Quinn has complimented her, so she finds herself unsure of what to do.
"You'd be surprised," Santana replies, shoving her front hands in her pockets to try and tame the awkwardness.
The blonde purses her lips and moves behind the counter, looking up as if she's considering something. "Mm, I don't know," she drawls out. "Even your name's beautiful. Santana," she says, her tone carrying playful amazement at her name.
Santana can't restrain the smile taking over her face, and she looks down at her shoes to regain any of her dignity that's left. "And yet," she starts, shrugging her shoulders, "I don't even know yours."
"Brittany," the blonde replies, smiling softly as she picks up a dish towel and wipes a few mugs sitting nearby.
"Brittany," Santana repeats, looking up at the blonde.
They hold eye contact for a moment, neither saying a word as they gaze at each other carefully.
Santana clears her throat after a moment, pulling herself out of her Brittany-inspired haze. "Well, Brittany, I guess I better get going," she says, halfway turning to the door.
Brittany nods, leaning against the counter as Santana slowly steps toward the door. "Maybe I'll see you in here again?" Her voice is quiet and confident, but the statement comes out as more of a question—an invitation, almost.
Santana shrugs her shoulders. "Maybe." She grabs the handle of the door, holding it open as she looks at Brittany one last time before leaving. "See you around, Brittany."
"Have a good night, Santana," Brittany says her name in the same tone as before, causing the smile to return to Santana's face.
Brittany must notice—she sends Santana an equally bright smile in return before giving her a soft wave as she exits the cafe.
On her walk home, Santana doesn't once think about Sebastian or the horrid direction the date went in.
Rather, she thinks about her interaction with Brittany…and how many times she can get coffee without it becoming suspicious.