At four years old, Ally Barbra Fabray-Berry is the very definition of a mini Rachel Berry, from the brown hair to the cute height, from the dramatic meltdown in Target when Quinn refuses to buy her a new toy to the insistence of wearing a tiara to her first day of kindergarten.
However, unlike Rachel, who sometimes makes you want to run your Audi straight into a lamp post, you absolutely adore the little drama queen. Honestly, you don't know why; you're not a kid person at all, but you loved Ally the moment you saw her bundled up in a star-speckled blanket.
You love the little kid so much, and that is why you're here at 4 PM, waiting in the lobby of Morrissey's Steakhouse with Quinn, instead of doing yoga.
"Sorry you're missing your yoga class for this."
You just shrug before smiling at your best friend. "I stopped going there anyway."
From that one line, Quinn already suspects the whole story. In a reprimanding tone, she tells you, "Oh no. You didn't."
"I didn't what?" You play dumb, your eyes locked on your phone and the hot barista you're sexting.
"You know what I'm talking about."
"What? She was flexible."
She just shakes her head. "Ass."
"Yup. She got a nice ass too."
"Oh, here they are."
Quinn Fabray can make grown men cry in the courtroom, but she's so whipped for her girls. The moment they met in college, Rachel turned Quinn into a stuttering mess. And almost 10 years and a little Ally Fabray-Berry later, Rachel Berry is still nowhere close to perfect, but Quinn looks at her like she's her entire world.
You don't know if you're selfless enough to find someone you want to share your life with, a person whose imperfections you can brush away. You also love nice things (understatement of the century), and you don't know how to spell it out nicely if someone buys you things that aren't worth a month's paycheck.
"Auntie Santana!" Ally gasps dramatically like she hasn't seen you in forever. "You came!"
"Of course I did. It's your big day, andddd…big girls deserve big gifts!" You pull out a huge gift bag from behind your seat, and the expression on Ally's face is priceless.
Quinn is giving you that disapproving look, because you're spoiling her daughter again, but you know deep inside, she's happy. "What do we say, Ally?"
"Thank you! You're my favorite godmother!"
When the waiter walks in with a booster seat, Ally is quick to raise her little hand in the air.
"I don't need a booster seat. That's for babies," she states, even though the table is up to her nose.
Quinn leans over to her wife. "I predict she's going to have a meltdown at 8."
"Make that 7," Rachel whispers back. "So baby, tell us, how was your first day? She refused to tell me anything. She said she wants to say it in front of everybody."
"Oh! It was supercalifragilisticexpialidocious!"
"She loves Mary Poppins," Quinn explains.
"How are your new friends, and how is Ms. Brittany?"
"Ms. Brittany is so funny." The four-year-old giggles cutely, which makes all the adults around her fall for her a bit more. "She makes these silly voices when she's reading Green Eggs and Ham, and she did this funny dance that made Bobby stop crying because he was missing his mommy. Ms. Brittany is so amazing…"
And then, she turns those deep brown eyes straight at you, and the next words that come out of her mouth change your life forever.
"You should totally marry her, Auntie Tanny."
It's a good thing you weren't drinking anything, or you would have spit it out on the $100 steak in front of you. Quinn and her dwarf of a wife think it's the funniest thing they've ever heard and just burst out laughing.
"Is she pretty?" You try to brush it off.
"Mommy says you should marry someone because they have a big heart, not because of how they look."
You sit there completely stunned, doing your best to ignore Quinn and Rachel giving each other high-fives. "So, she looks like Gollum then?"
"Who's Gollum?" Ally tilts her head questioningly.
"Your mommy Rachel should know. They're twinsies."
"Shu—" Rachel cuts herself off when she remembers that their daughter is around, then amends her statement, "Hush you."
At around 7 PM, Ally is knocked out, a spoonful of mac and cheese still in her mouth. She's so adorable that Quinn, Rachel, and yes, even you, just have to take pictures of her.
You walk back to their townhouse and stick around with a glass of wine, while Rachel and Quinn tuck her into bed. It's almost 8 when Quinn joins you in the kitchen, pouring herself a glass.
"So, is she hot?"
Quinn just laughs that Quinn Fabray laugh. "Oh my God, you're so shallow."
"What? If your daughter wants me to marry her teacher, I at least have to know I'm not going to marry a fucking troll."
"So, you're going to marry her then?"
"If she's a troll who has tons of gold and riches under her bridge, sure, why not?"
"You're terrible." Quinn shakes her head while pouring herself another glass.
"I'm honest."
"Well, we had a parents' orientation, and you know when you see someone and you just trust them? That's how it was when we first met her, like this person is going to be awesome for Ally."
"She has a trustworthy face?"
"You know what? Let's make a deal."
"What am I getting out of this?"
"Listen." Quinn gives you a pointed look. "Get to know her first, without seeing how she looks."
"I don't see the part of me winning here."
"You meet someone you might actually fall for is the winning part."
"Look Quinn, you know better than anyone else that I don't do sweet girls. I can't date someone who reads ham and cheese."
"Green Eggs and Ham."
"Whatever." You roll your eyes at her correction. "And do silly dances. I like my girls, you know…"
"Slutty?"
"Sensual, Quinn. Sensual."
"Oh, alright." Quinn just shrugs, but in a way that suggests she knows something you don't. And you're not sure you want to find out what it is.
Day 1
When it doesn't come up again for two weeks, you think the whole "Ally playing your winggirl" thing is over and done, but you should have known better. She is Quinn's child, after all. They are calculating, laying out the chess pieces, thinking 10 steps ahead before making their move.
When you go over for dinner one night, Ally hands you a piece of folded pink paper. "My teacher gave me a note."
"What?!" Rachel gasps dramatically, as if Ally just admitted to committing a felony. "Ally Fabray-Berry, what did you do?" She goes to snatch the note away, but Ally dances out of her reach.
"It's for Auntie Tanny, Mom."
"Why?" you scoff. "Is she suing you, and you need a lawyer?"
"You know, baby, Mommy is a lawyer too. I'll probably do it pro bono, because I love you."
"Quinn." Rachel narrows her eyes at her wife, to which Quinn simply responds with a wink. "I would prefer if you take this matter seriously."
But as soon as you read the note, which contains a phone number and the words "call me" written in crayon, you immediately laugh. "Ally, did you write this?"
"What? No."
"It's not good to lie, Ally."
"Umm, maybe. You're going to message her, right?"
"What if I don't?"
And just like a tiny Quinn Fabray, she looks at you and states, "You totally should."
You don't know what comes over you that night (must be the vegan lasagna), but you decide to play along with whatever Ally is planning and finally text.
To Teacher: Hi, I'm Santana, Ally's godmother. For some reason, she gave me a note scribbled in crayon with this number on it.
It doesn't take more than a minute for your phone to vibrate.
From Teacher: Ahhh so you're the infamous liar.
To Teacher: Wait…did you just call me a liar?
From Teacher: She said that's what you do for a living. You make sure the bad people go to jail. She said her mommy Quinn is a really good liar too.
As you read that, you burst out laughing.
To Teacher: Kids say the darndest things, huh?
From Teacher: Tell me about it. I'm Brittany Pierce, and it's nice to finally talk to you.
To Teacher: So you're the infamous teacher who reads in silly voices and does funny dances.
From Teacher: Yup. I also do a pretty legit rendition of Let It Go…just saying.
You almost choke on your laugh.
To Brittany: So cocky.
From Brittany: It's in my job description. I need to know how to do voices, dance to Baby Shark, and memorize Let It Go.
To Brittany: I'm glad to hear that my goddaughter is getting the quality education she deserves.
From Brittany: With that tuition fee worth a penthouse in Manhattan? You betcha.
To Brittany: Ahhhh…so you must be a baller then.
From Brittany: Yup. I'm laying down on cold hard cash right now.
You don't remember a time when a girl has ever made you laugh this much in a text or any conversation at all — a girl who can keep up with your banter. For a kindergarten teacher, you didn't expect her to have such crude rumor.
The conversation ends at around midnight. If you're being honest with yourself, you two could probably talk until the morning. Unfortunately, however, you both have to adult. She has to deal with 25 four-year-olds, and you have to deal with adults who act even worse. You wish her a good night, and for the first time in what feels like forever, you fall asleep with a genuine smile on your face.
Day 8
To Brittany: Just so you know, Quinn made a deal with me that I need to get to know without seeing you.
From Brittany: Hahaha. If it makes you feel any better, I haven't scared the living crap out of my kids yet. Babies? No comment. But four and five year olds can look at me all day.
To Brittany: That is very reassuring.
From Brittany: I'm glad. So when is it time that you can see my face?
To Brittany: Wow, I thought being patient was a must for a kindergarten teacher.
From Brittany: It is. But with a name like Santana Lopez, I can't help but be curious, you know? So far, all the Lopezes I know are sexy.
To Brittany: Oh yeah? How many Lopezes do you know?
From Brittany: Jennifer Lopez and ummm…George Lopez?
To Brittany: …George Lopez?
From Brittany: Funny guys can be sexy. So, what happens if we meet and you realize that I have just a meh looking face?
You actually haven't thought that far ahead. All you know is that texting Brittany has been the highlight of your days.
To Brittany: We could be friends.
From Brittany: Friends? I think I would love that.
Day 15
To Brittany: I think I would really love to finally talk to you.
From Brittany: I knew it. You finally want me to sing Let It Go to you.
To Brittany: Into the Unknown, actually.
From Brittany: Oh snap, she's up to date. Sure. Let me do some vocal warmups first, and I'll call you in about 10 minutes.
To Brittany: Hahaha. You're freaking nuts.
From Brittany: You love it though.
After two weeks of this girl making you laugh and smile so easily, you think that might not be the only thing you love.
You keep staring at her message, probably with a stupid grin on your face, when it suddenly dawns on you.
"Oh shit."
She's going to hear your voice. You don't know how she'll take it. It should sound sexy, right? Most of the girls you dated gushed about your smoky voice, but what if—
"Oh shit." When you see the name Brittany flashing on your phone, you internally panic. Maybe you should just turn your phone off or something.
No. You're Santana Lopez, and after what feels like forever, you finally met someone you actually enjoy conversing with. You can't let this freak you out.
"H-hello?"
"Hi. Is this Ms. Santana Lopez?"
"Wha—"
"We have your pizza ready here downstairs. We could bring it to you, if you'd like?"
"Wait, what? I didn't—" Before you can decide if you should refuse free pizza, you hear the sound of sweet giggling on the other line. "Brittany?"
"Hi."
Day 17
"Sometimes, I really have no fucking idea why I became a lawyer, you know? If the judge is going to play fucking favorites anyways." You suck in a deep breath before continuing your rant. It's just one of those days where nothing is going right.
Then, you realize who you're ranting to — the woman who you're pretty sure doesn't have a single mean bone in her body.
You suck in another deep breath before saying, "I'm so sorry. I shouldn't unload this on you."
"One of my students stuck a Cheerio in his nose today, if that makes you feel any better."
Day 18
"Delivery for Ms. Lopez?"
Mercedes looks up from the document you two are reviewing, to stare at you with a curious quirk of her brow. "Anything I should know?"
You don't answer her, but the goofy smile on your face must be telling enough as you read the little note attached to the cupcakes.
San,
Cupcakes make our lives infinitely better. Hope your day is much better. TTYL!
Britt
Day 24
"So, who are your worst parents?"
It is a Thursday night, and you've been talking to Brittany every day for what feels like weeks now, but it still doesn't feel like enough.
"Oh, you know, we sign a confidentiality agreement."
"I'm a lawyer, so I'm sure if I read through the fine print hard enough, I could find a loophole in that."
"TMZ much?"
"Oh c'mon, just spill."
"I don't know. There's one guy who thinks he's the second coming of Jesus, and his wife got legit butt implants."
"Oh fuck, really?"
"Their kid is okay, but what do you expect from them?"
There's a pause from the other line, and you imagine she's thinking about what to say next.
"You know…I can teach them how to read and write and count and add, but what I really want to teach them is how to be good people, you know?"
You hear a certain tone in her voice that you haven't heard before. It's a mix of seriousness and a bit of frustration, and you wish so badly you could take it away.
"I mean, they're kids. They're going to push the boundaries. They're going to make mistakes, and I get that, and it's okay. It doesn't make them bad; it makes them children. But I want them to learn that if they hurt someone, or if they break a rule, that there are going to be consequences, and sometimes, parents…" You hear it again, a sigh of defeat now. "Parents refuse to see it and instead shield their kids from it. And in the end, it's going to affect how the kids turn out, you know? I'm sorry I'm letting this out on you."
It takes you a while to catch your breath, but when you do, you softly confess, "Have I ever told you that you're amazing?"
"Tell that to Mr. West."
"I'm composing him a 10-page letter right now."
Day 27
"Thank you."
"For what?"
"Hmmm…I know you're the one who sent those gorgeous red roses for Teacher's Day."
"I just want you to know that I appreciate you and what you do."
"Thank you." Her voice is sweeter and less teasing than earlier.
Thank God it's just a phone call, because you can't imagine how you'll react when she teases you for your blush.
Day 32
You want to just hang out for a little to celebrate Mercedes winning her case, then go home, snuggle in bed, and talk to Brittany for the rest of the night.
However, they egg you on. They tease you for getting that goofy smirk on your face every time your phone lights up. They're surprised to learn that you haven't even seen her yet, knowing how picky you are when it comes to your hookups.
But Brittany is more than just a hookup. She makes your day with every phone call. She knows when you want someone to bitch to or when you just want to listen. She's funny and witty and caring.
You hear someone "ooh"ing in the background. It must be that idiot Sam, saying that Santana Lopez might finally be in love. To prove them wrong, you make a bet that you'll take a shot every time you smile when you read Brittany's text.
And for someone who can keep a resting bitch face her entire life, you end up almost dying from alcohol poisoning after 20 minutes of smiling nonstop from Brittany's messages. Then, one celebratory drink turns into dozens, until you don't remember how you end up in your bed instead of some dumpster alley.
You don't know what's gotten into you (besides lots and lots of tequila), but your hand fumbles for your phone and scrolls until you're calling Brittany's number. "Hey sexy."
"Hey yourself," a very sleepy-sounding Brittany answers.
"Did I wake you?"
"No. I was sitting patiently at home, waiting for your call."
"You ass. What are you wearing?" you slur, and wait, did you just ask her that?
"My lion onesie?"
"God, you with a tail and a mane…that's so fucking sexy, Ms. Pierce."
"You should see me in my elephant onesie, with a trunk and floppy ears."
"I can't wait."
"How about you? What are you wearing?"
You really are going to blame it on the alcohol, but you feel bold tonight and send Brittany a picture of you in your black lace lingerie.
From Brittany: Haha cute.
Her text sobers you up pretty quick. You call her back, and she answers on the first ring.
"Did you just say I look cute?"
"Yup. You're a cutie patootie in your black undies, Santana Lopez."
"Take that back."
"Only if you take it all off."
"Ohhh…you're going on the naughty list, Ms. Pierce."
"So totally worth it."
Before you know it, you're throwing your bra and panties onto the floor, spreading your legs open as you take a picture. It's harder than you thought, but after 27 pictures, you finally decide to send the 28th one.
You assume she fell asleep; it is close to 2 AM, after all. You can't imagine how she'll react when she wakes up in the morning and sees you spread-eagled. You decide that maybe you should just go to bed too, but then your phone starts vibrating. "Hey—"
"You…are…fucking…gorgeous…baby."
You don't know what makes you more delirious, the way she pants softly at every word or the new nickname. Her voice is reduced to a breathy whisper, and if you listen very closely, you can hear a bed creaking and soft, wet noises. "Brittany? Are you…ummm…"
"Touching myself to your fucking hot picture?"
"Ummm—"
"What do you think?" she whispers.
The faint noises grow louder, and her soft pants turn into moans.
"I think you're being so, so unfair, Britt. I gave you that photo, while you only gave me the one from earlier."
You rub your eyes as you look at her aforementioned photo. Damn, are those abs actually real? Her NYU shirt is pulled up high enough to show the curves under her boobs without showing her nipples. What a fucking tease.
With no warning, the call ends, and you sober up instantly at the thought that you made her upset. You are ready to call her back with an apology when you receive a message.
"Fuck."
Fuck indeed. You were just expecting a photo, but what Brittany sent is enough to make your head spin: a 10-second video of two long, gorgeous fingers thrusting deep into her pink flesh.
"Fuck."
You play the video over and over again. She's dripping wet for you, and she looks so, so, so delicious. You can't wait until you can taste every drop of her on your tongue.
You lick your lips at the thought, and you decide, right then and there, fuck it. Fuck the rules. You'll deal with the consequences later.
"Shit," you curse again when she answers your video call, and all you see is her fingers driving inside of her faster.
"Baby, right there," she moans.
And after coming for the third time that night, you let your body sink, boneless, into your mattress.
Day 33
When you wake up the next morning with a pounding headache and a delicious ache between your legs, you feel your phone vibrating right beside you. Whatever remaining sleepiness is instantly wiped away when you see that Brittany is video calling you.
After all the dirty, dirty things you two did last night, you don't know if you're ready to finally actually see her.
Wait, how do you even look? You must look like a complete mess right now. A naked mess. Fighting your hangover, you trip over your own feet to get to your dresser and slip into a bathrobe.
You look like you had great sex. Maybe she'll feel flattered by this post-sex look. You take a deep breath; might as well rip the Band-Aid off.
"Ha! You lo—" You stop breathing when your brown eyes fall on the bluest eyes ever.
God. She's fucking beautiful. Her blue eyes are still hazy with sleep, blonde hair all messed up, and damn, that sex-soft smile.
"Hi?" It's her.
For the first time, you don't hear that confident, playful tone. Instead, you're listening to this soft, shy version of her. You gulp as you see those luscious long fingers run through blonde locks before she smiles at you again.
"I know I lost, but looking at you right now, San…you're so gorgeous, I feel like I won the lottery."
You're so sure that you're blushing from that confession. She must take your silence as disappointment, because her face looks back at you worriedly.
"You…um, you don't regret it, do you?" she shyly asks. "I-I'm sorry if I'm not too—"
You snap out of your lovesick daze when you realize that you're making her feel like she's not pretty enough for you, which can't be further from the truth. She's drop-dead gorgeous at 7 in the morning, and you can't help but be jealous of all the little kids who get to see her all day.
But her being gorgeous, that's just a plus. You've known for a while that you're in trouble, given that you smile nonstop at the mere thought of her.
"What? Fuck no. The drinks, maybe, but what happened? God no. It was fucking amazing, Britt. I'm sorry, I'm just…you're gorgeous."
She smiles softly once again. "You're one to talk. But yeah, I um…" As she casts her blue eyes away, she's so soft and shy, and you can't believe you're finally seeing her. "I know we promised to be friends, if we're not really physically attracted to each other, but I don't know if I could just be friends with you." Her whole face blushes a deep red. "I mean, not because we did what we did last night, but because—"
"I know exactly what you mean. I want to be the one who makes you laugh and smile, Britt. The one who you rant to when you have a terrible day at school," you confess. "And I can't…I can't even imagine how incredible it'll be if we…umm…"
"If we…umm…what, Santana?" You hear the teasing tone in her voice.
"You know what I mean."
"I don't, actually."
"I mean, when I fuck you senseless."
"Oh."
You shoot her a triumphant smirk at having rendered her speechless. "What time do you have to work?"
"In an hour," she replies as you see her fingers slide down.
You bite your lower lip, your fingers tiptoeing lower too, before you tell her, "We have time."
Day 37
You don't remember ever being this nervous for a first date. After over a month, you two are finally going to meet, and you don't know if your heart can take it.
When you finally see her, all blonde hair and blue eyes, with that beaming smile and legs that go on for decades, the first thought in your head is, She can't be real. It's just not fair. How can someone this unbelievably gorgeous, incredibly funny, and with the biggest heart in the world just exist?
"Hi."
"H-hi." Once again, she has turned you into a stuttering mess. You don't know why you're shy; you two have pretty much been doing each other over video chat every night for the past week. But now that she's right here in front of you, looking like she stepped out of a magazine, you don't even know how to greet her. A handshake, a bow, a polite hug?
All your anxiety and apprehensions are instantly wiped away when you feel a soft kiss on your lips that lingers longer and longer, until someone bumps into you on the sidewalk.
"This is okay, right?"
"W-what?" you ask, your mind still spinning from the kiss.
"That I, err, kissed you? I mean…we're kind of dating now, right?"
"Are you kidding me? Now that I know how many fingers you like?" You wink at her, and she laughs, and seeing the way her blue eyes twinkle and her nose crinkles and her lips part as that sweet sound comes out, you instantly regret waiting this long to finally meet her.
At the same time, knowing her for who she is before her goddess looks could blur your thoughts makes it worth it. She is so worth it.
"I would really love to take you out tonight for dinner, Ms. Pierce."
"Only if you let me buy you drinks after, Ms. Lopez."
"Deal."
"Deal."
Day 45
"I didn't take you for a boobs girl," you half-joke, half-moan, since she's been going to town on your boobs for the last 15 minutes. Not that you're complaining, especially given her magical tongue, but you need that talented tongue going somewhere else.
You've been waiting weeks to finally have her.
She lets go of your nipple with a pop, looking up at you with hooded eyes filled with so much desire. "I'm more like a Santana kind of girl."
"A Santana kind of girl?"
"It means…I absolutely…" She kisses you between your heaving breasts. "Adore…"
A kiss on your armpit that makes you giggle.
"Every…"
A kiss on your elbow.
"Inch…"
A kiss on your eyebrow.
"Of you."
Suddenly, you flip her over. "How many fingers do you want, love?"
"T-two, baby," she answers between pants.
You smile into the kiss, and when you hear her gasp when you easily slip in three, you know you made the right decision.
Day 46
You're a heaving, shaky mess in her bed, and you're seconds away from going out of your mind. But you do your best to hold it in; you want to make this last longer, especially when her fingers inside you just feel so damn good.
"Just let it go, baby."
Unable to hold back any longer, you let out a loud moan as your climax takes over, pleasure spreading through your whole body as it shakes. When you finally come down from your high, little aftershocks still rolling through you, you narrow your eyes at her and smack her ass playfully. "Oh no, you didn't."
She pecks your lips softly before pulling back and grinning. "I totally did." Her expression turns thoughtful, though still slightly teasing. "You know, Ally finally told me why she wants me to marry you."
It's strange how you don't freeze up or want to jump out of the window after hearing the "m" word. Usually, when dates and hookups casually slip that between orgasms or after morning sex, it turns you into an Olympic runner. When Brittany says it, however, you can't help but bury a smile in her neck. "Oh? Why?"
"So she can be a flower girl."
You narrow your eyes at her. "I knew it."
Day 309
Quinn jokes that this end-of-year performance is more for the parents than it is for the children. It's like the Oscars of kindergarteners, what with all the celebrity parents. But you don't care about any of that. In fact, you only care about two people in this whole auditorium filled with stars: the cutest little four-year-old in a duckling costume, Ally Fabray-Berry, and…
You look around the auditorium, wondering where your blonde goddess is. When—
"QUACK!"
"What the fuck—" You feel your heart jump out of your Chanel suit as a gigantic yellow duck waves her gigantic yellow wing at you.
"This is a G-rated show, Ms. Lopez. That kind of language isn't allowed here," the duck scolds you.
"You scared the sh—…You scared me, babe."
"I know." The duck chuckles, actually covering her beak with her wing as she laughs. As always, you can't help softening at your girlfriend's adorableness. "I can't imagine what your clients would feel if they knew that big, bad lawyer Santana Lopez is scared of a duck."
"You know what I feel like eating for dinner, babe? Some roast duck."
She gasps before a giant wing smacks you playfully on the butt. "Meanie. I'm mad at you, but you look so hot."
"And you look yummy."
Before she can respond, you see a bunch of little ducklings swarm around her. "MS. PIERCE!"
"Quack?" She points her wing at herself questioningly.
The little ducklings giggle at her silliness, and you can't help but join in and smile affectionately at your girlfriend. Seeing her with the kids, even in a duck costume, it's quite obvious how much she adores the children, especially with the way they laugh as she waddles behind them.
"I gotta go," she whispers, and you realize she's talking to you. Then, you feel a gigantic duck bill on your lips (whole face, actually), and before you know it, you have just been kissed by a giant duck. "Sorry," she says, although you can hear the smirk in her voice. "Muscle memory. Love you."
Then, she waddles away playfully.
It's been almost a year since the two of you started dating. Of course, it isn't always perfect. You both have little quirks that drive each other crazy, like how she eats only the marshmallow Lucky Charms, or how she can't stand how you overwork yourself. At the end of the day, though, you know there is no one else more perfect for you.
She never buys you expensive gifts, and you realize you've turned into a romantic sap. You save all the cute little notes she sneaks around your apartment, and they mean more to you than any Rolex ever will.
You've both met each other's friends. You're convinced that your friends love Brittany more than they love you. Your so-called friends give you that knowing look when you brush Brittany's blonde locks behind her ear or when she kisses you on the cheek when she stands up to go to the bathroom. And when that idiot Sam teases again that you're oh-so-in-love, you just smile, and instead of taking a shot, you raise your glass, because there is nothing more worth cheering to than being with the girl of your dreams.
And yes, you can't imagine a future without waking up to a pouty, messy-haired blonde. These days, your heart soars at the thought of maybe, someday, a little blonde-haired, blue-eyed baby popping into the sheets between you and Brittany.
"Did I see that right?" Quinn approaches you with an amused look on her face, interrupting your thoughts. "Did a giant duck just kiss you?"
"No, it smacked me in the face with its beak."
Quinn starts laughing, shaking her head. "Not into sweet girls who read Green Eggs and Ham and do silly dances, huh?"
And you know in your head, you're still not into sweet girls, but when you look up and see your girlfriend in her duck costume, quacking along as little ducklings dance happily around her, you know that you made an exception.
Brittany S. Pierce will always be an exception.
As you clutch the square blue box in your pocket, you know that Ally was so right about her teacher all along.
You should totally marry her.