After several sips of her green tea latte, Santana set to work. Quinn sat across from her, also typing away on her laptop. Santana came to this coffee shop as long as she could remember, ever since she got promoted to partner and was relocated to New York to work with some of the best lawyers at her firm. That was how she met Quinn. They were young, smart, and beautiful, and, despite their rivalries, they formed an unbreakable bond.

"Hey, can you hand me Noah's memo, please?" Quinn asked.

"Yeah, give me a second." Santana searched the papers that were scattered next to her laptop before finding the document Quinn needed. "Here you go." As she handed the memo to Quinn, she noticed an unfamiliar face behind the coffee counter. "Looks like they have someone new," Santana murmured to herself.

Quinn raised an eyebrow, taking the memo from Santana's hands. "How would you know?"

"Please. I practically know everyone by their first names here." She shifted her gaze back to the new girl, smirking when the girl's shirt rode up a little too much as she reached for a glass above her.

When Quinn noticed Santana's smug smile and that unmistakable gaze, she spun around to look as well. Then she rolled her eyes, even if she had to admit the girl had nice abs, from what she could see anyway. She turned back to Santana and sighed. "You have that look in your eyes again."

"What look?" Santana didn't even bother to face Quinn as she replied. Her eyes were already glued to another blonde.

"First of all, she's probably straight—"

"Oh, I know she is," Santana said, watching the blonde peck her coworker and presumably boyfriend briefly on the lips. The boy was blonde, too, with some sort of Justin Bieber hair. Santana flashed Quinn a mischievous grin. "Nothing better than to make a straight girl question her sexuality."

Quinn shook her head, frowning in disapproval.

"C'mon, Quinn. You should know." Santana winked.

"You might have enjoyed my confusion, Santana, but I can assure you I did not."

Santana just laughed and drank from her latte again. "We can always schedule a repeat if you'd like."

Quinn furrowed her brows. "You know I'm with Noah now."

"You two aren't even exclusive," Santana pointed out. "And, besides, does he make you come like I did?"

"Santana!" Quinn gasped.

"Well, does he?"

Quinn looked away. "No," she muttered reluctantly. "But I actually like him, all right?"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. True love and shit, I know."

"Whatever. I'm going back to the office. You coming?"

Santana shook her head. "I just ordered another drink. Also…" She looked at the new girl again.

"Of course. Priorities. How could I forget?" Quinn said flatly. She got up and stuffed her things into her briefcase.

"See you back at the office," Santana said with a wave. "If I ever come back, that is."

Despite Santana's rather troubling preoccupation with girls, she still knew when to focus. She was just about to send off an email when she heard some plates clatter to the floor, and the next thing she knew, she had water spilled all over her blazer.

Santana jumped out of her seat, quickly wiping up her blazer with a bunch of napkins.

"Oh, my God! I am so sorry!"

Ignoring the apology, Santana looked up from her mess of a blazer with a hard glare before realizing it was the blonde girl. Her eyes immediately softened when she noticed the fear in the girl's eyes, and she was even about to reassure her when the owner of the coffee shop, Rachel, appeared out of nowhere.

"Brittany!" she yelled in her shrill voice. "This is the third mistake you've made this week! Do you want to keep your job or not?"

"I'm really, really sorry, Rachel! I must have tripped or something; I don't know—"

Rachel ignored her and turned to Santana with overly sincere eyes. "Santana, I truly apologize for all of this. Please, if we can make this up to you in any way, let us know. We understand this behavior is entirely unacceptable, and it will be taken care of." Rachel shot the new girl a knowing look.

"Just-just don't fire her, all right?" Santana smiled reassuringly at the blonde.

"Um, of course," Rachel said, surprised by Santana's unwarranted kindness.

"I'm fine, Rachel. Really."

When Rachel made no move to leave, Santana said, "Don't worry about it. Just go back to whatever you were doing."

"OK, then." Rachel shuffled away in defeat.

Santana turned her attention back to the girl. "Brittany, right?"

"Yes, ma'am, and I am so, so sorry. I can totally get your blazer cleaned, or I can pay you, even though I'm not sure I even have that kind of money saved up—"

"Slow down, Brittany. You don't need get my blazer cleaned, and you certainly don't need to pay me."

"But—"

"Listen, when's your next break?"

"In 20 minutes?" she said unsurely.

"Great. You can make this up to me by sitting down and having a coffee with me. Does that sound OK?"

"Y-yeah." Brittany seemed more stunned than anything.

"Good. I'm looking forward to it."


"Um, hi."

Santana glanced up from her laptop and grinned at Brittany. "Hello," she said. She closed her laptop and gestured at the empty chair across from her. "Take a seat."

Brittany seemed unsure, but she pulled the chair out and sat.

Santana tilted her head to one side and asked, "So how long have you been working here?"

"Just a couple of days," the girl replied. "I hear you've been coming here for a long time though."

"Yeah," Santana said with a laugh. "The coffee's good, and it's close to my office."

"The law firm down the block, right?"

Santana raised her eyebrows.

"People talk around here," Brittany explained with a shrug. "Apparently, you're a big-shot lawyer who leaves at least a $20 tip every time." Brittany paused. "Was that inappropriate? I'm sorry if that was inappropriate."

"No, you're fine." Santana grinned. Brittany's restlessness was sort of endearing.

They looked at each other for a while. Santana studied the girl across from her carefully, noticing how Brittany kept fidgeting and biting her lip.

"I'm probably wrong about this," Brittany blurted all of a sudden, "but I don't know if you were flirting with me earlier, and it sort of seemed like you were—"

"No, you're right," Santana interrupted. "I was."

"Oh." Brittany turned pink, from her cheeks all the way up to the tips of her ears.

Santana chuckled at Brittany's reaction. Then she calmly took off her glasses and placed them on the table. As she leaned back in her seat, she said, "But finish what you were going to say."

"Um, yeah." Brittany stared at her hands for a moment, as if to compose her flustered self. "I was saying that I'm not, um, gay. I actually have a boyfriend, and I've never even—well, not since college anyway—been with a girl…" Brittany trailed off, unsure about the crooked smile on Santana's face.

Santana narrowed her eyes at Brittany after the girl had stopped speaking and was now back to shifting anxiously in her seat. "Is that all?" she asked.

Brittany nodded. "Yeah. And sorry again about earlier."

"That's your boyfriend, right?" Santana glanced at the blond Justin Bieber wannabe, who was aggressively pushing the buttons on an apparently broken espresso machine.

Brittany followed Santana's gaze and nodded. "Yeah." She cringed when the machine sprung to life and wouldn't stop pouring coffee, soaking the guy's pants.

Unaffected by the coffee mishap, Santana turned back to Brittany and said, "He's cute."

Brittany smiled widely. "Thanks."

"But were you this nervous when you first met him?" Santana rested her arms on the table and leaned forward. "Does he make you stutter and trip over your words? Does your heart beat so loud you can almost hear it every time you're around him? Do you get that warm, heavy, tingly feeling in your gut when he looks into your eyes?" Santana gazed deeply into Brittany's blue eyes. "Look, Brittany, there's a bathroom right over there, and I could go in first, and you could come in 30 seconds later. I'd wait until you come into the middle stall, and I'd rest my hands on your hips. I'd run my hands up your sides and over your breasts. Right before I squeeze them—just very gently—I'd nibble your neck. I'd kiss you—if you'd like—and bite your lip. My hands would find your thighs and slip up your skirt. You'd be wet. Very wet." Santana paused to take a sip of her drink. She watched Brittany swallow and heard her breath hitch. She smirked when Brittany crossed her legs. "Should I go on?"

After the subtlest nod from Brittany, Santana smiled and continued. "I'd feel your wetness on my fingers but just barely. I wouldn't use any pressure yet. I'd lick my way down your neck to your breasts and smell you. You'd smell like dark coffee and your sweet pea perfume. You'd rip off your shirt as if you couldn't wait, and I'd let you. I'd unhook your bra with just one hand, and, before you know it, I'd be sucking on your nipples. Hard. You'd be about to scream, but I'd kiss you right then, just as my fingers slip past your panties. I'd rub your clit, fast. You'd pant into my ear, and I'd push one finger into you. It wouldn't be enough, so I'd slide in another finger. You'd feel full but still not enough. Not until I move my fingers back and forth, twisting them with each pump. Then you'd dig your fingers into my back because I would have found that spot—that spot even your boyfriend can't find. I'd keep rubbing, harder and harder, until you're not even sure you want me to anymore. But oh, you do. In fact, when I stop, you'd whine. You'd beg me to let you come. I'd thrust my fingers into you one last time, just as I brush your clit, and you'd fall apart. You'd come harder than you've ever come in your life. And then, you'd wouldn't be so sure you're straight anymore, just as you're not so sure right now."

Santana looked down at Brittany's lap. "You're trembling," she said matter–of-factly. Santana picked up her drink and finished the very last drops, making an exaggerated sucking noise with her straw. "Well, then, please excuse me. I have to use the restroom." Santana winked at the strangely quiet Brittany and headed to the bathroom. She entered the middle stall and looked at her watch. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten. Eleven. Twelve. Thirteen. Fourteen. Fifteen. Sixteen. Seventeen. Eighteen. Nineteen.

The door flung open. Brittany stood there, her face flushed and her chest heaving. Santana smirked. "It's only been nineteen seconds," she said.

Brittany pushed Santana inside and slammed the door closed behind her. "Nineteen seconds too long."