A/N: Hey y'all. Still working on an update to 'The Score' but until then this plot bunny has been messing with me. I tried to be funny, so I hope it brings some laughs your way.
Disclaimer: Not intended for copyright infringement, only amusement and creative output.
That Awkward Moment When
Santana wasn't known for smiling, in fact her face was in a constant almost-frown because… just because. Maybe it was because the grandmother who raised her nursed her like she was a piece of trash (even calling her garbage-face and threatening to beat her with chairs) or maybe it was because she hated most people in life and only found herself awesome (occasionally the doorman at her apartment complex was pretty awesome too, when he held the doors open and stuff).
Whatever. There wasn't much to smile about.
Her not-smile was the reason Horton Pierce, yes the man's name was Horton, hired her on the spot for her current kick-ass job. He quote, thought it was nice to meet a woman that didn't try win his favour with charm or giggling jokes thus proving she took the job seriously, unquote.
She was the first and only woman he interviewed for the job so… that was utter bullshit. In reality, she happened to fill his female/minority quota, but the man was classy enough to tell her that he hired her based solely upon her credentials and non-smile.
Not that she was complaining of course. This job meant money, and money meant nice things to buy like her new vintage-chic apartment or diamond tennis bracelet. Also, her awesome clothes that were neatly arranged in her walk-in closet. They were some fine-ass clothes.
Okay, so maybe having that stuff makes her smile. In private.
(Okay, okay, so maybe when she eats at BreadstiX she smiles then, too. Those warm, doughy, culinary treats were to fucking die for. You couldn't not smile when you ate them.)
And, can you really blame her for smiling at the blonde woman (fucking gorgeous, just for the record) that checks her out at the gym every other morning?
No. You can't. Because that blonde woman is, once again, just for the record, fucking gorgeous. Especially when the sunlight creeping through the high windows in the gym captures that blonde woman's angelic face or blends into her angelic hair. And Santana's inner monologue is all 'I needs to grab a hold of that bootylicious.'
Thankfully, Santana's teeth are perfect (just like the rest of her) so when she does choose to smile at fucking gorgeous blondes who check her out? It makes them blush a pretty pink and give her bedroom eyes to show they are definitely interested. Like that blonde was interested. Because she gave Santana bedroom eyes when Santana smiled at her.
Santana has a valuable life code that has never failed to get her whatever the hell she wants, like
Always have something to use as blackmail if necessary (her grandmother taught her that one)
Exercise regularly because having a smoking-hot-bod was the best way to pick up women with lesbian tendencies (evidence: the fucking gorgeous blonde that checked her out)
and, last but not least,
Shop online because going to the mall only irritates the shit out of her and ruins any and all anger management she paid for during her questionable youth
This blonde woman, the gorgeous one that checks her ass out at the gym on a regular basis, she was what Santana's dream woman would be if her dream woman were real (not counting teenage fantasies of Britney Spears). Like, Santana overheard her talking about her flexibility with a personal trainer and almost pulled a muscle from speeding up on the stationary bike too fast, that's how much of a dream this woman was. Especially because when the woman noticed it, she smirked and did unthinkable weird pretzel things to stretch out on a floor mat. It was heaven in the form of foreplay.
So, finally, one early morning at the gym a few months after playing the 'not-so-subtle-flirt' game with the gorgeous blonde and before Santana has to go to work and kick all kinds of lawyer ass, she musters up the courage to go up to the blonde and introduce herself.
She takes a sultry gulp of water from her water bottle after getting off the treadmill and says "hey." It works perfectly because blondie is giving her those 'let's do it on this treadmill' eyes (again).
Fucking score. She doesn't know why she was nervous about conversation because obviously the only conversation they need to be on the same page is the constant eye-fucking they use to compliment one another.
She makes sure her eyes return the favour and when not-so-mysterious sexy blonde grins suggestively with this perfect pink blush, Santana knows she doesn't even need a hook or a line to sink her (or whatever the saying is). She's got this. Blondie wants all up on her.
So, yeah, she's smiling. Her life code, as always, helps her get what she wants.
"Hey," the blonde says back, tucking a loose bang from her forehead behind her ear and practically purring as she flirts. "I'm Brittany."
Santana can't help but repeat the name herself just to test it out because Brittany is so fucking hot it's sinful. She rolls the 'r' a bit to give some flavour to the whole 'we want each other naked yesterday' dance they're doing and tease the woman with the obvious talent of her Latin tongue.
They're totally doing the eye-fucking thing on a whole new level right now, so Santana quickly adds, "I'm Santana. Nice to meet you."
(It's only polite to give your name to the girl you're mentally-fucking, especially when she gave you hers first and she looks like a sexier Britney Spears at the time of her prime.)
"Oh, well…" the gorgeous blonde, Brittany, leans forward and gently presses her fingertips to Santana's forearm. "Hi, Santana."
Santana feels like she's on fire. Her arm like, tingles everywhere. The inevitable sex they have will be smoking hot. It will win the Oscars. Global warming 2.0, right there.
"So…" Santana glances down at the misbehaving fingers and then glances back up at Brittany with her sultriest voice. "I have to head off to work now, but I was hoping to get your number. I'd love to take you out for dinner."
It's pretty obvious that neither of them really care about the dinner part and both are above making 'eating out' jokes, so nothing further is done except Brittany giggling her "okay" and yeah, giving her number to Santana.
She smiled for a few minutes after that. But like, it was excusable.
The next day, she walks to work with an extra bounce in her step. She had that hot blonde's number and through flirtatious texting last night they'd agreed that tonight worked out for meeting. For their not-dinner-focused dinner.
Santana likes how Brittany is upfront about what she wants and isn't playing any silly attraction games. They're totally getting it on tonight and the day couldn't go by any slower. Especially with fucking Horton Pierce rambling on in the partner's meeting about how shitty the coffeemaker is and how shitty the technical difficulties are with their in-house email which is getting out of control. Oh, yeah, and how they need to cut back on their paperclips and use more staples. Seriously.
New coffeemaker or not, Santana likes her Starbucks and she's more digital then paper these days compared to the old men who grumbled about how to keep their papers together. So, yeah, she let them hash it out and agreed with Horton so she could get back to her real fucking work.
Half an hour later, she greets her secretary Becky Jackson, a crazy ass bitch, with a latte from her morning Starbucks run. It was definitely needed to wake her the hell up from the boring meeting about paperclips. She tells Becky to get her ass moving on the final court prep because she's got to be there after lunch. Becky, of course, tells her to 'fuck off' before she hands over a thick folder all smug because she got the court prep done last night.
Santana gives in to a fist bump (and maybe she smiles, just a little).
Underestimated because of her down-syndrome, Becky loved shocking the fuck out of everyone with her ability on the job and Santana was constantly surprised. It was why she kept Becky around. They make each other work harder with their intensity and need to prove their worth (being females in a male dominated work-space and all that mumbo-jumbo), both only hired to meet some kind of company standards instead of on their own merit.
She wanted some respect, too, dammit.
In her case, the money made it easily tolerable at first but the longer she worked there the novelty started to wear off. She put in extra work while the guy next to her (her other boss's son, Evans, to be exact) played video games half the time.
This particular case was pretty big so Santana spends more time mentally going through it than usual. R&B singer Mercedes Jones is suing her record label for withholding revenues, and Santana is a fan of the woman and the big payout she'd earn from winning, so she lets her other paperwork pile up and motivates herself to give this case her all. She's pulling off harder cases than the 'experienced men' here so she can prove she's the real deal and she doesn't want to stop rubbing it in their faces anytime soon. She's so humble that way.
Needless to say, she kicks all kinds of ass in the afternoon. Court is her bitch, and the man she's interrogating – the tough, thug producer Jerome – is so intimidated and thrown by her that his defence crumbles and she's gotten Mercedes an extra five million out of his lawyers because its revealed he made up certain numbers to steal the cash. It was some dramatic-ass court (her absolute favourite kind) and thankfully they didn't have to carry on any longer. Case closed, money pawned.
Mercedes is especially satisfied because she dated Jerome and did not want to lose this case at any cost, feeling stupid for thinking she could trust him.
"Jones has officially signed on with us," Horton is telling her in his huge-ass penthouse office afterwards, not failing to hide how absolutely surprised he is that a woman is actually doing noteworthy work in their firm by winning cases they all thought were lost causes. This Jones case makes the fourth one this year. "How about we go out tonight and celebrate, you have made an important client very happy and you've put a new fear for people who will face Evans & Pierce in court."
Santana wants to correct him that, actually, she's put more fear for people who will face her in court over their firm Evans & Pierce, but whatever. She's making a name for herself and it will only get tougher from here on so she's not going to get upset that her boss is misogynistic because her boss is happy and impressed that the case is done and dealt with already, they both got a nice pay-day with a bunch of zeroes and a new A-list client, and now she's got a hot date that should last all night long.
She's Santana Lopez; she can go all night every night.
(Her anger management trainer said she had too much pride but what did he know?)
"Unfortunately, I've got dinner plans," she stands up but shakes hands with her boss anyways. "It would be rude to cancel on short notice."
Over her dead body will she cancel on Brittany: The Living Wet Dream of Flexible Wonders,to eat food with men who will make sexist jokes all night in envy because she's clearly the better lawyer. She gets enough of that crap at work, she deserves some victory sex for her hard day.
Horton thankfully doesn't push her for details and says, "well, have a nice night then. We can always celebrate tomorrow!"
Yeah, no. She'll make sure to take the morning off.
Shit. Then again, she doesn't want to miss countering the sexist jokes tomorrow with a very smug, "isn't your salary supposed to be more than mine?"
She will have to power-nap before her date.
Dinner that night is the best Santana has ever had, and that's not because it's a reputable restaurant with mouth-watering pasta and elegant wine, it's because Brittany is… totally amazing. Like, she's the only girl Santana has met who can pull off a bright pink dress in a five star restaurant and make complaining about a fat-ass cat called 'Lord Tubbington' sexy.
Santana had previously wondered if she might have to find a new gym in preparation for after the date because, yeah, her and Brittany seemed to be on the same 'let's fuck each other' page but if there's one thing Santana has learned in her lesbian quests it's that some girls are unpredictable. They might say one thing but mean another thing entirely.
Evidence: Larissa, the college roommate gone college room-hate. She wanted to experiment, so Santana did her due diligence and delivered amazing orgasms. Then Larissa came out of the closet and wanted to date but Santana did not sign up for that and things got ugly. There were shoes thrown at her, and the bitch even set Santana's brand new black leather jacket on fire.
So, yeah, she thought through all possibilities such Brittany turning out to be some crazy-ass motherfucker, but she obviously hadn't thought through every scenario because she never thought she'd like the girl for more than sex. Which she is. Liking the girl. For more than the inevitable sex.
Brittany was charming and funny and sweet and adorable and something way too perfect to be real.
(All night baby, all night.)
The restaurant they're at is across from a hotel (totally pre-planned, obviously) which they visit after leaving dessert only half-finished because sharing that heavenly delight of chocolate was way too much foreplay to handle. They practically ran out of there.
By the time they've booked a Queen-sized bed on the tenth floor, there's an awkward moment as they both slam down credit cards to pay for it.
"You got dinner," Brittany says, sliding her card an inch extra toward the totally blushing/secretly intrigued and turned on receptionist who has probably never been so grateful to work here as she is right at the moment, experiencing their hotness. In Santana's opinion, of course.
"I don't like being paid for," Santana decides to go with honesty. It's not entirely a chivalrous thing because she doesn't do chivalrous. Except that, okay, Brittany is awesome and she kind of already did 'chivalrous' at dinner because of it. Whatever. She just hates feeling indebted to anyone. She's got her issues.
"I don't think you're a hooker," Brittany looks confused, and god bless how she says some things Santana has to blink and think through. It's kind of a turn on (somehow). Santana loves those bubblegum pink lips and that red-alert innocence shining out of clear blue eyes. She's never met someone who keeps it real like Brittany does (or brings up unicorns twice during a dinner conversation while playing footsy).
"What? No. Brittany, I'll pay. I want to pay."
"No," Brittany puts her hand on her hip, and Santana isn't used to people saying 'no' to her.
This is also a turn-on. It's pretty ridiculous that her body is even capable of being turned on further at this point. This anticipation is getting way too insane.
"Now you're making me feel like a hooker," the blonde tells her in explanation.
Santana doesn't want her to feel that way. "Yeah, well, it's just a room for one night-"
"Exactly. So let me pay."
Santana can see a fork in the road. If she goes slightly right and lets Brittany pay, she'll get laid. If she goes slightly left and forces her own credit card down the receptionist's throat, she probably won't get laid. It's her pride over her vagina, and she has to think really hard on which is more important in that moment.
Brittany's smile is totally worth her brief loss-of-pride, and the receptionist can barely string together a coherent sentence before handing over some key cards. Brittany announces the room number out loud as they wait for the elevator to take them upstairs.
They're alone in the elevator, heading towards a room for the sole purpose of having sex. The more she thought about what they were about to do, the more Santana got turned on. She was practically panting like an animal in heat and totally caught Brittany rubbing her thighs together.
She tries to strike some polite conversation to distract herself and tells her date, "So, you look really hot tonight."
"Thanks. So do you. Super hot."
It wasn't a very good distraction or a very good conversation, and Brittany is smirking because she totally knows the effect she has on Santana right now.
The light jazz playing in the elevator replaces the rest of their conversation until a ding announces they have arrived on the designated floor. Santana rakes her eyes over Brittany with appreciation as the blonde leads the way to the room.
As soon as the hotel room door closes, Santana has envisioned how she will press Brittany against the door and fuck her there first, but her date surprises her with the first kiss and is already pinning her against the door, using a wild tongue in delicious, naughty strokes.
Santana has learned three things about tongues from sex throughout her life:
It's best when a woman uses her tongue between your thighs (there really is no greater pleasure… maybe BreadtstiX breadsticks)
Usually women who talk too much are best at using their tongues (she has enough drunk rambling hook-ups to know)
And, most importantly,
Don't let anyone dominate you with a kiss because then they think they're in charge and Santana Lopez is always in charge (what? She's got control issues, as pointed out by a previous anger management counsellor)
Santana loses her mind in that moment and she lets Brittany dominate her with a simple kiss. It's so hot she can't even remember her own name for a moment, let alone how she never lets anyone dominate her with a simple fucking kiss.
"Mmmm," Brittany bites gently on Santana's earlobe and then leans back to admire her handiwork (a breathless Santana). "I'm going to go freshen up in the bathroom... You can get under the covers. Preferably naked."
Santana nods and only manages to find her breath when the bathroom door shuts. She undresses herself quickly but takes the time to lay her expensive black dress on the hotel armchair with care. She makes sure the hotel room curtains are closed to discourage spying pervs, and then turns off all the lights except for a single lamp in the corner to give the room a more sensual atmosphere.
The hotel sheets are very soft as she slides in-between them, and she's in the process of removing her jewellery and placing it on the bedside table when Brittany struts out of the bathroom, totally confident and sexy and in nothing but a baby blue bra and thong.
Like she needed another reason to believe this was her dream woman.
Santana's used to a little more foreplay, but Brittany's sultry pose against the doorframe of the bathroom is enough foreplay to get her wet. She's totally not thinking anything past 'sex right now' and has never seen a woman in baby-blue lingerie, and Brittany pulls it off like a fucking boss. Brittany slides under the covers without any preamble and sighs contently as Santana turns into her so their skin can touch.
And then they're fucking.
It was like igniting a matchstick, the moment they touched they were all over each other and already reaching climax.
Brittany's caught between moaning and panting, the non-faking kind that Santana loves most, and they're trying to remove all undergarments to be completely naked for round-two. Then round three starts even sooner than Santana expected. Brittany needs, like, no recover time.
Santana can't help but wonder what will happen after they've finished fucking like bunnies. She didn't expect to want another date but she does want one, and she's not entirely sure how to ask for one.
Like the smooth criminal she is, she chooses round four as the moment to ask, "When can I see you again?"
Where did her game go? It just up and left her when she needed it.
Brittany pauses her enthusiastic straddling to look down at Santana and quirk an eyebrow in utter confusion. "You mean, this isn't a one night stand? I thought it was."
Santana shrugs and hates how vulnerable she sounds, "I thought it was too but then, you know... I'm starting to really like you... so… let's go out again… soon."
Of fucking course, her way with words fails her the one time she needs it the most. Brittany looks hesitant, but the cat is out of the bag so she tries to rephrase herself and seem less pathetic.
"I mean, will you go out with me again?" Shit. That might have made her look more pathetic.
Or so she was kicking herself until delicate pink lips whispered gently into her ear, "That can be arranged. I'm starting to like you too."
It turns out that seven months later, they keep getting along. Brittany isn't annoying, the attraction doesn't leave but grows, and she's actually a great friend to talk with and to have. Santana isn't a 'friend' kind of girl (she has none, maybe Becky on Fridays). People tend to hate her and she usually hates them first, but Brittany is different.
Brittany is everything magical and beautiful in this cruel, miserable world. She's a companion Santana didn't know she needed until she found.
So, yeah, they're dating. And having sex, obviously, but the romance starts to kick off.
Like, they eat breakfast together and watch the news together when Brittany sleeps over. They even go to the movies and have Britney Spears sing-a-longs in the car, and Santana even took Brittany as a date backstage to meet Mercedes Jones at the R&B singer's concert.
Sometimes they text each other just because, and Santana has even invited Brittany over so she can cook for her. She's never cooked for anyone except herself. Brittany returned the favour because she was super sweet, but she was all kinds of horrible in the kitchen. She found recipes confusing and often improvised the most disgusting dishes (as evidenced by her raw meat and boiling chocolate dessert).
Still, despite the fact that Santana got food poisoning, she wanted Brittany around. They kind of fit like puzzle pieces.
And now she was smiling. Only around Brittany or because of Brittany, but still. The braces she wore when she was younger and her intense dental-hygiene care have paid off because she's finally using her smile naturally in life now, thanks to Brittany.
She's pretty sure it's love but sometimes she's afraid to admit it.
Brittany Pierce is now Santana's girlfriend, her first real girlfriend, and Santana is finally starting to understand why people can be obsessed with romance so much. With the right person, it was pretty fucking awesome.
Friday, before her clocking out to star her work-free weekend, it takes her two hours to gather all important documents into her briefcase and sort out what she's going to make Becky take to the dry-cleaners while she recites some of her points for court out loud. She pretty much keeps a spare closet in her office, the place has more of her stuff than her apartment. Brittany even had more stuff than she did at her apartment.
"I'm not your fucking maid Santana," Becky tells her, as Santana plops the clothes on her secretary's desk.
"You know our deal," Santana rolls her eyes, "add your own clothes in it and I pay. Done. Now get, I needs to be in court. Call my cell if there's an emergency."
Becky gives her the finger. It's her version of 'good luck.'
Santana is in court with both of her bosses, Horton Pierce and Michael Evans, sitting in the background and listening to them both whisper about the fifty-million dollar class action suit they're filing for against business mogul Sue Sylvester. She kind of zones out because she spent the whole week with hardly any sleep working on this case with them working long, long hours.
"Guess we'll take the weekend off. Sylvester is going to settle now because even she knows she could go to jail for this shit," Michael Evans says out loud as they gather up their papers.
Santana stands patiently as her bosses, and the heir of Michael Evans one big-lips Sam, have their usual boy-talk. She needs a quick word and then she'll leave.
"Yeah, definitely need a weekend," Horton sighs loudly with animation. "Apparently my oldest girl is now a lesbian and I get to meet her latest lover tonight at my birthday party."
"Seriously?" Sam Evans blushes and clears his throat when he notices Santana is still there. "But, I mean… uh…"
Horton Pierce clasps his hand over the boy's shoulder, "Samuel why don't you put on your nicest suit and drop my house for the party? You and my Bree were great together. Perfect. She misses you, I know it. She's just acting out at her parents like girls do."
Michael shrugs and jokes with his son, "Do the man a favour, Sam. He's your boss!"
Santana rolls her eyes when the men in general suddenly notice her through their chuckles. They quieten down, because as much of a boys club her work is… her bosses don't underestimate her value anymore. Her client list has some of their major players and they all know they'd pick Santana over the firm if she wanted to leave.
She's got them right where she wants them. Respecting because she's got a quarter of their business in the palm of her hand.
With her patented non-smile on her face she says, "We shouldn't take the weekend off entirely. My guess is come Sunday, Sylvester will counter-suit."
"Counter-suit for what?" Sam dumbly asks.
Santana just shoulders her leather satchel and leaves, knowing the other men were experienced enough to agree with her. She hears them mumbling their agreement and teaching Sam the likely shenanigans Sylvester could take out against their firm.
When she gets outside, smiles brightly at the sight of her girlfriend waiting for her with two cups of coffee. Without missing a beat, Brittany slips and arm through hers leads her over to a cab with a sexy, "hey baby."
Once they're in the cab and heading towards Santana's place, Santana is given her delicious French Vanilla.
"How was the studio?" Santana asks her, smiling adoringly (can you blame her? Brittany is fucking adorable) as Brittany plays shyly with her leather satchel's buckles.
"It was so totally fun. So… you know how we were supposed to meet my parents tonight?"
"They cancelled? Thank god," Santana hopes desperately.
She has like, no friends, no family, and only Brittany. Excuse her if she's been a little hesitant to meet her everything's parents.
"San." Brittany gives her a 'look' of be-serious-now-or-I-pout but Santana can tell she's laughing under the surface from the way her blue eyes twinkle. "No. Mom called and told me she convinced Daddy to host a party with a bunch of people, so it would be like an ice-breaker and that way he'll behave himself in front of other. Whatever that means."
The cab stops and Santana already has ten bucks at the ready that she took out while Brittany was speaking. They slide out of the car and Brittany high-fives Santana's doorman because Brittany is the most amazing thing to ever grace this earth and even Santana's doorman knows it.
"So, a party? Like, what kind of… of party."
The elevator is always pretty fast, and Brittany is the one to use her own key on Santana's door before they enter the spacious place.
"My little sister just finished her exams so we're hosting a party for her."
Santana puts her satchel down on the stool near her kitchen counter and then pulls Brittany in for a hug.
She knows parts of this story. Brittany's sister, Gracie, is more school-driven than Brittany had ever been. Gracie became a lawyer like Brittany's parents while Brittany barely passed high-school and chose to dance. Apparently it's always been a problem and ongoing argument.
"Hey, I'll take them to court for thinking you were wrong about dance and beat them."
Brittany melts into her a little bit, so Santana knows she said something right (sometimes she says the wrong thing and Brittany gets cutely furious and teaches her a lesson).
"It's not even the dancing really, it's how they've never let me do what I want. It always has to be what they want. Which is why I told them nothing about you, if I bring up the lawyer thing they'll use it against you."
"How?" Santana is curious. "I thought they didn't like me because I'm a girl."
"That too. Just, promise me you won't break up with me because of my crazy parents?"
"Sure," Santana says easily. She couldn't care less about making other uncomfortable. Brittany was hers now, the Pierce family could just back off and deal with it.
"Sure?" Brittany pouts. "You're supposed to be more romantic, Santana."
"Look, I'm going to do my part in this Britt-Britt. I'll make myself all kinds of hot, make sure they know I'm proud of you and, seriously, I was disowned by my only family member and kicked out onto the streets for being gay. I think I can handle this."
A few hours later, she's letting Brittany tug her by the hand up the giant stone staircase of her family house. It is a pretty huge-ass house.
There are a ton of voices and it actually a pretty big shin-dig. Santana follows Brittany up to the blonde's old room, getting a giggle tour of the place (this is where Brittany and her sister burned a mark into the carpet, oh and right there is where she made out with her boyfriends and girlfriends from high-school because the sound of the garage carried over so she could always tell when someone came home).
Brittany's room is way too pink and predictably filled with stuffed animals. Santana has never made nice with the colour pink, but Brittany loves it (which is the only reason why there are some pink towels at her place). The apartment Brittany lived in now was shared with a Goth-girl called Tina who liked dark colours, so they were literally a pink-black split.
"So, one more time. Gracie is cool. Mom will be polite as hell but she won't say what she really thinks of you and-"
"And your dad will probably start introducing us to young men so I better hold your hand intimately and let you kiss me at least once on the lips."
Brittany laughs hysterically before wiping a tear from the corner of her eyes and gasping out, "I swear !t's the only way!"
"Save it," Santana is laughing with her, she really can't help how absolutely fucking perfect Brittany is. "I know this is just your ploy to force me into PDA."
Santana hates PDA. Sure, some hand or arm holding with a side of hugging is cool. But kisses and stuff are meant for closed doors. According to Brittany, however, tonight might require PDA to make a firm statement to her dad so he won't try to set her up with any boys.
"It's time," Brittany smiles. "You know, I was really nervous about tonight but now… I know that this is just formalities, Santana. I don't care if they don't approve because I…"
They've danced around these words for way too long, and Santana's breathless whispers of love when Brittany is passed out and sleeping don't count, so Santana closes her eyes and adds in intimately, "me too."
There are less people downstairs than Santana had thought there would be (there was a lot of chattering, though which made her uncomfortable). She noticed an even split of old adults and young adults and how everybody's eyes were on her with Brittany, smoking hot daughter of house, and how they're hands were joined as they walked around.
"Let's get a drink, my parents keep the – Gracie!" Brittany squeals and greets her little sister with a happy hug, dropping Santana's hand. Santana doesn't smile, she kind of winces at their display actually, but then her own name is being called. With incredulity.
She spins around, and says with her own incredulity, "Quinn Fabray? Seriously. I thought you were In England."
"You know Quinn?" Brittany asks with shocked smile. She has let go of her sister and is now giving Quinn a hug.
"Yeah. We studied together." Santana tells her girlfriend.
"Santana, we were roommates for three years." Quinn is grinning in amusement, as if Santana was joking. Santana feels happy to see her, she actually kind of missed Quinn. Quinn was a bullshit free girl who didn't piss her off and liked the same music she did. Sometimes they studied together.
"Yeah, for college."
"We're old friends," Quinn shoves her shoulder playfully (apparently serious and unaware that Santana is shocked because Santana didn't know they were friends), "so you're THE Santana Brittany here is dating, hmm? Small world. Seriously. This is way too insane."
It is pretty fucking insane.
"Yes, Quinn, Santana here is my girlfriend. San, this is my cousin Quinn and my little sister Gracie."
"Hi Santana," a confident hand is stuck out at her like a typical law grad trying to make an impression. Santana shakes Gracie's hand briefly and tries to smile.
"I can't believe you're dating each other," Quinn adds again. "Brittany hates the family lawyer quality and she's dating you of all people. You lived for the law in college."
Santana raises her chin as Brittany laughs with her cousin, and shakes her head in disbelief when Brittany says like it's the most casual thing in the world, "yep. I would fall in love with a lawyer. Life is funny that way."
As the other three women giggle, Santana finds herself smiling easily. Because, you know, Brittany is in love with her. She just said it out loud.
"Britt didn't say you were a lawyer!" The newly graduated Gracie is all over her with questions, just as Brittany had predicted she would be. Santana compares notes with the younger hot but not as hot Pierce girl as Quinn and Brittany retreat for some drinks.
Shit hits the fan two minutes later when Brittany hands her a drink and then leans in for the 'required' PDA moment.
Really, it's just an innocent kiss on her cheek but it happens at the worst possible time. It happens just when Santana swore she saw her boss, Michael Evans.
Then, as Brittany's teasing her sister about something, there's a confused, "Santana?"
Followed by her seeing Trouty Mouth and being able to piece things together.
Sam Evans was supposed to be swaying Horton's daughter tonight from being a lesbian. Horton whose last name is Pierce. Santana is in fucking love with one Brittany Pierce. Brittany Pierce has wealthy lawyer parents.
Santana is fucking her boss's daughter.
Wow. Quinn was right. Fucking small world.
"Hey Sam," Brittany gives him a smile and the boy turns a bit red before his eyes dart back and forth between Brittany and Santana with shocked understanding.
Santana gives him a glare and takes a swallow of her drink. She leans in to whisper into Brittany's ear, "Britt. Please tell me your dad is not Horton Pierce."
Brittany gasps and then looks her in the eyes, "baby?"
"Fuck." Santana breathes out. "Shit. Fuck."
"What?" Brittany leans in a bit closer. "Are you mortal lawyer enemies or something? Daddy has some of those."
That awkward moment when Santana realised she was sleeping with her boss's daughter…
"He's my boss."
Was really fucking awkward.