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When she was fourteen years old, Santana met her first girlfriend, Brittany S. Pierce, and the two fell madly in love, dating for the majority of their high school careers. Being an out lesbian in such an obtuse town like Lima had proven difficult, so the two would have to steal long, mournful glances from across the gymnasium during P.E., or hold hands in the dark during films in class, all away from the watchful eyes of their peers.
The learning curve of being with someone who was just as inexperienced as you was thrilling for Santana. She discovered the joy of going through her first everything with Brittany, figuring out piece after piece of a relationship along each step of the way.
She knew, however, that Lima was not the place for her and Brittany; she couldn’t bear to live in a town that wouldn’t openly accept their relationship and mutual adoration. Santana always dreamed of ending up in New York City, of somehow making it across country to live in a fantasy world of acceptance and promise. Santana pleaded and begged, hands tightly interlocked, for Brittany to share her dream and run away with her to the east coast.
“What do you mean ‘no’?” Santana whimpered, slow tears falling gently down her cheek. She threaded her fingers through the fine, blonde hair cascading over Brittany’s shoulder. “I need you there with me. This is our dream.”
“It’s yours, not mine, Santana,” Brittany said soothingly, clutching the hand her girlfriend had placed on her shoulder. “I’m going to Chicago to dance.” She lightly kissed a stray tear that was trailing off of Santana’s chin.
“B-but Julliard?” Santana offered.
Brittany only sadly shook her head. “I’m sorry. I’ll always love you.”
With those final words between the two, Santana embarked on her journey to New York City. Alone.
Perhaps the city was what Santana needed to get over Brittany. Just being surrounded by the sheer volume of people and statuesque skyscrapers would prove to be an excellent distraction. Immersing herself in the culture and flavor of New York would be her main focus -- not dating or relationships. Those wounds were still too fresh.
Santana was accepted into New York University for sociology and hoped to acquire a minor in psychology. Her passions in high school may had been cheerleading and show choir, but the idea of deeply analyzing social constructs pulled her into the world of academia that she far favored.
On her weekends, she would exercise classic college student tropes, including writing research papers at the local Starbucks. One Saturday in early October, Santana went to the coffee shop with the intentions finally finishing her five thousand word essay on socialized gender norms in the media. She ordered a soy chai latte and stood next to the counter, inspecting her chipping brown nail polish while she waited.
“Venti soy chai latte,” the barista called, hastily sliding the drink across the counter towards ready customers.
Santana reached for the cup and jumped as her fingers grazed the hand of someone else -- someone else who was also reaching for the exact same latte. She glared at a short brunette donning a red beret and black pea coat who was currently holding Santana’s coffee cup between her palms.
“Hey, gnome, I dunno what your angle is here, but you do not steal my drink away from me. Now, put down my coffee and walk away before I knock that dumbass hat off your head,” Santana growled, glaring at the girl, whose eyes were now wide with shock.
“Uh, excuse me, but I ordered the exact same drink. You don’t have to be so rude about this, I’m sure your coffee will be ready in a moment,” the other girl challenged, firmly gripping the drink in her hands.
“Is your name Santana? Because if it is, I’ll surely apologize. If not, you have about five seconds to let go of my fucking coffee.” Santana extended a finger to the side of the cup, pointing to her name written on the side in black ink.
The color in the brunette’s face drained quickly before returning to a deep red. “Oh my God, I’m so sorry, Santana, is it? I thought this was mine.” She held the drink towards Santana with shaky hands.
Before Santana could retort, the barista called out, “Venti soy chai latte.” Santana grabbed the drink and read the name on the side.
“You must be Rachel,” Santana said cooly with an accompanying smirk.
She nodded. “Yes, I’m Rachel. Rachel Berry.” Rachel extended her hand towards Santana, who reluctantly accepted.
“Santana Lopez. Here,” she handed the latte to Rachel. “I”m sorry I was such a bitch. I just really need my coffee,” she laughed.
Rachel smiled politely. “I completely understand. Still, I feel awful. Wait,” she dug into her purse, “let me pay for you. Please?”
Santana raised her eyebrows. “No need, Rachel. Let bygones be bygones and all that shit.” She turned around to fit a lid and cup sleeve onto her drink. Santana sat down at a nearby table, setting down her latte and bag, pulling out her laptop. She looked up and was surprised to see that Rachel followed, standing over her expectantly.
“No, let me make it up to you. Do you, um, want to have coffee with me again sometime? Or dinner?” Rachel asked hesitantly, her bottom lip securely held by her teeth.
Dating was not why I came here. Fuck, Santana thought, her eyes downcast. She and Brittany had only been broken up for three months, tops. Still, there was something endearing about Rachel; Santana liked girls like Rachel -- they look so, so innocent until they open their mouths and this feisty, sexy side lets loose. One little date couldn’t hurt.
“Sure. I mean, yeah that’d be great,” Santana breathed, a slow smile spreading across her face. Rachel beamed and brought out her phone to exchange numbers with Santana. Once she saved the other girl’s contact as “Starbucks Rachel”, Santana took a sip of her coffee and powered up her laptop.
“I’ll see you later, Santana,” Rachel beamed, waving as she headed outside.
Santana could barely concentrate on her paper as thoughts of Rachel Berry consumed all of her possible cognitive functioning.
---
After a restless two hours of being completely unproductive, Santana packed up her things and made her way out of the coffee shop towards the subway stop. She pulled her metro card from her wallet, heading towards the platform. The subway station was unusually crowded for this time of day, full of passengers bumping and pushing as they headed towards the train. After a forceful shove from a women on a cell phone -- followed from a half English half Spanish tirade from Santana -- she looked down to her hands and noticed her metro pass was missing. Shit. She frantically looked around the platform, searching for her card. She scoured the floor, peeking onto the track and turning to circle the turnstile.
“I think you’re looking for this?”
Santana looked up at a blonde with chin-length hair and warm hazel eyes, who was extending her arm towards her. In the girl’s hand was a bright yellow metro card, proudly held between cerulean nails.
“Oh my God, thank you so much,” Santana sighed, grabbing the card from the girl’s fingertips. “I would have kicked my ass for days if I lost this bitch.” She tilted her head and quirked her eyebrows. “You must not be from New York seeing as how you actually gave me my pass back; anyone from the city would have stolen this within seconds.”
The girl laughed as she brushed a loose piece of hair behind her ears. “No, I live in New Haven, actually. I just visit the city on the weekends for my co-op,” she explained.
Santana folded her arms across her chest, cocking her hip. “Oh, New Haven? You’re just some fancy, rich Yale girl? How adorable,” she teased.
The other girl mimicked Santana’s pose and snorted. “Yes, because the NYU lanyard sticking out of your pocket makes your argument valid.”
Flashing a dazzling grin, Santana placed the card securely in her pocket. She liked this blonde -- and not just because she was ridiculously gorgeous. This year is not for dating, Santana. The mere thought of dating made Santana feel as if walls were caving in around her and the world was pitch black, void of all light. Still, she owed the girl at least one stupid little date just to say “thanks” and “sorry for being a bitch”.
“Point taken. Hey, I was wondering if it would be okay if I took you out for dinner sometime? You know, just to say ‘hey thanks for saving me tons of money and mental anguish over having to buy a new card’?” Santana asked.
The blonde smiled sweetly and nodded her head. “Yeah, I think that would be alright. Here, let me give you my number. Also, my name is Quinn, by the way. Quinn Fabray.” She dove into her purse and fished out her phone, preparing to text Santana her number.
“I’m Santana Lopez, in case you were wondering,” Santana said before dictating her number for Quinn. She smiled when her cell buzzed, indicating a new text.
“I’m in New York every weekend, so when I’m down next I’ll text you. Is that okay?” Quinn asked, dropping the phone back into her purse.
Nodding, Santana replied, “Sure thing, Quinn. Thanks again.”
“No problem at all. See you around,” Quinn waved before turning and heading up the stairs and out of the station. Santana watched as Quinn daintily dodged patrons running towards the train. Santana made her way onto a subway car and begrudgingly grasped the pole, sneering at just how grimy and grubby the car looked under the fluorescent lighting.
In one day she had singlehandedly met two attractive women who seemed very interested in her -- a record by Santana’s standards. Still, she wasn’t ready to date and do relationships and encounter more heartbreak. This year was not about girls.
---
After a painfully long and uncomfortable subway ride involving some old pervert winking and eyeing her over, Santana made her way back to her dorm at NYU. She entered her too cramped and overly dark room and lightly tossed her bag onto the bed. Santana collapsed in her desk chair, sighing. What exactly what she doing? With every day that went by, she could not stop thinking about Brittany. She wondered how she was in Chicago, how perfect were her dance recitals, and if she was seeing someone. Santana knew thinking this way was counterproductive -- Brittany was gone and was not coming back.
Perhaps dating was what she needed -- the city no longer proved to be enough of a distraction. Going out with Rachel or Quinn could help her overcome the hole in her heart left when Brittany moved away. While the thoughts of becoming emotionally invested with someone else only to have it dissolve and break apart was incredibly daunting, Santana knew she needed to move on.
She smiled fondly as she remembered the way her heart fluttered when her fingers brushed Rachel’s, or the way her stomach dropped when she made eye contact with Quinn.
Maybe she was ready to date. Just tiny, little dates with Quinn or Rachel. Or both. Little dates that turn into nothing more than a goodnight kiss. No strings, no emotion, no relationship. Yeah, I can handle that.
Santana reached for her phone and shot a quick text to Rachel, asking her availability for dinner next week. Get ready, world, Santana Lopez was back on the dating scene.
---
Rachel’s schedule was extremely busy all weekend and she was only available Thursday night for dinner. Santana arrived at the restaurant early and sat nervously, waiting for the other girl to appear. She fiddled with her silverware, adjusting and readjusting the position of the fork and knife. Santana was never anxious; she always maintained a demure air about her. Tonight, though, was different. This was Santana’s first date with a girl that she hadn't previously known and while this notion was liberating, it was also frightening. Did she even know how to act on a date? What would they talk about?
She was pulled from her thoughts when a waiter arrived at the table, another person in toe. Santana raked her eyes over Rachel, who was looking radiant in a baby doll dress, highlighting her slender frame, with her hair pull back from a headband.
“Oh, wow, Santana,” Rachel breathed, as she took her seat, “you look exquisite.”
Santana gave her simple black dress a once over and flashed Rachel a grin. “You clean up pretty good yourself, babe.” She bit the inside of her cheek, smirking, when Rachel’s face flushed from the compliment. Okay, so I totally know how dating goes.
“I’m really glad we could finally meet. I mean, I just had to see you again after that whole coffee fiasco,” Rachel took a sip of her water and folded her hands neatly on the table.
“Yeah, I’m sorry I was a bitch that day. Don’t worry about it though, good did come from it. I did get to go out with a super hot brunette.” Santana leaned back in her chair, relaxed. “So, Rachel. Let’s do this classic first date schtick. Tell me everything about yourself.”
Rachel beamed and cleared her throat before she began. “Excellent, this is my favorite topic. Well, I’m Rachel Berry and I’m 21 years old. I currently attend NYADA, or the New York Academy of Dramatic Arts and I’m in my first year in the musical theatre and performance program. You should remember my name because you’ll be seeing it in lights on Broadway,” she giggled as she took another sip of water.
Santana cocked an eyebrow at the other girl. “Well, someone sure thinks highly of herself. While it is condescending, I think your earnest enthusiasm is adorable,” she smiled, genuinely. “So you’re a good singer? I was in glee club in high school. The New Directions,” she scoffed with a laugh.
Rachel gasped. “New Directions? I know that show choir. Are you from Ohio?” She squealed when Santana nodded. “I’m from Ohio. Akron, to be exact. I was the lead in Vocal Adrenaline,” she stated, proudly.
Slamming her hand on the table, Santana leaned in closer. “Vocal Adrenaline? Fuck you guys, you always kicked our asses at every sectionals, regionals or nationals. Wow, I don’t know if I can date my high school rival.”
“Please, you would have done better if you put any thought into your setlist. Some dance lessons for those boys would have helped, too,” Rachel rolled her eyes as she smiled, smugly. “Are you studying music now? I hope not, I don’t want to date my competition.”
“No, don’t worry. I’m at NYU studying sociology. I didn’t want to study performing arts or anything like that.”
“Oh, why not? Even though your glee club was subpar, you still must be talented. The arts are liberating. Exhilarating. Spectacular,” Rachel crooned, sighing and clasping her hands against her cheek.
Santana smiled fondly, admiring the way Rachel’s eyes lit up at the notion of performing in front of an adoring crowd. “Just not my scene, I guess. Honestly, the only criteria for me and post-secondary was to escape Ohio and go somewhere that would accept me,” she said, wistfully.
Rachel nodded, flicking her bangs from her face. “I completely understand.” She hesitated, running her fingers along the condensation on her glass. “No one knew I had these kind of feelings in high school. I was just nervous, I suppose. I shouldn’t be, I have two gay dads, but I know how difficult it was for them and I just didn’t want to face the same treatment. Truth be told, I’ve never really dated a girl before.”
Santana froze slightly. She knew Rachel had that cute schoolgirl charm, but could she handle being someone’s first relationship? She enjoyed the bumps of processing this part of her life back in high school, but could she do it again? Santana looked at Rachel, whose eyes were wide in anticipation, her brow furrowed ever so slighty. Slowly, Santana slid her hand across the table until her fingers lightly bumped with Rachel’s.
“Is this okay?” she asked. When Rachel wrapped her own fingers around Santana’s, she knew she had her answer. “Don’t worry, Rachel, New York City is completely different.”
Smiling, Rachel breathed a quiet sigh. “Good. Now, let’s order because I am famished.”
Beaming, Santana ran her palm over the back of Rachel’s delicate hand and squeezed. “Whatever you want, babe.”
---
Santana took the subway home, grinning from ear to ear the entire trip. She already memorized the bright giggle Rachel emitted when the two discussed their favorite television shows (Rachel favored scripted dramas with plenty of romance, while Santana preferred cheesy and awful reality shows), and the firm feeling of Rachel’s palm on the back of her hand when Santana insisted on paying for dinner.
“Don’t be ridiculous, we’ll go halfsies,” Rachel had scoffed with a playful glint in her eyes.
Coming out of the station, Santana bounced on her heels. She had a ridiculously fun evening with the NYADA songstress, even though she was from Vocal Adrenaline. Santana snorted into a giggle. Go figure.
Dating felt good. While there were lingering hesitant feelings in the far, deep corners of her mind, she knew that this was something she could face; that she was ready for. Her date with Rachel proved this well enough.
She felt her phone vibrate from her purse, persistently. She fished it out and noticed she had received a text message from Quinn while she was in the subway.
Dinner tomorrow night okay with you? Let me know.
Santana frowned, racking her brain for any previous scheduled engagements she made for the week. She shot off a quick text, Sounds good to me. I’ll meet you at 8, your choice of place btw, and headed back to her dorm, content and excited.
---
The restaurant for her date with Quinn was very different than with Rachel. While Rachel selected a more upscale and haute place to dine, Quinn chose a low key Italian restaurant with a high rooftop patio.
“I hope you don’t mind that we sit outside,” Quinn said, “but I smoke, so,” she furrowed her eyebrows, running her fingertips along her sheer blouse.
“Well, you’re in luck, Fabray, because I happen to enjoy a smoke when I casually drink,” Santana grinned, holding up her wine glass as she followed Quinn up the stairs to the patio. “It really was the perfect habit to pick up as a closeted lesbian in a homophobic town.”
Quinn scoffed as she clutched the stem of her glass. “Tell me about it. I went to Catholic school. An all girl’s one, at that. Those tiny little skirts?” she clicked her tongue and huffed into a laugh. “Those were some trying times.”
“Sounds like a paradise to me,” Santana said, taking a sip of her bordeaux. “Why did your parents send you there, I mean, couldn’t they tell you were super gay?”
Quinn clinked a fingernail against her glass as she leaned against the patio railing. “It had the best cheerleading team in the state. They used to whore out my school’s squad for the all male brother school, so I would have to go and feign enthusiasm for these dumb jocks when all I really wanted was to be under the bleachers with my co-captain, sticking my tongue down her throat.”
Santana laughed into her glass. She flashed Quinn a knowing look. “Been there, done that. My girlfriend and I were cheerleaders in high school, I know your pain all too well. So, how did you come out of the flannel closet?”
Setting down her glass on the railing ledge, Quinn pulled a package of cigarettes and a lighter from her purse. She carefully drew one from the carton and placed her crimson lips around the end, flicking the lighter between her fingertips. Quinn blew a stream of smoke from the corner of her mouth and offered the carton to Santana, who gracefully plucked a cigarette from the back and leaned in for the other girl to light the end.
“Well, my parents found me in my room half naked with another girl on top of me, so I’m pretty sure that was a big indicator,” she took another drag from the cigarette, softly exhaling the smoke from her pursed lips. “They were so pissed off, being super Catholic and everything. But, then my younger sister got knocked up and suddenly I wasn’t the disappointment of the family anymore.” Quinn sighed and took a sip of her wine, staring at the city scape below.
Santana watched how Quinn’s delicate fingers drummed against the glass as she brought the cigarette to her lips. She took a drag of her own cigarette and sighed. Quinn had this understated elegance which Santana admired. She loved how Quinn’s eyes sparkled when she mentioned Yale, or how her nose crinkled when the two discussed Karl Marx and the conflict perspective. Santana’s eyes traced over Quinn, lingering on her blonde hair pulled into a short ponytail and eyeliner swept into a long wing. She couldn’t help but feel Quinn had airs about her, guarding herself away with bitterness. Santana had anger too -- growing up had been difficult for her as well. Still, it seemed nothing akin to the pain Quinn brought with her. She was the complete opposite of Rachel.
The two ended their date with Santana walking the other girl to a cab waiting on the street.
“I had a great time with you, Santana,” Quinn said quietly, pulling her bottom lip between her teeth in a smile. Santana leaned in and placed a soft kiss against Quinn’s lips. She reveled in the taste of her mouth -- the bite of her cigarettes, the woodiness from her wine, and the hint of cherry from her lipstick.
Quinn leaned back and trailed her fingertips along Santana’s collarbone. “You’ll call me when I’m in the city next weekend?” Quinn asked, raising an eyebrow.
Smoothly, Santana answered the girl by pulling her into another kiss. “I”ll call you on Friday.”
“It’s a date,” Quinn smiled, waving as she bundled into a cab.
Santana watched as the car sped down the street into the busy New York traffic. She had had two completely successful first dates in two days. Santana was elated that she felt so good about everything. All previous worries had been crushed after she had spent her evening with the incredibly gorgeous, brilliant, and driven women. Santana knew that seeing both Rachel and Quinn was exactly what she needed.
---
Throughout the next month, Santana flitted from date to date with the two girls. She went to movies, art galleries, museums, parks, and every other possibility for a date in New York City.
Rachel and Santana had been at MoMA when Rachel had leaned in and firmly kissed Santana in front of Water Lilies. Santana had relished how soft the other girl’s hair felt beneath her fingertips as she curled her hand around Rachel’s neck, Rachel’s lips smooth from the sheer bubblegum gloss that stained them a rosy pink. Quinn and Santana had been in the back corner of a movie theater watching a revival showing of Cruel Intentions when Quinn had climbed into Santana’s lap and began sucking on her jaw, her hands fumbling with the snaps on Santana’s button-up. Santana had hissed as Quinn’s cold hand slid its way down her shirt to cup her breast over her bra. She had moaned against Quinn’s lips as the girl ran her thumb nail over her the sensitive skin on her chest.
Santana didn’t mean to keep the girls secret from one another; she just didn’t know how the other would react. When she told Quinn about dating Rachel, she was nonchalant, favoring a more open “relationship”. Santana’s fears were only momentarily quelled when the thought of Rachel’s reaction crept into her mind. Rachel had mentioned in passing that Santana was her only true friend in New York and she savored every moment of their dates. While the notion that Rachel liked her with such intensity was heartwarming and made her feel delicious heart palpitations, it was also harrowing.
On their date Saturday night, Santana mentioned Quinn to Rachel.
Rachel had splurged on buying two tickets to Newsies, chalking it up to her undergoing dramatic research and required accompaniment for the evening, when Santana knew Rachel wanted the two to have a glorious night out on the town. While Santana wished she could be literally anywhere else in the city and not sitting in some cramped, old theatre, she went to spend time with Rachel. She sat through the first act with one hand firmly locked around Rachel’s and the other cushioning her cheek as she leaned against the arm rest. Santana wasn’t too fond of musical theatre -- this musical didn’t even have special effects or scantily clad women to keep her attention. She was stone-faced while Rachel gasped, laughed, or sobbed along with the play.
At intermission, Rachel turned to Santana and drew her into a long, closed mouth kiss. She looked up at Santana through her thick eyelashes and sighed. “I’m so glad you’re here, Santana. I am absolutely thrilled you’re experiencing my first love, the theater, and seeing me in my natural element. You must look like this when you’re in the middle of a sociological debate,” she laughed, resting her head on Santana’s shoulder. “You look sleepy, though. Late night?”
Santana swallowed. She spoke, hesitantly. “Yeah I was out last night. On a date.” She flinched as she felt Rachel tense beneath her, her jaw flexing against Santana’s shoulder.
“A date?” Rachel croaked. “With whom?”
“A girl from Yale. Quinn. I’ve been seeing her too for a while.”
Before Rachel could let out a whine of protest, Santana said hurriedly, “Rachel, we never explicitly stated we were exclusively dating. I mean, you’re not really my girlfriend.”
Rachel pulled her head up, staring at Santana, hurt seeping into her normally warm brown eyes. “I suppose not. Well, then, did you at least have a good time?” she asked, stiffly. Slowly, Rachel moved her hand into her lap, rapping the Playbill against her palm.
“Rachel...” Santana started, but was cut off abruptly as the lights in the theater dimmed and the orchestra began to sound, indicating the second act was about to begin.
For the remainder of the musical, Santana would flick her eyes to Rachel and watch as the girl stared straight forward, not reacting to anything around her. Santana’s heart began to sink deeper in her chest as every minute passed. It pained her to see Rachel this upset in, like she said, her natural element.
After Newsies had finished and both Santana and Rachel gave their standing ovation, the girls exited the theatre.
“So, what did you think about the show?” Rachel asked as the two walked down the sidewalk.
Santana peered down at her and twisted her face. “It was okay, I guess. It was stupid, though. Like, I can see why the movie was a box office disaster.”
Rachel stopped in her place and spun around, facing Santana. “You didn’t like it? Santana, how could you not like it?”
“I don’t like musicals, okay? Jesus, Rachel, it’s not a big fucking deal,” Santana scoffed, rubbing the back of her neck.
Folding her arms tightly across her chest, Rachel glared down her nose at Santana. “Not a big deal? This is my future career. Broadway is my life, Santana, and you hating it really makes me uncomfortable. It’s what I’m going to do.”
“You're going to be a gay newspaper boy?” Santana said facetiously.
“You know what I mean. I am going to be a star, Santana, and I will be on Broadway. I can’t be in a relationship with someone who doesn’t understand this or doesn’t really care. Oh, but I guess we weren’t in a ‘relationship’, per se, according to you,” Rachel sneered, her voice cracking.
Santana stepped forward, her arms extended. “Come on, Rach, don’t be a little bitch about this.”
“Stop,” Rachel said firmly, holding her palm in front of her face. “I don’t want to hear this. I don’t think we should see each other, Santana. It wouldn’t be right. Have a good time with Quinn, or whatever her name was.”
Rachel spun on her heels and stormed down the sidewalk, the clicking of her heels echoing down the street. Santana whined out loud, watching as the girl hailed a cab.
Santana’s guilt for upsetting Rachel turned to anger; she was pissed. Rachel was being typical drama queen Rachel and turning herself into the victim because of her own misconstrued form of the truth. Still standing on the street corner, Santana leaned onto a lamppost and dialed Quinn’s number.
“Hello, you,” Quinn crooned over the phone, once she picked up, “what’s going on?”
“I need you to come here and get fucking hammered with me, like right now,” Santana said, her voice thick with indiscernible emotion. “I’ve had a shitty ass evening and the only way I can think of fixing it is to get my drink on.”
Quinn paused. “Are you alright? Do you need me to come get you?”
“No,” Santana snapped, “just meet me at Curzon, like, right now because I’m only blocks away.” She ended the call and slipped her phone into her purse. Santana held her shoulders and strode down the sidewalk, her head bent and hair wildly flapping against the wind. This was so ridiculously stupid. She loved being around Rachel -- her unbridled enthusiasm and aplomb were charming, but only when she used her charm for good. Tonight, Rachel was being catty because she didn’t get her way -- a notion that made Santana’s stomach twist with rage and a slight modicum of guilt. She walked into Curzon, flashing her ID between her forefingers, and saddled up to the bar. She hooked one of her heels into the metal rung on the bottom of the stool and clicked rhythmically, her nerves jangled.
“You here alone, gorgeous?” A firm tap on Santana’s shoulder caused her to swivel, her finger poised to point in the stranger’s face. Her face softened when she was met with Quinn’s eyes, riddled with concern. “What happened, Santana?”
Santana pat the stool next to her as her fingernails rapped against the formica countertop. “Rachel was being a complete bitch, way worse than normal. I mentioned that I was seeing you and she totally closed up and became so frigid all evening. Then, I made one stupid little comment how I don’t care about musical theatre and she flew off the handle, probably still pissed about you. Like, seriously Berry? Get over it, I never promised you anything.”
Quinn ran her palm soothingly over Santana’s knee. “Why are you so angry about this? You said this was her first relationship, Santana. Of course she’s going to expect something more.” Her voice went softer as she gripped Santana’s thigh. “You care about her a lot.”
“Ugh, please,” Santana sneered, rolling her eyes. “The only thing I care about right now is getting drunk. Hey, barkeep,” she called, snapping her fingers loudly and lifting herself up from the stool, “me and my girl here want some tequila.”
Throughout the night, Quinn and Santana did shot upon shot of tequila, vodka, rum, and any other alcoholic fluid they could think of. With every burning swallow of liquor, Santana become more and more upset about Rachel. She loved her cute little giggle whenever Santana wore her reading glasses to write a paper in Rachel’s dorm. She loved her fluid hand gestures whenever Rachel recount the stunningly tragic romance of Fanny and Nicky from Funny Girl for the thousandth time. She loved her cascading hair that she would pull into a high ponytail before she practicing her scales.
Scowling, Santana knocked back a peppermint vodka shot before snatching the saltshaker from the counter. She licked an agonizingly slow strip from Quinn’s neck up to just slightly under her defined jaw. This would get stupid Rachel Berry from her mind.
Santana sprinkled a trail of salt on Quinn’s slick skin and gently placed a lime wedge between the girl’s red lips. Santana leaned in and dragged her tongue across Quinn’s neck, tasting the salt and the faint fruity sweetness of her body wash. She downed the shot of tequila in one swallow and leaned in swiftly, capturing the tangy flesh of the lime between her teeth. Santana sucked on the fruit, relishing in how clean the juice made her mouth feel and just how lightheaded and drunk she felt before taking the rind into her mouth and spitting it on the floor. She pulled Quinn into a fierce, open mouthed kiss as her hands grabbed Quinn’s shoulders tightly, drawing her closer. Quinn moaned into Santana’s mouth, balling her fists into Santana’s hair and gently tugging at the roots, which only caused Santana to elicit a moan of her own.
Placing fervent kisses on Quinn’s lips, she mumbled “Come home with me.”
Quinn nodded her head, mouth still firmly attached to Santana’s, and stood up from the stool. The two girls threw a wad of bills onto the countertop and stumbled through the crowd into the cold New York street. They giggled and swayed and kissed and kissed and kissed until they were able to hail a cab, taking it back to the NYU dormitories.
The girls climbed the stairs up to the 5th floor -- a completely arduous task when intoxicated, so stopping to regain their balance and pin each other against the wall with their mouths was necessary -- until they burst through into her room.
Santana collapsed on her bed and kicked off her heels, pulling Quinn on top and whimpering at the weight of Quinn’s body against hers. Quinn’s hands ran up and down the sides dress, slipping under the satin fabric and pressing firm against her warm skin. Santana sucked Quinn’s bottom lip into her mouth, tugging at it gently with her teeth. She needed this right now, Santana needed this physical contact to make her feel okay.
Quinn curled her fingers in Santana’s tights and dragged them down her legs, tugging them off her feet. Santana arched her back as Quinn stroked her clit over her underwear. With a quirk of her eyebrows and a swift nod from Santana, Quinn pulled Santana’s underwear down and tossed them onto the floor next to her tights. She brushed her fingers along Santana’s folds, smirking from the sharp intake of breath from the other girl.
“Fuck, Quinn,” Santana groaned as the other girl circled her clit with her thumb, her index finger finding a steady rhythm of thrusting in and out of Santana so, so slowly. Santana gripped the back of Quinn’s head and panted against her mouth as Quinn increased the speed ever so slightly. She moved to kiss down Quinn’s jawline, sucking on her neck with such pressure that made the other girl groan. Quinn slipped a third finger in, and laughed softly as Santana cursed against her neck.
After drawing Santana into a tight kiss, Quinn lowered her body down the bed and positioned her mouth right above Santana’s clit. Santana shivered as she felt Quinn’s exhalations against her sensitive flesh.
“Ah,” Santana hissed as Quinn pressed her tongue flat against her clit, licking long and deep. Quinn slowly worked a finger into Santana, crooking it upwards. Instinctually, Santana fisted Quinn’s hair through her fingers, dragging her nails against the girl’s scalp in indication of needing more now. Quinn, picking up on the cues, worked two fingers into Santana while she sucked on her clit, gently flicking her tongue against the skin every so often. Feeling the pressure and heat build up in her lower stomach from Quinn’s ministrations, Santana arched her back and squirmed as everything became too much. She came with a sharp intake of breath followed by a high-pitched moan escaping from her throat, squeezing Quinn’s head tightly with her thighs. Santan slumped back in the bed, utterly disheveled and wrecked, as Quinn kissed along her inner thighs, up her abdomen, and flopping on top of Santana, letting her taste herself against Quinn’s lips.
Even though Santana was sated and worn from her orgasm, she couldn’t help but feel empty inside. She missed Rachel and knew she needed to get her back.
---
For a full month, Santana actively pursued Rachel, calling and texting her every other day. As always, she would throw something in anger when her calls would be rejected, voicemails unanswered, and texts ignored. She would stop by NYADA, hoping to run into the girl going to class, but was always left disappointed. Santana was destroyed that she ruined something with Rachel -- overly dramatic but amusingly sweet Rachel. She filled the emptiness and regret by dating Quinn. The two became serious as the month progressed, their dates becoming more frequent and involving more feelings than previously intended.
Santana knew that she was ready to throw in the towel in regards to dating and take the plunge into a full-fledge relationship. Her heart had healed and mended and was no longer empty, only filled with lingering thoughts of doubt and anxiety. Santana was ready for a girlfriend.
She wasn’t so sure if that was what Quinn wanted. Santana knew Quinn was broken inside from heartache and disappointment and the constant feeling of being let down. She knew that she would be there for the girl, not to leave her alone with her despair. But, Quinn was emotionally vacant. Detached. There was a point where Santana was, too -- high school was very, very difficult -- but after Brittany, Santana loved connecting with another person on that emotional level and fully giving yourself over to someone else. With Quinn, that would be difficult with her tall, thick walls and barriers guarding her heart. Quinn preferred no attachment or commitment -- the arrangement the two had now.
Sunday morning, before Quinn returned to New Haven, Santana met with her for breakfast. She calmly and cooly grabbed Quinn’s hand and explained her desire, her need, to be emotionally close with someone. Santana felt Quinn’s fingers flinch at the mentioning of a relationship but before Quinn could speak, Santana started.
“Quinn, I love spending time with you and being around you. You’re a smart, hot and talented babe and someday you’re going to make some bitch super happy. Right now, though, I need a relationship with someone who can be there with me, someone who will be able to be with me without her fight or flight instinct kicking in. That just isn’t you.”
Sighing, Quinn leaned back in her chair and squeezed Santana’s palm. “No, it really isn’t. Not yet. I don’t want to hold you back, anyway. Besides,” she said, her mouth twitching up, “you already have your eyes set on a bossy little brunette, don’t you?”
Santana laughed, rubbing her thumb over Quinn’s knuckle. “I’ve got my work cut out for me. She better be worth it, Jesus.”
Quinn pulled her hand away from Santana and folded it over her own. “Something tells me she will be.”
---
Santana arrived at the all too familiar NYADA dormitories and ran up the stairs to Rachel’s floor. She crept along the dimly lit carpeted hallway until she reached room 746. She held her fist in mid-air, pausing as she heard Rachel belt out stray notes from some Broadway show. Santana rapped her knuckles against the door and froze when the singing came to a halt.
“Hello?” Rachel called. Santana heard footsteps approach the door. “Who’s there?”
“Me,” Santana said, firmly. She bounced her leg as she waited. After a moment, the door opened swiftly and she was left standing face to face with Rachel. Santana’s breath caught in her throat when she gazed down at the other girl, face red from singing and hair pulled into that high, high ponytail. “Hi,” Santana said in a soft voice, “can I come in?”
Rachel glared, holding her arm across the door frame, as if to block Santana from entering. “What could you possibly want, Santana? Was my ignoring your plethora of texts and calls not enough of a hint?”
Santana sighed and held out her arms, shoulders hunched. “Look, Rach, I fucked up. Badly. I got caught up in my own little world of what I wanted and didn’t realize that maybe our arrangement wasn’t cool for you. This is, or was I guess, your first time dating and, like, I totally didn’t even pick up on how this would be for someone in that situation. I really like being with you and this last month has been total hell for me. I fucking miss you, okay? I miss the stupid little way you click your heels together when you hum songs when you write papers. I miss how you aren’t afraid to push your way through the busy New York crowd. Everything you do, Rachel, is totally annoying but I love it. You’re adorable, ambitious, and really fucking talented.” She took a breath, shaking from all the emotion that was just spilling and pouring from her lips. Rachel stared at her, her eyes edging her to continue. “I feel like I can be happy with you for the first time in a long ass while. I want to be the first person you love, the first person who will help you accept and live your life -- even though you’re crazy,” she laughed, dragging her foot along the carpeting. “I need you to be my girlfriend, Berry.”
Her eyes traced over Rachel’s face, looking for something to show her how the other girl felt. Rachel’s grip softened on the door frame and she let her arm fall to her side loosely. “Santana,” she whispered, “this is so unexpected. This is like something from a musical,” she giggled, adjusting her ponytail.
“I’ve been studying up, babe. I gotta support my girl when she becomes a huge star,” she laughed, her voice fading. “So, what do you think?”
“I think,” Rachel said, coyly, “that you need to kiss your girlfriend.”
With that, Santana laughed and leaned in, drawing Rachel against her chest and crashing her mouth against hers. Rachel threw her arms around Santana’s neck, standing on her tip toes with one ankle cast out as she peppered Santana’s mouth with kisses.
As the girls stood in the door frame, luxuriating in each other’s presence, Santana couldn’t help but think how cheesy it was that she chased down this girl in New York City, fighting against all odds for her heart like some cliched romantic comedy. It was so unlike her, totally not her style. But, given the end results, Santana wouldn't have had it any other way.