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Chapter Text

The freezing rain that’s pounding the top of your G-Wagon is a very accurate depiction of where you are in life. You never thought you’d be back in Ohio, but an incredible temporary job offer and your personal life going to shambles were enough for you to book it out of New York. 

You pull into the parking lot of your best friend Puck’s car and sprint inside, trying to avoid ruining your hair. Since it was the last time you would visit your hair stylist for the foreseeable future, he did a particularly fantastic job, and it would be a shame to ruin that and an even bigger shame to destroy your brand-new hair extensions. You make a mental note to buy an umbrella ASAP.

For a Monday night, it’s surprisingly busy, but you manage to grab a prime seat at the bar. You start to wonder where Puck is but are quickly brought back into reality when the bartender asks you what you would like. 

The brunette is not your usual type, preferring blondes, but you’re horny in Ohio, so any cute girl you meet will do. Flashing your signature Lopez cocky smirk, you say, “Can I have you? I mean you look like the best thing in this bar by a long shot.” 

Completely taken aback by your forwardness, she blushes, but when she opens her mouth to respond, your moment together is quickly interrupted. 

Seemingly out of nowhere, your best friend Puck wraps his arm around your shoulder. “Lopez, my bartenders are not on the menu, and if they were, there’s no way my girl, Marley, would fall for that lame-ass line!” 

He tries to tousle your hair, but you successfully shield yourself from his ridiculously large hands with your quick reflexes. “Jesus, Puck, watch the hair!”

Laughing, he pulls you in for a bear hug. “I missed you, lesbro!” 

You gladly accept his hug telling him you have missed him too. Besides for your weekly Xbox Live games, you both have done a pretty crappy job at actually keeping in touch. 

When you pull back from the hug, you notice a still speechless the bartender staring at you both in confusion about what’s happening. Puck opens the side entrance and stands behind the bar. “Marley, will you bring out another box of the Michelobs, please?” 

She walks away, and you stare at him incredulously. “Seriously, Puck? Michelob?” 

He asks tauntingly, “What, are you too good for a Michelob Ultra now?”

“Puck, pretty much everybody above the age of 22, is too good for Michelob. You may be the exception to that, though.” 

He throws the bar rag at you and grabs a glass, knowing you may say no to a Michelob but never to a Jack and Coke. 

He makes himself a Jack and Coke, handing you your drink, and holds up his glass to make a toast. “Here’s to the lesbros fucking up Lima, Ohio together again!”

You bang your glass on the bar and take a long swig, realizing it’s more of a jack with a splash of coke instead of a plain jack and coke. Then, shocked by the taste, you start choking. 

“Geez, Lopez, maybe you aren’t too good for Michelob either.”

Dramatically rolling your eyes, you wipe your mouth and grow a low “shut the fuck up Puckerman.”

He gives the ridiculous giggle that he seems to make just when he’s with you, and you cannot help but join in. Of course, he’s an idiot, but he’s still your lesbro. 

You make small talk as you finish your drinks, agreeing to catch up later this week. He makes you another Jack and Coke, this time with more Coke and less Jack but informs you he has to return to being a bar owner. You say your goodbyes in case you don’t see him again before you leave. 

Sipping your drink, you begin to feel proud at how far you and Puck have come since high school. For much of that time, you both worried neither of you would amount to much of anything, but now, Puck owns a bar , and you basically run Lopez Enterprises. In fact, your success is a big reason why you came back; the dean of the business school at Ohio State invited you to serve as a visiting professor during the spring semester for a couple of their graduate and Ph.D. classes. Because you only teach on Tuesdays and Thursdays, you can maintain your duties as COO. 

When you finally pull yourself out of your thoughts, you look up at the perfect moment. Exiting the ladies' room, you find the most beautiful woman you have ever seen, but you would probably go so far as to say she’s the most beautiful woman in the world. Her golden hair flows with luscious curls, and her bone structure is impeccable. Her pink dress hugs every one of her curves perfectly while still leaving so much to the imagination. 

This is the girl I’m taking home tonight, you think to yourself. 

Waving Marley down, you ask her for a glass of whatever the mystery girl is having. The vodka soda with a splash of cranberry tells you she can’t be older than 22, but you don’t mind. In addition to having a thing for blondes, you also have a hunch for younger girls. You’re no cradle robber, but after your only serious relationship, you love being a bit of a cougar at the ripe age of 28. 

You stroll to the table she’s sitting at by herself, and she looks up at you, which is when you see her enchanting hazel eyes. You always thought that phrase “the eye is the window to the soul” was complete bullshit until you saw those emerald pools highlighted by light brown and gold flecks. You almost get lost in them but are soon interrupted by their owner.

“Can I help you with something?” It is no shock to you, but her voice is the most angelic thing you’ve ever heard. You start to wonder what that raspy yet soft voice sounds like while she’s moaning, but you quickly remind yourself that you must get your shit together if you want to find out. 

Flashing that signature Lopez smile once again, you make yourself comfortable in the seat across from her. “Yeah, I wondered why a beautiful girl like you is sitting here alone.” 

She sips her almost-gone drink, looking at you like she’s thinking about what to say. “Well, I’m not sitting here alone now, am I?” She gives you a smug smirk as she leans back in her seat.  

“Touché, pretty lady, touché” You mimic her smirk and the way she’s sitting. She’s a feisty one, and it’s starting to make you want her more.

“Pretty lady?”

You throw your hands up in defeat. “I didn’t know your name, so I had to improvise.” God, you’re good, Lopez, you think to yourself.

“I’m Quinn; it’s nice to meet you.” She extends her hand across the table for you to shake, and you immediately feel sparks when you take her hand in yours. Then, appreciating her soft skin, you realize you have been shaking her hand for a little too long and haven’t said a word.

You clear your throat. “A beautiful name for a beautiful girl, eh?" When she blushes, you start to think that you’re getting her right where you want her. 

“I wish I could say the same for you, but you have yet to tell me your name.” She bites her lip, and you wonder what else she bites.

“It’s Santana.” 

Gesturing at the drink, she asks if it’s for her, and you nod, passing it to her. She takes a sip before stopping right before it reaches her mouth. “You know, I don’t think you’re supposed to take drinks from strangers.”

“Strangers? I just introduced myself to you.” She has a point, but it’s pretty obvious she’s still trying to play hard to get. 

“The only thing I know about you is your name, so who’s to say you didn’t put something in this?” She points to her drink.

You lick your lips, trying to come up with a quick response. You lean across the table and dramatically look to your left and then to your right, like you don’t want anyone to hear a juicy secret. In a low voice, you say, “It’s not as fun to force a girl into letting me fuck her. I’d rather her beg for it.”   

She nods, seeming to process the information, but it’s pretty obvious she’s trying to hide her shock at your boldness. Meanwhile, you sit back in your seat, crossing your arms, and proudly smirk. However, what happens next is the last thing you thought would happen.

She gets up from her seat, purse in tow, and bends down to whisper something in your ear. “You’re going to have to do better than that, Santana; I like to be wooed.” Then, she leaves you high and dry with a kiss on the cheek. Granted, it’s the best kiss on the cheek you’ve ever received, but it’s not at all what you want. 

You sit at the table for the rest of the night, going over every part of that interaction countless times because this is the first time you’ve ever been turned down. Despite this crush to your ego, it only makes you want her more. You want her to be yours, not just for a one-night pump-and-dump. 

———

The following Saturday

Walking into the McKinley High gymnasium is giving you major flashbacks. It’s the first time you’ve returned to this place since you graduated ten years ago, and it looks like you left it. Of course, everyone is different, but it’s still the same place you got the winning basket at the basketball state championship your senior year. It’s also the same place you and your high school sweetheart Brittany were crowned the school’s first same-sex Prom King and Queen a few months after the game. You can’t believe Puck got you to come back, but you go when your basically-adopted little brother Jake Puckerman is the school’s basketball star during his senior year. 

You haven’t gotten the mysterious blonde out of your head. You wonder who she is, where she is, and what’s her story. No chick has ever had the balls to reject the big, bad Santana Lopez like that, and you’re still left dumbfounded. 

At the first quarter change, you head to the concession stand to grab popcorn and drinks for you and Puck. Cursing at how high the concession stand prices are, you head back to the gym. But as you walk in, you spot the owner of a familiar pair of hazel eyes staring at you as she steps out. It’s only when you notice that she’s wearing her Cheerios uniform that it fully registers what’s happening, and in the shock of it all, you drop everything you just bought. 

Chapter Text

After many painfully long seconds, Quinn is the first to speak up. “Santana! What are you doing here?” 

There’s a glimmer in her eyes, maybe a hint of excitement to find you again, but that’s completely irrelevant here, especially when you remind yourself of your surroundings. You’re back at your high school for the first time since graduating almost a decade ago. The girl standing before you is just that—a girl—wearing her Cheerios uniform. Before you allow fantasies about that short skirt to fill your head, you remember that she’s a girl wearing a high school cheerleading uniform. High school.

Holy shit did I almost have sex with a minor?! You begin to panic internally, but you don’t know that she can see it written all over your face. Typically, you’re so good at keeping it together; you’re basically world-renowned for your poker face. But with one look, that girl can tear down all of your defenses.

Clearing your throat, you can finally unfreeze yourself from the position you’ve been standing in for the last minute. “I’m watching my little brother’s basketball game. What are you doing here?”

“Oh! Who’s your brother? I probably know him. However, I thought the uniform would be a dead giveaway for why I’m here.” Quinn acts like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, motioning up and down her body. 

Your eyes slowly graze up and down her body, innately licking your lips. “I don’t think anybody’s ever looked as good as you do in a polyester blend.” Dammit, Lopez, this girl is probably a fucking minor; get your damn head out of the gutter.

She looks down and blushes before she flashes you a shy smile. “You’re sweet…I’m definitely ready to never wear polyester blend ever again. I might actually burn it after graduation.” She starts laughing to herself, making the cutest sound.  

You barely give a moment to breathe before you bombard her with a quick “Are you graduating this year?” 

“Yeah, I can’t wait to get out of here. I turned 18 in October, so I would be long gone by now if I didn’t have to finish high school.” She laughs again, but this time you can hear that there’s some pain there. 

Even though you want to celebrate the fact that you did not try to hook up with a minor, you’d rather dig further into what she said. It’s weird—you haven’t cared about a girl’s “story” in a long time. However, you can tell that it may take a while for her to divulge any more information, but you’re more than willing to wait for her.

“Don’t worry. I felt the same way when I went here.” 

“You went here too? Wait, of course, you did; your brother goes here. Who is he, by the way?” You find her rambling adorable, which, again, is weird. You’ve thought girls were cute, but you’ve never thought things a girl did were “adorable.”

“Actually—“ You remember it’s not just the two of you in the world when there’s a loud interruption. 

“Quinn, we have a game to cheer at, remember?? Get back in before Sue makes us run suicides during halftime!!” 

Rolling her eyes, Quinn yells at the obviously irritated cheerleader, “Just a second, Brie!” She turns back to you with a disappointed sigh. “I guess that means I gotta go…”

You sadly nod your head, But before you can say goodbye, she gently grabs your arm. “Can I give you my number? I’d ask for yours, but my phone’s in the locker room.” 

Trying not to look too eager, you take your phone out of your pocket and hand it to her. She methodically types her information for you, and the events of the past five minutes are finally catching up to you. Eighteen is younger than you’ve ever gone before. Still, despite her adorably innocent attitude, you can sense there’s a deep maturity that other girls, even a couple of years older than her. 

Quinn excitedly hands you back your phone. She flashes those pearly whites at you before giving you a seductive smirk. “Don’t make me wait too long, Santana.” And just like the other night, she leaves you shaking in your boots with the most perfect kiss on the cheek. 

Before you put your phone back in the pocket of your leather jacket, you look at her contact info and are pleasantly surprised that she didn’t save her name as “Quinn,” instead saving it as “Pretty Lady.” 

You’re sure you look like an idiot cleaning up your spilled drinks on the ground, but you don’t give a fuck. In fact, you’re in such a good mood now that you don’t care about having to spend another $20 on shitty concession food. 

When you return to your seat in the bleachers, Puck acts you’ve been missing for hours. “Jesus Christ, dude, I was starting to think you ditched me for a fine piece of ass…don’t get me wrong, I’d be happy for you, but you could at least include me in a three-way.”

You roll your eyes at his antics and jokingly punch him in the shoulder. “Been there, done that, have the image of you crying when the three of us came at the same time burned into my memory.” 

He looks like a butt-hurt toddler when he’s reminded of that time you, him, and Brittany had a three-way during sophomore year. “Shut the fuck up, don’t break the lesbro code.” 

Back in high school, before you came out as a lesbian, much less as intersex, the only people who knew besides your family were Puck and Brittany. He would have gladly been your beard, but you decided to give him something special in return. During one particularly dull day in glee, the three of you snuck off to the janitor’s closet. In retrospect, it would have been much better in a bed or any soft surface, but in high school, you make do with whatever. Somehow your inexperienced brains decide to form some sort of anal train: you’re fucking him from behind, and he’s fucking Brittany from behind. When you all hit your climax simultaneously, the feeling is overwhelming for everyone, especially Puck, so much so that he cries. The three of you made an unspoken agreement never to speak about that, but when the moment comes every couple of years, you must seize the opportunity to tease him just a little. 

You’re brought out of your walk down memory lane when you hear a roar from the crowd. Jake just scored a three-pointer, putting McKinley in the lead, and in the corner of your eye, you see Quinn jumping around with her teammates, beaming with pride. She’s absolutely magnetic, and you hope she doesn’t catch you staring. 

She might not catch you staring, but your lesbro Puck certainly does. He lightly slaps your shoulder, trying to get your attention. “Yo, earth to Lopez.” 

He slightly startles you and starts laughing like you just told him the funniest joke ever.  “Duuuuuude you got it bad; which one is it?” 

You know he’s just excited for you, and usually, that’s exactly how you two talk to each other, but something doesn’t feel right about his referring to Quinn as “it.” 

Shyly smiling, you point her out. “The blonde with the incredible hazel eyes.” If she looked at you right now, she would see your rose-tinted cheeks, a rare feat with your darker skin. 

However, before you can get his feedback, you hear yet another roar from the crowd, a louder one this time, and you see that it’s half-time. Unfortunately, the other team is only up by one, but you don’t feel the disappointment. Not when you lock eyes with your girl from across the gym. 

Puck starts making a whipping sound effect, and as much as you hate it, he is right. This girl has you completely whipped even though you still have not know much about her. 

— — —

Several hours later

Celebrating a McKinley victory, you and Puck head to his bar, which is pretty dead for a Saturday afternoon. Deciding that you’re not too good for a Michelob, you and Puck drink a couple, waiting for Jake. He works part-time as a bar-back, so he said he’d meet you there after he takes a shower. 

After your second beer, the door opens, and you hear a loud voice. “Ayyyyy sis”

You choke on your drink slightly, startled by the sudden noise, but quickly set it down to hug the kid. “Hey, Little Bro, what’s up?” 

The kid you have known his entire life’s not much of a kid anymore. Since the last time you saw him a couple of years ago when he and Puck visited you in New York, he must have grown an entire foot. He looks exactly like Puck did in high school, and if you didn’t know any better, you would assume that they aren’t just half-brothers. 

As you all catch up, you realize Jake’s appearance isn’t the only similarity he has with his brother; from what you can tell, he’s just as much of a player as Puck was once, probably even more, thanks to the nonexistence of that stupid mohawk. However, his player tendencies seem to be dying out somewhat, as he reveals that he’s trying to impress Marley, the bartender from the other night.

When he starts to ask you about your love life (or lack thereof), Puck buts in, telling Jake that you have the hots for a Cheerio. You try not to blush but fail when you reveal that Cheerio is Quinn. 

In utter shock, Jake looks like you just told him you and Puck are getting married. “No fucking way, dude! Quinn Fabray?!” 

You casually take a sip from the beer and quietly say, “If that’s the blonde with those amazing hazel eyes, then yes.” 

“Hoooooly shit, Quinn Fucking Fabray!”

That makes you start to wonder why he’s reacting this way. It’s not necessarily making you nervous, but it only increases your interest. 

Once he calms down somewhat, Puck asks his brother what you both are dying to know now—what the deal is with Quinn “Fucking” Fabray.”

Almost doing a complete 180º from his response not even a minute ago, he very calmly states, “the fuck if I know.” 

Now you’re getting a bit peeved, so you dryly reply, “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

Jake throws his hands in defeat, reiterating that he doesn’t know. Finally, he says that she’s a cheerio, they’re in glee together, and she’s probably the most popular girl at school. “She seems pretty cool but deadass, I doubt anyone knows more than that.”

You slowly nod, starting to understand somewhat what he’s getting at. But, unfortunately, the more you try to find out about the blonde cheerleader, the less you learn. 

— — —

Later That Night

From the time you get in bed until now, several hours later, you stare at your phone. Your hand is starting to cramp from holding it for so long, but the writer’s block you’re experiencing is more painful than that. Every time you begin to type something, you start to second-guess yourself. You don’t want to bombard her in the first text, but you also want to make your interest in getting to know her clear. It shouldn’t be this hard to text someone, yet it is when that person has as much of a hold on you as Quinn Fabray. 

Ironically, the difficulty of finding the right words to say takes you right back to high school, back to when you were so angry with the world and everyone in it. You had so much you were trying to suppress that if the wrong person said the wrong thing at the wrong time, you would explode. Brittany had a way of reining that in for you; in fact, she had a way of understanding you that no one else could. But as much as that relationship helped you grow into who you are today, she’s not here anymore. Like most things in your life, figuring things out is up to you and you alone.

Looking at the time, you remember you have an early morning tomorrow, so you take your prescribed sleeping medication. It’s not odd for you to work on Sundays, but with your new job, working on Sundays will be your new normal. 

As you finally feel the medication kick in, you say, “fuck it,” and type out a quick message. 

11:28pm: Hey Pretty Lady, glad I ran into you today xx

It’s not your best work, but you decide you have to rip it off like a bandaid. 

Chapter Text

Like most teenagers, the first thing you do when you wake up is to look at your phone, check what time it is, and see what you’ve missed in the past 8-10 hours. Ignoring the various notifications from Snapchat, TikTok, Instagram, and your calendar, you see one unread message from a number you don’t recognize. When you open the message, you know exactly who it’s from, and a smile immediately grows. 

A text message has never made you feel giddy before, and to be perfectly honest, you can’t think of anything that’s ever made you giddy. None of your past boyfriends have made you feel this way; certainly, no girl has. But she’s not *just* a girl. No, Santana is a full-grown woman.

Something about that makes you excited. You’ve always felt older than you are, probably from your difficult home life, so being with someone more mature than your contemporaries seems natural. But you two aren’t even together; you don’t really know if she’s into you like that, and besides two short conversations, you’ve never actually talked to her. 

The ball is now in your court, and you need to make a move. “But what kind of move?” You ask yourself. On the one hand, you want her to know you’re interested, but you also don’t want to be too forward, too eager. 

You start typing. First, you think about trying to play with her a bit, asking who the message is from since you don’t have it saved. However, you remember the panic in her eyes when you ran into her yesterday, knowing she thought you were a minor. You look back at the night you met her. Maybe you could have been more forthcoming about your age, but you were at a bar, trying to drink away those crappy feelings away, at 18-years-old.

So, in an attempt to be more honest, you type a completely different message, and while you choose to think you accidentally pressed the “send” button, you know all about Freudian slips from your AP Psychology class:

8:34am : Hey, I was wondering when I’d hear from you :)

Tossing the phone on your bed, you dramatically pull back your duvet and head to your bathroom to prepare for your full-day Cheerios practice. With regionals coming up and nationals not too long after, you basically eat, sleep, and breathe Cheerios. When your parents are home, you’re glad that your practice schedule keeps you so busy, but when they’re gone, you hate it for the same reason. Conveniently, they went out of town the day school started after winter break and will be gone for an undetermined amount of time. Officially, your dad is on a business trip to Japan with your mom, but you know she’s probably cooped up at a spa in Iceland or Bali or somewhere else that’s far, far, far away. 

(TW: Mentions of alcoholism, drug addiction, and abuse in the next two paragraphs)

It’s rough when they’re at home, and that’s putting it mildly. Your father is a manipulative, controlling, abusive alcoholic, and your mom is just an absent—physically and emotionally—alcoholic. You’ve had a countdown to graduation since you all moved to Lima before your first year of high school, but the only reason you’re staying until then is the promise of a world-class college education. Once you walk across the stage at an Ivy League school, preferably Yale or Columbia, you’ll get an incredible job and never ever have to speak to your horrible parents again. 

For as long as you can remember, you have never had the perfect familial unit that your parents try to portray. During the first twelve years of your life, you were the “ultimate disappointment” until your dermatologist prescribed you Accutane, your plastic surgeon second cousin gave you a nose job as a favor, and your mom convinced her “friend at the pharmacy” to give her diet pills for you. You then became just a regular disappointment and another thing to blame all their problems on.

After brushing your teeth, you check your phone to see if Santana texted you back, but when you see only a new message from your best friend, Rachel Berry, you try not to get disappointed because it still is pretty early in the morning. You would still be asleep if you didn’t have Cheerios practice at 9. Rachel probably would be the only person you know who would be awake this early on a Sunday morning. 

You set your phone down again, leaving Rachel’s message unread. It has something to do with glee club, but whatever it is can wait until later. Opening the top drawer of your dresser, you pull out a pair of running shorts and one of the dozens of Lululemon Swifty Tech long-sleeve shirts you own. If your parents were in town, you know your dad would flip out about how tight the top is, which would be rich coming from him with his extracurricular activities, but he’s not, so you’re free to leave the house without having to explain yourself. 

Opening your closet, you grab your matching Lululemon Define jacket and your Cheerios warm-up sweatpants, putting both items on since it’s January in Ohio. Next, you tie one of your many pairs of white cheerleading shoes and place everything you need for practice in your Cheerios bag. 

Before you leave the house, you snag an apple for breakfast. Usually, when your parents are gone, you seize the opportunity to eat bacon and whatever else you want without the judgmental glares, but you don’t have time to make anything. You open the CarPlay app on your phone, thankful that your parents care so much about their “life of luxury” image that they bought you a brand-new Range Rover for your sixteenth birthday, and turn the car on so that it doesn’t take forever to warm up on this nearly freezing morning. 

At 8:55 sharp, you pull into your reserved parking spot directly in front of the entrance to the gymnasium, glad that an underclassman didn’t “accidentally” park there again. You see almost all of the Cheerios freezing outside the door, waiting for you to let them in since you’re the only one with a key, but you decide to keep them waiting for a little bit longer to see if Santana has replied yet. When you notice that she hasn’t, you innately let out a disappointed groan as you throw your phone in your bag, exiting the warmth of your car for the biting air.  

————————————

For the first time in several hours, you are finally able to take a short water break. Then, when you check your phone, you’re delighted to see that you have finally gotten the long-awaited response from Santana. 

9:18am : I’m glad to know I’ve been on your mind because you’ve definitely been on mine 😉 

Reading this message, you feel your face turning red, so you try to be covert about figuring out what to reply because you know one of your nosy teammates will try to figure out what has their leader weak in the knees. You bite your bottom lip, a clear signifier of your being deep in thought. Whenever a boy tries flirting with you via text, you have no problem quickly coming back with a reply, but yet again, when it comes to Santana, it feels entirely different. 

You send a quick response with only a few minutes left before you’re back to the grind.

12:24pm : Oh yeah? What have you been thinking about?

You had back to practice as soon as you press send, so you don’t see the comparatively speedy reply.

12:27pm : Not much, just when I can take you out on a date 😏

—————

“I know that look; who’s the guy??” Rachel observes suspiciously. 

After Cheerios practice gets out at 5, you head to Rachel’s to work on an assignment for glee and the homework you both have due the next day in your AP classes. The Berrys have always opened their home to you, so you usually eat dinner with them at least once a week. Your parents may look down on the Berry family for their “lifestyle choices” (your mom’s wording, not yours), but her dads have guided you in the right direction more than yours have ever been. 

“…no one.” You turn off your phone's screen so she can’t see what you’re doing, but the blush on your face is a dead giveaway. 

Rachel throws her pillow at you, ready to call you out. “You are the worst liar! Who is it??”

“It’s just someone I met at Puck’s bar the other night.” You don’t know why you’re being so vague because Rachel will dig deep enough to get the full truth. 

“WHAT?! Who?! Tell me everything right now Lucy Quinn Fabray!” 

You roll your eyes, but the dramatics are par for the course of having Rachel Berry as your best friend. So you proceed with the story, telling her everything that happened at the bar and then running into her at the basketball game yesterday. However, you leave out the fact that Santana is a girl—no, a woman—until the end, mainly because you could use the entertainment that’ll come from revealing that bomb. 

“…and her name is Santana Lopez.” 

In true Rachel Berry fashion, she practices her spit take, getting the water she just drank all over you. 

“Thanks for that, Rach.” 

Finally regaining her composure, Rachel mumbles a quick “I’m sorry” before her freak-out continues. “A girl?! I didn’t know you dipped in the lady pond!!!”

“Honesty, I didn’t think I did either, but something about her makes me giddy. A guy has never made me feel like this, and I want to see where this can go.” 

You can’t help the smile that begins to form on your face; it’s the same one you get every time you see a new message from her. Since getting out of Cheerios practice, you two have been texting back and forth, and she’s so easy to talk to. 

Rachel is still buzzing a mile a minute. “Who is she? What’s her story?”

“Her name is Santana Lopez and—“

You’re almost as used to Rachel Berry’s interruptions as much as her over-dramatics. “Santana Lopez, I know that name. I can’t place it, but that name sounds familiar.”

“Well, she’s a little older than we are.” The way Rachel’s eyebrows raise in response is a telltale sign for you to continue. 

“She’s 28.” 

“WHAT?!” Yet again, Rachel Berry finds a way to hit you with a spit-take. 

When Santana told you how old she is, it didn’t sound any alarms; in a way, the ten-year age difference makes you even more interested.

“She’s ten years older than us?! TEN YEARS?!”

“Yes, Rach, I’m glad you can do math.” But, as entertaining as it was, her dramatics are getting a little old, and you want to go back to your private little world where it’s just you and her texting back and forth.  “Speaking of which, have you done the AP Statistics homework yet??”

——————-

Looking at your alarm clock, you know you should say good night, considering you have 6 am Cheerios practice, but you don’t want to end your convo with her. You have been texting Santana nonstop for the past five, almost six hours.

You learn more about her through your conversation like she runs her family’s company and returned to Lima because she’s teaching at Ohio State this semester. She works out often, plays pickup basketball games whenever she can, kills it on the golf course, and is a music fanatic. 

Neither of you has brought up going out on a date, with her juggling two jobs and your hectic Cheerios schedule with school and glee club thrown in there somewhere. You’re not that bothered, but you do start manifesting that Sue will have something vague come up and cancel Cheerios practice, hopefully not on Tuesday or Thursday when Santana teaches.