Rachel might have still been able to forgive herself by the next morning. She might have been able to blame it on the alcohol she'd consumed and the shock of seeing a boy she'd been interested in in high school again. She might have been able to forgive herself.

She might have.

Except for one thing.

In the morning before Sam had seen her off back to her hotel, she'd given in to his wide and breathtaking smile, allowing him to press her back against the shower wall, accepting his mouth on hers as he'd pushed back into her. Letting him bring her back to orgasm as he moved inside of her, his hands gripping hers, his body had been just as hot as the water falling onto them.

She could have blamed him…

But she didn't. And she really couldn't.

Because she'd wanted to fuck him again. Even though she had known it was wrong, Rachel had wanted Sam to fuck her again.

So, she'd let him.

She'd let herself cheat again.

She'd let herself cheat again even with the knowledge that her phone was waiting for her to turn it back on so it could spill message after message from her girlfriend.

She'd let herself cheat again even though she knew it was the wrong thing to do, the screams of her better judgment and morality battering against her sober mind.

And perhaps even worse, she'd let herself cheat again because she knew she would find some way to justify it by the time she next said hello to Santana.

And acutely aware of how pathetic that still is for something not even from an hour earlier, Rachel only gives herself the barest of credit when she turns her head, not allowing Sam to kiss her on the mouth when he drops her off at her own hotel afterwards. Doing her best to ignore his darkened eyes and downturned lips, his hands that had been so recently cupped around her body now tensing on the steering wheel, she still can't leave him without murmuring that she's left her number in his phone.

What's worse is that she can tell him that, but she can't tell him that she feels sick because she has left her phone number in his.

Instead, she shuts the truck door, hides her face under her bangs, and walks as stately as she can with a well satisfied, guilty feeling between her legs to her hotel room.

It's early enough that she hopes no one will be awake or waken when she gets inside.

It's early enough that… She's not in luck.

Listening to the rev of Sam's engine as he peels away, Rachel looks into Lauren's calm, non-judging gaze. "You were out late," the other woman states calmly, taking a sip of her coffee as she ruffles the newspaper she's reading.

Rachel, frozen, tries to paste a nonchalant expression on her face. "Sam says hello," she wishes, knowing it's useless trying to lie about where she was. Still, tears prick at the back of her eyes. Somehow, it's almost worse that Lauren's the one who's caught her.

Taking another deep sip of her coffee, holding it in her mouth before nodding, Lauren looks up at her again, "He's doing well?"

"He is."

"That's good." Inhaling deeply, Lauren turns the page of her newspaper. Her eyes study it. "Have a good time?"

Opening her mouth to shoot out the first thing that comes to her, a sob comes out instead. Shoving her fist into her mouth, Rachel feels, for the first time, the weight of her redonned clothing heavy on her frame. Her phone a burning beacon in her pocket, she almost slams back into the hotel door before Lauren's up and closing her hands around her shoulders, dipping down to make sure she's looking at her.

"Rachel," the other woman murmurs, only pausing to certify that the sound Tina makes is only because she's asleep and nothing else, "I'm not going to judge. Okay?" One corner of her lips turns up, her eyes glowing behind her glasses, "I'm in no position to do that."

Rachel laugh-chokes, but she nods, her own hands curling into the sleeves of Lauren's sweater. "Please," she whispers coarsely, "Not… Not here?"

And, ten minutes later, sitting down at the café Lauren had found her coffee from earlier, Rachel's already crying as she does her best to stir her chai tea. "I don't," she shivers, knowing she needs to turn her phone on again, it still burning a hole in her pocket, "I… Lauren." She flashes her attention up to her friend. Doing her best to ignore the pounding in her head, the sign she'd drunken enough to get a hangover, she can't allow herself to blame that for her actions.

She can't.

"Why did I…?"

Lauren takes a calm sip of her coffee. She's almost the complete opposite of Sam that for the first time that morning Rachel doesn't feel a guilty burning in her throat. Almost reassuring, she doesn't like how that makes her feel, so instead, she tightens her grip around the metal of her spoon.

Still, her bottom shifts on the chair as she can still feel Sam inside her.

Lauren looks straight at her. "You know I can't answer that."

Rachel's gaze drops.

"And I can't tell you that you didn't majorly fuck-up."

Letting out a harsh puff of air, Rachel nods. "I know." Oh god, she breathes shallowly, thinking back to the last night and almost crying again as she remembers just how much she'd let herself go, erasing Santana's memory from her mind, does she know.

"I can, however," Lauren meets her eyes again, "Tell you that you're not alone."

Raising her head, Rachel stares at her. What?

Lauren nods. "You're not alone. I've cheated on Puckerman.

"However." She holds up one of her fingers, raising it in the air, "I told him. He knows. Saying that…" She gazes steadily at Rachel, not letting her look away, "Are you going to tell Santana?"

Are you going to tell Santana?

Opening her mouth, Rachel realizes she doesn't know what she's going to say. She's on birth control to regulate her periods, so there's barely a chance she'll get pregnant, and it's not like she can't blame her phone dying for her absence from replying to Santana.

Distaste builds in her throat. "Don't I have to tell her?" she pushes forth. How can she not tell her? Isn't that… Isn't that even worse cheating?

Lauren shrugs. She looks down at her coffee as she raises it to her lips. "It's up to you," she answers, and when she meets Rachel's eyes again, Rachel knows she means it.

It's up to you.

Up to her?

Rachel's hands drifts down to feel her phone in her pocket.

Closing her eyes, she pulls it out.

Turns it on.

And as Santana's name pops up, on a text that says, I love you. Sleep well, baby, she still doesn't know what she's going to do.