So, I have a new story, guys! Enjoy! And if you haven't been reading, check out my other story in progress, Leather Jackets and Overalls where we see badass!brittany and nerdy!santana :)

I guess you could say that I have it good. I have a well-paying job, a fiancée, and I'm living the life for someone as young as my age. My fiancée, Puck, was always talking sports and music with his friends Finn, Mike, Sam, and Artie and I would tag along just to spend some extra time with him before the wedding. Which is in exactly sixty days.

I'm not marrying Puck because I love him.

I'm marrying him because my parents love him.

Puck was my first boyfriend in high school, and he really hit off with my parents, always making them laugh and making a good impression. I broke up with him because I wanted to try different people, and dated a few more guys along the way. But, my parents weren't amused. They just wanted me to stick with one person forever, I guess. Every time I would bring home a boyfriend that wasn't Puck, they'd always have to be so terrible to him that he breaks up with me. When I decided to just go back out with Puck, I then figured out that they think Puck is my soul mate. We dated for years until he popped the question. I didn't want to marry him, I honestly didn't. But I said yes because I want my parents to be happy. I want them to be happy that their only child is marrying someone who they actually can see as their own son. And that's what brings us here.

We were currently sitting at a new sport's bar we heard about, waiting on more drinks. Puck chatted with his friends while I swirled the drink around in my cup, honestly bored. The bar had sort of a retro feel to it, and you'd occasionally hear a "TOUCHDOWN!" and "GOAL!" from the many people there.

"Hey, is there anything I could do for you?" I hear which makes me snap my head up.

Before me was probably the most attractive person I've ever seen. Blonde hair, blue eyes…

A girl.

What am I saying? I'm not gay.

She snaps her fingers in front of my face to get my attention.

"Oh, I'm-I'm sorry. Um, no I'm good. Thanks, anyway," I give her a weak smile. She leans in as if to get a better look at me. As she bends I notice her cleavage becoming more apparent. Aw, fuck. Am I really looking at this woman's chest? But, really. Look at her outfit. She has a skin tight blue V-neck, and skin tight jeans. The ensemble was just so tight.

"You look a little down. Are you sure I can't help you with anything?"

My eyes finally find hers and she actually seems sincere. I was prepared to tell my life story right there and then, but Puck tells me we're leaving.

"Let's stay a few minutes, Puck," I plead.

"Not unless you want to walk home," he shrugs.

I turn back to the blonde, hoping she didn't hear that last bit.

"That your boyfriend?" she nods up to Puckerman.

I mumble my reply, "Fiancée." I start to get off my stool when I feel a cold hand on my own.

"You could do a lot better, you know," the blonde says.

I suddenly turn defensive. I was the one who decided to marry him, so her telling me that is quite offensive towards me.

"You don't have a right to say that," I yank my hand away. "You don't know him or me for a matter of fact," I grab my purse leaving the bar. Before actually exiting, I take one look back at the blonde.

Fuck, she was honestly beautiful.

We arrive back to our newly moved-in flat, and I nearly trip over one of the boxes.

"We need to unpack this stuff soon, so that my parents won't scold me when they visit for the wedding," I mumble loud enough for Puck to hear. I sit down on the plastic wrapped couch and massage my temples.

"Eh," I hear Puck in the kitchen popping open a beer-we just came from drinks, for goodness sake. "They should understand that we're just settling in."

"We moved here practically three weeks ago and nothing has come out of these boxes but my clothes, shoes, and bags. I'm not exactly sure where you get your clothing from because none of your boxes are even open!" I say getting up and throwing my hands in the air.

He pops out of the kitchen chugging. "Listen, mother. We'll have it all sort out before your parents come, okay?"

"Promise?"

"'Course, babe," he walks over leaning in for a kiss. I kiss him back, but half-heartedly.

"Now, I'm going to go to sleep. Got to get up early tomorrow and assign duties for the guys at the pool-cleaning business. Good night," he walks to the bedroom without much hesitation and closes the door behind him.

I stand in place just kind of looking around the empty room. It's like being a prisoner. Being somewhere you don't want to be, doing something you don't want to do.

Somehow I found myself grabbing the car keys at twelve A.M., and heading back to that bar. The blonde was still there, serving customers. But, I noticed a husky man-clearly drunk-pulling her by the arm. I may have been a good distance away, but I'm a pro at reading lips. She was saying, "Stop it, please" and "no". I decided to step in right there and then.

"Fucking let go of her!" I pull his arm back.

"Let go of me, son of a bitch," he yanks his arm away. "Besides, the little lady and I were just having a little conversation," he wiggles his eyebrows to the blonde.

I see the look on her face and she clearly doesn't want him

"Listen, punk. I know men like you. So old, they aren't able to score women they're own age 'cause they're all used and broken down. You opt for much younger women because they're small, and sweet, young, wild, and you can show them the way. But that isn't reality. You want that, go to the fucking strip club across the street and leave my friend here alone, jackass," I say with a pat on his back.

He mutters a "fuck you" before getting out of his seat and leaving. I take the now vacant stool and turn to the blonde.

"Thank you," she says sincerely.

I shrug. "That guy was so old it would be considered pedophilic."

She laughs quietly to herself before turning around and pouring two cups of drinks. After, she comes from behind the counter and sits next to me handing me a drink.

"Aren't you on your shift right now?" I ask, curious.

"Eh, my shift ends whenever I want it to," she says taking a sip.

I cock my head to the side raising an eyebrow.

"It's because my dad owns this place. He's never around to watch over it, so I'm left in charge of running it and everything."

"Oh," I nod in understanding. And she was pretty young, too. I would probably say my age.

"So, why'd you come back? And where're the fiancée?" she begins interrogating.

My brain suddenly freezes and I don't know how to answer. Why did I come back?

"U-u-uh. Um," I stutter. I look around the room for inspiration. "I left my…bracelet. Yeah, my bracelet. I thought I would come back and see if it was here." In the process of talking, I discreetly throw the bracelet on my wrist onto the carpeted floor.

She doesn't seem to buy it. "You mean the one that just simultaneously jumped from your wrist to the ground?"

"Shit," I curse aloud. The blonde giggles shaking her head.

"You're cute, you know that?"

Aw, fuck. Not even Puck has said that to me. I feel myself blushing and try not to make eye contact.

"Well, you know. I try," I joke. "I never caught your name, by the way."

"Brittany," and she holds out her hand for me to shake it.

"Santana," I smile.

"I'm guessing you speak Spanish?" I nod. "Say something for me. Anything," Brittany asks.

"Usted está muy caliente," rolls off my tongue before I can stop myself.

Brittany bites her bottom lip before replying, "Eres demasiado."

Shit. Fuck. Shit. She actually understands Spanish. Dammit.

"Um…" I distract.

"You know, you really shouldn't be saying those things when you're going to get married. It just isn't right," she shakes her head smiling.

Fuck me.

Her smile. It's like the whole world lights up whenever she does.

I don't notice that I'm playing around with the drink in my hand until all of its contents fall on my shirt and lap.

"Damn it," I mumble fanning my shirt out.

"Santana," Ugh, the way my name rolls off her tongue. "You're all wet."

I blink a few times to process what she just said. "I'm sorry, what?"

"You're wet? Want me to get some paper towels?" she asks in all seriousness.

"Yeah, of course," I reply after a moment. "Actually, I think I'ma just head home, it's getting late," I decide instead.

A flash of disappointment was on her face, and I suddenly felt bad.

"I'll, um, come back tomorrow. You guys sell coffee, too, right?" I ask thinking I may come for a coffee rush in the morning on the way to work.

Her expression returns to a blissful one. "Yeah, we serve coffee."

"I'll see you tomorrow, then," I give her a true smile and head back on the way home.

When I get back, I go straight to Puck and I's bedroom , and change out of my clothes into a tank top and just underwear. I climb into bed on my side, and turn to Puck who's dozing soundly next to me.

"Sixty days until our wedding," I whisper to no one.

I grabbed her hair in fistfuls as she sucked down on each of my nipples, moaning in pleasure. While her mouth was working my boobs, her hand was working my clit. I could feel my hips buck at every movement and honestly felt like I was in heaven.

It was all so much at once, but it just felt so good.

"Oh, Santana. You're all wet," she whispers in my left ear kissing me down the neck.

"Fuck," I couldn't imagine that this was actually happening.

"Who are you wet for? Say it,"

"Shit," I could barely let out. "I'm wet for you, Brittany."

"Good girl," she moves down until her face is right in front of my heat.

"You want this?" she asks teasingly.

"Please," I practically beg.

"San. Santana! Santana, get up!" I hear Puck's voice and feel myself being shaken awake. I gain consciousness and get up, looking around the room. Puck stays in front of me with a confused expression and I wonder if there's something on my face.

"What?" I ask, voice scratchy from waking up.

"It's already eight. And you were just having a sex dream," he says matter-of-factly.

I feel like a little kid that's been caught doing something bad and straightaway deny it. "What? No, I wasn't," I don't say convincingly enough.

"I think I know my own future wife well enough to know when she's having a sex dream. So, tell me. Was I good?"

I nearly laugh out loud but catch myself. "You were fucktastic, babe," I say just to make him leave me alone.

"Good, off to work," he says leaving a kiss on my forehead before leaving. I rest my head back on my pillow when I hear the front door shut and groan. Did I just have a dream about Brittany? A sex dream? I'm not...attracted to her, am I? No. Girls aren't supposed to be with girls. That's what my parents taught me and what I've known ever since. But, I see her as a nice...friend.

I remember that I promised Brittany I would come in the morning for coffee, and do my usual morning routine before heading out the door.

The supposed sport's bar-called Pierce, I just realize-looked vastly different in daytime than at night. The colors on the walls were more vivid and bright, and the place looks more like a coffee shop. I get on the stool I was in the night before and for Brittany.

On time, she pops out of the back room holding two mugs, and gives them to the elderly couple a few stools down from me.

"Here you go, Mr. and Mrs. Wisenhunt . Happy 40th anniversary!" she congratulates them.

I wonder if me and Puck will last that long.

"Thank you, Brittany. Your father must be proud of you," the woman tells her.

"He surely must be, you running this shop and all," the husband agrees.

"Aw, thanks guys. I'll tell him you stopped by here. Have fun today, and don't do anything too crazy, kids," Brittany winks at them before noticing me.

"Santana!" she grins. "Black or cream?"

"Cream, please." I usually get black, but I don't want her to think I'm some bitter old person.

Brittany gets to it, and I watch her swiftly getting the coffee together without any faults. She's clearly been doing this for a while now. She hands the coffee to me and pops both of her elbows on the counter, fists holding up her chin.

"So, how are you this lovely morning?"

I take a small sip of the coffee, trying it out. "Well, I'm wonderful after trying this coffee," I keep drinking.

"I see you were able to find dry clothes," she jokes looking at my attire. I was wearing a pencil skirt that was above my knee with a barely there blouse. I didn't dress that way for her or anything; it's just how I go to work.

"Oh, yeah. I'm on the way to work," I explain.

"What do you do?"

"I'm the President for a fashion company."

"I'm honestly impressed."

I shrug like it's no big deal. "It is, what it is." I look at the time on my phone and realize that I'll be late if I don't get going right now.

"Hey," I reach into my purse and pull out any money I can find. "Here you go, for the coffee."

Brittany just shakes her head. "Nah, I don't want your money. But your phone number is a good enough payment for me," she beams. Was this some sort of pick-up line in the gay community?

I write down my number on a piece of napkin and tell her of how I need to leave.

"Alright, bye, Santana. See you soon," she hopes.

"Bye, Brittany," and that ended our goodbyes.

I was in the middle of meeting when my phone beeped.

"Well, honestly, for the summer line, we need to think more of bright, vivid, brilliant colors. Not greys and browns!" I argue with the rest of the board.

"But, Ms. Lopez, most people don't like to wear that ostentatious stuff. It's way too flashy," Ariel, a head of department argues back.

I groan in aggravation. The board all talked amongst themselves debating what to do for the summer line and I feel my phone vibrate. I pull it out and see a text message from an unfamiliar number.

that office outfit you were wearing this morning makes ME all wet ;)-Britt

Fuck.