I know it's short, believe me, I do. And after all the wait, you probably expected a much longer chapter. I totally get it and I'm terribly sorry, but I promise that the next one will be much, much longer. This one is mainly Santana centric because you can never have enough of her, bitchy, and witty, and everything. Enjoy.

WICKED GAME

CHAPTER TWO

Oh, you'd better watch yourself. I think that girl is insane.

It's been a week. One whole, incredibly long week, and she's growing sick of the silence and the awkward tension that hangs in the air every time they cross each others paths.

It shouldn't be this hard, this complicated. They should be together, they should be happy.

There shouldn't be some weird ambiance in the room whenever they were in close proximity of each other.

Santana's made it pretty clear.

'Get your shit together, or get out of my apartment.'

So, she has to. She's gotta get back to normal, try to move past everything and ignore the feelings she has to jump his bones whenever she sees him.

It's incredibly hard to do, though, because that blonde woman keeps coming back to the bar and flirting with him every chance she gets. She throws her hair back and pouts her lips, an act that Rachel has had to excel in.

She kind of misses it, the feeling that you're in control. The rush she got whenever she was with him, every time she got close to him and she could do whatever she wanted. And she could, because he'd happily give in. But now, now that everything's so crazy, and confusing, and awkward, she has to hold herself back.

She can't kiss him, she can't touch him. She can't breath him in.

Rachel hates it, she hates the distance. She misses him, she misses the times that they were once so close that they were practically suffocating each other but it wasn't a problem. Now, everything has changed and she's not sure that things will ever go back to the way they were.

Sam comes to visit her a few days after she's started to mould her ass to the couch. Well, he comes by to pick up Santana really but he hangs back for a second and grabs her arms, pulling her to stand up straight. She only glares at him, before plopping back down on the sofa, tucking her legs underneath her as she picks up another tub of ice cream.

"You're gonna get a fat ass." Santana points out, ramming her make-up bag and phone into her small purse.

The smaller brunette shrugs, stuffing a spoon full of mint chocolate chip into her mouth. "Don't care."

"Are you at least coming to my party, tonight?" She asks, leaning down in front of the girl and resting her hands on her knees.

"Maybe."

Santana smacks her gently on the cheek with a grin, "It's my birthday, so you better come." She smirks after a second, "Wear something hot, Finn's going to be there." She tells her before she leaves, tapping her knee gently twice.

The door slams behind her as she leaves.

"Great." She mumbles to herself as she picks the spoon back up and licks off the ice cream.

"Hi, you must be Santana." The blonde shrieks.

Santana winces as she sticks her hand out, clearly offering it to shake. She reluctantly takes it, a fake smile appearing on her lips, "And you are?"

"Oh, I'm Quinn." She informs her, "Finn's girlfriend." She smiles, not noticing the look of dread written across Santana's face. "Happy birthday!"

She thanks the girl quickly before walking away and off to her table. "Fuck, fuck, fuck." She rummages through her handbag, searching for her phone. Picking it up, she hurriedly dials a number, groaning when it goes straight to voice-mail. "Shit!"

"What's the matter, babe?" Sam asks her, wrapping an arm around her shoulder as she throws herself down beside him in the booth. He places a kiss on the side of her neck and she rests a hand on his shoulder.

"I invited Rachel."

He frowns, confused as to what she means, "That's good though, right?"

"No, because your boy over there invited his new Malibu Barbie girlfriend." She points over to where Finn stands, an arm wrapped around the girl's waist. She leans against him, smiling as he says something that appears funny.

"Oh- Oh!" He suddenly realizes, his lips curving nervously. "Oh, crap, that can't be good."

"You think?" She asks him sarcastically, rubbing her hands over her face and groaning. "This is fucking bad, this is just a set-up for disaster!"

Sam bites his bottom lip as he thinks of something, he has to help her crisis. It's his job now, as the boyfriend. And as a friend, he can't let Rachel go through this. "Maybe..."

The girl beside him peeks an eye open, a curious look on her face, "Yeah?"

He shakes his head, resting a hand down on her arm and rubbing small circular patterns with his thumb, "Nah, never mind." He watches the way she grabs her hair, her throat rough as she groans, thinking something up. "Why don't you just tell her to leave? It is your party. Shouldn't you have some control over who comes?" He points out and she slowly sits herself up next to him.

She swiftly turns her body around, resting her legs across his lap and he pulls her closer to which she wraps an arm around his neck. "I can't do that, she's already here." She pulls a face as she quickly eyes the blonde, "Besides, that's rude, and I'm... I'm not like that any more."

He chuckles quietly, "Yeah, sure."

It's sarcastic and she swats a hand across his chest with a huff, "Just shut up and help me!"

She brainstorms for a short instant before she taps a hand against the shiny red table with a thump.

"We gotta move the party." She exclaims and Sam groans beside her, throwing his head back. "Seriously? Babe, I just got comfy!"

"God, you're such a child!" She informs him with a huff, crossing her arms over her chest as she stands up. She watches the way his face crumples like an infant being told off by his mother for stealing the ice cream, and she devilishly grins, "If your junk wasn't so good, I'd probably dump your ass."

He smirks and pats her behind as she turns to walk away, heading off towards Finn and his new lady friend.

Santana eyes the blonde carefully as she approaches the bar. She's weighing the competition, judging the girl before she gets the chance to know her. Santana doesn't get to know people; it's first instinct that matters to her. If she likes the first thing that comes out of your mouth, apart from your name, she'll like you. But if you piss her off within the first few seconds, or if she doesn't like the look of the person presented in front of her, that's it. Done. On the bad list.

Do what she wants, or die trying.

Adapt, or give up and leave her the fuck alone.

And this girl, this blonde floozy who's flaunting herself around like some sort of Barbie doll with daddy's bank card and twirling her cheap pink coloured acrylics around the room like a brat, should just give up now because Santana isn't buying any of it.

Her hair's short, her fridge swept to the side and held by a shiny pink clip just above her right ear. Her dress is short, much too short and tight for her shape and form, and the trashy white colour doesn't help the pale complexion of her skin. Her heels are OK, Santana admits, but she herself would never wear them because then that would mean having to commit reputation suicide and taking those things to her grave with detestation. They're only suitable for little white rich girls who like to party and lose them in some random hobo's apartment the next morning.

The brunette slaps a hand against the counter and rests her arm on Finn's shoulder. She watches the way the blonde frowns at her briefly before faking a cherry smile, and Santana smirks, "Finny... can I talk to you for a quick sec?" She asks, holding up a finger as she squints her eyes.

He creases his forehead in confusion but reluctantly agrees, excusing himself from Quinn as he walks away behind his friend.

She spins around abruptly, directly pressing a hand to his chest with strength, "What are you doing?"

"You're the one who just pulled me away from-"

She shakes her head and folds her arms over her chest again, "Oh, believe me, I know what I did. I just saved you from the most boring conversation of your whole entire life."

Finn shrugs her off, "No, Quinn, she's not-"

He's kind of pissed with the way she keeps cutting him off.

"Yes, yes, she is. She's boring, and irritating. And I'm pretty sure that if you spend any more time with her, you'll have agreed to a prenup by the end of the week that her daddy made you sign." She grins triumphantly up at him when he sighs, "Look, I just wanted to tell you that Rachel's coming tonight, and that Flat-Chested Polly better not be here when she arrives."

"Rachel's fine. We're- We're OK. I think." He's not sure of himself, because, if he's being honest, he has not idea whatsoever as to where they stand anymore. He knows that they haven't spoken in a while and, by anyone's terms, that may seem a little rude, but he just finds the whole situation between them extremely awkward and the tension in the air everytime they're both in the same room within close proximity really doesn't help.

He doesn't want to hurt her, but he has to move on eventually.

And she does, too.

Right?

"It's my birthday! I decide who's invited. And, last I remember, your new slut friend was not on the list."

"Santana!"

She stares up at him, a confused look on her face at his exclamation. "I'm not going to apologize for being a bitch. That's why people love me." She declares, clearly proud of herself, "Either she leaves, or we're moving this party some place else and neither of you are coming." She warns him, holding her hand up with a serious look on her face.

"I own this bar. I'm not leaving, and neither is Quinn."

Santana rolls her eyes and brushes him off, "Whatever, you just got knocked down on my good list. It's your mistake, just try not to make any more." She struts away from him, heading back over to Sam as she pulls her cell phone up, dialling a number all to quickly with a groan.

"Hey, Rach. Meet us at Blaine's house. We're moving the party, it just got fucked up." She trails off, glancing over her should back to Finn and the blonde. She gulps before finishing her sentence with a shake of the head as she listens to Rachel ask why, "But don't worry, Santana always has a plan B."

Rachel's her best friend, so she doesn't just mean the party when she says the words.

If Finn wants to play this game, she's bringing out the big guns.