A/N: Last November, after I was nursing my sorrows after a grueling World Series defeat (spoiler alert!) as a bitter Dodgers fan, I healed my broken heart with a ton of baseball movies, one of them being Fever Pitch. Around that time, I jumped right back into Glee after a years-long hiatus and rekindled my love for Brittana so all I could imagine was a Brittana version of it. So, since then, I've just had this idea wiggling in the back of my brain and I finally decided to write it and this is what came out of it. This will be pretty loosely based on the film and is basically just an excuse for me to wax poetic about baseball and the 2017 Dodgers and these two idiots that I can never stop sobbing over. If you're a Giants fan, this won't be pretty in future chapters.

This is my first fic in almost a decade, and this chapter probably jumps all over the place, so, well, be easy on me!

It breaks your heart. It is designed to break your heart. The game begins in spring, when everything else begins again, and it blossoms in the summer, filling the afternoons and evenings, and then as soon as the chill rains come, it stops and leaves you to face the fall alone. - A. Bartlett Giamatti

Love is the most important thing in the world, but baseball is pretty good, too. - Yogi Berra

January

"You're going on a date tonight."

You look up from your laptop with an arched eyebrow, not stopping your fingers from tapping away at the keys. Your best friend, Quinn, waltzes into your office, her blunt blonde bob slightly swaying from how brisk she walks through your sleek office doors.

"Well, hello to you too, Quinn. No, I'm not in the middle of something, please do come in," you drawl sarcastically, picking up one hand from your laptop to sweep the air in front of you, gesturing for her to take a seat in front of your desk.

She rolls her eyes at you, dumping her large tote briefcase into one of the plush armchairs in front of your desk before plopping down unceremoniously into the other. She crosses her legs primly and folds her hands on top of her knees, tapping her pointer finger on top of her knee incessantly as she waits. You ignore her as you refocus on the screen in front of you, finishing out your email and typing deliberately slower than usual, largely to avoid the conversation that Quinn is insistent on having nearly every time you see her.

Really, you know she means well—being best friends since high school, through college (and surviving that never-to-be-talked-about experimental phase that Quinn subjected you to albeit not too unwillingly—twice), and into the prime years of your budding advertising careers means that Quinn's seen, been through, and put up with a lot of shit over the years.

The most recent shitstorm that Quinn's annoyingly insistent on "supporting" you through (and by supporting, you mean setting you up with every twenty-something available woman in Los Angeles) is the fact that she thinks (mistakenly) you're a borderline workaholic and incapable of having an actual relationship.

You've been working for a bustling advertising agency in the heart of downtown Los Angeles since you graduated from UCLA with your Marketing degree. Quinn followed suit but with her Public Relations degree, virtually ensuring that you two would take over the SoCal advertising world by storm. And that you have, representing the hottest new entertainment acts and launching award-winning national ad campaigns. You enjoy what you do and you're damn good at it and so what if your dates never last more than one night and the closest thing you've ever had to a relationship in the past few years is you actually remembering the girl's name by the end of the night.

You press the Send key with finality, sighing tiredly as you look up at Quinn. "For the umpteenth time, Q, it's a hard pass on whatever up-and-coming Internet pop star you've set me up with tonight."

Quinn holds up a perfectly manicured finger. "First of all, I only set you up with that one pop star. Second of all, don't start with me, S, alright? It's not my fault that you're obsessed with sabotaging every single date you go on. What was your excuse with the last girl again?" She raises an eyebrow at you, challenging you.

You roll your eyes, bringing your fingers up to your temples soothingly to will away the building migraine. "I told you, she was… boring," you finish flatly.

Quinn barks a sharp laugh, sounding like she's laughing at you. "Boring? Santana, that's exactly what I mean. She was a two-time Olympic gold medalist."

"Yeah, and there's only so many times I can hear about her insane training routine before I actually went insane."

"But you still slept with her." Quinn gives you a knowing smirk.

You scoff, because, yes, sure, you did end up throwing back three glasses of whiskey to get through the date before tugging her into a bathroom stall,but that's besides any high-and-mighty point that Quinn wants to make. "Have I mentioned that you're a bitch? I'm not going. I don't need to go."

Quinn slams her fist on your desk. "Bullshit, S! Yes, you need to go. You need to get over this shit. Seriously."

"Oh, Lord, here we go—"

"You need to get over whatever it is that makes you find any little thing wrong with a girl to wreck any chance of having actual emotions and feelings and, yknow, happiness."

You grit your teeth. Quinn's really starting to piss you off. Who gave her the damn right to barge in here and give you this psychoanalysis bullshit? You're about to rip her open a new one and tell her as such when her glare softens and she gives you that look. The one you hate because it's goddamn Quinn Fabray, your best friend, giving you the I-care-about-you-even-though-you're-a-shithead look.

"Listen, S, I'm just concerned, you know?" She smooths her hand over your desk. "I feel like we haven't gotten much time to hang out since I met Sam and things are getting serious with him and I'm happy."

The corners of her lips turn up and you can't really get mad at her for it. You've noticed how she lights up when that blonde-haired, big-lipped goof walks in, even though you find him and his constant impressions slightly obnoxious. She's the happiest she's been in ages and, as her best friend, you're happy for her, but yeah, it's been a little lonely. You don't really care enough about anyone else you work with to have other friends and you work too much anyway to sustain a friendship, let alone a relationship. Quinn's always been there and understood, but lately, she's been with Sam and you've been here, working.

"And I just want you to be happy, too, and find what I have with him." She waits a beat, holding your eye contact, and you get it, you really do, so you let out a stiff nod.

But then again, she really needs to stop giving you these emotional pep talks. "Alright, damn, Fabray, don't break out the waterworks."

She rolls her eyes and flings one of the pens on your desk to you that you narrowly avoid. "Why do you have to ruin every serious moment with your smartass mouth?"

You give her a smirk and shrug. "It's what I do. But seriously, I can't go tonight. I have to work."

She gives you an incredulous look. "You're working another weekend? You're working like a goddamn maniac and that's saying something considering all the overtime we all put in for the holiday campaign. Seriously, when was the last time you took a weekend off?"

You bristle a little bit as you pause. Now that she mentions it, you have worked the past few weekends since…

"Okay, so maybe since last October?" You shrug nonchalantly, trying to play it off. "It's not a big deal."

"Since last year?!" Quinn shrieks.

You flinch, scowling at her. "Jesus, Q, take my ear off, would you. And the new year barely just started so don't be a dramatic bitch."

She shakes her head, her mouth set in a determined frown. She points at you. "Leave your laptop at the office for the weekend and do not take it home. The Super Bowl campaign doesn't launch for another few weeks. You're going on a date tonight and it's final."

You throw your head back in exasperation, rolling your eyes as you mouth "Oh my god" to the ceiling.

"Don't give me that, you better give this one a chance."

You snap your head back to Quinn and snark, "Sorry, did you not just give me an hour-long lecture about how I'm incapable of having actual emotions?"

She waves her hand in the air dismissively. "That's why I think you need to give this girl a chance. She's," Quinn pauses, "different."

You arch your eyebrow at her. "Different, how?"

"Well, okay, I might admit that the girls I've set you up with so far have been a little… much—"

"Fucking understatement," you mutter.

"—But that's why I think this one's different! She works with Mike and Sam bumped into her at the studio and he's the one that actually set the date up." Quinn finishes and sits back, obviously pleased with herself.

You stare at her blankly. "That doesn't make me feel any better about the date if Trouty Mouth was the one that set it up. Does he even have a functioning gaydar? Hell, he thought GameBoi night at the club was going to be a video game competition, despite it being wall-to-wall Asian gays."

Quinn picks up her head from looking at her nails, giving you a bored expression. "Oh, are you done now?"

"You know what, fuck you, Fabray, I don't need this sh—"

"I've met her."

You drop silent. Shit, Quinn must be serious if she's screening the girl past her for the first time. She usually never gives the girls the time of day past the initial Oh, I know someone and you guys would go great together stage. "And…?"

Quinn smirks, knowing she's got you intrigued. Damn her. "Well, you'll just have to show up and find out now, won't you."

You scoff. "Please tell me this isn't a blind date." Her smirk grows larger. "Q, dammit, I said no blind dates! What are we, sixteen?"

She holds her hands up in defense. "Hey, don't look at me. It was her terms."

You let out a groan of frustration. "You're seriously not going to tell me anything about this girl? What if she's a crazy stalker?"

She barks out another laugh. "Oh, trust me, she's not. That's why I said, and I'll repeat myself a third damn time, you're going on a date tonight."

You sit back in your chair, curiosity piqued. If Quinn's this insistent on this girl, then maybe you might take her up on the date. She can sense you're caving in because her smirk bursts into a smug grin. She stands up abruptly, grabbing her tote and slinging it over her shoulder as she turns to walk out.

She lists off an address to a bar you've never been to before. "7pm. Her name's Brittany. Wear red so she knows it's you," Quinn calls out to you from over her shoulder, already breezing through your office doors and waggling her fingers in farewell.

Brittany. You try it out on your tongue.

Then, panic sets in as you realize you have nothing to fucking wear.

/

After six wardrobe changes, two full dresser drawers overturned all over your bedroom, and ten outfit pictures to Quinn before you get a text back that just says, "Calm the fuck down and yes to the second one," you're at the bar waiting with ten minutes to spare.

You're nervous.

And you'll never say it out loud, but Quinn kind of has a fucking point, despite how insufferable her holier-than-thou, I-know-what's-best-for-you shtick is.

You don't know why you've never been able to have anything more than a string of failed dates and nameless one night stands. You know it's not for lack of trying, because, shit, you're not a damn cynic or bitter or anything. You know it'd be nice to be pouring out two wine glasses instead of one when you get home from work. It'd be nice to have a date on your arm at your campaign launch parties. You do feel a twinge of envy whenever you're around Quinn and Sam and their happiness just radiates off them in waves, no matter how much shit you give Quinn.

And yeah, you might be a raging bitch, but you know that there's nothing really wrong with you, despite maybe working a little too hard. And really, you can't blame Quinn for her lack of success in matchmaking. The women she's set you up with are great on paper—successful, beautiful, established. It's almost ridiculous how picture-perfect they all sound whenever Quinn strolls into your office with the latest tales of how her family's Beverly Hills mixer got her talking with the most interesting woman and how they're a leader in this field or accomplished in that field and wouldn't it be nice if you two went on a date and so on and so forth.

But an hour into each date, you just don't… feel it. The spark. There's always something holding you back too from seeing if that spark ends up coming alive in a second date. A reason you can't get over, an annoying quirk that's just a deal breaker, an attitude you just have a problem with, no matter how prestigious the woman might be. You can't help it that you just haven't clicked with anyone.

But the way Quinn said that this girl is different is making your stomach twist in hope and nerves. Maybe this one is the—

And that's the most you'll allow yourself to fantasize, because, shit, Quinn's sentimental guilt trip earlier musthave rubbed off on you. You knock back a swig of your whiskey and coke and shake your head clear of your thoughts. You're here for a date and even if the spark isn't there, well, you can at least get a quick orgasm at the end of it. It's crass, but hey, it could be worse.

You smooth out your red dress over your hips, shifting your weight from one heel to another. You glance around the bar, looking for someone who might be your mystery date, when you hear her.

And she happens to be right over your shoulder.

"You're gonna need socks."

You jump, whirling around in surprise, and suck in a sharp breath.

So, Quinn could've been fucking nice enough to give you a heads up because shit, she's fucking gorgeous. The other women were beautiful, but she's… she's breathtaking.

Her blonde hair falls into loose waves over one of her shoulders, her blue eyes, accentuated with smokey eyeshadow and long thick lashes, are piercing right through you, and one corner of her lips, luscious and painted in the most kissable shade of red lipstick, is lifted up in an amused smile. Her skintight blue dress highlights her slim frame and curved hips. You trail your eyes even further down toned legs that go on for days, stopping on black Converse, which makes your eyes widen a little in surprise at the odd shoe pairing. You snap your eyes back to her clear ocean eyes as your cheeks heat up. Leering, really, Lopez? Smooth.

You blank for another second, speechless, and she giggles, the sound of it making you want to coax it out of her for the rest of the night. You finally recall what she said but your eyebrows just knit together as you stammer out, "S-sorry?"

Her eyes twinkle as she steps closer to you, trapping you against the bar. Goosebumps erupt along your arms as she nears and the feeling of attraction settles low in your gut. She nods downwards, a half-smile teasing her lips, and keeps those hypnotizing blue eyes on yours for a few seconds before dragging her gaze slowly down the course of your body. "You don't have any socks on."

You blink as you follow her gaze and it lands on your heeled feet. You look back up at her.

"Are you Brittany?" you blurt out, praying internally that this blue-eyed bombshell is in fact your mystery date because dear god, it's only been less than a minute and your skin is on fire and you haven't reacted to this quickly to a woman since, well, ever, and it's kind of embarrassing if you dwell on it a little too much.

Her smile spreads into a full grin, her head cocked as she stares at you amusedly. "You haven't been here before, huh?"

She still hasn't stepped back and her proximity is kind of making you a little dizzy so you press your back further against the bar just to get a little bit more air. "No, but," you look around, seeing if you're missing anything because she's giving you a look like you are, "why would I need socks?"

She giggles and just points up to the ceiling. "For that."

You glance up and then, you hear it. Crashes and clatters rumbling from the second level. It sounds like—

"Bowling? There's a bowling alley in this bar?" Your nose scrunches up in confusion.

"And then some. You'll see. Now, come on, gorgeous." She reaches out and your heart stops but then she's reaching past you and picking up your drink. She gives you a wink before chugging back the rest of your whiskey and slamming the glass back down on the bar. She eyes you as she wipes a drop of alcohol off her bottom lip with a brush of her thumb and your heart jumps into your throat at the sight. "We've got an alley with our names on it."

/

You're actually having fun. On a date.

You might have to send Quinn a gift basket.

"So, how did you even find this place?"

Brittany grins, her eyes sparkling as she leans in closer to you. She whispers lowly, "Isn't it cool?"

Warmth spreads through you as she nears again, but you don't move away. You're a couple drinks in, loosening your nerves. "Definitely," you whisper back in the same low tone. "Although the fact that you had a spare pair of socks in your clutch makes me think that you must bring your dates here all the time." You arch an eyebrow at her.

She laughs loudly, throwing her head back, the sound and sight pleasing. She eases back into her seat. "No, you're actually the first. But I figured you weren't expecting to go bowling tonight, so I came prepared."

"Good answer." You tease, and she lifts a shoulder in reply, fluttering her eyelashes playfully. You glance up at the screen. "You're up, by the way."

Brittany stands up, raising her eyebrows at you challengingly, a smirk playing on her lips, before turning around and picking up her bowling ball. She stands straight as the pins shuffle themselves into place. She takes a long graceful stride, then another, and swings her arm in a perfect arc, sending the ball down the lane. She tilts her head, watching the ball glide down and barrel towards the cluster of pins and then—

"YES!" Brittany whirls around, a triumphant grin on her face.

You shake your head. "You've got to be kidding me." The screen showing the game's score confirms it: another strike. "This is not fair. How are you doing this?"

Brittany skips back down the lane, plopping back into her seat next to you, her knee knocking into yours. "Okay, so I might bowl a little bit."

"A little bit," you deadpan.

She glances up at the screen and notices the large gap between your dismal score and hers and bursts into a giggle. "Okay, maybe a lot."

You laugh with her, your cheeks aching from how wide you're grinning. "A lot is an understatement." You stand, grabbing your bowling ball and getting into position as the pins reset themselves.

You throw her a look from over your shoulder and find her eyes alight and trained on you, an easy grin on her face. You point down at your feet. "For the record, these shoes do not go with my outfit."

She bursts into another laugh just as you whirl your ball down the lane and it crashes into two pins this time.

/

After Brittany beat you two times over in bowling, she tugged you by the wrist to a section of the second level that features even more games. There's dartboards all along one wall, a foosball table in the corner that has a rowdy crowd yelling around it, and smaller groups crowded around tables with various board games.

"Maybe you'll do better at this one." She plants you both in front of a table with large life-sized wooden blocks stacked neatly on top of each other.

You blink a couple times, scratching your nose to hide your growing smile behind your hand. "I am terrible at this one."

"How can you be terrible at Jenga? It's, like, the easiest game ever." She has her hands on her hips and looks a little offended now, but one corner of her lips is twitching upwards.

It's the most adorable thing ever.

You give her a look and step up to the table to evaluate the pieces. But you wobble a little bit on your heels because you're more than a couple drinks in and she chuckles.

"Oh boy."

You narrow your eyes and point at her. "Don't distract me."

She seems incredibly amused at how serious you're taking this and holds her hands up in defense, taking a step back.

You eye a loose wooden block at the edge of one of the rows and easily wiggle it out. You smirk, satisfied, as you place the block on top.

"Not bad," she teases. You hold your hands out, shrugging as if it's no big deal.

Brittany crouches a little beside you, evaluating the rows of wooden blocks. She perks back up, finding her target.

"See, the trick is…" she taps a finger against a block in the middle of one of the rows. The block doesn't budge.

She reaches out, knocking a knuckle softly against the block, and you see the block start to give. "You have to give some of these…" She trails off as the block starts inching out of the structure slowly.

You're fascinated because the structure is starting to shake because of how tightly the block was wedged in there, but she seems undeterred, her tongue poking out of her lips as she focuses on inching out the block.

The rows of blocks are wobbling even more insecurely now and you flinch, expecting the rows to start crashing down, but she pauses, letting the rows settle. You hold your breath. She starts up again, poking the block out a little bit further.

"A little… more… love," she finishes, catching the block as it falls out with her other hand on the opposite end of the structure. She wiggles the block in the air before placing it next to your block on top, a pleased smile on her face.

You're kind of impressed and it must show because she asks, "What?"

You bite down your smile and shake your head. "You're just something else."

Her blush makes your chest bloom with warmth.

/

"Getting nervous?"

You eye her through one of the gaps in the wooden tower of blocks. Brittany's grinning at you.

"No," you scoff, but you hesitate in reaching out towards another block when she makes an uncertain noise as your hands nears it.

You've been playing for awhile now and the tower has gotten really tall. It's above your head now and every block you two withdraw comes with a nerve-wracking tilt.

Your hand twitches towards another block and she makes the same noise. You laugh. "Stop trying to psych me out."

Her grin just grows even wider. "I'm just trying to help you out here."

You wave her off. "I got this."

The blonde giggles but remains quiet to let you focus.

You zero in on a block, using the technique she showed you earlier and tapping against one end of it. But at this point, you both have taken out all the looser blocks so this one is jammed tightly underneath the row above it.

The tower wobbles.

"So how did you know?" You ask her, your voice a little strained as you try to keep your mind off the way the tower is starting to tilt.

"Know what?"

You give the block another tap and the tower tilts the other way slightly. "That it was me. That I was your date." You duck your head to eye her through the gaps in the tower.

Brittany flushes a little bit but she meets your eyes steadily. Her eyes look a little darker, muddled slightly with the glasses of whiskey you both have been drinking through the night, but there's something else there.

"I didn't," she admits. You cock your head, holding her gaze, as you give the block another tap with your knuckle. "Know, I mean. I didn't know it was you."

You draw your eyes back to the block, majority of it almost out from underneath the row above it. "But there were other girls wearing red downstairs," you point out, giving the block another tap.

She hums. "I didn't notice."

"Really?"

"Yeah, but, I mean, even if I did, it wouldn't have mattered."

"Why?" You ask distractedly because the block is right there and it's so close, it just needs just a little bit more—

"Because as soon as I saw you—" your hand freezes in its place, "—I knew I wanted you." Your stomach flips. You look back at her through the gaps.

She shrugs, like it's a matter of fact, like she's commenting on the weather, but her eyes meet yours with an intensity burning behind them that lights your skin ablaze, and you can feel the air shift between you.

Her eyes drop to your lips and you lick them in response.

But then her eyes are shooting upwards and widening as she cries out, "Watch out!"

You look up but it's too late. The tower is tilting forward and you barely skirt out of the way before the blocks crash onto the table and pieces scatter to the floor, clattering against each other. You wince, the noise jarring, and the commotion makes nearby groups turn towards you.

You look over to Brittany and her hand is clasped over her mouth, shoulders shaking as she giggles furiously. You start giggling along with her and soon, you're both doubled over the table, hands clutching your stomachs as you bust out in laughter.

You shake your head, wiping the corner of your eye. "I told you I was terrible at this game."

She grins, still chuckling. "Okay, now I believe you."

/

The bar has a nice patio overlooking the city and you and Brittany are sitting on two lounge chairs in front of a fireplace, swirling glasses of whiskey and coke. The music from the first level is filtering its way up, the bass thudding in the background. The alcohol has settled nicely into a heady buzz, your head slightly fuzzy from the whiskey and the way Brittany's blue eyes are skating over your legs as you cross them. You've been talking for hours, the view gorgeous in front of you, a perfect view of Los Angeles and the sky is surprisingly clear of smog so you can the city lit up in all its glory.

You never want this night to end.

"...and so Mike came up to me after I finished my class and asked if I was open to being an instructor at his studio and that was that."

"Well," you lean forward and curl your fingers around her forearm, "I'll have to catch one of your classes at the studio." Her eyes are focused on your fingers as they trail the inside of her arm and you see her take a shaky breath.

You pull away, the pads of your fingertips searing.

"Definitely," she says dazedly. She blushes a little and clears her throat. "What about you?"

You take a sip of your drink. "I work in advertising, mostly for entertainment acts, but we represent a couple of larger brands too."

She asks for one and when you mention the brand, her eyes widen and adoration surges in your chest at the sight.

"I love them! I always love their Super Bowl commercials, too. Wait, don't tell me... are you working on one for them?" She whispers conspiratorially, her eyes bright with excitement as she leans forward.

You laugh and nod. "Guilty. It's an insane amount of work, though. I'm surprised Quinn was able to wrangle me out of the office for tonight," you catch the look that crosses her face so you're quick to reassure her, "but I'm glad I did."

Brittany brings her drink up to her lips, a smile curving around the edge of the glass. "Good." She takes a sip and you watch the expanse of her neck as she tilts her head back. "She's pretty intense. Your friend, Quinn."

You groan. "I'm sorry about her. I did not know she was going to give you the third degree."

"Well, good thing I went to M.I.T.," she jokes and you grin at the new information, eyebrows shooting up. She gives a modest shrug to confirm it, a bashful smile on her face.

"What else don't I know about you?" You ask in a breath, and the question comes out softer than you had intended.

"Well…" She eyes you for a moment, eyes tracing over the lines of your face, the curve of your cheekbones, before landing on your lips. You feel your heart thud against your chest. "I'm into baseball..."

You hum in acknowledgement. You shift forward in your seat and set your glass down on the table in front of you.

"I…" She mirrors you, setting her glass down and shifting forward in her seat until your knees touch. "…have a cat."

"That's nice," you murmur as she slowly moves closer. She's an inch away and now you're breathing the same air and all you hear is the blood roaring in your ears and how she swallows thickly. You're so close that you can see the way her eyes are half-lidded, how her tongue darts out to wet her lips, how the flames from the fireplace cast shadows upon her skin and lights up her darkened blue eyes, and you're breathless.

"And I… really want to kiss you right now," she whispers, her eyes flicking back up to yours.

You close your eyes and close the distance and you feel it.

The spark.

You've felt it lingering all night like an undercurrent, always under the surface, from the moment you turned around and saw her. You've felt it every time your fingers grazed or when the sound of her laugh bubbled in your chest or when she placed a palm low on your back as she led you around the bar. You've felt it pulsing whenever you've made eye contact, smoldering as her eyes lingered on you, in the air between you when she comes near.

But this feels like you've come alive and you gasp against her lips.

She keeps her lips against yours with just the barest of pressure and tilts her head slightly, nose nudging against yours. You can feel every single hair on the nape of your neck stand, and you savor the feeling of her warm lips against yours for a second before you pull away softly.

You open your eyes and find hers still closed. You breathe out, "Was that okay?"

She blinks her eyes open slowly, her eyelashes fluttering lazily, and the way her blue eyes bore into yours makes your stomach tighten into knots. A smile spreads across her lips, her eyelids drawing half-shut as she nods and whispers out a breathy, "Yeah." She closes her eyes and you do too and your lips surge back together with a quicker urgency.

She takes your bottom lip in between hers and swipes her tongue against it and you shudder. Her hand curls along your jaw, bringing you closer, as she presses her mouth more firmly against yours, and you can feel her smile. She kisses you hotly, her thumb brushing against the underside of your jaw, and when you prod your tongue against her lips, she parts them with a whimper and your tongues slide softly against each other.

You've never kissed anyone like this, you've never felt like this, where fireworks are bursting behind your eyelids and your heart is hammering in your chest. Brittany's lips are soft and warm and she tastes of sharp whiskey and sweet soda and an intoxicating taste of just her that you flick your tongue against the roof of her mouth to taste more of it. Your head is swimming, the alcohol making the sensations of her teeth nipping at your lip before sucking it into her mouth before doing the same to the other feel even more intense, your stomach tightening and rolling as a scorch of heat flushes through your body, making your toes curl.

You kiss for long, hot moments, and it feels so damn good that every time she pulls away for a quick breath, you follow her lips, gasping after her. She does the same when you tilt your forehead against hers to suck in a breath of air, her fingers tugging your jaw back towards her and pressing your lips against hers. Your knee slides in between hers as you urge closer to her, your hands trailing along her shoulders to curl into her hair. You scratch your nails against the base of her neck and her lips tremble and so do you.

She finally breaks away with a gasp, leaning her forehead against yours.

"Wow," you rasp out, your eyes still shut. You exhale shakily and you can feel your breath mingling with hers.

"Wow," she echoes with a whisper and you blink your eyes open to find sparkling blue.

You feel something pass between you two as you look into her eyes. Her pupils are wide, flecks of silver dotting the blue, and everything feels…

Perfect.

You breathe it all in, committing to memory how her hand is still cupping your cheek, your fingers tangled in blonde hair, the warmth spreading through every single nerve in a mix of alcohol, the nearby flames, and the way Brittany makes you feel, and the city alive around you. You feel something inside you click into place and you think maybe she feels it too, because she gives you a soft smile, her eyes shining, that makes your heart race even faster before she dips her head and presses your lips together once more.

/

But the night eventually does have to end.

After a long while of slow, languid kisses, a server awkwardly coughed beside you two to break you up and asked if you wanted to close out your tab, and you blushed and refused to make eye contact as you scribbled out your signature. Brittany found this amusing the whole time, giggling at your embarrassment, and looped her arm in yours as you both walked out of the bar.

You stop in front of the exit, the downtown streets around you still bustling with nighttime activity. "So…"

She unlinks her arm from yours, trailing her hand down the inside of your arm and brushing against the side of your thigh, before stepping back. "So…" she repeats, her tone lilting, but her blue eyes are dark again. She catches her bottom lip between her teeth.

She wants you.

You can see it in the way her eyes are trailing down your body, in how she hasn't been able to keep her hands off you since you've kissed, blunt nails scratching just below the hem of your dress as she bumps into you, in the heat coming off her skin.

And you want her too.

It'd be so easy to take her back to yours and pin her up against your front door and tangle your mouths together. To slip a thigh between those legs and hitch her dress up just enough and stumble into your bedroom with the alcohol still buzzing through both of you.

And really, before tonight and with anyone else, that's exactly what you would be doing right now. Hell, you were even thinking that was the plan just earlier tonight.

But you're remembering the way she squealed with delight when she bowled three strikes in a row. You're remembering the way her laugh made your chest ache in the best way. You're remembering how she teased you effortlessly, like second nature, like you've known each other for years, when you'd bowl your ball straight into the gutter for five frames in a row. You're remembering all the stolen glances through gaps in wooden blocks and the way her hand clutched your shoulder as she doubled over in laughter after you sent the tower crashing and how you felt the warmth of her palm through the thin fabric of your dress.

You're remembering how she wrinkled her nose when she recounted how Quinn grilled her, down to questions about her favorite animal, and the way your entire body shook with how hard you laughed at her mimicking Quinn's dumbfounded expression when she told Quinn her running theory about dolphins. You're remembering the way she smiled into your lips and the way she looked right after you kissed her, in a daze and staring at you like she couldn't believe that you're real.

And yeah, you want her, god, do you want her, but you want something else more.

So you lean in, slowly, surely, and her eyelids flutter shut, and you press a soft kiss to her mouth, sweet and lasting blissful seconds, before pulling away.

She looks at you in that hazy way and you feel the spark between you two linger and you smile.

"Can I see you again?" You ask shyly and her eyes brighten.

She tucks a lock of your raven-black hair behind your ear and trails the tips of her fingers along the side of your face. "Totally," she breathes out and the smile she gives you, dazzling and earnest and justforyou, makes it all worth it.

You're still standing there, a goofy grin on your face, cheeks sore from the smile you've had on all night, when she gets into her cab and mouths "Call me" through the window, and you let out a happy, almost delirious sigh.

You owe Quinn a hundred fucking gift baskets.

/

You're peeling off your dress and floating through your bedroom, humming a nameless tune under your breath, when your phone lights up.

Guessing it went well if you haven't texted me a death threat by now. Told you so. Spill the deets over lunch on Monday, bitch. You're buying. – Q

You roll your eyes but really, even she can't kill your high, and well, you do owe her for setting you and Brittany up, even if she almost scared her off with letting Scary Quinn come out to play.

Brittany. The thought of her sends you reeling back to memories still fresh from the night and you smile.

Your phone buzzes again.

Had fun tonight, gorgeous. Next time, you pick the time and place and maybe something you're actually good at. ;)- Brittany

You giggle as you tap out, Not my fault you're good at everything. And I mean, everything. Goodnight, Britt.

A reply comes instantly. Goodnight, San. xx

You fall into bed with a smile still on your face, a vision of blonde hair and blue eyes dancing behind your eyelids as you drift off to sleep.

/

"Spill."

You spare a glance at the doorway and lo and behold, it's Quinn, her I-told-you-so smirk already in place.

But you're still in high spirits from Friday night so you roll your eyes with a grin and waste no time admitting, "It was perfect. She was perfect."

Quinn's smirk breaks into a wide grin, the width almost matching yours. "I told you so!" You bring your hands up to shield your face, cheeks already warming and Quinn absolutely gushes, "Look at you! Wow, Brittany must've done a number on you."

You snap your head up and narrow your eyes at her. "Speaking of which, Jesus, Q, did you have to scare the girl to death before she even met me?"

Quinn has the decency to look a little ashamed as she fully enters your office and takes a seat across from you. "Was I really that bad?"

"Yes, you idiot, Brittany was telling me the insane questioning you put her through before Sam had to step in and deactivate Scary Quinn," you hiss.

"Hey, I was just making sure she was good enough for you. Like you said, Sam set the date up and I didn't know this girl. I mean, is looking out for you a crime?" She replies defensively, crossing her arms.

You roll your eyes. God, she can be so dramatic. "No, and I appreciate it, Quinn, I really do, but I can take care of myself."

Quinn looks away and mutters, "Yeah, I get it."

"You're lucky Britt was so cool about it or I'd be giving you one of my classic bitch slaps right now. It has been awhile," you joke, your tone lightening.

She rolls her eyes at that, but then her eyebrow raises. "Britt, huh?" She teases.

A smile spreads across your face at the mention of her and you lean forward. "She's amazing, Q," you tell her in a hush, "Fireworks and everything."

Quinn pulls her mouth taut in a stern frown. "Did you sleep with her?"

You shake your head vigorously. "I mean, I wanted to, and really, I would've if it was anyone else, but she really is different, Q."

Quinn's face is inscrutable as she taps a finger against her chin in thought. "Huh. What did you guys do?"

You give her the abbreviated version and she stares at you incredulously. "Bowling? You went bowling?"

"Yes, god, is it that hard to believe? I can have fun, you know."

She snorts. "I'll believe it when I see it. And she told you about her," she waves her hand around, "dolphin theory?"

Your eyes narrow. "Yes, it's genius and makes total sense."

"Huh." Quinn waits a beat and says conversationally, "She's a dancer."

But you know her better. Quinn's your best friend and everything, but she's a bit of a snob. Her family's a long line of Hollywood socialites and well-to-dos, so she rubs elbows with lots of big wigs and stars. Her connections are great for business and it's helped her rise as a PR star, but when it comes to your love life, it's been abysmal.

You shoot her a look. "Don't, Q."

She shrugs, keeping her face impassive. "I didn't say anything. I just mentioned she was a dancer."

"So?" You arch an eyebrow at her.

Quinn stares you dead in the eye. "You don't think you're lowering your standards or anything?"

You flinch at her bluntness but give her a withering glare that makes the expression on Quinn's face falter. You all but snarl, "Yeah, well, maybe those standards are complete bullshit. Maybe they're the reason why no one else has worked out. Maybe what someone puts on their resume shouldn't be the defining standard of who I date. Maybe, just maybe, it should be if she makes me laugh or if she treats me well or, god forbid, if she makes me happy."

Quinn takes your bitch-out in stride. "Okay," she says measuredly, "I deserved that. I get it, I can be a bit of an elitist bitch and," she blows out a breath, "I'm sorry. I'm just worried that you'll find that one little thing that's going to be a deal-breaker, like you always do, and this blows up in your face."

"It won't," you say through your teeth. You pinch the bridge of your nose and take a deep breath. You exhale and the fight leaves you and you look at Quinn earnestly. "Look, Q, I just need you to ease up. I like her. It's not like she's meeting the parents or anything. But I am wanting to see where it goes. So can you please play nice?"

Quinn nods, conceding. "I'll play nice. It's not like I don't like her for you, S. I mean, she might be a little… quirky, but I really do think she'd be great for you because she's so different. Like I said, I'm just worried."

"And I hear you, okay? Can we please just move on from all this sentimental shit? Seriously, you're always interrupting my work with this crap and it's becoming a habit." You say wryly with a smirk.

Quinn rolls her eyes. "And she's back."

You give her a cheeky grin. "It's what I do."

Your phone buzzes on your desk and your eyes shoot to it instantly.

I can't stop thinking about you. – Britt

"Is that her?" Quinn peers over your desk and you quickly snatch your phone up.

"Maybe," you reply, tapping away at the screen. Me neither.

Your face is doing that thing it's been doing since Friday, where your cheeks are dimpling and starting to ache from how wide you're grinning. You woke up on Saturday morning to Brittany's number flashing on your screen and she casually greeted you a good morning over the phone, bright and upbeat like it was completely normal to call the following morning, even though you two saw each other just hours earlier.

And to your surprise, it wasn't awkward and you weren't worried about playing it hard to get like you usually do with dates because it all feels so easy with her. You fell into step with her easily, clicking together, and the morning phone call turned to staying on the phone like teenagers for the whole day as you tackled some work at home. You're even feeling a little groggy this Monday morning, because you talked late into the night on Sunday too, talking about nothing and everything and giggling into your phone.

"When are you seeing her again? And when can she join us for drinks with Sam?"

You hold up your free hand, your other clicking your phone locked. "Hold your horses, Fabray. You guys already scared her badly enough one time. And I don't know, to be honest. This Super Bowl campaign is sucking up all of my time for the next month." You whine a little bit.

Quinn actually looks sympathetic. "Yeah, this campaign is pretty killer. Maybe, you can—"

"Santana?" One of your associates knocks on your open office door and pops her head in. "Sorry to interrupt."

You shoot Quinn an apologetic smile. "What's going on?"

"There's someone here for you," the associate states, before stepping to the side and around back to her desk, and you lurch to your feet.

"Brittany!"

Brittany's standing there, arms behind her back, and a sheepish grin on her face. Her long blonde hair is ramrod straight and tied high on top of her head in a tight ponytail, tucked underneath a blue baseball cap with the letters LA stitched onto it. She's dressed much more casually than when you saw her last and in what you assume to be her dancing clothes, a striped long-sleeve that's cropped just a little too short, showing you a sliver of her toned abdomen, and slim black sweats that cling to her legs and are slung just a little bit too low so that you can see a shadow of her hipbones. She's a vision, and all the moisture leaves your mouth instantly.

"Hi," you say stupidly. "You're here."

Brittany worries her lip between her teeth. "Is that okay?"

"More than okay," you reply, still taken aback that she's here, in your office.

"Brittany," Quinn speaks up and you had all but forgotten she was still here, "it's so good to see you again. Santana was just telling me how she had such a great time with you on Friday."

Brittany eyes her warily. "Are you gonna start asking me weird questions again?"

Quinn lets out a genuine laugh. "No, I promise. Sorry about that, by the way. Best friend duties and all." She rolls her eyes in your direction.

Brittany gives her an easy grin, blue eyes sparkling. "Totally. She's a handful so I get it."

"Hey!" You splutter out in objection and the two blondes just laugh in response. Your stomach twists again at the sound of Brittany's giggle and you step closer to her.

"What are you doing here? I mean, not that I'm not happy to see you, because I am, I'm just surprised, and I mean—"

"Whoa, easy, tiger," Brittany cuts you off with a chuckle. Heat creeps up your neck as you flush. "I know this might be totally lame and against, like, dating rules or whatever," Brittany's eyes dart from you to Quinn and back to you, "but I just wanted to see you again and, well, I brought you these."

She brings her arms out from behind her and you suck in a breath.

Flowers.

She brought you flowers.

"Oh my god, Brittany, these are gorgeous," Quinn gushes. "Are they lilies?"

Brittany nods but her eyes are still on you as she replies, "Yeah, they are."

You're standing there a little gobsmacked because Brittany's here and she looks like that and she can't stop thinking about you and her mouth looks extra kissable in the daytime and she brought you flowers at your work. Your heart feels like it's about to burst out of your chest and die at her feet.

"S," Quinn hisses, "aren't you going to say something?"

You don't even look at Quinn, keeping your eyes on Brittany, as you say dazedly, "Get out, Q."

Quinn makes an affronted noise and Brittany just giggles but her eyes twinkle at you.

"Well, you don't have to be rude. Good luck with this one, Brittany," Quinn says in goodbye, patting Brittany on the shoulder but neither of you really notice her leaving.

You take another step closer to her. "Hi," you whisper again.

The corners of her mouth turn up. "Hi," she whispers back.

Your hands come up to cover hers as you wrap your fingers around the bouquet of lilies. You finally pull your eyes away from those blue eyes that have been haunting you since Friday and look down. "These are gorgeous, Britt. Thank you," you say softly, a little awed.

Her finger stretches out and tilts your chin back up. The look she's giving you is warm and adoring and your breath catches and you feel like you're just always going to be in a state of breathlessness around her.

"You're welcome," she says simply before leaning in and placing a kiss on your lips for a second that lights your nerve endings on fire before she's pulling away. "Now, can I take you to lunch?"

/

You could get used to this.

The thought crosses your mind easily, almost frighteningly so, as Brittany swipes a French fry from your plate and pops it into her mouth with a quirked eyebrow.

If you dwelled on it a little bit, you'd probably be freaking out at how quickly you're getting used to her, to Brittany, to those blue eyes peeking out underneath the brim of her cap, your eyes crinkling in laughter as she tells you about the class she taught this morning, her ankle brushing yours underneath the table.

But you really don't mind.

The sun's shining bright and it's a gorgeous January day in Los Angeles.

/

The rest of January passes in a blur because the Super Bowl campaign is taking up all of your time and your weeknights and weekends are spent hunched over your laptop or on the phone with your clients. To make matters worse, a Senior Director position opened up at work and your boss has already hinted that she's eyeing you for it, so you really have to get this campaign right.

You've never been more miserable to be working, which is a first, but you haven't been able to take Brittany out on an official second date.

Instead, you have these little micro-dates, which almost makes up for it, because she visits you for lunch once a week and you guys talk on the phone on the nights you can spare.

You can always tell when she's here to see you for lunch because you hear her before you see her. Well, more specifically, you hear everyone else you work with.

"Brittany, you are a godsend!" One of your associates muffles around a mouthful of a donut and you look up.

Brittany's walking out of your break room with ease, and you grin at how comfortable she is walking around your office. She catches your eyes as she walks towards your office and she beams brighter with every step. "Hey you!" She leans against the doorframe, jerking a thumb back in the direction of the break room. "I brought donuts for you guys."

You shake your head a little. "Britt, you're going to make us all fat at this rate."

Brittany just smiles at you innocently. "You guys work hard, you deserve it."

Your boss is walking by, hands full with two donuts, and she stops outside your office and looks right at you. "Santana, consider yourself fired if you ever get rid of this one. Seriously, she's a keeper." Your eyes widen as Brittany and your boss share a laugh and joke easily like they've known each other for ages.

You've been micro-dating for a few weeks and she still takes your breath away.

When Brittany looks back to you, you're sure you have the goofiest looking expression on your face because she bites down a grin and shakes her head like she doesn't know what to do with you.

"Come on, gorgeous. Let's get some food in you before you collapse from overworking syndrome. Seriously, San, I diagnosed you and everything, and I'm afraid it could be terminal."

You laugh and take her hand and let her lead the way.

/

February

You feel like you can breathe once the stupid Super Bowl is over.

You've been pretty much sleeping at the office with how hard you and your team have been working on pulling off a multimillion dollar ad spot for one of the agency's largest brands. Brittany's been completely patient through the craziness too, even bringing you guys coffee during your late-night strategy sessions. You still have yet to go on your second official date, but the highlight of your week is still seeing Brittany at lunch, even if sometimes that lunch micro-date is only fifteen minutes as you scarf down the In-N-Out Brittany brings you.

What makes all the hard work worth it, though, isn't when you have a watch party at the office during the game and everyone erupts into applause as soon the ad spot finishes.

It isn't even when your boss claps a hand on your shoulder and tells you that this is a huge step towards Senior Director and Quinn slaps you on the back for a great job done.

What makes all the hard work worth it is something so simple and small but it's everything.

The following morning after the Super Bowl, you finally get to sleep in and let your phone charge after you've been dead to the world for the past 36 hours. When you wake up blearily from your post-Super Bowl crash, your phone is fully charged and you have a few texts from Brittany waiting.

Link: The Top 5 Super Bowl Ads for 2017 - Britt

Look, you guys made number one! It was so awesome! - Britt

And then—

So proud of you, babe. – Britt

Your eyes zero in on the endearment and your heart feels like it doubles in your chest. See, you know Brittany's affectionate and definitely not shy about it. She calls you gorgeous and tiger and she calls Quinn hun and sweetie when she sees her.

But this feels different.

It makes you feel like things are getting serious between you two, because this is something that's private and solely reserved for you. It makes you feel like you're something special, that you are special to Brittany, the girl who never fails to make you laugh, who meets you for lunch without fail, who brings you donuts and coffee, who you can't get enough of.

You feel warm all over and you can't wait any longer and press the Call button on your phone.

"Hey, gorgeous! You're alive! How was—"

"Go on a date with me," you blurt out.

Brittany giggles on the other line and doesn't miss a beat. "And what do you call our lunches for the past few weeks?"

"Those don't count. I want to take you on an official second date. And if I recall correctly, it's my turn to pick the time and place."

Her laugh is throaty and genuine. "Oh, gosh. What am I going to do with you, Santana Lopez?"

You grin at the unique way she inflects your name. "Hopefully, say yes."

"Yes. Yes, yes, yes, a thousand times yes."

"Tonight?"

"It's a date. Officially. See you then."

/

You were planning to take Brittany to a fancy restaurant and get all dressed up, but you scrapped it at the last minute because you thought she'd like this better instead.

When you pull up to your destination, the way her eyes are shining as she stares at you, her mouth dropped open, makes you think you made the right decision.

"How did you know?" Brittany squeals, grabbing your face in her hands and placing kisses all over your cheeks.

You grin at the affection, nuzzling your cheek against her palm. "You might've mentioned that you've never been to the pier to Quinn the other day and I may have been eavesdropping."

Brittany narrows her eyes at you playfully, still cradling your face in between her hands. "I told you about my spy fantasy in confidence, Santana, you can't be using it against me like this."

It takes a second, but when it clicks, you burst out laughing, the sound coming out garbled from the way Brittany's holding your face. Brittany's eyes are bright blue and playful and she leans in and kisses you squarely on your puckered lips before releasing you.

"Come on! I want to ride the Ferris Wheel!"

/

You greased the palm of the Ferris Wheel attendant with a crisp twenty-dollar bill before you and Brittany boarded your cart and it was completely worth it when you hear her gasp beside you when you two get to the top.

"It's beautiful," she says in awe, looking at the vast ocean in front of her, the lights from the pier casting neon colors onto the rippling waves, the moon off in the distance. But you're looking at her and the giddy grin on her face and the ocean wind lifting the ends of silky blonde hair.

"Yeah," you breathe.

She feels your eyes on her and she turns to face you and gives you that dazzling smile that never fails to take your breath away.

And soon, her lips are on yours as she says, "Thank you, babe," against your mouth and you sigh happily and melt into her kiss.

/

March

You're lounging around on the beach on a particularly hot March day, large sunglasses adorning your face as you stretch your legs out and lean back on your palms behind you.

You're watching Brittany, of course.

Brittany's torturing you in a bikini top and low-cut jean shorts that are almost sinful as she spikes a volleyball over the net, her form perfect and toned abs on full display. She's gotten more than a couple double-takes in the past hour alone and you've almost taken five people's heads off. You're positive she's trying to kill you on purpose because you mentioned you wanted to take things slow.

You're a goddamn idiot.

Long, muscled legs are soon blocking your view and you blink, shielding your eyes against the sun as you look up.

Brittany's standing over you, a smirk on her face and an eyebrow raised like she knows you've been drooling over her for the past half-hour. "Enjoying the view?"

"You're evil," you deadpan.

She just laughs and plops down next to you with a pant, grabbing a nearby towel to dab the sweat that's collected all over her torso. You have to curl your fingers into the sand to prevent yourself from ripping the towel from her hands and replacing it with your mouth.

Have you mentioned that you're a goddamn idiot?

"San, look." You shake yourself free out of your Brittany-induced daze and follow her gaze. A flock of seagulls are nearby and the sight makes you groan. You're still not fully recovered from the panic attack you nearly had the last time Brittany took you to the beach and started throwing pieces of food out onto the sand and, next thing you knew, you were surrounded by those little fuckers. Brittany thought it was hilarious. You almost shit yourself.

"Britt, hells no. I will leave you on the beach."

Brittany grins at you devilishly. "But how will you ever get over your orithnophobia, San?"

You knock your shoulder into hers with a good-natured eye-roll. "Ha, ha, laugh it up. Try me, Britt, just try me."

She just giggles and cocks her head. "You know," she says, "that's one of things I like about you, babe. Your deathly fear of birds."

You throw your head back, shaking your head as you try to prevent your smile from spreading.

"Seriously! I have a whole list and that's probably at the top of it. Or near it. Next to the way you're so grumpy when you haven't gotten the chance to eat."

"I am not grumpy," you narrow your eyes at her, but your cheeks are flushing from the way Brittany just laughs loudly in response. But then, after a few seconds, her grin turns into something softer and she breathes out a chuckle.

"You're, like, probably my favorite person in the world, you know." She looks nervous and the sight is strange to you. She's always been the confident one between you two, sending you reeling from the first moment you two met, but now, she's looking down at her toes in the sand and fidgeting with her hands. A surge of warmth spreads through your chest.

"Hey," you say softly to catch her attention and, when you find those blue eyes, you give her a reassuring smile. "You're my favorite person too, Britt-Britt." She beams back at you and you lean in and kiss her slowly, nipping at her bottom lip, before pulling away. "Speaking of which, would my favorite person in the world feel like coming with me to San Diego for the weekend?"

Brittany perks up. "I love SD! What's the occasion?"

"Quinn, Sam, and I are going to visit a few of our old college friends down there and make a weekend out of it. We usually try to do it every few months and it's a whole commotion and everything," you roll your eyes. "I'm usually bored third-wheeling it with Quinn and Sam so I'd love it if you'd come to my rescue."

Brittany giggles. "This weekend?"

"No, it's at the end of the month."

Brittany's face falls for a second and your stomach lurches. "Is it too soon to go away for the weekend? You don't have to, I mean, I really am fine with taking things slow, I know it was my idea and everything, but I didn't mean to—"

"No, no," she's quick to reassure you, smoothing her palm over your thigh. "It's not that." Brittany gnaws on her bottom lip before sighing heavily. "I just have to tell you something."

Oh god. This is it. You knew this was too good to be true. Quinn pretty much said as much the other day after Brittany had visited you at work and treated both you and Quinn out to lunch. Your heart feels like it's in the pit of your stomach as you recall Quinn saying to you months ago that there's probably a deal-breaker that's going to blow up in your face and god, what if she was right—

"I can't go at the end of the month because I'm going to Arizona for a week."

You blink. "That's it? God, Britt, you scared me! You could've just said you had other plans."

Brittany squeezes your thigh and laughs nervously. "It's not that. It's, um, well, I'm going to Arizona for Spring Training. I go every year with a couple friends."

Your eyebrows knit together. "What's Spring Training?"

Brittany looks hesitant to answer you. "It's for the Dodgers."

"The baseball team?"

"Yeah, look, San, I'll just come right out and say it." Brittany rubs the back of her neck before taking a deep breath. "I'm a huge Dodgers fan."

You nod, giving her a smile, albeit a confused one. "I know. I mean, you told me so on our first date, and I've been to your place. It's, like, decked out in Dodgers everything, I mean, it's pretty hard to miss," you tease, trying to get her to relax.

Brittany turns fully toward you, pulling your hands into her lap. "No, I mean, I'm a huge Dodgers fan. I have season tickets and everything. I haven't missed a single game in, like, seventeen years. It's a huge passion of mine."

She's looking at you so earnestly, her blue eyes almost pleading with you to hear her, that your easy smile slowly fades into a serious expression and you straighten up a little, giving her a nod to continue.

She looks relieved and rubs her thumbs over the inside of your wrists. "See, when I was eight, my whole family moved to California and I had a really tough time adjusting. It didn't help that, yknow, my brain doesn't work the same way as everyone else's so I got bullied a lot."

You make a soft sympathetic noise, tangling your fingers together. Brittany presses on.

"One day, my dad takes me to Dodger Stadium and sits me down with a pencil and a paper and he teaches me math that way, three outs at a time. And it worked. The bullies stopped and the teachers actually took their time to explain things to me and, well, eventually, I got so good at math by going with my dad that I got into M.I.T."

You give her a soft smile as you imagine a young, eight-year-old Brittany, blonde hair in pigtails, a large blue cap donned on her head and cheering in the stands.

"When my dad died," you suck in a sharp breath at her admittance, "he left me season tickets to the Dodgers. And, well, I've been going ever since." She gives you a watery smile before clearing her throat. "See, math makes total sense to me. It's the same in every language. And baseball…"

She shakes her head and she breathes out, almost in awe, "Baseball is one of the only things that makes sense to me, too. There's no other sport like it. Everywhere else, you can run out the clock until the game ends, but you can't do that in baseball. You have to play until the very last out, so there's always a chance you can still win it. I love the sounds, the smell, the crowd. It's just… it's really important to me and other people haven't always been so cool with it so…" She trails off and gives you an embarrassed laugh, her eyes downcast and her shoulders caving in.

"Britt," you try softly, an adoring smile on your face. "I like you. A lot. I like that you're so passionate about this. If anything, this just makes you even more adorable to me when you sound like a complete genius with the way you talk about it. I'm not going anywhere, okay?"

Brittany stares at you for a second and you try to convey how much your heart races when she's near, how the sound of her laugh is your most favorite sound in the world, how her touch sends tingles throughout your spine, all through your eyes, and a smile slowly starts to spread on her lips. She nods back at you, eyes brightening up.

"Well then, I have just one question to ask you," Brittany says lightheartedly, a welcome change from the serious few moments you two just shared. You arch your eyebrow at her.

She fumbles into her pocket and brings out a small ring box and your heart about leaps into your throat but then she's giggling at the expression on your face and snaps open the box. A blue ticket stub folds open inside it.

"Will you go to Opening Day with me?"

You just shake your head and grin at her, climbing into her lap and tucking the box into your pocket as you dip your head down to meet her lips. "You're just something else."

/

"Well, tell Britt that she's seriously missing out!" Quinn slurs, pointing a finger at you.

You roll your eyes and push her finger out of your face. "Control your woman, Trouty Mouth. She's drunk."

Sam laughs next to you. "Hey, she's her own person. I'm just a guy she likes to keep around."

Quinn beams at him. "And what a well-trained guy I have."

"I think I'm going to gag," you deadpan. You glance down at your phone and read back at the last text Brittany sent you a few hours ago. Just landed in Arizona, babe!

"Where is she again?" Sam asks, sipping on his beer.

"Arizona," you reply absently as you text back. Hope you're having fun, Britt. Wish you were here. I'm this close to vomming over Q and Fish Lips.

"What's she doing there?" Quinn says but before you can answer, Sam is standing up and hollering across the bar.

"Mikey!"

You look up and Mike's coming your way, waving in hello. "Hey, guys! Fancy seeing you here! Mind if I sit?"

"Please!" Sam replies and Mike scoots into the booth next to you.

"Mike, so good to see you, man! What are you doing here in SD?" Sam punches his fist against Mike's arm and you and Quinn shoot each other a look. Boys.

Mike laughs, running a hand through his jet-black hair. "I'm in town for Tina's show this weekend. Though, I'm missing a killer week in Arizona, to tell you the truth."

"Oh, you were supposed to go with Brittany?" Quinn asks.

Mike nods. "Yeah, I'm super bummed I'm missing Spring Training."

Sam perks up. "Spring Training? Wait, Brittany's watching the Dodgers right now? Holy crap, Santana, why didn't you tell me your girlfriend was awesome?"

You roll your eyes. "She's not my girlfriend. Yet."

Mike turns to you. "I gotta say, Santana, it's really awesome that you're so cool about all of this. I took years to even tell Tina about it all."

Quinn's raising her eyebrows at you, giving you a look, and you can tell she's already scrutinizing you over this. She's like a shark with blood when it comes to these things.

You laugh and wave him off, hoping to change the topic, but Quinn hones in on Mike. "What do you mean?" She demands.

Mike glances at her then back to you. He looks like he's regretting saying anything in the first place, but once Quinn wants to know something, she won't give up. She leans forward, staring Mike down. "Well?"

"Well," he says cautiously, "It's a lot to take in at first. I mean, all of her exes have basically screwed her over before about the whole Dodgers thing."

"Wait, what about the whole Dodgers thing?"

Mike hesitates a little but then, Quinn's clutching your arm. "Is that Brittany?"

The TV in the bar's set to ESPN and your mouth drops open as you see her on screen. Half of her face is painted in blue, her blonde hair wild under a blue L.A. cap, as she screams into the reporter's mic, "I'm Brittany S. Pierce and I bleed Dodger blue!"

After a few tense seconds, Mike replies weakly, "That Dodgers thing."