A/N: Sorry for the wait! It's been a crazy couple of months in my life. This chapter is really a filler chapter, tbh, because if I look at my outline, this entire chapter only spans just a couple of bullet points, but I couldn't help but write endlessly over each scene. These two just make the fluff come easy. Enjoy!

Brittany takes the news far too well.

"Oh, fun! Can't wait to meet them!" Brittany says easily, kissing you swiftly on the cheek in greeting after you had burst into her apartment after work and blurted out the evening's plans.

You stare after her for a second, a little in shock that Brittany's being so cavalier about it. Maybe you said it wrong.

Brittany mills about her apartment, halting mid-step when she realizes you're still frozen in place near the door. Brittany chuckles, cocking her head at you. "Why are you just standing there, silly?"

"Britt, I don't know if you heard me. We're having dinner with my parents tonight," you repeat, voice slightly strained. You fan yourself, your face feeling warm. "Is it hot in here? It feels hot in here."

"Oh, you're really freaking out about this," Brittany realizes, her eyes widening. In an instant, she's rushing to you, her hands wrapping around your biceps and smoothing over them in soothing motions as she guides you to sit on the couch.

Soon enough, you're pliable in Brittany's skilled hands as she gently rearranges you two so that you're nestled in the crook of her arms, your cheek resting on Brittany's chest as she eases you both back on the couch to recline.

"Better?" Brittany murmurs into your hair, her fingers trailing up and down the side of your arm.

You nuzzle your cheek into Brittany's shirt, breathing in her scent. "Much."

You can feel Brittany's chuckle rumble through her chest as her hold around you tightens. "Now, I'm guessing there's a bit of background here with your parents."

You sigh. "I might just be making a big deal out of it."

"Hey, don't do that," Brittany gently chastises. "Everything about you is, like, the biggest deal of all deals to me. Just talk me through it."

You tilt your head to glance up at Brittany, and her lips are drawn up in a soft smile, eyes warm and ocean clear. It always steals a little of your breath whenever Brittany looks at you like this, affection shining clearly, and you can't resist tilting your head back even further, angling for a kiss, and she readily obliges. You break away with a content hum, feeling warm all over and comfortable in a way that you're realizing only Brittany makes you feel. Brittany smiles at you, waiting patiently as her thumb rubs smooth circles into the skin of your arm.

"My mom…" you chew on your bottom lip as you figure out how to phrase it, "has a lot of high expectations, to say the least. She's been that way since ever since, which I love her to death and all, but it got worse once our family became buddy-buddy with the Fabrays back when I was in high school."

"That's Quinn's family, right?"

You nod. "Right. She just has this habit of comparing me to Quinn whenever she's been around the Fabrays. My mom will inevitably go on about how well Quinn's doing and now about how successful dear Quinn's boyfriend is and why can't I find a nice, established woman to settle down with and, well, it's just a little much sometimes."

Brittany makes a commiserating noise, her bottom lip jutting out in a slight pout. "Aw, that doesn't sound fun."

You heave another sigh. "It's not. My dad's better, but he's a little old-school and traditional and never impressed by anything. I swear, I could launch the biggest ad campaign to ever exist and that man wouldn't even flinch," you finish with a roll of your eyes.

"So, impressing them is a little important to you," Brittany concludes, eyes soft and smile warm, and you nod sheepishly, a little embarrassed at how you initially reacted now that you've talked it through.

"Well, I'm a total hit with parental figures, so you won't have to worry," Brittany says with a grin. Something must show in your face, because Brittany's grin flickers a bit. "Wait. Am I the first girl that they're getting to meet?"

You bury your face into her shirt with a groan. "Maybe."

Brittany laughs, squeezing you in her arms tighter. "Well, I'm honored to be the very first girlfriend meeting the Lopez parents."

Hopefully, the last crosses your mind fleetingly but you quickly file it away, the very thought causing your cheeks to burn. You have no idea where that came from and you definitely can't deal with that right now. You clear your throat, shaking away your thoughts. "It's okay that you're meeting them, right? It's not too soon or anything?"

"No way! I was actually thinking that you could meet my mom and sister soon, and maybe…" Brittany hesitates, "Come with me to pay respects to my dad? I haven't been by in awhile."

"Britt…" You sit up properly, noticing Brittany's change of tone. You take her hands in yours, lacing your fingers together, and tug at her hands until she glances up at you. "I would love to," you say with a soft smile and your response lights Brittany up like a Christmas tree, her smile turning brilliant and her eyes softening as she looks at you.

Brittany draws nearer and soon, her lips are on yours again, and, as you close your eyes, you feel the anxiety caused by your parents ebbing away with the pressure of Brittany's lips on yours.

Brittany pulls away and you follow her, not ready to part, but she stays pulled back and you open your eyes to see Brittany's expression has turned playful, a cheeky grin spread across her lips.

"I'm guessing it's a no on blue face paint tonight then? Because we're playing the Giants so..."

You slap at her shoulder as she bursts into loud giggles at the horrified expression on your face. "So not funny," you deadpan as you fall backwards onto the couch, twisting your hand into the fabric of her shirt to tug her onto you for another kiss.

/

In a way, you probably shouldn't be as surprised as you are that your parents have been swept off their feet by Brittany, considering how easily she swept you off yours.

You knew your mom was completely charmed the moment Brittany unveiled a bouquet of flowers from behind her back upon first meeting her at the restaurant. Brittany had even beaten your dad to the punch in pulling out your mom's chair for her at the table, earning you looks of impression shot your way from both of your parents.

Brittany's been shameless about buttering up your dad, as well, carrying on easy conversation with him and asking all the right questions about his medical practice, topped off with never failing to address him as sir—a detail you know particularly pleases your dad.

"Do you two make it down often to visit Santana?" Brittany asks, glancing between your parents.

"Not often enough, if you ask me," your mom responds, eyeing you pointedly but affectionately.

"Yes, I usually have a consultation every other month or so down here in LA, so we like to make a trip out of it," your dad says evenly. "We were hoping to get into that one country club over in the Hills for a bit of golf for this trip, but even the Fabrays haven't had any luck with getting an invite."

"You both play golf, sir?" Brittany asks amicably.

"We dabble," your mom says. "Do you play, Brittany?"

Brittany glances at you briefly, shooting you a quick smile, and you give her an encouraging smile back. "Yes, I'm pretty familiar with it."

"And now, Brittany, what is it that you do?" Your dad asks, cutting into his steak.

"Yes, Santana here hasn't been very forthcoming with telling us all about you, dear," your mom chimes in.

"I'm a choreographer at a local dance studio here in LA," Brittany answers with a polite smile.

"A choreographer?" Your mom's smile dips a bit and your shoulders tense in response. "And how is that going for you? I can't imagine that profession has a lot of growth in it."

"Mom," you balk.

Brittany, to her credit, laughs it off easily, laying a placating hand on your forearm. "No, it's okay. Nothing I haven't heard before," Brittany says with a wink towards you, before turning back to your mom. "Actually, the owner of the studio just approached me this week about becoming a co-owner."

Your eyebrows shoot upwards in surprise. This is the first you're hearing of this. "Really? I didn't know that," you remark softly to Brittany, who bashfully lifts a shoulder in response.

"That sounds like fantastic news, dear! Congratulations!" Your mom responds in earnest, shooting you an impressed look.

"And what are your plans for ownership?" Your dad questions.

"Well, sir, we have some plans to open a few other locations in Southern California and maybe through the entire state later, if all goes well," Brittany answers respectfully.

You can tell by the way your dad is leaning forward, listening intently to Brittany with his hands folded in front of him, that he's genuinely interested, which is a feat in and of itself. "That's a pretty solid business plan there."

Brittany's cheeks color as she blushes slightly, a humbled look crossing her face. "Took a few business classes in college."

"And where was that, dear?" Your mom asks.

"MIT."

Your parents both wear matching expressions of surprise and you relish in it, grinning adoringly at Brittany.

"Well, that's a fine school, dear! Wow!" Your mom says, quickly glancing at you to shoot you a look of admiration.

When Brittany excuses herself from the table to go to the washroom, dropping a kiss onto your cheek as she got up, your mom reaches across the table to squeeze at your arm.

"She's delightful, mija," your mom gushes, leaning forward.

"Very bright girl," your dad adds, his usually stoic exterior broken by a rugged smile.

"Yes, much more bright than that boy Quinn's dating. He's sweet and all, but he looks about as bright as a bag of rocks. I don't know how he's gotten as far as he has," your mom rolls her eyes.

"Maribel," your dad scolds gently, but the mirth is clear in his eyes.

Your mom waves a dismissive hand at him, chuckling. "Oh hush, let me have my fun. I can't wait to tell Judy."

You flush, slightly embarrassed but pleased. "I'm glad you guys were able to meet her."

"She's very beautiful, mija. You two make quite a couple," your dad remarks.

You can't help but agree as you catch sight of Brittany walking back from the washroom and striding back towards your table, the dress she's wearing for the night swishing around her legs. You both lock eyes immediately and a grin slowly breaks across her face upon seeing you, and you don't even realize you're wearing a matching grin, the smile dimpling into your cheeks, until your mom speaks up.

"Now, honey, why don't you ever look at me like that?" your mom teases, eliciting a chuckle from your dad, and you quickly snap your gaze back to your parents, your cheeks warming.

The rest of dinner goes smoothly, with Brittany captivating your parents and easily steering the conversation. You can't help but sit back and gaze at her with open affection, a little amazed as you watch Brittany laugh good-naturedly with your parents.

You're almost able to call the whole ordeal a rousing success, as all four of you exchange pleasantries outside the restaurant while you wait for your parents' valet, until you hear something that makes your stomach drop.

"Can you believe the Dodgers tonight?" someone mentions in a nearby conversation.

Oh no.

Immediately, you turn to Brittany as you warn, "Britt…"

But Brittany looks at you in a panic, eyes so wide that you would find it almost funny if your parents weren't standing right there, looking at you two curiously.

"Everything alright?" Your dad asks, looking between you two.

There's nowhere to go to get away from the conversation, with the waiting area crowded and your parents' valet due up next.

"I can't believe that home run by Taylor, he's doing incredible for a call-up," someone responds and, well, that about does it.

Brittany quickly plugs her ears with her fingers, and your parents are clearly taken aback by the gesture. You widen your eyes at Brittany, trying to wordlessly signal to cut it out, but Brittany just fidgets uneasily, eyes cutting over to the group of strangers discussing tonight's game.

The conversation nearby, much to your chagrin, continues, "It was a pretty close game too—"

"We need to get out of here," Brittany exclaims to you, her voice booming and causing everyone waiting nearby to turn and look.

Your parents inch away noticeably.

"Brittany," you hiss, mortified. You glance over at your parents, the smiles that were lingering on their faces all night slowly slipping as they stare at Brittany, flabbergasted.

"I'll go get the car, I can't be here right now, I'm so sorry, it was nice to meet you two," Brittany hollers out at a volume that's a couple decibels far too loud and Brittany quickly spins on her heel, walking towards the parking lot at a pace so brisk that she might as well be running, all with her fingers still plugged in her ears.

You stare after her in disbelief, blinking a couple times, before turning back to your parents, letting out a high, nervous laugh. Your mom looks uncomfortable, a smile drawn tightly across her face, while your dad is frowning deeply.

"She's just really particular about not hearing about the Dodgers game before she's gotten to watch it," you explain brightly, cringing internally as the expressions on your parents' faces show barely masked disapproval.

Your parents' valet drives up to the curb just then and your mom quickly goes towards the passenger door. "Well, tell Brittany that it was… nice to meet her. We'll talk tomorrow," your mom says curtly, and your father just clears his throat and gives you a nod in goodbye as he helps your mom into the car and climbs into the driver's seat. You aimlessly wave in goodbye as they drive away.

You still can't believe that actually happened and you're still standing speechless in the same spot, staring after your parents' car, when Brittany pulls up to the curb after a few minutes with her Jeep.

Brittany opens the door for you, her expression remorseful. "San, I am so sorry."

You climb in without a word, still reeling, and Brittany quickly clambers into the driver's seat, continuing, "It's just—they were talking about the game, and you know, it was just habit."

You open your mouth to reply but you still don't think you can find words and your mouth falls shut. The night was so close to being a success that you're still a little in shock at how quickly it took a turn.

"Please say something," Brittany says, glancing over to you nervously.

"Brittany..." you pinch the bridge of your nose. You bite the inside of your cheek to stop yourself from saying anything else because, now that the shock's wearing off, you're finding that you're a little pissed and part of you realizes this is the first time you've ever felt this way with Brittany.

But another part of you also realizes that, with anyone else, you might've already flipped your shit, so you will yourself to take the time to cool off for the sake of yours and Brittany's relationship.

Brittany winces at your silence. "At least, majority of the night went really well, right?"

"You know what," you cut in sharply, pursing your lips into a tight smile, "I'll talk to them. Just… drop me off, please."

Brittany's face falls and you feel like a complete asshole upon seeing her expression, but you don't think you can say anything more without saying something you'll probably end up regretting.

Brittany opens her mouth, looking like she's about to press the matter, and you silently plead that she doesn't because you do not want to start anything, but luckily, her mouth shuts closed and she nods begrudgingly, driving the rest of the way towards your apartment in silence.

/

You wake up the next morning alone for the first time in weeks, and, for a fleeting moment, you can't place exactly where you are and why you aren't waking up to lips against your collarbone and blonde hair tickling against your skin before it all sets in and the night's events come back to you.

You sigh, feeling cold all over and passing a hand over your face, before reaching for your phone. You check for anything from your parents, but aside a text from Brittany that you can't bring yourself to open just yet, there's nothing from them.

You close your eyes with a groan, throwing an arm over your eyes, as you replay the horror-stricken expressions on your parents' faces and the way Brittany's face had fallen in the car ride home. Emotions left over from last night are still swirling, acute embarrassment still causing your skin to flush and a twisting ache in the pit of your stomach over the empty side of your bed.

But where last night those emotions were tempting to boil over, in the morning light today, they've curdled and cooled off into one echoing feeling of emptiness.

Barring that… incident, the rest of the night went better than expected. A lot better. Once you blink past the soured ending, you realize that you actually couldn't have imagined a better meeting between Brittany and your parents.

You don't think you've ever seen your dad laugh the way he did last night outside of when he's around your family and or the shine in your mom's eyes and the constant impressed looks she kept shooting you. Your parents have always had high expectations for you and, though you love them to death, a small part of you will always feel like, no matter how established you are or how much success you achieve, you're still sixteen in their eyes and never quite good enough.

So you were definitely pinning your hopes on impressing them and Brittany washed your worries away with her bright smile and her easy laugh and the seamless way she had gotten your parents to warm to her, like she's known them for years. And the way Brittany had looked at you, the way she spoke of you to your parents, clear adoration in her voice, kept you breathless through dinner.

But more than that, more than just the innate need for your parents to be proud of you, you find that the pure affection of seeing the most important people in your life meet someone who's become so special to you get along so well outweighs everything else last night and makes warmth spread through your chest.

A moment surfaces from the night, a small one that didn't stand out to you until now because you were too focused on the way the night ended. But now, you can see it easily, almost like you were outside of yourself and, instead, looking at all of you gathered around the table.

Your parents' eyes are crinkled in laughter as they laugh at something Brittany is saying. Brittany's blue eyes are bright and warm as she recounts her story, a sheepish grin on her face that's utterly charming. You're laughing too, your head shaking slightly with amusement, and you can see that you're absolutely glowing, the dimples on your cheeks prominent as you beam at Brittany, your eyes trained on her profile as she talks.

And when Brittany turns to look at you, her smile widens and you can see her fingers lift to your face, tucking a lock of your hair behind your ear, her fingers trailing along the side of your cheek as she pulls away. You lean into her touch, your eyes never leaving hers.

But most of all, you notice the knowing look your parents exchange upon seeing the gesture and the familiar fondness they regard each other with as they look at you and Brittany together.

And the moment makes you realize that, even though the night may have ended on a less than stellar note, your parents clearly saw how happy Brittany makes you. At the end of the day, despite the expectations and the habits of comparison, you know your parents ultimately just want to see you happy. You'd gladly go through a little embarrassment if it means you'll get more moments like this, moments of all the important people in your life interacting.

Realizing all of this now, however, just leaves you with this hollow feeling of regret that you didn't realize this last night, that you didn't tug Brittany close and tell her that it's okay and maybe laugh the whole thing off with everyone.

You allow yourself a second of wallowing before you take a deep breath, sitting up in bed, and you steel yourself, resolved to get all of this squared away. You pick up your phone beside you and hit the Call button on your mom's contact.

You hear your mom pick up on the other end. "Hello?"

"Mom, look, about last night—" you start, determined, but your mom cuts you off.

"Oh, mija, I'm glad you called! Your father and I had such a great time last night with you and Brittany."

You blink at your mom's easygoing tone, a stark comparison from the curt way she bid you goodbye. "You did?" You ask incredulously. "But you guys left so quickly after Brittany had… gone to get the car."

"Yes, well," your mom laughs, "I must admit, Brittany definitely surprised your father and me in more ways than one last night, but we all had a great laugh over it this morning."

"Wait, who's we all?"

"Your father, Brittany, and I!"

You freeze. "Sorry, did you say you, Dad, and Brittany? My Brittany?" Your mom laughs and you can hear commotion in the background. "Wait, where are you?"

"Brittany came by our hotel this morning to apologize for the misunderstanding last night and she took your father and I to that country club your father was talking about!"

In the background, you can distinctly hear Brittany's laugh and your father's gruff voice and you pull the phone away from your ear and stare at it in disbelief.

When you put the phone back to your ear, you tune back into what your mom's saying. "...really is such a delightful girl. And quite a character! Your father and I have just been in stitches all morning. You'll have to bring her by more often, alright?"

"Sure, Mom," you agree absently.

"Oh, and Brittany also told us all about your big contract that you forgot to mention last night! Your father and I are so proud of you. Let us know when that launches and we'll be here for it, okay?"

You feel your throat thicken inexplicably and you swallow. "Of course, Mom. Listen, can you put Brittany on?"

"Sure, hon, one sec—"

You can hear vague shuffling and your mom's muffled voice and your dad's deep chuckles and soon enough, Brittany's voice comes down the line.

"Hey, San!" Brittany greets you brightly and the sound of her voice goes through you like a deep drink of hot chocolate, warming you to your toes and whisking away the remaining tension in your stomach.

"Brittany…" you whisper, your lips twitching upwards. "How did you even…?" You trail off, not even knowing where to start, and let out a breathless laugh.

"Well," Brittany draws out the word, her tone light, "I may have traded some tickets to score an invite to the country club and I wanted to get in some quality time with your parents before they headed back up state. That okay?"

"More than okay," you reply instantly, your fingers pressing your phone harder against your ear just so you can hear her voice come through even the tiniest bit clearer. "I, um, missed you this morning, though."

Brittany giggles softly in your ear. "Me too. Can I see you tonight to make up for it?"

"Please."

You hear a clatter in the background and your mom yelling at your dad and your dad laughing. "Uh, San," Brittany says with a laugh, "Looks like your dad might be messing with the scorecards and I might have to step in here. Can I call you later?"

"Yeah, of course, call me later. But wait, Britt."

"Yeah?"

"Just… thank you," you say softly.

"Of course, San," Brittany replies warmly and you end the call with a click, your heart feeling overwhelmingly full.

/

You do end up laughing over it later.

First, with Brittany, later that afternoon, after you greeted her with a tight embrace and a shy Sorry against her shoulder and she greeted you back with arms drawn tight around you and chuckled a Sorry right on back. And when you both settle into your couch, your feet tucked under Brittany's thigh, you both fall into giggles as you imitate the shocked expressions your parents made.

Then, with your parents, when your parents give you a call when they've safely made it back up state, and they ask to get put on speaker just so your dad can tease Brittany about controlling herself the next time you all are out if the Dodgers are playing, and you all laugh at the easy way Brittany replies, "Can't promise that, sir."

/

From there, everything starts falling into a sweet summer rhythm.

Spring settled in slowly, measured by stretches of you and Brittany discovering each other and the layers between you two falling into place day by day—with baseball, with work, with your friends, with your parents.

But then, summer feels like one day, it's just here.

One day, the temperature is a few degrees higher, the sun hangs in the sky a little longer, the traffic gets a little bit worse, and the city comes alive on cue with the arrival of a classic Los Angeles summer. Endless days and the hazy California sun become the background to the smooth, newfound routine that summer brings.

It's 4:26pm on a Friday afternoon and the novelty of you packing your bag early, shutting down your laptop, and leaving it on your desk for the weekend has worn off for your whole office after a couple Fridays in a row. The first Friday you did it, you didn't realize it was apparently so out of place for you at the office until your boss double-checked her watch just to make sure she had the right time and your junior associates were nervously asking if there was something wrong with the ad campaign that was making you leave your laptop for the weekend.

So, it's been a little bit of a culture shock for everyone, including yourself, considering you're always usually the last to leave the office and you never fail to take your laptop home and do some work over the weekend. But honestly, everything with the campaign's been going really well that you and your team can warrant easing off on the amount of work that you all have to put in.

The ad campaign for the movie studio officially launches in October and is centered around a huge set of movie releases in the fall. The campaign for the studio is then set to run for an entire year, which takes an entire team to run and a lot of hours and ideas put in, but it's nothing you haven't done before. With the success of the Super Bowl campaign and the amount of work you and your team put towards that contract, the executive leadership in the agency is looking towards you to execute the same success with this studio contract. It's a lot of pressure, but you know carrying out this contract successfully will all but secure you the senior leadership position.

It helps, too, to have the full support of your boss as well. In the lead up to the fall releases and the official launch, you and your team have been putting in a lot of hours to build pre-launch buzz and have been testing smaller campaigns to get market feedback and test what's performing and what's not. And, well, so far, so good, considering how relatively early it is in the campaign. All of the key metrics are showing positive trends, pacing ahead of the initial projections for this point in the campaign. Everything is clicking—test audiences are responding better than average, the creative has been a hit, and buzz has been building significantly. By all measures, the campaign is pacing so far above the base projections that you've had to adjust schedule in order to accommodate, including winding down multiple rounds of testing due to the early success. And after some initial skepticism that something must be wrong, after a few weeks, your team and your boss finally saw that the success is here to stay.

So with things going so well, you're able to ease up, tell your team to take off early, leave your work at work, and finally enjoy your weekends for once in a really long time.

And okay, it also helps that leaving just a little bit early on Friday afternoons makes getting to the Friday night games at Dodger Stadium much more tolerable.

Not that that's the reason why. At all.

But it definitely helps, seeing as you're cruising into the parking lot of Dodger Stadium with plenty of time to spare. You've been able to go to more and more of the games now that work's dialed down, to Brittany's delight, and even to yours.

"Mija, will you tell Brittany that we said hello? And when are you two coming to visit?" your mom asks on the call coming across your car's speakers.

You set your car into park with a laugh, shaking your head as you check your appearance in your rearview mirror. "Yes, Mom, I will, and my answer is still I don't know for the third week in a row," you tease lightheartedly.

"You know what, I'll just mention it to Brittany next time you put her on since apparently, my own daughter just doesn't want to see me. I know she'll understand."

You roll your eyes with affection at your mom's dramatics, but your lips tug up at how obviously taken your parents have become with Brittany. "Mom, you guys were just down here a couple weeks ago and saw us then. But look, I promise we'll make it up. Our schedules are just a little crazy right now. But listen, I'll call you later, okay? I just got here."

"Okay, don't forget to tell Brittany I said hello!"

You laugh, your smile growing into a grin. "Yes, Mom, I will." You end the call with a button on your steering wheel after exchanging I love you's and exit your car, strolling towards the field level entrance with your ticket stub in hand.

You can't believe how worried you were over Brittany meeting your parents just a few weeks ago, but now, your mom has been raving about Brittany since they've met. You should be a little offended, actually, considering your mom now barely shows you any consideration during your calls and instead laughs with Brittany for long stretches on the phone when she gets the chance. But you don't mind, not even the slightest, whenever Brittany sends you a wink with your phone pressed to her ear, making your mom burst out laughing on the other end, because this is all you could've wished for, and then some.

(On a side note, it's been so satisfying to be on the other end of the Fabray and Lopez matriarchal gossip. You've been wearing a shit-eating grin for weeks with Quinn shooting you glares over how her mom's been getting on her case for how much Maribel adores Brittany and how charming Brittany is and why can't Sam tone down the impressions. And you've enjoyed every second of it because you haven't had to hear it on your end for weeks now.)

Even your dad's been showing signs of that stoic exterior breaking, casually asking how Brittany's been doing with her new role as co-owner at the dance studio and asking you for updates on your campaign at work. He actually sounds impressed in your weekly calls, even letting out deep chuckles whenever Brittany's on and Brittany gets to joking about their last round of golf. Your dad's always been a man of few words, but you can tell that he's just as impressed and taken with Brittany as your mom is. One call, he ended with a gruff, "She's a keeper, Santana. Don't screw it up," and you couldn't help but agree, grinning widely after you hung up and striding over to Brittany, holding her face in your hands and kissing her soundly.

So yeah, life is pretty fucking good.

"Hey, Santana! Brittany's waiting for you already," one of the regular ticket attendants greets you, tearing your ticket stub.

"Thanks, William!" You respond with a grin, strolling through the turnstiles and into the field level of the stadium that you've come to get familiar with.

Immediately, as you jog down the stadium rows, you spot a signature head of blonde hair tucked underneath a blue ballcap, and your steps pick up its pace slightly. As soon as you get near enough, you duck into the row behind Brittany, covering her eyes with both of your palms as you loop your arms around her from behind and duck in close, your chin brushing her shoulder.

"Guess who," you whisper into Brittany's ear, your lips brushing her earlobe, and to Brittany's credit, she doesn't even flinch or jump, almost like she knew it was you. A grin spreads widely across Brittany's pink lips, pearly white teeth digging into her bottom lip. Her hands shoot upwards, her fingers curling around your wrists, and she leans back in her seat, her shoulders pressing against you.

"I'm going to have ask you to back off, miss, I have a girlfriend," Brittany teases. You giggle, pulling your hands away to unveil gorgeous blue eyes twinkling at you as Brittany cranes her neck to look up at you with a wide grin.

You lift an eyebrow, smirk on your lips. "Good answer," you remark and Brittany just lifts one of her hands to cup the nape of your neck and tug you down into a kiss and you can feel her smile against your own, and your entire body scorches in reaction, tingling from your scalp down to your toes, and you press a laugh against Brittany's lips at the bubbly feeling in your chest.

You make your away around to the right row, grinning the whole time, and take your seat, Brittany's arm coming around the back of it, as you both settle in for another perfect Friday night at Dodger Stadium.

/

Sunday games become a staple at Brittany's place, even if the game's at Dodger Stadium.

With you being able to go to more Friday night games more often, Brittany's usually giving those Sunday afternoon game tickets to one of her friends or selling them off, preferring to stay in with you and host a weekly gathering at her place.

And with summer in full swing, Sundays become a long, lazy day of sun beaming in through the windows, the A/C on full blast, the game blaring on the TV, plenty of beer and food to go around, and a handful of people crowded around Brittany's couch.

Brittany's friends are usually present on these Sundays, with Quinn and Sam stopping in on the occasional week, and you've gotten to know the motley crew of friends that Brittany has.

"Look, I can't even explain how wrong you are, Finn. Clearly, Taylor's success isn't a fluke," you argue loudly, pointing a finger in Finn's face.

You might've gotten to know them a little too well.

Finn huffs, but with a friendly smile on his face, looking over to Brittany who's hiding a smirk behind her beer bottle. "Santana, the dude was dumped by the Mariners and barely hit for them over three seasons. He's having a good few weeks filling in while our dudes are on the DL, but it won't last at all."

You hold a hand up, shaking your head. "Okay, first of all, he's a different player now than when he was for the Mariners," you fold down one finger on your hand, "Second of all, he spent some time for our minor team and turned in more than a few weeks of success there, plus Spring Training," you fold down another finger, "and third of all, he reworked his entire swing with our hitting coaches, the same ones who reworked Turner's swing, mind you, and that's why it isn't a fluke. Even I can tell he's the real deal."

A chorus of Ohhhhh's echo around the couch as Finn opens his mouth and closes it, no counterpoint prepared, and you mime dropping a mic, throwing your hands up in a nonchalant shrug.

Mike jostles Finn next to him on the couch. "Dude, give it up. I'm convinced."

There's a beat of silence as everyone waits on Finn's response but Finn just shakes his head, holding his hands up as he concedes with a chuckle, "Alright, I see your point. Maybe Taylor is legit."

The room bursts into cheers and laughs as you let out a whoop, effectively winning an argument that's been going on for three innings. Mike leans across the coffee table to extend his palm to yours for a high five and you slap your palm across his triumphantly.

"Finn, when are you ever going to learn that your opinions are just so, so wrong?" Brittany asks with an exaggerated shake of her head.

Finn groans good-naturedly, narrowing his eyes at Brittany. "What in the heck did you teach her, Britt?"

Brittany giggles and curls an arm around your waist, tugging you back onto her lap as you got so into proving your point that you rose to your feet. "Don't hate because my girlfriend just owned you," Brittany snipes back with a grin. "Now go get us fresh beers since you lost."

Finn laughs but stands up from the couch in good faith, plucking yours and Brittany's empty beers and heads towards Brittany's kitchen.

You settle back onto Brittany's thighs, throwing an arm around her shoulders, your fingers trailing into her hair. Brittany turns to you, her eyes lit up in pure delight, and says, a hint of teasing in her tone, "Where did that come from?"

You slap a hand against her shoulder, making Brittany giggle. "Shut up," you giggle along with her but then your lips twitch into a smug smirk. "But seriously, how impressed are you right now? I learned a few things, you know," you say breezily, lifting a shoulder.

Brittany throws her head back in a bright laugh, tugging her bottom lip between her teeth as her grin threatens to break wide across her face. "It was pretty good," she says with a slight shake of her head.

You can't help but grin back. "Just pretty good?" You lean in, narrowing your eyes at her playfully and arching an eyebrow. You tug a little with the hand curled into Brittany's hair to tilt her head back just a bit so you can watch her eyes flash darker at the gesture. You smirk.

"Okay, okay," Brittany relents with a giggle, "It was totally impressive." You sit back, pleased, and ease your hold in her hair. Immediately, her head picks up from the back of the couch as she leans up towards your face, her nose brushing against your cheek, and she stops a hair away from pressing your lips together. "Consider me very proud," she says lowly.

You hum your approval as you look down at her through your eyelashes and you go to close the distance, your eyes fluttering shut, when the crack of a bat makes both of your heads snap towards the TV just in time to see Taylor, the player you had successfully argued in favor for, launch a grand slam home run over the center field wall, clearing the bases and having four runs score for the Dodgers.

The living room erupts in cheers and you join in, raising your fist triumphantly over your head as Taylor takes the victory lap around the bases. Over Brittany's shoulder, you see Finn rush in from the kitchen, beers in hand, due to all the commotion and immediately, you shoot him a smug smirk. "Take that, Hudson!"

Brittany laughs beneath you, her arms tightening around your waist, as she tugs your chin down, shaking her head all the while. "That's my girl," she says around a grin, before pressing your lips together.

/

But your favorite part of these Sunday games are the late afternoons that follow.

The sun is still hanging in the sky, drooping low, but the heat is still present, making the air sticky and full as it permeates through Brittany's apartment. Even with the A/C on, it only provides a slight reprieve from the heat, the temperature almost simmering throughout the place.

A few hours ago, the place was packed with the usual crowd, lively discussion and cheers filling the room as the game carried on, but now, it's quiet, the crowd long past gone, with the sound of the TV still playing softly, white noise in the background as it transitioned from the game to random sports highlights.

It's gotten late enough where, even though the sun is still out, it's dim enough to warrant turning on a few lights. But instead, the apartment stays slightly dark, sun barely trickling in through the shades, and you rely on the flashes of the TV behind you to cast a muted glow on the room, not particularly caring to move right now from your current spot on the couch.

You pant against Brittany's mouth, beads of sweat dripping down your neck and down the valley of your breasts. You lean your forehead against hers and open your eyes to find hers, dark and navy, staring up at you intensely.

Her fingers dig into your waist, her thumbs rubbing along your hipbones, and you lift your hips slowly, deliberately, before sinking back down onto the toy neatly strapped onto Brittany's hips.

You watch as the move makes Brittany bite her lip, half-hooded blue eyes dilating, and you do it again, your knees digging into the couch and gripping at her waist where you're straddling her, and this time, a breathy moan escapes her lips or maybe yours.

You watch as blue eyes flit downwards to where you're connected, eyeing the way your hips meet hers and the toy disappearing in and out of you, and she muffles a groan into the crook of your neck and you wrap your arms around her shoulders to keep her even closer.

It's hot, way too hot now, and you can feel your hair matting with sweat, the body heat you two are creating making it almost unbearable, but you're relishing in the way your skin seems to sizzle from all the heat and the waves of pleasure. Your eyes roll back in your head and you whimper at the sensations flooding through you when Brittany snaps her hips upwards, your skin flushing, reddening as pleasure jolts through you in a way that makes you feel like you're overheating.

You're not sure what time it is, not sure how long you and Brittany have been at this, but there's no rush, no hurriedness to either of your movements. You can feel the pressure building in the base of your spine, pleasure sparking through you as you dig your nails into Brittany's shoulders, and you know you'll be there soon enough, tipping over the edge.

"God," Brittany whispers against your collarbone as your hips roll again, her mouth placing soft open-mouthed kisses, her tongue darting out to taste salty skin, all along your chest, "You're so beautiful, Santana."

In response, you lift her chin up so you can kiss her, your other hand sliding up her back to cup the nape of her neck, holding her lips against yours. The kiss is gentle and slow, matching the pace of both of your hips. Brittany's hands slide from your waist downwards to grip handfuls of your backside and you moan your approval against her mouth.

The kiss turning too sloppy, you rest your forehead back against hers, your eyes half-opening once more. With Brittany's grip on your ass, she slows the pace of your hips even further, guiding you to grind slowly down the toy nestled onto Brittany's hips at an angle that makes you whimper. She's filling you deeper now and you settle torturously down into her lap, rotating your hips in a way that makes Brittany slam her eyes shut and gasp out your name. You both work in tandem, easing your hips up and down in deliciously slow grinds that also presses the other end of the toy against Brittany in just the right way each time.

Both of your breaths intermingle with each other, the taste of Brittany's exhale filtering into your mouth as she pants against your lips and you gasp against hers, and you stare deep into Brittany's eyes, your fingers cupping the nape of her neck to keep her close. Those blue eyes sparkle back at you even in the dim afternoon light, deep and heavy with arousal, but with clear affection shining. You can't help but smile lazily as something in your chest twists, and her lips tug upwards in response.

"Hi," she murmurs softly, the smile on her face gentle and sweet, a stark contrast to the obscene way your hips are starting to collide faster, the pace quickening as Brittany's hips piston upwards.

"Hi," you breathe back, finding this—staring into Brittany's eyes, heads tipping together and exchanging breaths—so hot, and it's almost too much to take in, the swell of emotion you feel and the hitch in your breath as you stare at Brittany, on top of the way her grip is tight on your backside, her hips are snapping upwards and filling you so deeply, your hips rolling down to meet her, the sound of your skin meeting.

You could stay here forever, if you're so inclined, with the summer day fading into the night, remnants of alcohol still buzzing through you, a long hot day of good company and being at Brittany's side, coupled with this languid, slow aftermath, still etched into your smile. But the waves of pleasure are starting to crescendo, the coil at the pit of your stomach tightening, and you know she's close too with the way her breath is starting to hiccup, her teeth digging into her lip so tightly that her lip almost goes white at the indent, her moan sticking in the air.

You bring your lips together in a mess of a kiss as you fasten the pace, sucking her bottom lip into your mouth and trailing your tongue along the seam of her lips. Brittany matches you desperately and wetly, and you can feel her mouthing your name against your lips as soon as the kiss gets too sloppy to continue. You grind your hips downward once, twice, and you feel Brittany buckle as the toy hits her just right and you follow her seconds after, moaning into Brittany's mouth as you unravel slowly, shocks and jolts of pleasure ebbing and flowing through you.

Brittany's there, bringing you down with her palms pressing downwards at the small of your back, easing you up and down slowly as you ride out your orgasm, until you break the kiss apart and fall into her waiting arms, your forehead slipping onto her shoulder. Your skin sticks together as you press your chest against hers, feeling the push and pull of her rising chest as you breathe hard. You could fall asleep right here, your bones and insides feeling like liquid, your skin hot to the touch, with Brittany's fingers sliding up and down your back, her fingers swiping through the sweat collecting in the groove of your spine.

But Brittany must sense this because her chest rumbles with a chuckle as she presses her lips against the hair sticking to your temple. "San, we better get up."

You shake your head against her shoulder, your eyes drooping closed. "Don't wanna."

Brittany's hands continue trailing up and down your back and the motions are lulling you further into unconsciousness. "I'm pretty sure my legs have fallen asleep and are probably sticking to the couch."

You hum. "Too bad."

And you are so close to dozing off when you feel Brittany's hands trail down to where your thighs meet your ass and lift you upwards, the toy slipping out of you and you moan a little at the loss. You swat at her arm half-heartedly. "That was not nice," you muffle against her neck.

She laughs and quickly taps at your ass. "Up, up."

With all the strength you can muster, you pull yourself off of her and fall onto the couch with a groan, and you hear her giggle as she stands from the couch, sounds of straps unbuckling following suit. With your eyes still closed, you point towards her general direction. "Don't laugh. This," you gesture vaguely up and down the length of you, "is all your fault."

"Poor baby," Brittany coos at you and you feel her draw near, her arms coming around your back and under your legs. You can barely get your arms around her neck in time for her to lift you into her arms easily, and the show of strength never fails to make you run hot. Mentally, you know that you both would probably collapse if you even hinted at going for another round, but you're tempted, your fingers tightening its grip around Brittany's neck as she carries you to her bedroom.

You open your eyes sluggishly once you feel her start to set you down onto the bed, and you take in your favorite sight in the world—Brittany hovering above you, a curtain of blonde hair surrounding you, blue eyes peering down at you, pink lips drawn upwards and perfect white teeth peeking out in a grin. You sigh happily without even knowing it, feeling warm and sated all over, and Brittany's smile turns amused, her head slightly shaking.

Your vision is starting to blur again, the air cooling your heated skin, and you can vaguely register that the sun's gone down, the heat still slightly persistent even as the night's arrived. You feel the sheets rustle and the bed dip next to you, and soon, your limbs are being manipulated, your leg draping across Brittany's thigh, and Brittany's fingers curl lightly around your jaw, turning your head to face her.

"Tired?" Brittany whispers with a hint of a smirk.

You want to kiss it off her.

Instead, you lift your hand up to between you and pinch your pointer finger and thumb together, keeping them a smidge apart. "Just a bit," you tease back softly.

Brittany's eyes brighten as she giggles, her hands tugging you closer by your waist. Even though it's probably too hot to be cuddling, you draw nearer without resistance, needing to feel closer.

Brittany's fingers tickle patterns along the dips of your spine and hips. "I like this," she murmurs, her eyes flickering all over your face.

You're not sure what she means and you know it could be a variety of things—the incredible sex you two just had, the cuddling, the whole day together surrounded by friends and filled with baseball. Or maybe she means the feeling of contentment you've felt all day, moment after moment strung together to make a perfect day, one that feels endless even though it's drawing to a close as sleep nears.

But you agree, anyways, because you like this too. All of this.

You shuffle closer on your pillow to drop a feather-light kiss onto her lips, barely ghosting over her mouth, before whispering, "Me too."

/

Though work and baseball provide a steady rhythm to the summer, there are lots of days in between filled with stretches of nothingness. No obligations, no game scheduled, no work to do, no place to be.

It's freeing, almost, and foreign, definitely. You honestly can't remember the last time you had a summer pan out quite like this one, full of sun and lazy days and without the hustle and blur that accompanies your usual summers.

You think it's all due to one gorgeous blonde in your life.

(Scratch that, you know it is.)

Sometimes, it just hits you how incredibly lucky you are. Especially at times like right now, as you exit your car and stop in your tracks because surely, you must be dreaming.

Brittany's in the driveway of her place, washing her Jeep in a bikini top and denim shorts. There are soap suds everywhere, on the driveway, all over her Jeep, and some sticking to the dips of her abs and dotting her legs, and it's… a lot. It's straight out of one of your fantasies and you can practically hear the cheesy 80's rock music blaring in your head as you gape blatantly, watching as Brittany sprays the white Jeep clear of soap in (what seems to you) slow motion.

A splash of cool water stings across your chest and you let out a squeak as you reel back, shaking out of your daze to find Brittany giggling at you, hose in her hand still dangerously pointed near you. "Are you just gonna stand there and perv all day or are you gonna help me?"

You pull your now wet shirt away from your skin a little, sending her a glare as you walk towards her, and she shoots you an innocent grin. "Not fair, by the way," you grumble as soon as you're near enough and she drops a kiss onto your lips in greeting. "How do you expect me to do anything when you look like this?"

Brittany smirks down at you, looking all too smug. "Was the Def Leppard too much?"

"Huh?" You blink, still somewhat dazed, then you realize the cheesy 80s music wasn't just in your head as Brittany reaches inside her car to pause the music blaring through her speakers. Brittany's shoulders start shaking as she tries to rein in her giggles at the blank look on your face.

"You're teasing me," you realize, shooting her a look, and she bursts into actual giggles, doubling over. "Cruel, Britt. Just cruel," You huff playfully, your cheeks heating, and make a move to walk away, and Brittany's giggles turn into full-bodied laughs as she grabs at your wrists to tug you into her arms.

"I'm sorry, I couldn't resist," Brittany says around a laugh, her hands tugging your wrists further against her chest, even as you try to wiggle free from her grasp. A smile threatens to break across your lips but you keep your scowl on your face. "Your eyes practically glazed over when I told you that I was washing my Jeep today."

You huff again, but the corner of your lips twitch upwards, your hands trailing down to loop around her waist. "Do you even wash your car manually?"

Brittany's blue eyes shine with mirth as she responds with a cheeky grin, "Not really."

You just shake your head, your grin finally breaking across your face. "I really can't stand you," you deadpan, your grin betraying you, and Brittany gasps dramatically in response.

You try to pull free from her again, but her arms just tighten around you as she wraps her arms around your back, her laugh shaking through you. Your fingers go to her sides in retaliation and she squeaks, pushing you away, and you scramble for the hose that she dropped nearby.

"Santana, no, please!" Brittany begs between laughs, ducking behind her Jeep. "You've gotta conserve water! We're in a drought!"

You stop and make a noise of consideration since it's a pretty good point that only Brittany would think to bring up right now, and Brittany ducks her head back out to peek at you and see if her plea worked. But you just turn the spray on, delighting in her squeal as the water splashes her, as you holler, "Should've thought of that before!"

You're sure that if her neighbors were to pass by, you two would look like such an obnoxious cliché, shrieking and spraying water everywhere in the hot sun, both of you getting drenched as you chase Brittany around the Jeep with the water hose, an exhilarated grin on your face.

But you find yourself not really giving a shit. Brittany has this uncanny way of making you embrace the clichés these days.

Like last week when Brittany dragged you all the way to Anaheim because she was personally offended that you've never been to Disneyland despite living in Southern California all your life. Even though you groaned over how undoubtedly crowded it would be on a Saturday and how you both are too old for Disneyland ("No one is too old for Disneyland," Brittany just argued in return.) and how Brittany forced you to change after taking one look at your skintight dress and heeled boots ("Santana, this is so not sensible Disneyland attire. Have you been to a theme park before? Also, why don't you have any shoes that have an actual sole?"), it wasn't as bad as you were imagining.

Yes, you were a little embarrassed when the first thing Brittany did as soon as you entered the park was tug you by the wrist over to the nearest merchandise stand and plopped a set of Minnie ears on your head to match the set of Minnie ears on hers, attached to a Dodgers cap, of course. "It's tradition," Brittany said plainly in a no-nonsense tone, the one that you've quickly found out means there's no use arguing with her.

But even after suffering through being near entirely too much children for hours and going on almost every ride, it was kind of, sort of wonderful to end the day with Brittany's arms wrapped around your waist, her chin resting on top of your head, watching the fireworks zoom across the night sky above the signature Disneyland castle.

It was entirely worth the six laughing emojis along with a comment that said, "You're officially that cheesy couple," that Quinn put on your Instagram picture of you and Brittany kissing in front of the castle, matching Minnie ears on your heads.

So fuck it. You guess you are officially one of those couples.

You're cheesy and cliché and you're loving every minute of it.

/

After you and Brittany get thoroughly soaked, waste entirely too much water, and the soap and water ends up drying in smudged streaks across Brittany's Jeep, you end up calling a truce when you both wave rags in each other's directions and actually get down to washing Brittany's Jeep properly.

You're finishing up wiping down the hood together, standing side by side with the occasional bouts of giggles still cropping up from the water fight, and you knock your hips into hers, shooting her a glance from the corner of your eyes.

Brittany's cheeks are red from the sun and from laughing, her blonde hair darkened and stringy with water, and she catches your glance, biting down her smile and shaking her head at you. Your eyes trail downwards, tracing along skin still damp, before stifling another giggle once you eye her shoulders.

Blue eyes narrow at you. "What?"

Your mouth twitches. "Your shoulders are going to be so sunburnt."

Brittany knocks her hip against you, making you stumble a little, and you can't help but laugh then. "Shut up. We could've been done an hour ago if you didn't start a water fight."

"You started it first," you raise an eyebrow at her, grinning widely.

Brittany rolls her eyes at you, but you watch as a smile slowly grows on her lips until it breaks across, the width of her grin matching yours. "True," she admits, and you both burst into giggles again.

Brittany gives a final swipe across the hood with the rag in her hand, standing back to evaluate both of your handiwork. You follow suit, stepping back and tilting your head, and well, you're pretty proud, if you say so yourself.

Brittany's Jeep is gleaming in the sun, the white paint spotless and the black trim and rims sparkling deeply. It's not bad at all, considering you usually don't manually wash any car, not even your own, and Brittany looks exceptionally pleased, letting out a low whistle as she walks around her car, taking it all in.

"Not bad, Lopez," she teases as she rounds back around the hood to you, looping the rag in her hands around your neck to tug you closer with it.

You follow easily, hooking your fingers in the damp belt loops of Brittany's denim shorts, as you press against her. "So I think, as a reward for my hard work…" you trail off.

Brittany quirks an eyebrow as she looks down at you through her eyelashes, blue eyes darkening. "Yeah?" She breathes out, smile on her face, as she dips her head closer to yours.

You lean upwards slowly, letting your breath waft over her lips and watching as Brittany's eyelashes flutter, before finishing, "...that you let me drive your Jeep."

Brittany's head jerks back in an instant and you almost want to laugh at how high her eyebrows have raised, but you keep one of yours arched as you stare after her expectantly.

Brittany hesitates, shooting you a nervous grin. "Um, you want to drive Betty?"

You roll your eyes at the nickname, even if it is endearing. "Yes, Britt. Come on. You never let me drive her."

Brittany lets out a breathy laugh, fiddling with the rag still looped around your neck. "Yeah, but no one's allowed to drive her but me. And she's a lot bigger than your car."

You narrow your eyes a little. "You're really not going to let me drive her after I spent hours washing her by hand in the heat for you?"

You lock eyes with her, eyebrow still raised, and yeah, you're laying it on pretty thick, but you can practically watch her resolve crumble and you try not to look smug as she lets out a begrudging sigh.

"Okay, fine. But just down to the taco shop down the street because I'm starving," Brittany relents and you bounce on your heels, kissing her cheek soundly.

/

So you almost run over a trash can, climb over at least three curbs, and Brittany's knuckles are still a little white from how hard she was gripping the passenger handrail, but you manage to successfully get you and Brittany to the taco shop down the block.

You're finishing up one of your tacos, dabbing at your mouth with a napkin, and you look up across the table to see Brittany mid-bite, and for some reason, something warms in your chest, leaving you slightly breathless.

Brittany's blonde hair has long dried into wild waves that are almost curly at the ends, and you can see the tops of her shoulders beneath her hair already starting to turn red, like you mentioned earlier. Her knees are knocking into yours beneath the tiny wooden table you both are seated at outside the small taco shop, the sun starting to dip in the sky and shining through tall palm trees casting shapes onto the pavement, cars bustling by, and when Brittany feels your eyes on her, her eyes dart up to meet yours and she tilts her head at you questioningly, still mid-chew.

You just chuckle, shaking your head slightly, because you've long embraced what you're willing to do for the blonde across from you. You've known for awhile now that only for Brittany would you stand in the sun for half the day, sweating to death and getting soaked in the process, just to help her wash her car painstakingly by hand.

But you realize that, on Brittany's end, only for you would she let you drive her Jeep that she clearly cherishes and not complain a single second.

And it floors you a little.

"You kinda like me, huh?" You ask, half teasing, half serious, a lopsided smile on your face.

You adore the way Brittany's always an open book with you, taking in the way her face unravels when you speak, her everything brightening and her eyes crinkling as she smiles at you, blue eyes sparkling.

"Yeah. Just kinda," Brittany responds in the same tone, but you watch as she bites down on her lip, breaking away from your gaze and glancing down at the table as her cheeks ruddy with color, her grin wide across her lips.

It floors you that you have the same effect on her that she has on you.

/

Game 51 of 162

Brittany had once said to you that the summer is when the Dodgers thrive.

"It always takes a few weeks for us to get going," Brittany had mentioned after a grueling April loss, head high with a hopeful smile as you two walked among a shuffling crowd of fans exiting the stadium. "But when summer hits, things'll get better. The ball carries farther with the heat and Chavez Ravine gets a different energy and the team kind of just… feeds from it all."

And true to Brittany's word, the Dodgers start turning things around.

In the spring, the team had been middling around an even number of wins and losses, but with the turn of summer, the number of wins in the win column start piling up. The team just starts playing better. The rookie you took an interest in, Cody Bellinger, sets a franchise record to be the first Dodger to hit five home runs in just his first 11 games. One of the players who wasn't even on the roster when the season opened, Chris Taylor, starts hitting like crazy, leading the team in batting average. Justin Turner, one of the best hitters on the team and in the whole league, goes on a hot streak and sets a career-high hitting streak of 16 straight games with a hit.

And it's not just the offense, but the pitching gets better too. Alex Wood, one of the starting pitchers for the Dodgers, pitches 28 total innings without allowing a single run. Kenley Jansen, the closing pitcher for the Dodgers, continues on a record-setting streak of strikeouts. In fact, the entire Dodgers bullpen, the pitching staff who come in after the starting pitcher exits the game, puts up a record performance—pitching over 24 innings combined without allowing a single run.

So more often than not, there's always a ball making its way out into the stands, an opposing batter swinging and missing, and you and Brittany are cheering on any given summer night, the afternoon dusk providing a picture perfect setting to Dodgers Stadium.

You don't think today will be any different, based on how the past few weeks of summer games have gone. In fact, heading into this game against the Chicago Cubs, the Dodgers have won the past three games in a row so you're feeling pretty confident that it'll be a great game ahead, especially with Kershaw on the mound for the Dodgers.

You grin as Brittany pulls up to the curb, her white Jeep gleaming in the early morning sun. Dressed in your now worn and comfortable PIERCE jersey, you wave as Brittany sets the Jeep into park and reach for the passenger door handle, climbing in to settle into the passenger seat when—

"Britt, uh, what's with the broom?"

A long handle broom is propped up in the passenger seat and Brittany pops her head up from where she's digging in her center console.

"Oh, just toss that in the back for now. We'll need it for the game."

You do as she says and climb in, even as you smile amusedly. "And why do we need a broom for the game?"

Brittany finally comes up with what she was looking for—her trusty pair of aviators—and slips them onto her face, setting out onto the road. "Oh, because we're going for the sweep today."

You're afraid to ask once you eye the self-satisfied grin on Brittany's face, but you roll your eyes playfully and ask anyways. "And what's a sweep?"

Brittany giggles, looking smug. "It's when you win all the games in a short series of games against another team and, in this case, we'll definitely need the broom because we are totally going to sweep the Cubs today!"

"Oh my god," you mutter affectionately at how eager Brittany's grin is and how wonderfully ridiculous your girlfriend is. "And let me guess, we have some history with the Cubs."

It's not a hard guess at all, considering Brittany's wearing a snarky shirt that says FLY THE L about the opposing team in question underneath her matching LOPEZ jersey that you got her last weekend.

Brittany nods seriously. "Yup. We lost to them in the Championship round of the playoffs last year, which is the farthest we've ever gotten to to the World Series in years, and then they went on to win the World Series last year. So this series is a total revenge series. If we win today's game and sweep the Cubs, we're gonna make a statement against the reigning champs that this year is our year."

"Gotcha," you nod in return, only slightly succeeding in masking your amused smile. But Brittany catches it anyways, reaching out to give you a slight shove, and you giggle. "Hey, thanks again, by the way, for making today happen. Quinn and I can't get Sam to shut up over it."

Today also happens to be Sam's birthday and, after multiple days of pleading and following you around the office, Quinn successfully convinced you to get Brittany to score two more seats next to Brittany's season ticket seats for the occasion.

Brittany smiles at you. "Of course! I'm surprised we haven't all caught a game sooner."

You roll your eyes. "Oh, I'm not. Sam's been begging me to tag along for months, but only because he's obsessed with the seats. So beware, he's probably gonna bug you about them today."

Brittany chuckles. "Play nice, San. It's his birthday, after all."

"Yeah, yeah," you grumble, but shoot her a smile. Soon enough, Brittany's pulling up to Quinn's house, the other couple in question decked in Dodgers gear, and you roll down the window as Brittany parks at the curb. "Get in, losers," you yell out.

Quinn shoots you a glare as she and Sam stride towards Brittany's Jeep. "Nice, S. Piss off my whole neighborhood, why don't you," Quinn snipes as she clambers in.

You roll your eyes, barking out a laugh. "Who gives a shit about your bougie ass neighborhood, Q?"

Quinn promptly ignores you as she buckles herself in, instead turning to Brittany. "Hi, Santana's clearly better half. Thanks again for the tickets."

Brittany giggles at you when you huff at Quinn's response, but then Sam's climbing in and slamming the door shut. "Thanks again, you guys! Best birthday ever!" Sam exclaims, buckling himself in.

You turn around in your seat, pointing at him. "Okay, here's the rules: no bugging Brittany over the seats, you guys are still paying for all of your own shit because it's hella expensive at the stadium, and absolutely no impressions. Got it?"

Sam looks like he's about to protest but you just arch an eyebrow and he shuts his mouth, quickly nodding. "Got it."

Brittany just laughs next to you, shaking her head as she grins.

/

It's the seventh inning stretch and you're a couple innings worth of beers in, a heady buzz fully in place. It's a damn fine Los Angeles afternoon and the Dodgers are leading the Cubs, 7-4. The game's been a classic so far, home run after home run hit by the Dodgers, the offense clicking as the team steamrolls towards a win against the reigning World Series champions.

You stand and stretch languidly, looping an arm around Brittany's waist in what's become a standard routine for these seventh inning stretches.

Brittany's aviators are on your face, her cap long stolen and placed on your head instead, and you're grinning widely up at her. Brittany giggles down at you, tugging down the brim of her cap on your head.

"Ready?" Brittany asks, bright smile on her face as she loops her arm around your shoulders.

"Always," you respond back and she drops a kiss onto your warm cheek.

Next to you, Sam has his arms braced around Quinn who's rolling her eyes skyward affectionately, and you can't help but laugh at the expression on her face.

The organist kicks off the opening notes to Take Me Out to the Ballgame and you lock eyes with Brittany, a wide smile on your lips, and sing along, swaying with her in place. In the background, you register Sam wailing the lyrics dramatically, Quinn letting out a groan of frustration, the stadium of thousands joining in, a wave of unified sound.

But really, all you register is Brittany, her voice slightly wavering with laughter as she glances over to Quinn and Sam and shakes her head, but still carrying down to you, light and clear.

/

The Dodgers win against the Cubs with a final score of 9-4.

Your voice is hoarse after cheering all through the game, a now all too familiar feeling, and you have your arms looped around Brittany's waist as you walk through the stadium towards the exit. Brittany's raising the broom she made a point to bring resolutely above her head, a smug grin on her face, as she chants, "Swept the Cubs! Swept the Cubs!" Ahead of you, Sam is high fiving strangers as he passes them, still whooping in victory, and Quinn's laughing at him with her fingers tangled in his free hand.

And you bite down your lip and wonder once again for the umpteenth time in the past few weeks how the hell you got so damn lucky.

Just six months ago, a typical weekend would've looked like hours spent alone, hunched over your laptop and overworking yourself through the evening, ending in a mess of whiskey to try and wash away the emptiness and a nameless one night stand that would've meant nothing to you the next day. And you almost can't believe all of the days that passed you by as you worked yourself to the bone just months ago, all the nights of loneliness that burned into you.

Because the difference now is almost immeasurable and it makes your heart ache in the best way possible when you try to grasp it.

Now, you're basking in the afternoon sun, enjoying the unmistakable adrenaline of a team winning in a sport you never would've pictured yourself liking ages ago, with your best friends at your side. You could've never imagined this, could've never thought that you were living life on autopilot, could've never seen that you were missing out on this. The pressures of work are still in the background, the demands of life still always present, but the emptiness is gone. You're happy. You really are. The feeling's not so foreign anymore, but you're still not used to it because now, your days feel fuller, lighter, easier.

And most of all, now, you have Brittany.

Your heart swells when you look up at her, her head thrown back in a laugh, and you can't believe that it's been almost half a year since you've met Brittany, since she came barreling into your life with her bright smile and those blue eyes. You haven't tired of the way she makes you feel, your chest swirling with so many emotions that it makes you feel like you're struggling to catch your breath every time you look at her.

And today, those emotions swelled and swelled in your chest, to the point where you felt overwhelmed, completely and utterly overwhelmed with the force of it, and you felt it encompass you, rising in your chest and tipping into your throat and lingering on your tongue.

You feel like you're forgetting something important or maybe even remembering something you've needed to know and you're feeling this tugging, nameless ache drawing you tightly, growing stronger with every passing day, an incomprehensible urge to put a name to the rush of emotions that make you feel weak in the knees every time you meet blue ocean eyes, every time your fingers thread with hers, every time you wake to a smattering of blonde hair across your pillow and limbs tangled with yours.

But not yet.

You swallow thickly, pushing the pressing urge down, and stop right where you're standing, tugging Brittany to whirl around and face you, and you curl a hand around her neck to tug her lips to yours and you just kiss her. You keep your eyes open for a second just to watch the surprise color her eyes before she smiles against your lips, kissing you back, and you let your eyelids fall shut and you lose yourself in her kiss.

For now, you're going to enjoy what the rest of the summer brings.