Sam walked up right next to Santana as she was reapplying lipgloss in the mirror of her locker, waiting for her to acknowledge him. She didn't.

He cleared his throat and her eyes only turned his way. He figured that was good enough.

"So, uh, I've gotta pick up the little monsters from swim practice tomorrow." He told her. She didn't respond. "So I might be a little bit late for our date."

"We don't have a date." She responded.

"I thought we were going to Breadstix."

"I went there last week with Mercedes and Kurt. Were we on a date?"

"Um..." He cocked his head.

"Look, Trouty." She turned her full attention to him. "You like me. That's blatantly obvious. And, hell, who could blame you? I'm smokin' hot and the head bitch in this place. And I kinda like you too. You're cute, in a weird kind of way. Like maybe a three legged dog who has a bark that sounds like 'please love me'. But if you think I'm gonna be your Prom Queen, you're sadly mistaken. I don't date. The closest I've ever come to a boyfriend is the 'friends with benefits' sitch I had with Puckerman before Berry snatched up his balls and locked them in her pot of gold. It's just not in me to be someone's girlfriend. The most you're gonna get out of me is a couple hot makeout sessions, maybe a dinner or two, and if you're lucky, the best sex you'll ever have. Take it or leave it, Lisa Rinna."

He chuckled at her. "Game on, Lopez."

"Excuse me?"

"I'm not giving up that easy. You think all we're ever gonna be is friends, but you're wrong.

"When have I ever said we were friends? I mean, we've hung out and you text me funny shit sometimes. But that doesn't mean we're friends."

"I am gonna be your man, Santana. You can count on that." He walked away from her before she could respond, but threw over his shoulder. "And it is a date tomorrow."

Santana slammed her locker but as she glared down the hall at him, a smile creeped across her face. "Stupid Trouty Mouth." She muttered.