I flipped that cheap, business card sized advertisement over and over again with my free hand. The thumb of my other one had been hovering the call button on my phone for the last 10 minutes. Should I? Or shouldn't I?

I sighed. Why was it so hard for me, a mature (enough) woman, to make this kind of decision for myself? I didn't know. I mean, I was on vacation, for fuck's sake. And the intention of this vacation was to let myself be… free and open and all that shit my best friend Quinn wanted me to be.

"Look, Santana," she sat me down a week ago. "I really hate seeing you like this. You need to loosen up. I know why you're drowning yourself with work, and I want you to stop. Mourn another way," a pause. "Feel."

I snapped, of course, because that was the only thing I could do at the moment. "Feel what, Quinn? Tell me, feel what? I'm sorry if my way of mourning is not up to your standards but this is how I deal!"

"You've spent the last year staying awake, plowing through documents like some corporate zombie, which, you and I both know that that is not you," she took a step forward and I, backward, crossing my arms in defense. "You don't sleep, you don't eat, and don't think I can't tell you've dropped a dress size, Santana."

"Yeah, well," I rolled my eyes. "Beauty is pain, princess."

"I think you emphasized too much on the pain part, Santana," she said softly, genuinely and full of concern that it was becoming really hard for me to keep my tears at bay. I swayed a bit because a part of me really wanted to crumble down and just be vulnerable for once.

But then of course she had to open her big, yet undoubtedly very pretty, mouth again.

"I mean it's not like Nicole's dead or something," she flailed her arms up in the air — apparently frustrated with my stubbornness. "She wasn't even a good girlfriend to you, Santana!"

"Don't you dare! We were perfectly fine!"

"Oh yeah?" Quinn challenged me and took another step forward.

I took one as well. "Yeah!"

"Then why did you spend more than half of your relationship coming home crying? Why do you insist on protecting her when she was the one who cheated on you? I can count, with just my left hand, the number of times she came to your amateur night singing gigs — oh, hold on, I can actually count that with just one finger! And guess what, I'm giving her the middle one because dammit, Santana, you're my best friend and nobody gets to treat you that way!"

There was a long pause before I finally relented and slumped into the couch. I held my face with both my hands — not because I was crying, but because I was frustrated with myself. I knew Quinn was right. In fact, I've always known about it for a long time. I, myself, couldn't figure out why I gave a million chances to Nicole when I knew perfectly well that she didn't deserve them.

"Listen," Quinn sat down next to me. "Take some days off and come with me to Vegas next week. I'm gonna be busy with business meetings during the first couple of days, but we can have fun once the clock strikes 5 on that third day — plus we get to stay the weekend. We can stay at our condo, and I'm gonna be paying for your plane tickets, too. What do you say?"

I huffed in response. Vegas did sound very nice.

"Come on, Santana," Quinn nudged my shoulder with hers. "It'll be like old times. You and me, painting the town red? But like... without the literal paint this time."

I chuckled. "We did have a lot of fun with that can of red paint."

"Jacob was so maaaaad…" she reminisced, and we both laughed at our former highschool's newspaper reporter.

"Jacob and his stupid car deserved it. He knew he would never get away spreading false rumors about the Captains of the Cheerios."

Quinn smirked. "One of those rumors came true, though. You now looove the ladies."

I raised an eyebrow. "Quinn, both of those rumors came true. We had sex."

"Ah," Quinn nodded with a slight blush on her cheeks. "True that. Now I'm wondering if he had predicted the future. Maybe he used Tarot cards or a crystal ball or something."

"Pfft," I snorted. "Yeah, right. The only ball he was rubbing was —"

"Aaahh, I do not need to hear the rest of that sentence," Quinn cut me off with a grimace. "So… what do you say? Vegas? Are you in or are you out?"

And that, ladies and gents, was how I became stuck in this penthouse, surrounded by these… obscene, yet very appealing invitations in my hands. Stupid Quinn had to step out for a business dinner with her company's potential client; but not before she shoved me a pile of these cheap ads for strip clubs and whatnot (okay, fine… hookers).

You know how these cards riddled the streets of Vegas, right? Not only that, but also the annoyingly loud noise of fingernails flicking them? Yeah. Quinn said she felt guilty for having to bail out of our dinner plans tonight, so she walked up to every single greasy person on every single intersection and asked for everyone of them to hand her a card — for me.

She added that I should go out there and "experience" Vegas to the fullest.

"Pick a card, any card," she said. "Get laid."

(I think she forgot that "experiencing" Vegas to the fullest did not have to mean catching STDs.)

…

Maybe she was right, though. I mean, I hadn't gotten any lady action since… Well, let's just say I had been making Energizer a very happy company lately. So it's understandable if I was a little bit… frustrated, right?

I wish I could tell you that I wasn't the slightest intrigued by the lovely gesture — or by the lovely ladies grazing the front side of these cards, but I was. But I felt guilty about it. Also slightly disgusted at myself. And I think that was why I ended up picking the weirdest, most absurd card design there was.

For the nth time in the past hour I took another glance at the piece of cardstock. This time I really looked at it.

(Like how I really looked at it a million times before.

It said "Rent My Pussy".

Well, that's one way to get my attention. I had to applaud that.

The image on that particular card is sheer genius, though. A pair of cat's eyes on one side, and a pair of a woman's eyes on the other. Why genius? Because this woman's eyes are shaped like those of a cat. Y'know, like, really sharp with the outer corners pulled up? Not to mention they were the prettiest, bluest eyes I had ever seen. They infused the right amount of mystery to the message. And exactly what was the message? Well, I was about to find out from 1-800-BSPUSSY.

"Hello?" a woman's voice answered the ring and I couldn't help but wonder if she was the owner of those magnificent eyes. "Hello? Anybody there?"

"Oh —" shit. Damn those eyes. "Hi, yeah. Hi."

There was a giggle on the other line. Whether or not it was intentionally meant to seduce, it was working. "You've said that already."

"Oh, haha. Yeah, I did," I slapped my forehead for being a dork.

There was a bit of a pause before she spoke again. "Can I help you with anything?"

"I'm uh… I — I saw your card and, uh," oh, fuck it. "I want rent your pussy."

"Oh, okay," the woman said cheerfully. But then the air changed. She suddenly got all serious with her tone of voice. "Just so you know, I'm going to have to do some inspections before we continue with this."

"Um," I gulped. "Inspection?"

"Yeah, you know… An interview? We meet, talk for a bit, and then I'll decide what kind of pussy you need. Or the kind of pussy you want, maybe."

I gulped again. There was something about the way she said 'pussy' — or maybe the number of times she said it — that made me blush. That, and because the implication of her being the 'pimp' was kind of hot.

Power. I like power.

"Hello? You there?"

"Hey, yeah, I'm here. Um… OK, let's meet," I told her, feeling bold, but nervous at the same time. "Where and when?"

"Well, first of all, do you mind if I asked you some preliminary questions?

"Um," I hesitated. Do I really want to answer those questions? But, "You know what? Go ahead."

"Cool! Okay," she cleared her throat. "Number one. Do you live in Vegas or just visiting?"

"Just visiting. I'm here for a week."

"Number two. Are you staying at a hotel or your own place, or what?"

"I'm staying at a friend's place," I told her. "But it's practically mine, too. We're kinda like sisters, my friend and I."

"That's nice. Wish I had a sister…" she trailed off. It wasn't until I cleared my throat that she spoke again. "Uh, okay that's it. Since you're planning to use the service at your place, I'm going to need to check it out."

"What? Why?"

"I know it sounds weird, but… I want to make sure it's safe? I mean, no offense, but some people tend to be secretly abusive, and everything. I just don't want anything bad to happen. If you want, you can even have your friend present when I'm there. I promise I'm not a bad person."

Yeah, not a bad person — just a pimp. And no, I really didn't want Quinn to be there when I'm being interviewed by one. "No, that won't be necessary. You can come by. When?"

"Are you free tonight? The sooner, the better for you, right?"

"Uh," that got me. Was it really better for me? "I guess so?"

"Great! I can swing by around 6 PM?"

I looked at the clock. It was still 2 hours until 6 PM, I figured I had a lot of time to get ready. "Six sounds great. Do you know the Ogden?"

"Do I know the Ogden? Seriously?"

I scrunched my eyebrows. "What? What's wrong with my question?"

"I friggin' live there."

"You're kidding," my eyes widened. There was a pimp living in the building and I didn't know about it, how? Also — what? I'm pretty sure human trafficking wasn't allowed here.

"No, I'm not. I'm on the 8th floor. What about you? Where should I go find you?"

"I'm, uh… at the very top. I'll call the concierge and let them know you're coming upstairs. I just need your name." I guess if she lived in the same building as I was, she couldn't be that bad, right? All I needed to do was to cross-check her info with the concierge.

"It's Brittany. Brittany Pierce."

"Great. Just tell the guy you're going up to see Santana Lopez and, assuming everything goes right, he'll let you up."

"Awesome. See you later," she greeted me goodbye. And then she added a very well rehearsed, (with a very sensual voice, I might add), "thanks for calling Rent My Pussy. Hope you're having a purr-fect day."

Well, shit. That last bit sent a shiver down my spine because that. was. hot. Thankfully, I managed to squeak out my goodbye before she hung up.

That night, when I answered the door at 5:59 PM, I almost couldn't believe my eyes. The creature standing in front of me was perfect. Like, perfectly perfect. She was taller than me, which I liked. She was blonde and beautiful and walked with such rhythm that nobody else could hear.

But, the best of all? Those blue eyes. The same blue eyes I saw on the business card were right there in front of me. I couldn't stop staring at them — and they couldn't look away from my boobs. Ha. Score one for me.

Now, you might think this was the beginning of crazy, sex-filled nights.

I thought so, too.

Of course, I was wrong.

(Though I couldn't stop myself from hoping.)

(P.S. I never knew Quinn was allergic to cats.)