Title: Santana Lopez Makes Sure Situations are Win-Win (for Her)
Established Pairing: Santana Lopez/Rachel Berry
Eventual Pairings: Rachel Berry/Quinn Fabray; Santana Lopez/Brittany Pierce
Rating: NC-17 for all three pairings, eventually.
Spoilers: Through 2x16
Disclaimer: Glee is not mine.
Summary: Santana hatches a new scheme with characteristically questionable motives, this time inspired by seemingly unrelated conversations with Rachel and Quinn. Meanwhile, spending time with Santana seems to be bringing out Rachel's manipulative side as well. Written for the same universe as Santana Lopez Can, In Fact, Do Anything (Or Anyone), Santana Lopez Likes What She Likes, Okay?, and The Mess You Left.
At first I planned that the next time I saw Rachel Berry I would shave off one of her eyebrows.
And let’s be honest, it would have been deserved. Not only did the conversation with Brittany that she set me up for turn out to be an utter disaster, but it totally made me lose my shit at school. I’ve had people wrongfully arrested for less.
But then I thought about it some more. And the more I did, I started to think I’d leave my razor blades at home after all. I mean, yes, she’d trapped and manipulated me, but maybe Berry’d also unintentionally done me a favor. Sitting across from Brittany at the lunch table had made me realize one thing – I was exhausted. I needed it to stop. I needed to move on.
And yeah, that realization had made me feel like the inside of my chest had been sucked into a supermassive black hole. But now the idea of not having to see or talk to Brittany one-on-one anymore made me feel, every once in a while, like I could actually inhale oxygen.
I mean, sure, it also made me feel like there was no point in doing so. But at least the stabbing in the pit of my stomach every time I laid eyes on her would be gone. Or less frequent, or something.
But that also meant the truth was – and god, if this wasn’t rock bottom I don’t want to know what was – that I couldn’t just burn the Rachel Berry bridge. I still needed her. You know, for my plan. And she’d been hanging around me long enough now that I guess it was. . . comfortable. I mean, still usually obnoxious and infuriating, but comfortable.
It wasn’t a lie, what I said to Noah about her. I was making no plans to get matching pagan tattoos or browse sperm donor catalogs. But somehow it had gone from unbearable to be around her unless we were having sex to an acceptable distraction to hang out with her even if we weren’t.
So when I saw her in school the next day, instead of disfiguring her face like I would have done a few months ago I said, “Nice try, Berrylicious, but your little idea? It backfired.”
“How so?” she asked. “I mean, ahem, what idea?”
“Well, I’ll tell you, strawberry muffin. Your forcing me into a conversation with Brittany, even after you said you wouldn’t, gave me the chance to tell her something I’ve needed to tell her for weeks.”
Her eyes got big and excited. “That she’s your soul mate?”
“No, Jesus Berry, use your brain cells. How would that have been backfiring? No, I told her to leave me alone. Oh and also, it might be easy to convince Brittany to do things, but you can stop trying to manipulate me. It’s like Finn trying to teach Mike how to dance – it just makes you look ridiculous, and someone’s probably going to end up in the hospital.
Anyway, see you Friday night,” I added cheerfully at the end.
**
When Friday night rolled around, I was so ready to let loose. It had been five more days of the same old stress and bullshit, and I needed to knock it out of my system. And next to revving the engine of my dad’s Benz at stop lights and goading people into drag racing with me, getting trashed and having sex with Berry is my favorite way to do that these days.
A few minutes before she was supposed to get there I changed into the “pajamas” she’d requested that I wear – my black lace bra under a see-through black nightgown that barely covered my ass. As I checked myself out in the mirror I debated putting on a thong, but then I figured I was barely going to have any of this on for more than a minute anyway, and decided against it.
This was a decision I would come to regret.
When she knocked and announced she was here I set down my drink, got up from my bed, and went to the bedroom door. I opened it to find Quinn standing next to Rachel with a look of horror spreading across her face.
“Santana!” she yelped, voice two octaves higher than I’d ever heard it before, and covered her eyes with her hand.
“Rachel!” I screamed, scooting behind the door to hide from view.
Rachel threw her head back and laughed her ass off, placing her hand on Quinn’s shoulder to steady herself.
“That’s for showing Quinn my bra last week,” she said when she caught her breath, prancing across the room and daintily tucking her legs underneath herself in my pappasan chair. She fixed her eyes on me with a self-satisfied smile as I pulled on a pair of jeans, and Quinn hovered in the doorway with her hand pressed against her forehead, once again muttering to herself.
“Is that what you’re wearing?” Rachel asked, her smile fading as I pulled a snug, white v-neck t-shirt on over my black bra.
“Try to control yourself,” I smiled.
“Is it safe to come in now?” Quinn asked.
“Yes. And sorry, Quinn. I apologize that you had to be in the middle of that, but it had to be done,” Rachel said matter-of-factly.
“So you didn’t tell her I was coming? That’s just great, because God knows I’ve missed feeling like a third wheel around Santana and her woman.”
“She’s not my woman,” I said at the same time Rachel said, “I am not her woman.”
She looked at us skeptically. “Regardless, I did not need to see what Santana wears when you two have your little ‘get-togethers.’”
“She’s just mad that now she won’t be able to stop thinking about it,” I said to Rachel.
So. This changed the plan for tonight. I mean, I’d been looking forward to fucking Rachel, but this could be interesting too. And I had to give Berry props – somehow she got Quinn into this room even after her official Ice Queen Proclamation of Santana Lopez Hatred last weekend.
I would have to do a little investigating. Oh, and also, have myself a little revenge.
“Guess this bottle for two is now a bottle for three,” I said, twisting off the cap and pouring three servings into paper cups from the bathroom.
“Two drink minimum at this shindig, Fabray,” I said, shoving a cup into her hand.
“I don’t drink red wine,” she said, pushing it back at me with an open palm. “It discolors your teeth.”
I rolled my eyes into my skull and was considering dribbling the contents of her glass down the front of her shirt instead when Rachel chimed in.
“Trust me, Quinn, as a performer I know the importance of a dazzling smile. I have this excellent whitener I got from my dental practitioner. I’d be happy to share, so feel free to indulge.”
Berry raised her eyebrows expectantly and looked from Quinn to the cup and back to Quinn.
Quinn sighed heavily and took the glass from my hand without looking at me.
Interesting.
“So, Berry,” I said, turning to her. “I assume this is not your way of proposing a three-way. But you brought her here, so now what?”
“Well,” she said, “I propose we increase our inebriation levels and go from there. Objections?”
Yeah, she was up to something.
“None here,” I said, eyeing her over the top of my cup.
Rachel and I settled in on my bed and Quinn perched herself at the edge of my vanity chair, taking care to pointedly not look at either of us. I flipped on the television and over the next hour or so, the three of us proceeded to get nicely sloshed. Rachel slumped deeper into me with each drink, while her commentary on the channels we were surfing got ever louder. Quinn eventually drooped from a perch to a slouch.
“You can sit up here, you know,” I said to her. “I’ll try to not mistakenly grope you instead of Rachel. Although I can’t promise the same for Berry.”
Rachel cackled and limply smacked me on the arm.
“I’m fine here, thank you,” Quinn said, realizing she had actually relaxed for a second and promptly straightening her spine.
“OOH, stop!” Rachel said, suddenly grasping the wrist of my left hand in a death grip. “Don’t change it.”
I looked at the TV screen, puzzled.
“Celebrity poker?” I said. “Really, Berry?”
“That’s Shannon Elizabeth,” she said, staring raptly at the television. “I like her.”
My furrowed brow turned into a laugh as the realization dawned on me. “Wow, lezberry, congratulations. You just objectified your first female celebrity.”
Rachel covered her face with her hands and giggled at me through her fingers.
“So you really do go for that traditional Maxim look,” Quinn said, as if to herself, still gazing at the TV.
Rachel’s grin faded and she spoke to the back of Quinn’s head. “I don’t know. I never really thought about my hypothetical type.” Then she paused and added. “Why, would that. . . I mean, um, what would yours be?”
Quinn turned at looked back at Berry. “Not that,” she said, holding Rachel’s gaze for a second before turning back to the television.
It took all of the willpower in my body not to scream at them to make out already, for the love of Christ on a cracker.
But it was okay, because I was getting a better idea.
“Well, Berry,” I said, “looks like this is all the more reason for you to make it in the biz. Maybe next time you can sit next to her and ‘peek at her cards.’” I accentuated the last phrase with finger quotes.
She blushed. “I’d have to learn how to play, I suppose.”
“You don’t know how to play poker?”
She shook her head.
“What about you, Q?”
“No,” Quinn sighed, “But I suppose you do.”
“Of course I do. And I can teach you,” I said with a shrug.
“And where did you learn to play poker?” Quinn asked.
“Uhh, Vegas?” I said, with my best what the fuck face.
I rolled off the bed and started digging through my dresser drawer for a deck of cards. “Get your wallets out,” I said.
“Wait, we’re playing for money?” Rachel asked.
“But you’re the only one who knows how to play. You’ll just take all of our money,” Quinn said.
“If we don’t play for money, what incentive will you have to learn?” I asked. When they didn’t move I said, “Okay, fine, I won’t play at first. I’ll be the dealer.”
Rachel and Quinn reluctantly fetched their purses and we sat cross-legged on the floor at the foot of my bed.
“Okay, let’s see the cash,” I said, dealing them each five cards.
They exchanged wary looks and handed me their money.
“This is pathetic,” I said, dividing equally the $22 in fives and ones they had handed me. “You guys need jobs. Okay, so, this is called five-card draw. It’s so super easy, even Finn could probably learn it.”
I responded to their furrowed brows with my most innocent smile.
“Okay, next – shot,” I said.
They stared.
“Come on, take a shot, it’s part of the rules!” I gulped straight from the bottle of whiskey and passed it to Rachel, who took a swig, made a series of terrible faces, and handed it to Quinn, who cradled it in her hands in horror for a moment before Rachel’s encouraging nod coaxed her into taking a sip.
“Okay, put two bucks in the center,” I continued. “Come on, make it snappy, I don’t have all night. Now, it’s all about the combinations of cards you have. Pairs are good,” I said, flicking my eyes to Rachel’s chest and eliciting an eye roll of disgust from Quinn.
“Two pairs are even better. Three of a kind beats a pair and four of a kind is even better. Now, if you get a bunch of cards that all go in order, like three, four, five, six, seven, that’s called a straight, just like Quinn here,” I said, gesturing toward her with my head.
“A bunch of cards that are all the same suit is called a flush. I’ll remind you what beats what as we go along, but suffice it to say that just like in life, higher is always better. The rest of the rules I’ll tell you along the way.
The first decision is to look at your cards and decide if you want to quit right now and only lose two bucks, or bet more and see if new cards can help you out.”
They each studied their cards.
“Okay, Q, let’s go. Feel like raising the stakes?”
Quinn eyed Rachel, who was still squinting at her cards, puzzled. Quinn added a dollar to the stack at the center.
“You’re up, Berry. Match it or lose.”
Rachel looked at Quinn with narrowed eyes as she placed a dollar on top of the one Quinn had just added to the pile.
“Awesome. Q, how many new cards do you want?”
“Um, two.”
“Berry?”
“I’d like three, please.”
I handed out the cards. Quinn’s face remained stony while Rachel’s smile instantly faded.
“Berry, you are already terrible at this,” I said. “Do you understand the concept of a poker face?”
“Maybe I was bluffing,” she said indignantly.
“Right. Okay, Quinn, raise?”
Quinn added another dollar to the pile.
Rachel started to reach for another dollar when I grabbed her hand and set it back down on her knee, shaking my head.
“No, sweetie. Just no. I’m going to ask you to take another look at what you have in your hand. That’s right, you have a two, a three, a five, an eight and a nine. And you have all four suits in there. That is utterly terrible. She folds,” I said to Quinn. “You win.”
“Yes!” Quinn exclaimed, neatening the pile of bills and adding them to her personal stash. “But wouldn’t I have gotten more money if you hadn’t stopped her? You can’t cheat for her,” she said.
“It was a teaching moment, Fabray.”
I dealt another hand whereupon Rachel enthusiastically raised the stakes by $3, and Quinn matched her.
“I’d like two cards, please, dealer,” Rachel said loudly and brightly.
Quinn held up three fingers.
Rachel practically vibrated in place when I handed her the new cards. Over her shoulder I could see she had three tens.
Quinn, peering at Rachel over the top of her cards, chewed her bottom lip. “I fold,” she said, and Rachel’s face lit up.
“I have three tens!” she said excitedly, splaying them out in front of her.
I rested my forehead in my palm for a moment and Quinn snickered.
“That’s great and all, Berry, that you got your three dollars back,” I said. “Congratulations. But you do realize that if you’d spazzed a tad less you could have gotten her to bet more money and then taken that, too.”
“Oh,” she said. “I have always been known for wearing my emotions on my sleeve.”
“You don’t say.”
I dealt the next round and watched Rachel’s face contort during the betting, which was amusing in a gruesome train wreck kind of way. As she tried to conceal her excitement and dismay from Quinn she had to force her eyebrows and the corners of her mouth under control, not always successfully.
Finally Quinn turned to me. “Can you make her stop? She’s making my face hurt.”
“Forget bluffing, I think you just found your new secret weapon, Berry.”
Quinn won with a flush anyway, and Rachel lost five bucks.
“Crap!” Rachel said. “Am I losing just because of my face?” she asked Quinn, exasperated.
Quinn, smiling at her growing stack of dollar bills, said “You do have a few tells, Rachel.”
“What is it? Is it my fake frown? The inability to stop my eyes from widening? Ugh, how am I supposed to become our generation’s Meryl Streep when I can’t even bluff my way through a poker hand?”
Quinn laughed. “It’s just. . . well, honestly, it’s your whole face,” she said, shaking her head. “Your eyes are, sort of. . . very expressive. I mean, they’ve always—and your smile is, you know, there on your face, and – it’s. . . yeah.” She cleared her throat, mercifully stopping the stream of babble pouring from her face. “Santana, I need a drink, please.”
I pressed my lips together tightly and literally bit down on my tongue to keep from saying a word. I poured Quinn a glass of wine and, for a second before I could stop it from happening, wished with all my heart that Brittany were here with me to witness what was going on with these two.
I chugged the glass of wine I’d poured for Quinn and had to pour two new ones.
While they were preoccupied with their drinks, I dealt the next hand from the bottom of the deck, carefully choosing each card out of the corner of my eye.
“These cards are terrible!” Rachel exclaimed. “I’m having terrible luck tonight. It makes me wonder what karma is punishing me for.”
“Mine aren’t bad,” Quinn said. “Guess I’ve been nicer than you.”
“Hey babies, this talking about your cards part is pretty much the opposite of what you’re supposed to do in this game,” I pointed out. “How about some bets, chicas?”
Quinn laid two dollars on the pile and Rachel matched her. Quinn picked up two cards and Rachel three, which were also, for some reason beyond my wildest imagination, completely unhelpful.
But she kept her face still this time, focusing her eyes steadily on Quinn.
Quinn pursed her lips and returned the stare.
They held each other’s gazes in a standoff, Quinn patiently waiting for Rachel to hint at her intentions and Rachel trying to prove that she wouldn’t break under Quinn’s scrutiny.
It was getting boring. I yawned. Neither of them moved a muscle.
It was Rachel, of course, who squirmed first. It was ever so slight –just a blink and a tiny shift of her weight—but it was enough, and Quinn smiled slowly and added another dollar to the pile.
Rachel’s resolve crumbled and she slouched. “Son of a bitch,” she sighed. “I fold.”
“Oh thank God,” I muttered under my breath. “I thought one of you was about to get pregnant.”
Rachel gave me a puzzled look, but Quinn, distracted by her win, let out another “Yesssss!” and gathered up her cash.
“But I did better this time, right?” Rachel asked hopefully.
“You’re still pretty obvious,” Quinn said. “Because I could tell how hard you were working.”
Rachel sighed. “How do you stay so still?”
Quinn leaned forward. “You have to want that control more than you want anything else. More than your body wants to show how it feels. More than you want to laugh, or blink, or sigh, you want to win.”
“I like winning,” Rachel said poutily.
“Could’ve fooled me,” Quinn challenged.
“Fine. Let’s go again. This is an acting exercise that I intend to master before the end of this evening.”
I dealt again. Now that they knew how to play, they only really needed me to tell them which hand had won if there was any uncertainty. Which I was more than happy to do.
“Quinn wins,” I said after the next hand.
“What? Why?” Rachel asked in disbelief. “I have a pair of fours and a pair of nines! Quinn has threes and sevens!”
“Yours are diamonds and hearts, hers are hearts and clubs. One red suit and one black suit beats both red or both black, that’s the rule.”
Rachel huffed and Quinn looked at me with narrowed eyes. I poured more wine.
“Wow, all of these cards suck,” I said at the end of the next hand. “But Quinn wins again with the high card.”
“Wait a second, Santana, I have a king and Quinn has a queen. That means I have the high card!”
“Berry, when the player is a female, the queen is the higher card. God, don’t be so sexist!”
This time Quinn definitely laughed, and covered it with a cough and another sip of wine.
I put the nail in Berry’s coffin with the next round.
“Berry,” I said exasperatedly, “It’s illegal to keep your ace if you’re drawing more than two cards. That’s like cheating.”
“How is it cheating? You dealt me this ace fair and square!”
“It’s the best card, and you’re holding onto it while I’m giving you brand new cards, which is an unfair advantage. Hand it over to Quinn.”
“But this is five-card draw, and then she’ll have six cards.”
“I didn’t make the rules up, Berry.”
Quinn covered her mouth with her hand as she accepted the ace from Rachel. She won the game with a pair of aces.
“This is my last dollar,” Rachel said sullenly as I dealt the cards yet again.
“Guess you better win,” I said.
When Quinn raised the bet in the second round, Rachel looked at me desperately.
“I don’t have anything to match her bet! Does that mean I lose again?”
“Well, normally it would,” I agreed. “But I think, if Quinn is in agreement, that perhaps we can work out some kind of arrangement.”
“Um, arrangement?”
“Yes. You can stay in the game. . . . if you take off something you’re wearing.”
“S-strip poker?” Rachel asked nervously.
“Mmhmm. I mean, I don’t see what choice you have if you want to stay in the game and have a chance to win your dollar back, thus living to play another round and practice your card game acting, or whatever it is that you’re doing with your face.”
Rachel began unbuttoning the front of her sweater. Quinn stared at me in amused disbelief.
“I’m so dealing myself in now,” I said after Rachel’s sweater was deposited on the floor at the foot of my bed.
Twenty minutes later, Rachel Berry was sitting between me and Quinn Fabray wearing nothing but her bra, skirt, and underwear. And a really unhappy facial expression.
And she had just lost again.
Quinn and I were doubled over, dying of laughter.
“Do I have to win all of my clothes back before I can win the money back?”
“Yes,” Quinn choked out. “Yes you do.”
“Yeah, we’re already being totally generous, Berry,” I added. “We keep giving you that dollar back so you can buy your way into the game every time. They wouldn’t do that on celebrity poker.”
“So what does she have to take off now?” Quinn asked. “She did just lose again.”
“Hmm, I don’t know. What’s it going to be, Berry? Naked on top or almost naked everywhere? I mean, I honestly can’t decide – what do you think, Q?”
Quinn examined Rachel with a tilted head, biting her bottom lip, pondering this question.
Rachel’s cheeks flushed as she suddenly became engrossed in the pattern of the throw rug beneath her legs.
“I think. . .” Quinn began slowly, “I think with the way Rachel plays poker that she might as well take everything off right now.”
Rachel looked at her in disbelief and Quinn held her gaze, shrugging slightly.
I gave Quinn the first approving look I’d given her in probably three years, and raised my right hand. “All in favor?”
Rachel’s jaw dropped open further and Quinn threw her head back in laughter. “No, wait, wait,” she said, waving her hands in front of her. “I’m just kidding, Rachel.”
“I wasn’t,” I said.
“Come on, you’ve had your fun, Santana. I think we should let her off the hook. Besides, I’m worried if she takes anything else off you won’t be able to control yourself.”
“Truth,” I said. “Then how about this: despite the fact that you lost again, Berry, you don’t have to take anything else off. But you can’t put anything back on, either. Not until we say so.”
“Fine. It’s a deal,” she said, folding her arms over her chest. “If Quinn smokes a joint.”
“Interesting proposition, Berry. I believe we’ve just upped the ante. What say you, Fabray, are you in? Or do you fold?”
“Wait a second,” Quinn said indignantly, “How does Rachel have any bargaining power here? She’s the one who keeps losing.”
“I’m the dealer, and I’ve okayed it,” I said.
“And what if I say no?”
“If I might make a suggestion, dealer?” Rachel chimed in. “I’d like to point out that Quinn here is the only one of us to not have paraded around this room in her bra this evening. Maybe she would prefer that option to indulging in cannabis.”
Quinn looked at me in disbelief. “Has she always been like this, or is this your influence?”
I smirked. “I can work wonders, but only if the raw materials are there.”
Quinn looked from me to Rachel then back to me. “Fine. Okay, fine! I’ll smoke.”
Berry leapt to her feet and threw her hands up excitedly. “I’ll get it!” she said, and made a beeline for my bottom desk drawer.
“I have got to move my stash,” I muttered.
Quinn watched her every move as Rachel expertly rolled and lit a joint, then dramatically took a long drag on the cigarette, craning her head back and exhaling a cloud of smoke at the ceiling.
“How often do you do this, Rachel?” Quinn asked. “Don’t you worry about what the smoke does to your voice, and your lungs?”
“I have weighed the benefits and consequences, Quinn, and came to the conclusion that the stress relief and social bonding afforded by the occasional marijuana cigarette come with risks that are negligible in the short term. Also, I’m usually highly intoxicated when I make this decision.
And anyway, sometimes, Quinn,” she said, leaning towards her, “You just have to say fuck it and do something that feels good.”
She held the joint to Quinn’s lips.
“It’s okay, Quinn,” she said. “You’ll like it, I promise.”
But Quinn seemed frozen, or transfixed by the wisps of smoke winding their way toward the ceiling, which was really annoying because she was totally wasting my weed.
Undeterred, Rachel reached down and took her hand, bringing it to the cigarette and transferring it into Quinn’s fingers. “I was nervous too,” Rachel said reassuringly. “Hey wait,” she added suddenly, “Why is your skin so clammy? And why are you breathing so fast? Are you having some kind of cardiovascular incident? Oh God, you’re also flushed. Santana, get my phone!”
“I’m fine,” Quinn said, too loudly. “I’m flushed because I’m drinking. And I’m just trying to, like, increase my oxygen levels so I can hold my breath longer.”
“Ohhh, excellent initiative, Quinn,” Rachel nodded.
This was seriously like watching a bizarre mating ritual on the Discovery Channel.
Quinn shifted her eyes to Rachel’s, and Rachel responded with an encouraging smile.
Her eyes not leaving Rachel’s, Quinn gingerly readjusted the joint in her hand, placed it between her lips, and took a tiny breath. She held the smoke inside her mouth, puffing out her cheeks.
“Well that’s just great, Quinn,” Rachel observed. “Now your mouth can get high. But what about the rest of you? You have to actually inhale, and hold it down. Here, watch Santana.”
She handed me the joint and I demonstrated my expert technique. For real, I can hold my breath for like three minutes.
“Now, here,” Rachel said as she took the joint back from me. “Lay down on your back, because it expands the lung capacity.”
Quinn obliged, and Rachel knelt on the bed beside her. “Okay, now inhale and hold. Good!” she said, cheering Quinn on. “Hold.. . . hold. . .” she repeated as Quinn’s eyes widened.
“Okay, exhale!”
Quinn coughed out a puff of smoke so hard her stomach muscles forced her into a sitting position.
“Much better,” Rachel said approvingly. “Now just keep doing that until the cigarette is so small that is almost burns your fingers. Then you’ll feel really good. And possibly hungry.”
“You deadbeats need to help me pay for that,” I warned.
“I can’t, Quinn has all my moneeeeey!” Rachel said cheerfully. “Santana, put on music. I want to sing,” she demanded happily, careening across the room and landing against me, then throwing her arms around my neck.
“No singing, Berry. I really don’t want my parents coming up here asking me why I’m torturing the neighbors’ cat again.”
“Dancing?” she asked, just as brightly.
“Whatever. Put on music yourself since you seem to be so damn comfortable taking over my shit.”
She clapped and then bounced her way over to my computer. “I make excellent party playlists,” she said to no one in particular.
Quinn lay on the bed, getting thoroughly stoned.
Rachel continued to bounce around my room, this time in a rhythm moderately aligned with the ambient music.
When there was a knock at my door she bounced right on over and grabbed the doorknob without a second thought. Quinn bolted upright.
“Berry, wait! It could be my moth—“
Then the door swung open and I realized it was much worse than that.
“Brittany!” Rachel exclaimed happily, throwing her arms around the new arrival’s neck. “You made it!”
Brittany’s eyes met mine over Rachel’s shoulder.
“Wow,” she said, looking from me to half-naked Berry to stoned-off-her-ass Quinn.
“Looks like I’m missing an awesome party,” she said with a smile.
Chapter Six
-
- leftlanden (
leftlanden) wrote,