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"What do you mean, you're moving to New York?"
Santana glanced at Shelby, and back at Puck. His face had gone white, but was quickly becoming red.
"Noah, I'm not doing this to take Beth away from you."
"But that's exactly what you're doing – I'm not that stupid."
Shelby sighed, clearly not willing to engage his anger. "You can visit whenever you like."
"Yeah, like I can afford to fly to New York every other weekend on a pool boy's salary."
"And we'll come back to Lima to visit. Santana's family is here. And you and Quinn. We'll be back."
"Does Quinn know?"
"Not yet," Shelby answered. "But, she was hopeful we'd be able to move closer. Yale is just a train ride away for her."
Puck stood up abruptly, rattling the silverware on the dining room table. He was angry, and Santana could see him struggling to decide what to say. Instead, he stormed out of the apartment without another word, slamming the door behind him. Tires squealed on the asphalt a few seconds later.
"That went well," Shelby said with a sigh before draining the last of the red wine from her glass.
Santana shrugged and offered to refill Shelby's glass – which she accepted. "I don't know. I mean, he didn't punch anything. He knows there's nothing he can do to stop you from leaving, and he knows you don't mean to hurt him."
"Are we doing the right thing?" Shelby asked, her eyes worried.
"You mean is accepting the role of a lifetime and moving to New York with your daughter and your super hot girlfriend the right thing?" Santana was smirking; she knew Shelby could never resist it.
As expected, Shelby laughed. "Okay, fine. Then I suppose we should start thinking about packing."
"Nope."
"No?"
Santana took Shelby's half-full wine glass and finished it. "No."
It was Shelby's turn to smirk. "And why's that?"
Santana stood up and edged the dining table back just enough so she could straddle Shelby's lap, arms draped over her shoulders. "We have other plans tonight."
"Why the fuck are there so many parts?!" Santana was seconds away from hurling an electric screwdriver through the window before Shelby ran in and grabbed it from her hand.
"Hey hey hey! I don't want to lose our deposit in our first week! What's the problem?"
Santana was pissed. She volunteered to assemble the dresser Shelby had purchased for Beth's new room, assuming it to be relatively simple. How hard could children's furniture be?
"It's all in Chinese or something, I don't know. And the pictures don't make any sense!"
"Okay, okay!" Shelby sat down on the floor behind Santana, wrapping her arms around her waist. "Take a break. We'll finish it later."
Santana felt her anger melt away – it still amazed her that a simple touch from Shelby could make her disappear. She closed her eyes and leaned back into Shelby. "Stupid instructions," she muttered.
Shelby chuckled and pressed a kiss to Santana's temple. "You're doing a good job."
They both looked at what Santana had been able to accomplish – three boards, assembled in a U-shape. One of them was obviously crooked.
"Fuck off," Santana laughed, pressing herself backward til Shelby had no choice but to lay back. Santana turned over, half-lying on Shelby, head propped on her fist. She grinned down at Shelby. "When are we going to properly christen this place? It's been three days."
"You have the energy for sex after moving halfway across the country and unpacking for three days?"
"Must be my youthful exuberance." Santana's free hand was wandering, and it was finding its way under Shelby's loose-fitting vintage concert tee. "Besides, how often are we both going to be home, alone, in the middle of the day?"
"What's so exciting about the middle of the day?" Shelby's voice skipped an octave on her last word; Santana's fingertips had found her nipple and were tugging on it – and not very gently.
"Everyone else is at work." Santana worked her knee between Shelby's, meeting little resistance. "I can make you scream and no one will hear you."
Shelby's eyes darkened. "How are you going to do that?"
Santana moved her hand lower, grazing Shelby's abdomen, teasing the edge of her shorts. "I have my ways."
"Show me?" Shelby was starting to squirm.
"But I thought you were too exhausted?" Santana asked, feigning innocence as she pushed Shelby's shorts down over her left hip.
"I lied," Shelby breathed before pulling Santana down by the front of her shirt, crushing their lips together.
Santana laughed through their kiss, relishing the effect she still had on Shelby. She kissed her back, hard, sucking on Shelby's tongue when it pushed into her mouth. They fumbled together until Shelby's shorts were down to her knees and Santana finally pulled away from the kiss, both of them gasping for air.
"We're on the floor," Shelby breathed.
"Is that a problem?" Santana asked. She was already on her knees between Shelby's ankles. The shorts were somewhere in the boxes behind her.
"No." Shelby was already sweating – Santana could see it on her neck. It wasn't even hot in the room, and it turned her on even more.
"Good." She lay down between Shelby's legs, immediately putting her legs over her shoulders to have a better angle. She didn't hesitate, working her tongue against Shelby in the exact way she knew drove her absolutely crazy.
"Fuck!"
Santana loved it when Shelby cursed. She loved it more when she was the reason. Suddenly she felt like she couldn't get enough of her, that she couldn't be close enough. She pushed herself closer and shrugged Shelby's leg off her right shoulder, pushing it back and away to have even better access. She didn't hesitate, or tease, and she wasn't particularly gentle, but her fingers slid into Shelby with ease.
"Fuck yes…fuck me, baby, fuck me."
Santana would have gasped if she could have. They were hardly reserved with each other, but this was getting downright dirty. And she gave Shelby exactly what she was begging for. It was fast and rough, and frenzied, and just as she'd promised, she had Shelby screaming within minutes.
When the tension finally left Shelby's body, Santana sat back on her knees, making a show of wiping off her mouth.
Shelby laughed and covered her face with a hand, peeking out between her fingers. "Stop."
Santana stroked Shelby's legs lightly. "Now you're going to be modest?"
Shelby let her hand fall away. She was smiling. And glowing. "Apparently I needed that."
"Apparently," Santana said with a grin.
"Oh no, what time is it?" Shelby asked as she struggled to get off the floor.
Santana stood up and grabbed her hands to pull her to her feet. "I don't know; why?"
"I have a meeting with the director and a couple of producers at 4:00."
"And so it begins."
"Sorry, babe. I owe you one." Shelby kissed Santana quickly and disappeared into the bathroom, the shower faucet turning on a moment later.
"Or three!" Santana called after her. She was turned on and was going to have to ignore it. Briefly, she considered finishing herself off – it would only take a few seconds. Instead, she picked up her electric screwdriver and refocused her energy on assembling the dresser.
It was assembled – correctly – before Shelby left for her meeting.
Within a few weeks, their new life had taken shape. Santana found a job – by some miracle, her Lima attorney knew an attorney with a small firm in New York and had given her a recommendation. She still wasn't sure if it's what she wanted; one day she would think about working on her admissions applications to Columbia, NYU, or maybe Berkeley – she wasn't sure if she wanted to take the law or the public relations path – and the next day, she'd listen to Shelby's stories from rehearsal or run lines with her as she learned the script, and realize how much she missed performing.
"You could apply to Juilliard," Shelby suggested one night over dinner.
"And if I fail to break into the biz, I've wasted years earning a degree that does nothing for me."
"So get a business degree." Shelby was at the sink with Beth, wiping the toddler's hands and face.
"Ugh!" Santana dropped her face into her hands. "That sounds so boring!"
"You know you'll make a great trial lawyer. I'm not the first person to tell you that."
"Because I love to fight."
"Because you love to win."
Santana sighed.
"How about this," Shelby said, setting Beth on the floor to scamper off and play. "Why don't you apply to the universities and start working on a practical degree – business, marketing, PR, law – and do some singing on the side. I still know a few people here. I can make some calls, see who you need to talk to to start singing in the Village. I'm sure you can book some gigs on Bleecker. That's where I got my feet wet performing. Hope for the best, plan for the worst. Not that business or marketing or PR or law is the worst, but I think it's good to have a Plan B. Maybe in a few years, you can be my publicist," Shelby added with a smile. "That is, if I still need one. Who knows what will happen after Gypsy."
Santana scoffed and rolled her eyes, but she felt something clicking in her mind. Shelby's suggestion made sense. She looked up. "I can be your publicist."
"Mine, or whoever's."
It made sense – it all made so much sense! For the first time since she could remember, she knew what she wanted to do. She could have fun playing in dive bars, she could get a real education, have a stable career, and still be involved in the entertainment world she'd longed to be part of for the last several years. She needed to look up college application deadlines – immediately.
"I have to go." She scrambled from the table, rushing to their bedroom to grab her laptop from its charger. "Sorry, I'll clean up dinner tomorrow, I promise!" she called from the bed.
She heard Shelby laugh. "Let me know if you need help!"
Six years later…
"We secured an offer for you to appear on Good Morning America on the 29th. It would be a performance and interview. You're clear on the 28th."
"Fine," Shelby said from her closet where a stylist was playing dress-up with her to choose a dress for her upcoming opening night – a revival of Evita.
Santana paused her typing. "What was that?"
Shelby's head popped around the corner. "I said that's fine. Thank you."
"I'll confirm it." A few keystrokes later and Shelby Corcoran was booked on Good Morning America – in addition to the numerous other appearances on her calendar over the next few months. Email inbox clear, Santana switched calendars.
"Beth's recital is tomorrow at 3:00; don't forget."
"I won't."
"Our dress fittings are immediately after, at 5:00. Beth is going for pizza with her class."
"I remember you telling me that."
"Cake tasting's on Friday, and you can't keep making me reschedule our meeting with the Tea Room – they're getting pissed off and I can only sweet talk them so much. We have to see it on Sunday or they're going to tell us to find somewhere else for the reception, Broadway star or not."
"I know, I know." Shelby popped around the corner again, nearly topless as her stylist awkwardly adjusted and readjusted her strapless bra behind her. "I haven't thanked you enough for handling this. I wish I could do more, it's just –"
Santana closed her laptop and removed her glasses. She didn't really need them, but she found people took her more seriously with glasses – especially men. Not that she couldn't put them in their place if necessary, but during her first summer internship at one of New York's top PR firms, she had adopted a more strategic, less in-your-face approach to getting what she wanted and it had served her well. She was now one of that firm's most promising new publicists - and she had brought with her the new face of Broadway as her first client.
"You might wanna get your hands off my fiancée's tits, Lauren," she called to the stylist, hearing a quiet, "Sorry," in return.
"I like it when you get jealous," Shelby said, grinning. "But really though, thank you."
Santana stood up and crossed the room to press a kiss to Shelby's smiling lips. "Well, someone has to plan this wedding if you're ever going to make an honest woman out of me."
The end.