Quinn and Sam can only stare at the standoff in front of them. Their girlfriends, growling at each other over the basket of breadsticks, are completely oblivious to everything else except the narrowing of each other’s eyes.
“I don’t put things in your food while you’re not looking anymore,” Santana smiles fakely.
Mercedes doesn’t blink. “That’s nice, but it doesn’t mean you get all of these.”
Santana growls. When Quinn puts her hand on her thigh, Santana flicks her gaze over to her. “Babe, not now.”
“Yes now.” Butting in, Sam wraps his arm around Mercedes’ shoulders, “They’re bringing more.”