Hi! I'm shaking things up a little, in light of all the Finchel I've been writing, and this is my new project: an AU Quick multi chapter story loosely based on 27 Dresses! I really hope you like it (:

Official summary: Quinn Fabray is always the bridesmaid, never the bride. Maybe it's because she's just too nice to say no, or maybe it's because she just loves weddings. Suddenly, she meets bad boy journalist Noah Puckerman, who quickly becomes the thorn in her side she can't seem to get rid of. She is helping her best friend plan her wedding. And she has to watch her former roommate woo the man she's in love with. Quinn has to learn that in life, sometimes you have to stand up for yourself, and you might just find what you didn't even know you were looking for along the way.

chapter one: the story of a girl

For as long as she can remember, Quinn Fabray has loved weddings. There's just something beautiful about two people coming together to proclaim their love and pledge themselves to each other.

The first time she's asked to be a bridesmaid, she's fourteen, and her cousin desperately needs a fourth bridesmaid, so she recruits Quinn. As she stands up at the front, clutching a bouquet, she hears the music start to play, but instead of watching her cousin, she looks back at the man she's marrying instead.

The look on his face says it all: How nervous he is, how excited he is, and, most importantly, how much he loves the woman walking down the aisle. That's the moment that Quinn Fabray falls in love with weddings. If she could just see people looking that happy every day for the rest of her life, she knows she'd be the happiest person alive.

She starts to believe in happy endings that day.

"Quinn!" Rachel squeals, practically ambushing her as she gets in the elevator.

Quinn sighs. It's really too early for Rachel to be enthused, but Rachel is always enthused, no matter the time of day. She plasters a grin on her face. "What's up, Rach?"

She and Rachel have been friends since college, and somehow they both ended up working at the same company. She guesses she could say Rachel is her best friend. She had a different best friend once, but she hasn't heard from her in years, not since Quinn stayed in New York and Santana moved to France.

"Finn proposed!" Rachel sticks her hand in Quinn's face, jumping up and down.

"Rachel, hold still so I can see the ring," Quinn laughs, grasping her friend's hand. Rachel stills, but she's still shifting from foot to foot. "It's beautiful," Quinn says softly, and it really is. She knows Rachel and Finn have been dating since high school – since before Quinn even knew her – and she's honestly surprised it took him so long to pop the question. "I'm really happy for you," Quinn says.

Rachel hugs her. "You'll be maid of honor, won't you?" She looks at her with wide eyes.

Quinn smiles. "Of course." Because, not to toot her own horn or anything, but if there's one thing Quinn Fabray's good at, it's being a bridesmaid.

Rachel hugs her again. "We're thinking we'll get married in a few months. A nice summer wedding."

Quinn nods. "Sounds beautiful."

"It was so romantic, Quinn," Rachel says, and the doors of the elevator open. Quinn listens as Rachel describes Finn's proposal on the way to Quinn's office, and she can't help the pang in her chest. She's not jealous of Rachel, exactly. She just wants to find what Rachel's found.

As they pass reception, the girl behind the desk waves. "Have you picked up the bridesmaid dresses yet?" she asks.

Quinn smiles. "I'll be right on it after work, Tina. I'll make sure to bring them tomorrow."

Tina grins.

"I can't believe we got roped in to being bridesmaids," Rachel hisses as they continue to Quinn's office.

"I volunteered," Quinn reminds her.

"And then you roped me in."

"Finn gets to see you in a pretty dress."

She nods appreciatively. "This is true. But what number wedding is this for you this year? Five? Six?"

Quinn rolls her eyes. "You make me sound like a serial bride. I'm just being a good friend – being a bridesmaid."

Rachel laughs.

"I just like weddings, okay?" Quinn says defensively.

"Oh, I know," Rachel says lightly. She picks up the paper Quinn discarded on her desk. "Already scan the commitments section?"

"Don't know what you're talking about," Quinn mutters, pretending to reorganize her desk.

"Oh, come on," Rachel says. "Everyone knows you take all the articles that Noah Puckerman writes and put them in your little scrapbook."

"He's just a word smith, okay?" Quinn says exasperatedly. "He just… He writes the most beautiful things. Is it a crime to think that his words are beautiful?"

Rachel shakes her head, but she's suppressing giggles. "You're just saving ideas for your dream wedding to Sam," she teases.

Quinn looks fearfully at her open door. "Shut up," she hisses. "People can hear you."

"Everyone knows," Rachel sings.

"Oh, God," Quinn moans, putting her head in her hands.

"Quinn?"

She looks up to see none other than Sam Evans standing in the doorway, his blonde hair sticking up in the back in that messy but adorable way.

"Can I talk to you for a second?" He looks pointedly at Rachel.

"Oh, um, I'll just… I'll go." She shoots Quinn a look on her way out, and she desperately hopes Sam doesn't see it.

Oh, yeah, by the way, she's completely, heed-over-heels, madly in love with Sam. Who also happens to be her boss.

She knows her life is screwed up, okay? She knows. The fact of the matter is, she started working for Sam right as his company was taking off about three years ago. She was straight out of college, and he offered her a job as his personal assistant. She's been here ever since.

She couldn't leave even if she wanted to, though. It's like she has to see him every day, has to be near him. She's in far too deep, and Rachel reminds her every day.

"I was wondering if you could call Jake for me later, see what he thinks about that new kayak line we were thinking about launching?" Sam looks at her earnestly.

She nods. "Of course. I will be sure to get right on that."

He smiles. Her heart flips over in her chest.

"Great," he says. "Thank you so much, Quinn. You're the best." He leaves then, and she looks down at the floor, smiling softly.

It's sad, she knows, but she lives for the little moments like this one.

Tina's puking in the bathroom. Mercedes, Tina's maid of honor, looks helplessly at Quinn, and Quinn sighs, knocking lightly on the door.

"Tina?" she calls softly. "Can I come in?"

She hears more retching in reply.

She opens the door to see Tina, her hair all done up intricately and her dress pooling around her, kneeling over the toilet.

"I c-can't do it," she says exasperatedly. "I'm a mess, Mike won't even want to marry me any more, I'll be an awful wife."

"Hey," Quinn says softly, kneeling down next to her. She pats Tina gently on the back. "Mike loves you, Tina. Of course he wants to marry you."

"You really think so?" Tina whispers, taking a piece of toilet paper and wiping at the corners of her mouth.

Quinn nods. "I know so, Tina. I've seen the way he looks at you – like you're the only girl in the world." She smiles at her, and Tina smiles hesitantly back. "And when you walk down that aisle, you are going to take his breath away. He's going to realize that he's marrying the most perfect woman, and he's going to wonder how he got so lucky."

Tina's eyes begin to water, and she dabs at them, trying to keep her mascara from running. "Thanks, Quinn," she whispers. "You're a good friend."

Quinn smiles. "C'mon," she says, helping Tina stand up. "Let's get your makeup retouched, okay?"

Tina nods. "Okay."

Quinn gives her shoulder a little squeeze.

If she hadn't gotten her job, she probably would have been a wedding planner. She could totally pull it off.

"Nice one," Rachel breathes after Quinn and Tina come out of the bathroom.

Quinn shrugs. "She just needed some reassurance, that's all."

"You're really good at that," Rachel says quietly. "At making people feel better."

"Thanks," Quinn replies.

"You know you'll have to calm me down at my wedding, don't you?" Rachel asks, laughing. "I'll be a wreck for sure."

"I'll be there," Quinn promises, but she's laughing, too.

She knows she's really good at being a bridesmaid, but part of her wonders if that means she'll never get the chance to be the bride.

"And, of course, I have to thank the lovely Quinn Fabray, because, without her, this wedding literally would not have been possible."

Quinn ducks her head, doing her best to look modest. The guests at the reception all clap politely, and she nods at a few of them, but honestly, this part always makes her feel awkward. She kind of wants to be the silent support system. She doesn't need credit for making someone's wedding day a happy affair. They could do it without her, anyway.

"Okay!" Tina announces. "All the single ladies to the center of the floor. Time to throw the bouquet!"

Rachel nudges her, beaming. "This is your time, Quinnie," she says. "I can feel it. And I'll have my fingers crossed for you!"

Quinn laughs. "We'll see."

She has this weird superstition when it comes to the bouquet. Every wedding she's been to – and, let's face it, that's several – the girl who catches the bouquet gets married within a year. Every time. She just knows that if she can catch it, one time, suddenly everything will fall into place: Sam will realize his true feelings for her, and one day they'll get married and ride off into the sunset.

She heads to the direct center of the dance floor. She figures it's her best bet.

"Okay," Tina says slowly, turning around. "Three… two… one!"

The bouquet flies through the air. Quinn stretches her arms out. It's heading right toward her. She can see it and her fingers are almost there – she's so close – and then BOOM.

Everything goes black.

"Hey, can you hear me?"

Her brain is foggy and the voice is echoing inside her eardrums. Her eyes flutter open. A man is leaning over her, and he smiles when she opens her eyes. He has these bright hazel eyes and a Mohawk.

She struggles to sit up.

"Whoa, whoa, hey," he says quickly. "Slow down there. How you feeling?"

She stares at him for a second. "Your hair is stupid," she says slowly.

He chuckles. "I think you have a concussion."

She blinks. "What – what happened?"

"The hefty one over there" – he gestures to a heavy set woman in probably her late twenties – "knocked you flat out in the quest for the bouquet."

She groans. "That's so embarrassing."

"Actually, it was kind of hilarious," he says, laughing.

She glares at him.

"I'm Puck," he says, offering her his hand.

She slowly takes it. "Quinn."

"Here, Quinn, let me help you up." He grabs her arm, but she yanks it away.

"I can do it myself, thank you," she snaps, glaring at him. She hoists herself up, but she immediately stumbles, her head spinning.

"Whoa, whoa," Puck says, grabbing her arm. "Slow down there, Princess."

She tries to glare at him again but her vision is still swimming.

"Here, let's get you home," he mutters.

"Rachel… Rachel can take me," she manages to get out. She spins around to scan the floor. Rachel is dancing with a tall, dark-haired guy. Well, more like Rachel's dancing and he's trying not to step on her feet. She knows it's Finn, her fiancé.

She sighs. "Or not," she mutters. "Some best friend."

Puck follows her line of vision. "She was worried, you know, but I told her I could handle it."

Quinn rolls her eyes. "Of course you did."

"Here, let me take you home."

"I can take myself!" she says defiantly, wrenching her arm from his grasp.

He bites back a laugh. "No, you really can't. Just… come outside and I'll call a cab for us."

She sighs, but she lets him help her outside. He signals a cab, helping her in, and then, to her surprise, he climbs in after her.

"What do you think you're doing?" she hisses.

"Making sure you get home safely," he tells her.

"Where to?" the cabbie asks.

Puck looks at Quinn expectantly. "3672 West 8th Avenue." The cabbie nods, and she turns to Puck. "You better not be some creepy stalker."

"Never," he vows.

She rolls her eyes, digging out her purse and bringing out a small planner. She opens it to the date, glancing over her list. Get hair done. Check. She crosses it off. Help set up wedding. Check. Another line goes on the paper.

She feels eyes on her, and she looks up to see Puck staring at her, an odd expression on his face.

"What?" she snaps.

"Are you… is that a to do list?"

She glares at him. "Is it a crime to be organized? Just because you've probably never had anything to plan besides who you're going to get into your bed each night—"

"You really think I'm just some sort of manwhore?" he asks, eyebrow cocked.

"Well, are you saying you're not?" she asks.

"No, no, I am," he says. Before she has time to react, he grabs her planner, scanning it.

"Hey!" she shrieks.

"This is not a normal to do list," he says. "Normal people's lists say 'pick up dry cleaning' or 'go to the store.' Not 'plan flower arrangement' and… 'compare color pallets with R'?" He stares at her in disbelief. "What kind of sick freak are you?"

"Give that back," she tells him, making a desperate snatch for the notebook.

He holds it just out of her reach, flipping through the pages. "Holy shit," he breathes. "How many weddings have you been in?"

"I just… I have a lot of friends," she says defensively, still reaching for the planner. "Now will you please give me my book back?"

"This is your third wedding this month," he says in disbelief.

She finally stretches her arm enough to get the book from his grasp, but she falls into his lap in the process.

He smirks down at her. "You know, if you wanted to sit in my lap, all you had to do was ask."

She rolls her eyes, sitting up. "You're disgusting," she scoffs.

The cab comes to a halt. "Finally," Quinn mutters, rifling through her handbag. "Now what did I do with my wallet?"

"I got it," Puck says quickly, passing a few bills up to the cabbie.

"Thanks," Quinn says acidly, opening her door. "For everything. Really." She slams it shut, stalking up to her apartment building.

"Wait!" She turns around to see Puck clamoring out of the cab, hand rubbing his Mohawk. "You need me to see you up? I mean, you might have a concussion."

She narrows her eyes. "Do you honestly think that you're going to get into my pants?"

"What, can't a guy make sure a girl's alright?"

She stares at him. "I'm not some bimbo, concussion or not. I have standards. Good night, Puck."

"I didn't even say anything offensive!" She rolls her eyes, walking up the stairs to her apartment complex. She hears him sigh, and then she hears, "Good night, Quinn Fabray! I'll be seeing you soon!"

She rolls her eyes again as she enters the building. She certainly hopes she never sees that asshole again.

She's just settled down with the evening paper and a mug of hot tea, ready to read the commitments section and then sleep off her horrible headache, when her phone buzzes on the table. She picks it up and is surprised to see that she has two new messages.

The first one is from Rachel, wanting to make sure she's alright. She types back a standard, "Yeah, I'm fine" and adds she'll have to tell her about the creep who took her home later. After she sends that, she looks at her second message.

Hey, girl, back in town next week, need a place a stay. It could be just like old times! See you next week. xoxo, Santana

She gapes at the screen. Her old college roommate is coming back into town? She hasn't seen her in years.

And when Santana comes into town, it always means trouble.

She should just say no – she should just tell Santana that she can't stay with her, and that she just has too much stuff going on right now.

But she's Quinn, and she's too nice to everyone, so she types out, Sure! See you then.

She puts the phone down and sighs, leaning back into the couch.

Starting next week, her life is going to be hell.

Pretty please review? :D