You Can't Always Get What You Want

by Tarafina

:AU: When Rachel's best friends take her out to a club to have a little fun and let loose, she ends up being shoved into the arms of just the man she needed in her life. :Puckleberry:

Title: You Can't Always Get What You Want (But If You Tried Sometime, You Get What You Need)
Category: Glee
Genre: Humor/Friendship/Romance
Ship: Puck/Rachel, Humpezberry friendship
Rating: PG-13
Prompt: "Look at that boy. I want that for Christmas." by xxxalexandraxxx - puckrachel drabble meme (part 8, page 116)
Word Count: 5,972
Summary: (AU) When Rachel's best friends take her out to a club to have a little fun and let loose, she ends up being shoved into the arms of just the man she needed in her life.

You Can't Always Get What You Want (But If You Tried Sometime, You Get What You Need)
-1/1-

Not for the first time, Rachel wondered what she was even doing out.

To call her antisocial would be a lie of monumental size. She was an actress; she had to be social to keep relevant. But that didn't mean she enjoyed trying to hear men hit on her while yelling over too-loud music and constantly keeping her hand over her drink in case some slimy pervert wanted to cart her home as his end-of-the-night prize. Of course, sharing those thoughts with her two best friends was not met with great agreement.

Kurt rolled his eyes. "You need to loosen up!" he told her, exasperated as he sipped at his pink, fruity drink while he swayed back and forth in his seat and eyed the likely heterosexual men out on the dance floor.

She had offered to join him at a gay bar, she quite enjoyed the company and it was somehow far more flattering, if never to be reciprocated, to be hit on by women. But Kurt enjoyed the challenge the average bar offered, with there being no promise of taking home an obviously like-minded companion. Thus she had been dragged out to Maxx, where her overly sexed best friends could try and encourage her into, at the very least, window shopping. But tonight, she was tired and she had a script at home that she wanted to climb into bed with over a cup of tea, and yes, she was fully aware of how 'cat-lady' that made her sound – as if Santana had not told her that enough times already!

"I'm perfectly loose," she argued, rolling her eyes.

Santana bumped her shoulder. "8 o'clock. Porn 'Stache is giving you the eye…"

Brows furrowed, Rachel looked around for who she might mean, as 8 o'clock was not actually much of a help. Finally, she settled on the unfortunate looking fellow with slicked back hair and an aptly dubbed mustache, who then puckered his lips at her and winked in what he must have thought was a 'come hither' manner. It made her hand tighten atop her glass, thinking he might somehow drug her from afar.

"Your taste in men is appalling…" she said, frowning. "Or your taste in men for me is horrifying, I'm not sure…"

Santana shrugged, and together with Kurt, they chimed, "Both."

Sighing, Rachel sat back in the booth. "While your intentions were, I'm sure, good; I'm really not feeling up to this night out…" She looked between them. "I'd really much rather—"

"Curl up at home with tea and a manuscript – we know!" they interrupted, once again in sync with each other.

Huffing, she pouted at them. "What is wrong with that?"

"Look, Rach…" Santana turned to her, her dark hair spilling over her tanned, bare shoulder in a way that she was sure many a man would appreciate. "When you're fifty and the only thing you look good in is polyester jump suits and penny loafers, I'll let you stay at home with your soaps and your tea… But as long as I think your ass is fine and you're not married, engaged or have shackled yourself to someone we—" She motioned to herself and Kurt, "deem good enough, and honey trust me, it'll take a lot… Then you, me and Mister Fabulous here are gonna hit the clubs and make these suckers buy us drinks until we find a trio of boys good enough to take all this home!" She raised her brows questioningly. "Did I cover everything, Kurtastic?"

He nodded solemnly. "Listen to Satan, Rach… There's a reason we're your best friends. We've replaced the Jiminy Cricket you used to listen to with people who actually want you to find happiness outside of your Snuggie…" He slid an arm around her shoulders and squeezed. "Now help me find somebody I can wow with my flawless good looks or I'm going to let San here call over Porn 'Stache to have a go at convincing you he's a better bed partner than the maternity pillow you hug at night."

"That pillow is for my back! I have a stage-injury!" she cried defensively.

He rolled his eyes. "Nobody is buying that…"

She scoffed, but he had already turned his attention back to the dance floor. "Think tall, dark and handsome…"

"So… Blaine but average height?" Santana asked, lip curled in amusement.

Kurt glared at her darkly. "Let's not bring up former bed-partners… We don't have enough time to cover you!"

Rachel looked between them with wide eyes; it had been years but she was still surprised by their friendship. Having met Santana at NYU, where they were unwilling dorm mates, and growing up alongside Kurt through various private schools, where they almost always fought each other for the next big role, she had thought the two of them would hate each other on sight. She was fascinated by the unusual relationship they founded, however. The first day of college while she had baked cookies and waited anxiously to meet who she would be rooming with, she was disappointed to find Santana ate her baked goods, demanded the other side of the room (despite it already being decorated in Rachel's things), and quickly dismissed her as being too 'lame' to hang with. Then Kurt stepped in the room, insulted Santana's outfit, make-up, and general personality, with Santana quick to do the same in return. While Rachel was expecting a fight, they instead grinned at each other like old friends and then promptly decided they were all going to go out for lunch. Head still spinning, Rachel went along, and had been the center of their odd trio since.

Smirking, Santana winked at him, before turning back around and facing the overloaded dance floor.

Rachel briefly wondered if it had reached capacity and was in fact a fire hazard by this point; she then thought that would be a great excuse to leave. However, when she opened her mouth with her latest excuse, Santana held up a hand that said 'don't even.' Sighing, she sat back and stirred her untouched drink with its yellow straw.

"What about…?" Kurt began.

"With those ears?" Santana snorted.

"Hm… Good point." He nodded, scanning some more. "Oh, forgot to ask, is the devil in the red dress on the prowl for boys or girls tonight?"

Her grin was slow and suggestive. "I'm open to both if they're pretty."

Kurt chuckled.

She turned to the unwilling participant of their group. "Hey, if we don't find anyone, I'm kicking your pillow out of the bed and snuggling you myself," Santana informed her.

Amused, Rachel shrugged. While she loved her pillow, aptly named Fuzzy Cuddles (don't judge!), she could admit that she sometimes missed the feeling of having another warm body in her bed. It had been more than a year since her last relationship and though Santana's petite and softly feminine frame was not her particular brand of attraction, it was still nice to have somebody hold her.

"Bingo. Found him," Kurt declared, sitting up a little straighter.

Perking up, Santana demanded, "Where?"

"Six o'clock, shaved head, and ohh… His face!" He snapped his fingers. "Look at that boy! I want that for Christmas!"

She whistled appreciatively. "If his moves are anything to go by, he is going to be one very memorable night…" she mused.

"I would be willing to forget my diet for a night and lick whipped cream off his abs!"

"Forget whipped cream; break out the marshmallow fluff," Santana said, leaning forward and eyeing Kurt's new interest. "And chocolate sauce… With that caramel skin, you need a little chocolate…"

They slapped hands together behind Rachel's head, laughing.

Rachel raised her eyes, scanning the room for who they might be discussing. It was rare that Santana and Kurt were in mutual agreement over a man, so her interest was piqued as to who was deemed good enough. "Where? I don't see anybo—" Her breath caught in her throat as her eyes finally landed on him. He was… beautiful, for lack of a more masculine word. Handsome simply did not cut it. With chiseled cheek bones, a leanly muscled body, tanned skin and a seductively knowing smirk in place, she could understand perfectly why the two of them would agree… He had the bad boy visage Santana was always sucked in by and the looks of a perfectly sculpted God, just like Kurt enjoyed. "Oh."

Santana and Kurt shared a look before turning to her with a keenly mischievous look about them.

"Was that… a good oh, Kurt?"

"It definitely sounded like one," he agreed, raising a brow.

"You know what this means, don't you?"

He laughed. "Oh Rachel… I really hope you're wearing something black and lacey under this dress…"

"Why?" she asked, shifting in her seat.

"Because when he undresses you, and I have half a mind not to even let you have him, I don't want him to kick you out when he wonders if you're old enough because you have flowers or stars or, for god's sake, hearts on your underthings!"

She rolled her eyes. "Firstly, I will not have some strange man I don't even know undressing me tonight. Secondly, I got rid of all of those underthings when you complained about them senior year! And thirdly—" She looked around to make sure nobody could hear her. "I happen to be wearing something distinctly uncomfortable, since it keeps riding up, if that makes you feel better!"

He grinned at her. "It does."

"All right." Santana turned to her determinedly, dragging her out from the booth and taking her shoulders in her hands as she stared into her eyes squarely. "So don't smile too much, don't mention your Snuggie, maternity pillow, or that you haven't had sex in a year—Wait!" She shook her head. "No, do mention it's been a year; he'll probably want to help you make up for lost time!" She nodded and then pulled Rachel's dress down a little bit to show off some cleavage. Even going so far as to cup and maneuver her breasts, or what she fondly referred to as the Berries, so they were more eye-catching. Frowning, she shook her head and yanked her dress back up, showing off a little more leg. "Perfect." Turning Rachel around, she gave her a smack on the butt and told her, "Go get 'im, Tiger."

Rachel stumbled a few steps and then glared back at them, wondering what in the world she was even doing.

Taking a deep breath, she started walking. The mantra running through her mind was that this was all for show; to get them off her back, really. It had nothing to do with the fact that he was really quite handsome. Nothing at all! She was not so shallow that the only redeeming quality she looked for in a partner was their looks. She happened to appreciate intelligence and humor and kindness. And she dearly hoped he had some understanding of the arts, because she lived and breathed them!

On the way, she saw him dancing with not one, but two different women, both of whom were obviously very eager for his attention and likely to take him home without a second thought. Rachel decided then and there that whoever this man was, he was not who she was looking for. In fact, she again thought her night would be much better spent at home, with her script and herbal tea. The closer she got, the more her plan formed. She was going to pretend to talk to him, or at the very least make small talk while Santana and Kurt were looking, and then pretend he turned her down so she could convince her friends that she tried and now she was done. If she looked sufficiently disappointed, she was sure they would let her go home early.

But when she was close enough to make out just how green his eyes were - and they were deeply, attractively, stunningly green - her steps faltered and she turned around to walk away. This was ridiculous! She was a grown woman! If she wanted to go home and drink tea then she could do that and it was perfectly acceptable! Just because he happened to be incredibly good looking and she hadn't felt her body react so absolutely ever before, did not mean that she wanted to put herself out there for a man she didn't know, in a place she wasn't even comfortable in, on a night when she would much rather be wearing sweat pants!

Apparently, Santana had expected that of her, because she appeared just in time to give her a shove at the small of her back, pushing her right into Mystery Man's arms.

She stumbled really quite violently and imagined she looked ridiculous. Awaiting the painful meeting with the floor, she was surprised to find herself hovering quite safely.

He had caught her, his hands cradling her arms. Helping her stand up, and she just then realized he was quite tall, he bent to ask, "You all right?" in her ear.

She shivered, aware of just how deep his voice was and how his breath had skittered across the shell of her ear. Hands wrapped around his warm, firm forearms, she squeezed more out of appreciation than anything.

"Fine," she said quickly, pulling back from him.

He was still holding her elbows however, his thumb seeming to very lightly tap at her skin.

Rachel told herself not to notice, instead searching over her shoulder to find where her best friend had wandered off to, hoping her glare was enough to tell her just how much she didn't appreciate the situation she'd been shoved, literally, into. She couldn't find Santana in the crowd, though she did find Mystery Man's two dance partners, who were obvious in their disapproval of her sudden appearance.

"I… It was just my friend," she explained, turning her attention back to him. "Or, as of this moment, my former friend."

He grinned. "Do all your friends shove you into strangers?"

She shrugged. "You might be surprised." She frowned then, shaking her head. "Actually, let me rephrase that in a way she might approve of…" She raised a brow at him and said quite dramatically, "Only the good looking ones."

He laughed. Sadly his smile made him even more attractive, she noted with an inward sigh.

"Nice line."

"I wish it were one." She peered up at him and then motioned for him to come closer with her chin.

He ducked down a little, looking amused, and turned his head to hear her better.

This close, she could actually see shadows coming in along his cheeks and wondered how the faint whiskers might feel against her skin. Giving herself a mental shake, she said against his ear, "Look, I'm really sorry, but… To be completely frank, I would much rather not be here. So if you wouldn't mind helping me by rejecting me so I could convince my well-meaning friends that I gave it a shot, I would sincerely appreciate it!"

His brows rose as he turned to face her, astonished by her request. "You want me to reject you?" He stared at her searchingly.

She nodded.

He blinked. "Are you sick?"

She shook her head.

"Job interview tomorrow?"

Her lips pursed as she answered in the negative. "I have the day off, actually."

"Got some big event going on that you should rest up for?"

"No."

"So what's the deal?" He stared at her. "You just get dumped?"

She rolled her eyes. "I've been comfortably single for more than a year, thank you."

"So you're young, hot, healthy, and you have no plans tomorrow…" He tipped his head wonderingly. "But you wanna get out of here?"

She was glad for the warmth of the club, as her blushing cheeks would likely go unnoticed. He thought she was hot! Not… Well, not that it mattered at all…

"I've been trying to find a way out of here since before I got here…" she explained honestly. With a shrug, she told him, "I'm really not good company and as much as I love my friends, I'd rather let them continue their prowling for bed unsuspecting partners while I go home to my very comfortable bed."

He nodded slowly. "Okay."

"Okay?" Her eyes widened in surprise. "Really?"

"Sure." He slid his arm around her shoulders and then started walking her off the dance floor.

Rachel was confused; she looked back, where the two girls were standing in shock, and then up to the man at her side. "I-I'm sorry, but… What's happening?"

He grinned down at her, but said nothing, instead walking her right up to the table where Santana and Kurt were staring in unabashed fascination.

"Hey," he said with a casual nod. "I'm Puck."

"Kurt Hummel, long time admirer." He held a hand out.

Puck shook it, eyes narrowed curiously. "How long's a long time?"

"How long have you been at this club?" he asked simply.

Puck laughed.

Kurt fanned himself, eyes wide at the musical sound leaving Puck. He shared a wide-eyed look with both Rachel and Santana.

"This is Satan…" Kurt said, motioning to the Latina woman at his side. "She's who you should be thanking for shoving our lovely little Rachel right into your heavenly muscled arms."

"It's Santana," Rachel corrected.

"Same thing," Santana said, nodding at Puck in hello. "You have protection?"

Rachel's eyes bulged. "Santana!"

Puck grinned. "You don't think we'll make beautiful babies together?" He squeezed Rachel's shoulder teasingly.

Her eyes flew up to his face, not sure if she should be amused, appalled, or somewhere in the middle.

"I like him," Santana decided, staring at him thoughtfully. Squaring her shoulders, she sat back and leveled him with a serious look then. "Listen… Rachel's my girl. Yes, I shoved her into you because you look like you could be a good time and she hasn't gotten any in so long you'll probably find cob webs between her legs…"

Rachel was mortified, covering her face with a hand. "Oh my…"

"But hurt her…" She raised a brow. "And I will find you and fuck you up!" She motioned to her hair as she snaked her neck. "I keep razors in here, puto… Do not test me!"

He stared back at her, lips quirked. "Noted." With that, he looked down at Rachel calmly. "You ready to get back to that comfortable bed of yours?"

Figuring she'd escape out from under his really quite lovely arm as soon as they left the club, she nodded mutely.

"Great." He waved again at her friends. "Nice meeting you. Good luck with the razor hair."

They walked away, with Rachel looking back only once to see she was getting thumbs up from both of them.

Getting out of the club took awhile longer than she expected; gyrating bodies were hard to maneuver through, once again reminding her that this was likely a huge fire hazard. But when she finally got outside and was able to breathe in the crisp, New York air, she closed her eyes in appreciation.

Puck readjusted his leather jacket before stuffing his hands in his jeans. "So? Where to?"

She looked over at him. "Uh…" She looked back at the club. "Listen, Puck…" Her nose wrinkled. "Is that your real name? That is an awful first name…"

He laughed. "Thanks."

"Oh, I… I'm sorry." She shook her head, wincing at her awful manners. "You've been wonderful, helping me out like you did, and I've just insulted you and probably your parents since they likely named you and that is not at all what I intended. It's just, it's late and we hardly know each other and while I appreciate that you just helped me out with my friends, I really do want to just crawl into bed and put this night behind me, pretending quite possibly that it never even happened." She held up a hand for him to shake. "But truly, you seem like a very nice man and I'm sure that if you go back now, one or even both of those ladies you were dancing with will certainly forgive you." She shrugged. "And if not, well, you're really very good looking, so I'm sure it won't be hard to find somebody else to spend your evening with."

He blinked at her, but took her hand, shaking it slowly and still holding on even after. "It's Noah," he said.

Her brow wrinkled. "I'm sorry?"

"My name… The one my ma gave me…" He rubbed the back of his neck uncomfortably. "It's Noah."

Her face softened. "Really? That's… That's very lovely."

He grinned. "Which is why I go by Puck… It's badass."

Her head quirked. "I don't want to offend you, but… Helping out a damsel in distress is less 'badass' and more kind, so…" She shook his hand one last time and then untangled them. "For me, I'll just have to remember you fondly as Noah." She walked past him toward the curb to hail a cab.

He turned around to face her. "I thought you were planning on forgetting tonight as soon as you got home."

She looked at him over her shoulder. "Perhaps not everything about tonight…"

He licked his lips, eyes falling to the ground. "If you don't have a date with your bed for tomorrow night… You wanna go out, have dinner?" He shrugged. "No clubs, I promise."

"They're very loud," she explained.

He chuckled. "S'what they're known for."

She nodded, raising an arm to flag down a cab as she thought over his proposal. "We hardly know each other…"

He stared at her determinedly. "That's what dinner's for."

"You just met me… How do you know I'm even trustworthy?"

He grinned. "I have it on pretty good authority that most serial killers are men… And that if you were one, it'd probably be easier if you weren't so hard to get…"

She frowned. "I'm sure if I set my mind to it, I would be a perfectly adequate serial killer."

He laughed. "Going home early and asking men to reject you at clubs seems like a really complicated plan."

Snorting, she shook her head. "Because there isn't a plan… However, if I were planning on luring men to my home and killing them in some disturbing way, then—" She stopped. "Why am I arguing with you about this?"

He shrugged. "I dunno, but I'm kind of wondering what your plan would be now…"

She rolled her eyes. "I'm obviously not, nor do I plan to be, a serial killer… I do, however, have an overactive imagination, so I assume that if I was ever pushed to the edge, I would be a creative one."

He nodded. "So tell me about it over dinner."

She raised a brow at him and tried to smother her smile. "We're casually talking about murder and you think it's a good idea to ask me out for dinner? Shouldn't this be a bright red warning sign?"

He stared at her thoughtfully. "I'm pretty good at reading people and I just don't think you're the mass killer type… You like Thai?"

"You've known me less than an hour," she remind with a scoff. "And Thai is good; I actually went out for dinner with Santana and Kurt to a fantastic Thai place just tonight."

"You can learn a lot about a person in an hour… So Thai food's out. How about Italian? I know a place that makes the best pasta…"

"What could you possibly have learned about me besides the fact that my friends are crazy and have childish matchmaking skills?" she wondered, wrinkling her nose. "And I should warn you that I'm a kosher vegan, so my diet can be hard to work around…"

"Your friends aren't crazy, just worried about you…" He shrugged. "You liked me, but you either got intimidated by the two girls I was dancing with or you made a judgment call that I'm not your type…" He stared at her thoughtfully. "Since you're gorgeous and outspoken, I'll go with the second part… Maybe I'm not your type or maybe you need a new type." He grinned. "And I try to keep kosher… Pork's my weakness though." He shrugged.

She blinked. "I… They have no reason to worry!" she argued. "We prefer different lifestyles! They want sex, I want a relationship. They like multiple partners, sometimes a variety in gender, and I prefer one faithful man. And just because I like to stay home on a Friday night does not mean that there is anything wrong with that." When she realized she was pointing her finger in his face, she retracted her arm. "I might have found you attractive when I saw you, yes, but I was slightly put off when I realized you were dancing with not one but two partners. I assumed, possibly wrongly, that you probably were more likely to fit in better with Santana than myself… I don't think it's wrong to want something more long term than just a night." She shifted uncomfortably. "And thank you for the compliment; I'm using a new conditioner that makes my hair extra shiny." She thought back to what he said and added, "I didn't realize you were Jewish."

"Your nose gives you away. My ma was big on temple and staying kosher, except on Fridays; then we got Chinese and I was allowed all the sweet and sour pork I wanted." He grinned.

"One of my dads is Jewish and my other father converted for him, but he wasn't a fan of going to temple…" She shook her head. "Dad preferred to stay kosher, but my daddy would sneak out to McDonalds when he got tired of it. As you can imagine, our different eating habits made for some complicated meal plans."

"The McRib was good shit."

"I wouldn't know," she mused.

"McDonalds has salads…" He raised a brow at her. "It's a 24 hour joint too, so if you wanna pass up on your bed for awhile longer, we can swing by there…"

"You're still lobbying for a date?" she asked in surprise.

He smirked. "I'm persistent."

Lips pursed, she shook her head slowly. "Why?"

"Why not?"

She stared at him a long moment, and despite the fact that a voice that sounded much like Santana said, 'Forget having dinner with him, strip him down now and have him for dessert!' she knew that she wouldn't be engaging in that kind of behavior. Rachel simply wasn't a one night stand kind of girl; she'd tried it during college but it only made her feel like she was doing things backwards. She wanted a relationship; she wanted a boyfriend and eventually a husband and she wanted to be loved not so much seduced. Though, just looking at Noah Puckerman, she imagined being seduced by him would be an incredibly memorable experience. Still… While he seemed genuine in his offer for a dinner date, she had to question where it would lead, if anywhere, and she just couldn't see it... She wanted him to know that it wasn't him, per se, but her lifestyle didn't appear to be something he would fit into. He was fashionably tattered jeans and leather jackets and tight t-shirts that showed off his well maintained physique and she was long rehearsals and herbal tea and early mornings on the elliptical… She just couldn't see where their worlds would collide.

"I hope you won't take offense, but I'm just not sure that we have anything in common…" She licked her lips. "I like my solitude. I work a lot. I'm an actress and I take it very, very seriously. So when I'm not on stage, I like to be at home, away from drama, in a place where I can hear myself think…" She shook her head. "I love my friends, dearly, but they enjoy this sort of thing…" She waved her hand at the building behind them, still pulsating with the pounding music. "As much as I enjoy music and dancing and having a few drinks with people I care about, I'm not sure this scene is really me…"

She motioned to herself. "I, quite frankly, would probably be a cat lady if Santana would let me…" Her eyes widened for emphasis. "I'm more of a dog person, but that doesn't fit the stereotype and I imagine my apartment is too small a space for numerous dogs, so…" She shrugged.

Thinking of other things that might turn him off, she snapped her fingers. "I bought a pregnancy pillow!" She quirked her head, explaining, "Not because I was with child or thought I would be any time in the near future, but because they're comfortable and I like having something to hold onto while I'm sleeping…" She waved an arm around. "I drink tea and I have reading glasses and I wear frumpy pajamas that do nothing for my figure – I have to hide them because my two best friends in there would gladly set them on fire as they are not 'age appropriate.'"

She sighed. "As you can probably tell by now, I talk, a lot, which is obviously not conducive to the club scene, because I felt like I was screaming whenever I talked to anybody and—" She stopped herself and tucked her hair behind her ear before staring up at his handsome face. "You're very nice and extremely handsome and as much as I would like to take you up on your offer, I just don't think I'm the type of girl you want to be spending your free time with…"

Taking a deep breath, she nodded. "So it was very nice meeting you Noah and I wish you luck with your next dinner date proposal."

Turning around, she returned to searching for a cab.

"This is the first night off I've had in almost a year," he called after her.

Brows furrowed, she turned back to him.

He stuffed his hands in his jeans. "I'm a cop… And I work my ass off. I'm always on call and I get called at the shittiest hours, so going out and hanging with friends and having a few drinks, it's rare for me…" He shrugged. "Do I like it? Yeah, I do. 'Cause I see too much death and bad shit day in and day out and it's nice to take off the badge and put away the gun and dance it up with a few girls who don't see Officer Puckerman…"

He licked his lips and scrubbed his fingers over his shaved head. "Look, Rachel… I like you… You're honest and a little crazy and you're fucking beautiful…" He took a step toward her and stared at her with those piercing green eyes. "So maybe the club's too loud… We hit it off, we'll find a bar where you can still talk over the music… Cats are all right, dogs are better… You probably look cute with glasses and I don't care what your pajamas look like as long as some time in the future you might let me take them off you…" He grinned. "And hopefully by that time, you won't need a pillow to hold onto anymore. 'Cause I'll bet I'm a better cuddler…"

Rachel stared up at him with wide eyes. "I… I don't know what to say to that."

He nodded. "Say you'll have dinner with me. Gimme a chance to show you I'm not just some dude who likes to go clubbing…"

She found herself nodding agreeably before saying. "All right… One dinner can't hurt."

He grinned. "Great… You won't regret this." Before she could say anything more, he waved an arm out and gave a sharp whistle. Within seconds, she had a cab pulled up at the curb next to her. He reached past to open the door for her and took out his phone. "Your number?"

She took it from him and plugged it in under the name Rachel*.

He smirked when he took it back and saw the screen.

Climbing inside the cab, she looked back at him and found herself hoping he'd really call. "Have a nice night, Noah."

"I'll see you tomorrow," he said, closing the door for her.

She watched him in the side mirror, getting smaller and smaller as the cab drove away.

She hadn't even turned the corner when her phone rang. Plucking it from her tiny purse, she greeted, "Hello?"

"So I heard tofu tastes like shit, but I met this awesome girl I wanna take out and she only eats kosher vegan food… Know anywhere good?"

She grinned widely, her head falling back against the headrest. Shaking her head, she said, "You weren't lying when you said you were persistent."

He chuckled. "You ever see something you really wanted and knew you'd do pretty much anything to have it?"

She bit her lip. "Broadway… I dreamed of it since I was a little girl and when I grew up, I did everything possible to achieve my dream."

"So maybe you're my Broadway, Rachel."

She closed her eyes and searched for her common sense. "You don't even know my last name."

"It's not an asterisk?" he asked with mock surprise.

"Berry," she told him. "Rachel Barbra Berry." Her lips pursed. "Will you run one of those police searches on me when you get to work?"

"You want me to?"

Her eyes lit up. "Could you?"

He laughed. "I'll bring you by the squad room some time and fingerprint you, if you want."

She grinned. "Just in case I'm a future serial killer?"

"Well, it's probably written somewhere in the oath I took when I said I'd keep New York safe or whatever."

"Ah, your civic duty then… How very chivalrous of you…" she mused.

"You know it."

She smiled to herself, staring out the window at the passing city landscape. "Why are you so interested?" she wondered. "You seemed to be having a good time before I bumped into you."

"I was going through the motions," he said dismissively. "And… you were different."

Her brows furrowed. "Because I asked you to reject me so I could go home and escape my insane friends?"

He chuckled. "Yeah, that, and… I dunno… My ma always used to say that I had a wandering eye, but when it stopped on something I wanted, it never strayed… I always thought she was kinda full of shit, or maybe just trying to convince herself that one day I'd settle down with a nice Jewish girl and pop out a few badass grandbabies, but… There you were, so…"

Her heart skipped a beat and taking a deep breath, she told him, "There's a place I know of… The menu is really wide, so there are vegan and kosher dishes, but they don't frown on red meat either… I think it'd be perfect for us."

"Cool. I'm sold."

She nodded. "Me too."

That night, Rachel didn't curl up with her manuscript. Instead, she spent much of the night on her cell phone, talking with Noah well into the morning. So when Santana texted her and asked her how her night was, with a suggestive winky face, she was honest when she wrote back that it was wonderful and she'd be seeing him again for dinner.

Later, she would even have to thank Kurt and especially Santana, for giving her a shove that night at the club, as it ended up leading her to exactly what she wanted and needed.

She also got rid of her maternity pillow, because Noah had been completely right; he was a much better cuddler.

[End.]