Author's Note: Hi guys! So I recently watched When Harry Met Sally for the first time and absolutely fell in love with it. So I decided to take it to the Glee fandom and write kind of a spin-off of it with Rachel being Sally and Puck being Harry. It's going to have some similar scenes, but also have differences, so I hope you enjoy!

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters of Glee or the movie When Harry Met Sally

Summary: "Chicks and guys can't be friends, because all guys want is sex." "Do you want to sleep with me right now?" "Kinda." Enter the compulsive Rachel Berry, aspiring Broadway star, and the infamous womanizer, Noah Puckerman. Eventual Puckelberry. Alternate Universe

Warnings: language, maybe sexual content/innuendo

Genre: Romance, Humor, Friendship, Drama, Hurt/Comfort

Pairings: Finn/Rachel (Finchel), Puck/Quinn (Quick), Mike/Tina (Tike), eventual Puck/Rachel (Puckelberry)


When Puck Met Rachel

Chapter One: First Impressions


It is exactly 6:30 A.M. and that is the exact minute Tina said that her roommate Santana Lopez and Santana's "boyfriend" Noah Puckerman would be here, so where on earth are they? Tardiness does not get anyone a callback, don't they know that? Punctuality is the way to make the best first impression, that will allow the opportunity for a second good impression, that will eventually pave way to success. Plus, she is doing them a favor, so it would be only considerate for them to be on time.

Rachel Berry flips open her hand mirror and studies her reflection. Her new bangs were a good decision. Her nose is a little big, but like Barbra Streisand, it will become a symbol of endearment and power and talent.

She flips her mirror closed again. Where are they?

Honestly? Rachel is only doing this for Tina because Tina has been a good friend and Rachel doesn't have too many of those. It's probably because other girls are intimidated by her star quality, but she can't help it, can she? They're just jealous.

But anyways, Tina is a good friend, and that's why Rachel is doing this for her. Rachel knows that Tina doesn't even like Santana, but they are roommates and when Santana asked Tina to ask Rachel for a ride for Puck to New York, Rachel hesitated, but accepted—but why is he late?

There's a thump against the back of her car, and Rachel rolls down the window. She leans over to look outside and can feel her jaw visibly drop. You have got to be kidding me!


He's pretty sure that he could do her right now. Yes, they already had sex this morning and then they took a shower together, but Puck is pretty certain that the fact that Santana is letting him push his hand further and further up her skirt is a sure sign that she wouldn't mind doing it again either.

He deepens the kiss as he feels her fingers clasping behind the back of his head. His free hand (the one that's not on her firm ass), splays over Santana's flat stomach, and he closes his eyes as a groan escapes.

"Ooh, am I turning you on babe?" Santana murmurs into the kiss, "You know, you can always just not go to New York and stay here."

"God, Santana," Puck smirks, "you know I want to-"

He's interrupted by the sound of loud, ear-splitting honking. "What the-"


Rachel has had enough of this nonsense. She needs to be in New York by tomorrow night at the latest and she does not have time to waste. She was scheduled to leave at promptly 6:30 this morning and she is not going to sit in her car and wait for some Neanderthal with an outdated mohawk to feel up his girlfriend when she is on a tight schedule.

She presses her car's horn again when she sees the boy—who she presumes is Noah—look up in shock.

"What the hell is your problem?" he yells, and the girl with the long, straight black hair, evil eyes, and full lips (probably Santana) throws her a dirty look.

What the hell's her problem? What's wrong with her? She is not the one who needed a ride to New York and is hitching one off of a complete stranger. She is not the one who is desperate—she is doing the favor. What the hell is his problem?

"What is my problem?" she bristles, narrowing her eyes at the couple outside of her car. Noah turns to tongue Santana again, but Rachel will not have this. "Excuse me, but I am talking to you!" She honks the horn in fury. "Please give me the proper attention when I am addressing you! What is my problem? My problem is that we were scheduled to leave," she checks her watch, "twenty-seven minutes ago and I have been waiting for you very patiently, but you are inconsiderate and unappreciative, so if you do not get in the car right now Mr. Noah Puckerman, I will just have to leave without you."

Her words are full of a firm resolve, but if Noah notices, he doesn't say anything. Instead, he just deepens the kiss with Santana, and throws his bag into Rachel's car with the hand that he's not using to cup Santana's butt. Noah takes his own sweet time, and after a final kiss and a flirtatious wink, he rudely opens the door to the front passenger seat and clambers in.


Puck studies the girl sitting next to him. She's small and thin and lacks the curves that Santana has, and her nose gives away her Jewish background. And her hands are gripped around her steering wheel so hard that her knuckles are white. He grins an easy smile and props his feet up onto her dashboard.

"What are you doing?" comes her sharp voice. She speaks without looking over at him, her eyes still fixated on the road.

"What do you mean?" he drawls slowly, running his fingers through his mohawk.

"Put your feet down," she orders tersely, and Puck is thinking about seeing how much he can push her limits, but he decides to do as she says. After all, she is kind of doing him a favor.

Silence.

"The name's Puck," his voice cuts the tension like a knife through butter. "Rachel, right?"

"Rachel Barbra Berry," she says daintily, and she turns to meet his eyes. Her eyes are big and brown and full in her small face. "You should remember that name. I'm going to be a star."

"Really then?" he smirks, "what type?"

"Broadway, obviously," Rachel sniffs, as if the fact that he considered any other fame is disdainful. "You're going to see my name in the lights, all over Times Square, and you'll be one of those individuals fortunate enough to say you met me. I can give you my autograph now if you would like it."

Puck is pretty sure that if he was drinking milk right now, it would come rushing out of his nose. He laughs out loud, and then stops when he realizes Rachel isn't. Instead, she is looking at him as if there's something wrong with him.

Oh wait. She can't be serious.

"You're serious about this star business?" Puck asks, disbelief written all over the contours of his face and in his hazel eyes.

"Yes, very. Why wouldn't this be a serious matter?" Rachel looks back at him, her cool, calm reserve penetrating through her features.

Puck doesn't answer but turns his face and watches the scenery drift by outside. This is going to be a hell of a long ride.


The journey from Lima to New York is long enough that it will take around a day's worth of driving. Rachel pulls into a roadside diner for dinner, and Noah—Puck, she reminds herself—wakes up from where he's been snoring rather soundly and stretches out his cramped body.

Rachel studies the menu, searching for reasonable vegan and kosher options, but everything seems to be laden with some type of greasy fried meat or thick cheese. Sighing to herself, she decides she'll just have to opt for a salad—it will help her keep her star figure as well.

Puck, sitting across the table from her, has eye-sex with the waitress (who flushes a deep red and looks flattered), and orders fried chicken and mashed potatoes with gravy. Rachel shudders just thinking about the food, but Puck doesn't seem to notice.

And now the waitress, with her dyed platinum blonde hair and big blue eyes, reluctantly draws her eyes from Puck and asks Rachel what she can get her.

"I'll get the Salad #1—but not the ham, bacon, or eggs—or onions. Just the lettuce, tomatoes, carrots, and and olives. And instead of Caesar dressing, I want fat-free Italian vinagrette. If there are any animal products at all, I do not want them. I know the salad comes with bread, but if the bread is made with any milk other than soymilk or contains butter, please try to give me a plate of raw cucumbers instead. Oh! And this is for you," Rachel hands the waitress a napkin with her penned signature. "This is so when I make it big, you have proof that you met me."

The waitress gives Rachel a skeptical look, but Rachel doesn't mind. She gets that look a lot, but she knows the waitress will appreciate it a few years from now, and she'll be thankful then.

Did she just give the waitress her autograph? Puck is thinking. His eyes are glued on the waitress who has a great ass and watches as the waitress throws the autographed napkin in the trash. Figures.

He puts his attention back on the girl across the table. She took about freaking ten million years to order.

"Um, so... you a vegetarian then?" he grumbles.

"Vegan and I keep kosher," Rachel says. "My faith is very important to me and it's important to eat organic, healthy food that is uncontaminated and untouched by innocent animals."

Puck's skin nearly crawls in revulsion. Who is this girl? "You Jewish then?"

"Yes," Rachel says matter-of-factly. "And you are as well? Do you keep kosher?"

"Don't eat bacon, but otherwise not really," Puck shrugs. He drums his fingers absentmindedly against the table, having nothing more to say to the annoying, crazy girl with big eyes sitting across from him.

"Are you and Santana together then?" Rachel inquires, breaking the silence.

Puck, who is taking a drink of his water, nearly spits it out. He coughs, slamming his chest to breathe properly, and then answers. "I guess, kind of. I mean, we do it a lot, if that's what you mean." He wiggles his eyebrows flirtatiously, his confidence taking a high leap as he figures even crazy girls like Berry want to ride him.

"Oh," Rachel sniffs as if Puck is a maggot. "That's nice then." Her tone implies that it's not nice at all.

Puck stops coughing and takes another drink of water. Maybe he misinterpreted her question. "What about you then? You with anyone?"

"I'm not currently seeing anyone at the moment," Rachel says primly, "I'm using my time and efforts to focus on my career. It's more important for me to get ahead in my presentation and spend time attending casting calls and getting auditions. Being a star is more important to me right now than a relationship."

Puck rolls his eyes and mutters something under his breath and Rachel's brow furrows. "What did you just say?"

"Nothing," Puck raises his hands in defense.

"No, I demand to hear what you just said," Rachel says, looking seriously at him. "Noah, what did you say?"

"Well," Puck smirks cockily, "people who just say they need to 'focus on their career' are virgins or bad at sex."

Rachel's outrage is outlined all over her face as the waitress brings their food.

"That is not true!" she hisses, "I have had plenty of sex and I have had good sex at that! And I will tell you that I am very talentedat sex!"

"Yeah, whatever," Puck mutters, pushing a forkful of mashed potatoes into his mouth.

"I'm telling the truth!" Rachel yelps adamantly. Her eyes widen in anger. "I am good at sex!" Her voice slowly escalates, and Puck is aware of everyone in the diner slowly looking toward their table.

"Yeah, yeah," Puck says, "good for you. Now stop yelling about your sex life and eat your rabbit food."

Rachel suddenly becomes self-conscious about the stares that she's receiving and flushing a dark pink, she does exactly what Puck suggests, tossing her salad with the vinagrette. Puck watches her out of the corner of his eye as he eats his fried chicken. She has long eyelashes, he notices, and her thin face is framed by glossy, brown bangs and lengthy, shiny hair. Her nose is a little bit on the big side and is dotted by small, barely visible freckles. Her lips are long and full and are balanced on a small chin.

She's not ugly at all, he decides. Actually, this crazy Berry girl is actually kind of hot, and he decides that he should share his opinions.

"You know, you're pretty hot," he says casually, as he chews his food. "Like for a Jew too."

"Thank you—excuse me!" Rachel says, looking slightly less composed than before. "You can't say that!"

"Why?" Puck asks, "I can say whatever I want."

"But you're with Santana," Rachel stresses. "You can't just be going around and flirting with other girls when you are with someone."

"I'm not flirting with you," Puck retorts. "I'm just saying a fact. You are pretty hot, at least when your mouth is shut and you're not yammering on about crap."

"Well excuse me that I can actually talk about something relatively intelligent and not at all related to the human reproductive system," Rachel snaps. "Noah, you know, I really don't like you."

"I really don't care what you think," Puck says calmly. And he really doesn't. At least that's what he's telling himself, and he pretends that the irritating feeling in his chest is just heartburn. "But you know, if you want, tonight we could get a hotel room—just you and me."

Rachel's response is dumping her glass of cold water and ice all over his head.

He figures that's a no.


"You are unbelievable, do you know that?" Rachel says, when Puck finally stumbles back to the car after drying out in the bathroom. Luckily for him, the waitress thought he was a poor, lost, wounded type and dried him off (and also made out with him for fifteen minutes in the back kitchen).

Puck doesn't answer, but just glowers angrily at Rachel in silence. What the hell? She could have just said no, but who on earth says no to a night with Puckzilla? She doesn't know what she's missing out on.

"Why on earth would I sleep with some stranger that I've just met? And why would I sleep with you when you're seeing someone? Doesn't Santana mean anything to you? How would she feel? You have absolutely no consideration for anyone's feelings, do you?" Rachel's teeth are clenched and she has this crazy, scary look in her eyes and Puck decides that he's just not going to answer any of her questions.

"And to think! I thought we could have been friends, since we're both going to New York. But, guess what Noah Puckerman! I will never, ever be friends with you, and I will never, ever have sex with you. You are disgusting."

Okay, this is enough. His ego has been bruised enough for one day, and he can't just let her get away with dissing his manlihood.

"Dude, Rachel. Chicks and guys can't be friends, because all guys want is sex." The words cascade out of his mouth like a waterfall before he can stop himself, but as he says it, he realizes he really believes it. He doesn't have a single female friend that he doesn't want to bang (or hasn't banged).

Rachel sniffs dispairingly in that annoying way that she does. "Oh really, Noah? You mean to say that—do you want to sleep with me right now? Even after everything?"

Puck repeats her question in his mind multiple times, and he decides to answer truthfully, even though he's pretty sure it's his dick doing the thinking. "Kinda."

Rachel's disgruntled hmmmph is enough to signal to him that she has not budged on her resolve not to have sex with him. Puck grumbles and rolls over in his chair to fall asleep. This is going to be a long journey indeed.


When they finally reach New York, Rachel's eyes light up in excitement. She looks around at the huge buildings and all of the skyscrapers, and thinks, Oh my gosh, I'm really here. New York is about to be graced with my presence and I really am a star in the making.

She stares out her window in awe, and decides that it's time for Noah to wake up, because they are here, and she can't wait to get rid of him so that she can just start exploring by herself and move into her apartment.

"Noah," she says loudly, but he doesn't wake up. Instead, he turns over and snores even louder. The nerve of this boy.

"Noah Puckerman," she tries again, more loudly. No response.

"Noah," she shoves him with the tip of her fingers, because there is no way that she really wants to touch him. No response. Again.

With a groan, she decides she'll have to resort to desperate measures. Taking her canteen with the golden star on it, she unscrews the lid and dumps the water all over his head. Noah comes to with a splutter and a curse and says, "What the hell is wrong with you, Crazy Berry?"

"We're here," Rachel says with resolve. "And I'm at the place where you're supposed to get off," she gestures outside to an apartment complex, "so please get out now."


Puck is flabbergasted. In his twenty-two years of life, he has never, ever met a girl like this. And what the hell—the last twenty seven hours or so that he has spent with her have been almost completely unbearable. She wants him to leave? Hell yeah, he'll leave and he hopes he never sees her again. What if she's kind of a hot Jew (and maybe the type of girl his mom would want him to marry?) She's psycho.

"Thanks," he growls, as he grabs his suitcases from the back of Rachel's car.

"You're welcome," is her terse reply. "I'm sorry you think that boys and girls can't be friends. You were the only person I knew in New York."

"Yeah, whatever."

Puck turns around and leaves, without any looks behind his back. Rachel Berry is crazy and he hopes he never sees her again.


Author's Note: So that is Chapter One. Thank you so much for reading-I hope you enjoyed it! If you would like to see more, please "Submit a Review." I'd really appreciate it and it will encourage me to update :)

I need some suggestions on what Puck's job should be in New York if any of you guys have any ideas. I know this chapter was kind of similar to the first meeting in When Harry Met Sally but I'm going to switch it up (I promise!) Also, if you like KLAINE pairings, please check out Courage or I am also working on a school shooting story (I'm writing the second installment of it right now) Small Steps. I would really love if you could review those :)