He walks into the cafeteria to find Santana in his usual seat, arms wrapped protectively around Brittany who's bawling into a messy heap of tissues. He plops down across from them and tries not to eavesdrop but Brittany's not exactly a quiet crier. That Berry chick apparently got Mr. Ryerson fired for inappropriately touching Brittany's cheer queer boyfriend and now Hank's questioning his sexuality. Puck rolls his eyes and barks a condescending laugh.
"That surprises you?" he asks, earning a heated glare from Santana. "Oh, come on. You don't have to have gaydar to know that guy's batting for the other team."
"Sensitivity Puck, look it up," Santana snaps, disengaging herself from the blubbering blonde. "And while you're at it why don't you teach Man-hands a lesson."
He shakes his head no and takes a large bite of Tuesday's taco surprise. He doesn't bother swallowing before adding, "I think I'll pass."
Santana narrows her eyes at him and he thinks if he were a lesser man he'd probably crap himself. "You owe me," she states matter-of-factly.
"For what?"
"For last night, dumbass."
"...Are you freaking kidding me?" he asks, sitting the taco back down on his tray. "You didn't even let me round third base."
"And you never will if you don't take care of this," Santana adds.
"Shit," he sighs, shoving his tray away from him and looking up at the lunchroom clock. If he hurries he can make it to the Seven-Eleven and still be back in time for his afternoon nap in the nurse's office.
"Fine. I'll slushie the freak but then you'll owe me," he adds, standing up and grabbing his book bag from the floor.
He's about to grab his half eaten taco and take it with him when Santana's manicured hand undercuts him. "You weren't going to finish this were you?" she asks, taking a bite before he can answer.
"You're such a bitch, S."
He chuckles. Because she's so damn good at it he can't be mad.
"Thanks. Better hurry, lunch is almost over."