Hello, good readers! My sincerest apologies for the delay in update, but I had some pressing matters to attend to.

And as promised, Cassicio, the winner of my last review challenge, has already received this chapter!

Rachel's text messages in this chapter with be bolded and italicized. Quinn's will just be bolded.

So, without further ado, I give you Chapter 4!

I, Quinn Fabray, am not the pining type. I'm twenty-two years old, and I've never ached with longing for any woman or man that I've picked up. I certainly never check my cell phone every five minutes to see if I've heard from him or her. And yet, here I am, lying on the navy blue plush comforter that covers my queen size bed, attempting to read This Side of Paradise, but daydreaming about Rachel Berry.

It's been two days since I flirted with her under the dim glow of the streetlight in the Rosalita's Roadhouse parking lot. But the memories of her gentle touches, her intoxicating scent, and her melodious voice are vehemently refusing to leave my head. I've been on the same page of my favorite F. Scott Fitzgerald book for the better part of an hour, images of Rachel and her beautiful smile driving me to distraction. Finally, I abandon my efforts to focus and let my battered, dog-eared novel fall from my grasp to the mattress in a frustrated huff. With an exasperated sigh, I stare out of the large bay window of my bedroom and into the bright sunlight of the Lima afternoon.

Even the chipper song of the mockingjays that nest in the oak tree out in the backyard causes my facial muscles to crease into a scowl. Agitated, I push myself off of the bed and throw open the window to stick my head out.

"Shut the hell up, Peeta and Katniss!" I say angrily through clenched teeth, spitting out the names Brittany had given them when she'd come to visit. "Quit flaunting your relationship in my face!"

I slam the window pane down and turn on my heel to storm out of the room. I'm met, however, with the sight of a stunned Joe Hart, brown eyes wide and mouth agape. My face instantly flushes with embarrassment as I sink down to sit at the foot of the bed.

"H-Hey, Joe," I whisper softly, my eyes glued to my toes, which are scrunching tufts of taupe carpeting between them.

Joe lets out a snort and moves to take a seat in the computer chair at my desk next to the window.

"So," he clears his throat with a grin. "What seems to be the problem, Quinnie?"

I know that he's here because Shannon figured his presence would stop my brooding over Rachel, so as hard as it is to believe that he's unaware of my present dilemma, I proceed to tell him anyway.

"She hasn't texted yet."

When I say it out loud into the still air of the room, I realize just how trivial and childish it must sound. But when I tear my gaze away from the floor and look up at Joe's expressive eyes, I only see empathy and understanding.

"So that's why you've spent the last two days in your pajamas and just verbally abused the wildlife that's living in your backyard?"

He chuckles and gestures to today's pajamas: a pair of black Nike running shorts I've had since high school and a white t-shirt advertising last year's Triple H Ranch Barreling Classic. I nod in defeat before glance, no doubt for the millionth time in the past forty-eight hours, at the Droid RAZR Maxx that's sitting on my mahogany bedside table. The screen is black… still nothing. My shoulders hunch over in dejection; an action not unnoticed by my perceptive best friend.

"C'mon, Quinnie," he coaxes before brushing a dreadlock out of his line of vision and leaning forward to rest his bare elbows on his denim covered knees. "She'll get back to you eventually. No girl would get up onstage in front of a crowd of strangers to sing to someone she's not into."

A faint smile breaks through my blues as the memory of Rachel serenading me comes back to my conscious mind. "I guess you're right."

"I know I am," Joe nods resolutely before grinning at me. "Now, go shower and put some clothes on. Shannon gave us money to go to Breadstix for lunch, and I'm not going to let it go to waste."

I'm still staring at the touch screen on my cell phone when Breadstix's sweet elderly waitress sets my plate of piping hot baked ziti in front of me. Joe drums a light cadence on the faux wood table top before picking up his fork and twirling a massive amount of the spaghetti he had ordered onto it. As he shovels the pasta into his mouth, the display of my RAZR Maxx vibrates to notify me of the receipt of a text message. I hurriedly pick up the device and unlock it, finding that the sender's number is not saved in my phone's contacts.

740-262-8825. Marion area code… It's got to be her.

My eyes dart from the display up to Joe, who's smirking at me knowingly. I silently plead with him, an expression complete with a pouty lower lip. He just laughs and shakes his head at me.

"You've been waiting two days. I can wait a few minutes."

My heart beats wildly out of my chest as I open the message. The small envelope icon is replaced with the words I've been waiting forty-eight hours to read.

Hey, Quinn. It's Rachel. :)

A ridiculously goofy beam splits my lips as I tap out my reply and hit the send key.

hey stranger. thought you forgot about me. lol :)

I pick up my own fork and load it with baked ziti. Now that I'm out of my short-lived slump, I discover that I actually am quite hungry. As soon as I bring it to my lips, my phone vibrates again.

The tall, blonde, Shakespeare-quoting rider with the dreamy eyes? How could I forget? :)

I beam giddily, despite the fact that I'm working on a mouthful of pasta. Joe makes a face and laughs at me.

well a certain brown-eyed girl with a bright smile and flirty disposition has been on my mind lately…. :)

My pulse pounds loudly in my ears and my hands begin to sweat a little. Ordinarily, the physical effect Rachel is having on me, even in absence, would terrify me to no end. I'd normally be running for the hills right now, away from the feelings and the closeness that was hitting me quickly. But oddly, I'm not. Strangely enough… I like it. This time when my RAZR Maxx vibrates, I've decided to ask Rachel Berry out on a date, come Hell or high water.

Aw, you're very sweet, Quinn. So tell me… do you think you could do this brown-eyed girl the honor of going on a date?

I snort in disbelief and I'm starting to have suspicions that Rachel Berry is reading my mind. I glance up at Joe, who is polishing off his plate of spaghetti and reaching across the table to stab at my penne noodles. I smack his hand away, to which he reacts with a hangdog expression.

"Joe, she asked me out."

His face lights up and he lifts his hand to connect it mid-air with mine in a high-five. "Well, what do you know? Quinnie's still got it!"

"I never lost it, kid," I smirk before turning back to my phone.

of course. i'll blow you away miss berry :)

I fist pump quietly in the booth as Joe watches with an amused grin, and I thank God up in heaven for letting me score a date with one of his angels.

Send me word to-morrow by one that I'll procure to come to thee. Where and what time thou wilt perform the rite… :) I can't wait.

I, Quinn Fabray, am not the pining type. And I don't giggle. But a rider with mesmerizing eyes and the spectacular smile has managed to make me do both in the span of two days.

Damn… She's good.