Puck sighed a heaving sigh as he lay in his bed, only wearing boxers and trying to keep his thoughts away from the entrancing Quinn Fabray.

It wasn't easy. His phone buzzed, and he almost ignored it, still thinking about Quinn when she'd come over to his house, still looking sweaty from cheerio practice. God, he felt for Finn in the moment he saw her, thinking of how many times he'd rolled his eyes when Finn vented about how badly he wanted Quinn despite her insistence on abstinence. Just having her in the same room was like teasing him.

Puck shook his head, running one hand through his mohawk as he snatched up his phone. It was Angel Whittaker, and her text was anything but innocent. His eyes lit up as he thought about the girl. She was a senior, two grades above him, with long curly blond hair and ample breasts and little hands that felt damn good when she touched him. And those green eyes-wait green eyes? She had blue eyes.

Dammit. He'd been thinking about Quinn again. What the fuck is wrong with him? She came over to his house to work on the English project, and he couldn't think about anything else since.

It started when he picked her up. She was still sweaty but she didn't smell bad. She smelled sweet and feminine. Her blond hair was coiled in the usual ponytail but it was a little loose, and when she sat down her cheerio skirt drifted lazily up her long, soft-looking legs.

"Alright, look, Puckerman," Quinn said immediately, getting right down to business. "I don't have unlimited amount of time, so don't even thinking about wasting it. If we're going to do this project, we are going to finish it. I would rather do the whole project on my own if I feel that you are just trying to mess around or screwing up your life. You will not bring mine down with yours. I have places to be, and people to talk to. Understand?"

"I'm not just some deadbeat," he pressed his lips together, irritated at the assumption that he's not worth anything. Yeah, he did some stupid shit, and he was born from one the lowest pieces of shit on Earth, but he was going to be better. He wasn't going to be like his dad.

Quinn laughed. "Alright, Puckerman."

"You trying to say something?" he scowled at her, before looking back at the road.

"I don't know. I don't see you in half my classes, and when I do, you're usually not paying attention," Quinn rolled her eyes. "It's not my business what you do or don't do. But I'm meant for something bigger."

"Like what?" Puck asked, his curiosity piqued.

"I...don't know," Quinn admitted somewhat reluctantly. "But if I can become...this-" She gestured to herself. "-then I can do anything."

"Please," Puck scoffed as he rolled into his driveway. His house wasn't huge; his mom did her best, which he knew was hard since divorce wasn't cheap, especially when her dad was broke. She did her best, but raising two kids single-handedly wasn't easy, he knew. It was a three bedroom house with one bathroom, a living room, and a kitchen. Not everything worked perfectly, but it was better than most. His mom worked a lot at the hospital, which although cliche, made for a good income so she could feed and clothe her children. Puck helped out with lawn money when needed. Anyway, he turned to Quinn. "I bet you were always like this."

"Think what you want, Puckerman," Quinn pursed her lips, shoving the car door open and jumping out. Puck followed after her, locking his car and heading after her.

He unlocked the door, letting her in and trying not to look at her behind as she walked in before him. He shook his head, trying to keep the thoughts away, as she plopped down onto the couch, dropping her bag next to her. "Hold on, I need to make a call," he said, watching as she pulled out a notebook and a mechanical pencil. He quickly dialed Ms. Ford, the widow across the street who watched Sarah while his mom was at work. "Hey, Ms. Ford. Did Sarah make it there alright?"

"Noah, is that you, sweety?" Ms. Ford answered breathily. For some reason, the woman always sounded out of breath. Maybe because she always had candles lit, making the air so clogged with different scent that you could barely breath, or perhaps it was the fact she was pretty badass when she was young and told stories of her stealing cigarettes and driving around on a motorcycle, wandering from state to state until the only states she had yet to see were Hawaii and Alaska.

"Yeah, it's me, did Sarah make it there alright?" he repeated his question. She wasn't crazy, but she liked to only answer things when she felt it was pertinent to her.

"Oh, I'm sorry. I couldn't tell it was you because I told you so many times to call me Lucy, not Ms. Ford."

Puck tried to smother his smile. "Of course. So did Sarah make it there alright or not?"

"Why, of course. She's right here. Did you want to speak to her?" Ms. Ford responded finally.

"No, it's al-"

"Noah?" Sarah's voice rang into the phone.

Noah tried to breath evenly. Ms. Ford never seemed to hear anything he was saying. "You make it alright?"

"Yeah."

"How was school?"

"Fine. I made necklaces out of daisies with Caroline but Abby tore them up."

He glanced at Quinn who was looking at her notebook. He realized he'd been on the phone way too long. "Well, don't worry too much about her. She's probably jealous. Listen, Sarah, I'll talk to you more later. Right now I need to work on a project."

"Okie dokie," she replied easily. "I'll tell Ms. Ford you said goodbye."

"Thank you!" he said, relief filling him. "See ya."

"Bye-bye."

"Your sister?" Quinn asked without looking up.

"Yeah. Had to make sure she got there okay," he shrugged, before sitting down next to her and changing the subject. "So, I was thinking for the project we could make playlists because who doesn't like music? So it should be easy enough."

"I thought so, too," Quinn agreed for once, looking up at him. She didn't seem annoyed but he couldn't quite place the look on her face. "Looking at the rubric, it looks like you get extra credit the more creative you are with this. So, I was thinking that we could make playlist out of your names."

"What?" Puck asked.

"Like, we could find a song that starts with the same letter as every letter of our names," Quinn said impatiently.

"So, like 'No Surrender' by Bruce Springsteen could be the N in Noah?" he asked, for clarification sake. Quinn nodded, handing him the rubric so they both could look at it. He skimmed it. "It also says it shouldn't be a separate project. What does that mean?"

"Oh!" Quinn said, her eyes lighting up. "For that, I had an idea. So, I think we can both assume we have different tastes in music. So half of the songs in your playlist should be songs you find on my phone, and half of mine will be yours."

"Oh, so the projects intermingle," Puck understood now. "That's actually a great idea. I had no idea what we were going to do, if I'm being honest."

"Yeah?" Quinn's eyes lit up, and Puck got the feeling that Quinn enjoyed the praise. He quickly figured out the reason she was so popular; it was like trying to stare straight at a torch. She glowed with the positive encouragement. He wondered why she even cared. She had to know she was brilliant; wasn't she in advanced classes last year? What was she doing in his English class?

"Definitely," Puck confirmed.

"So, what is 'No Surrender'?" Quinn inquired, crossing her legs. He tore his eyes away from her.

"Only one of my favorite songs," he scoffed at her. "It's from the 80's, granted, but it's still good."

"I like older songs," Quinn arched one thin eyebrow. "Although I like 60's music more than I would like any of your stuff."

"You haven't even heard it yet," Puck argued, standing up and moving toward the old-school stereo hooked up to the speakers. He sifted through the stacks of CD's, before giving up and hooking up his phone to the system. "Bruce Springsteen is definitely a brother of mine."

"Why's that?" Quinn asked.

For not being interested in him, she had a lot of questions.

"Just listen," he commanded, finding the song and pressing it. The music filled up the room, and Puck closed his eyes, letting it fall over him. When he peeked, he saw Quinn bopping her head, her eyelids shut as she took it in.

"No retreat, baby, no surrender," Puck sang along with the track, moving closer to Quinn until he was standing in front of her. Her eyes fluttered open, a small smile touching her lips as she looked at him.

"This does sound like you, Puckerman," she said softly.

"It's kind of my anthem," he smiled, his voice also quiet, as if it would break the spell if they talked any louder. In a way, it would. Quinn had never seemed more real. Her smile was almost accidental, and it was like the music had forced an understanding, a connection of sorts, between them.

"No retreat, baby, no surrender," Quinn sang, just as the song ended. "I like that. I guess a deadbeat wouldn't agree with something like that."

"No," he agreed, finding it oddly peculiar that they had agreed so often and easily during this time. She stood suddenly.

"Um, I better go," she said. She was quickly too close for comfort, but Puck stood his ground, his lips mere inches from hers.

"Why's that?" he asked softly, about to kiss her when she sidestepped him with a forced smile.

"Home. Now. Puckerman. We can meet again another time, okay? I need to be home for dinner. My dad's back from his trip, if you must know, and we were going to have a family dinner," she bit out, grabbing her bag and stuffing her notebook and supplies back in. The moment was gone.

"Alright," he'd said. The drive to her house had been silent, and at the end, she'd given him her number. He arched one eyebrow at her.

"Don't get any ideas, Puck," she huffed, as if he was exasperating her. "Next time we schedule, I'd like to be prepared so we can just sit down and get it finished, okay? I am dating Finn, you know."

"Yeah," he said, barely even thinking about that at the moment. "Hey, Quinn?"

"Goodbye, Puck," she said without answering him, leaving the car and strutting into her house without a wave of her hand. Her house was huge in comparison to his. It looked like everything Quinn Fabray had; perfect. He shook his head as he drove home, his mind still boggled that he'd almost kissed Quinn. God, she was so hot, he really just needed to get it over with. Especially since he ran two stop signs on his way home, completely on accident.

Later, he'd been too distracted to really hear what Sarah had been saying, or to reply to any of his mom's teasing or to even think about Angel Whittaker's sexts. He had seen something real in Quinn Fabray. He realized that he was going to get a lot closer to knowing the real Quinn than he'd been prepared for. But maybe if they just duked it out and then fucked, he would finally get over the mess he was thinking about her. He'd never been so attracted to a girl. Yeah, he'd fucked many and messed with even more. But he couldn't get her out of his head.

Was it her smell that was sweet and feminine like a flower? Was it the way he imagined she'd feel, with her soft skin and pretty pink lips? Was it her voice, which she used to tease and argue with him, but had gone soft when she talked about the music and then sweet when she'd sung the words? She was making him insane.

Or maybe she always had. No, it was something lately. Maybe it was that she was opening up and talking to him, like at that party. Once she started dating Finn, she mostly ignored him except when she had to speak with Finn and he just happened to be with Puck.

What the fuck was he going to do about this?