Rachel follows him into the kitchen, observing him with mild interest. She figured he would have abandoned his pursuit after she slammed the door in his face, and rejected him. She's not his type, her brain can't wrap around the fact that he's here. He's willingly here, making an effort, trying to do a real date. She's never had one of those before, no guy has ever wanted to spend any time with her unless it was mandatory and forced.
She hasn't said a single word to Puck since he wandered into the kitchen, taking out pots and pans. Perching herself on the kitchen counter, her favorite place ever, she continues to stare. He cleans up nicely, even with that childish haircut. Even in school, she's not in as close proximity as she is now. Her thoughts are preoccupied by this change of events on her Friday night, and she ponders whether or not pinching herself is the answer.
"Can't take your eyes off me, eh Berry? I am rather good looking, very sexy and appealing to the eye." Puck throws her a quick glance over his shoulder as he walks over to the refrigerator, removing various food groups, waiting for Berry to object he's not supposed to be touching something. He was a little disappointed when he opened her fridge. Seriously, there was only a bunch of leftovers and stale cookies. Who the hell hides stale cookies in the fridge?
"Considering you're trespassing in my kitchen, I'm going to stare, yeah." Her feet dangle over the edge, and he can't help but notice how tiny they are.
"I'm not trespassing. You let me stay, remember? I didn't see you putting up much of a fight. Apparently, you wanted this date badly."
She rolls her eyes at the implied suggestion in his voice. "We're not on a date." The words come out automatically because really, it's not a date if both people can't stand each other. Plus, thought of a date date with Puck makes something inside her crawl.
"Whatever, Berry. You can deny it to the moon for all I care but I'm cooking you dinner, we're going to settle in to watch a movie, and then at the end, I'm going to kiss you good-night and we're going to end up in bed. Naked." He winks suggestively.
"Whatever, Puck. I'm going to deny it to the moon and you're going to care. You're going to cook me dinner and depending on the ingredients and amount of effort you use, I may like it. We're going to settle in the couch to watch a movie, at opposite ends of the couch, so there's no risk of touching. After that, I'm going to let you kiss the cat good-night, and the only bed you'll be sleeping in will be your own."
"Kiss the cat? Is that a euphemism? Sounds kinky. Maybe we should skip dinner." Puck is getting increasingly amused at her behavior, especially when he sees her cheeks flush at his comment. He starts to think this evening may end well, after well.
"You're grotesque." Even in her head she senses how lame her comeback is.
"Correction. I'm bad ass." Rachel clamps a hand over her mouth to stifle a laugh.
"I don't see what's so amusing. Obviously, you haven't seen my guns." Puck looks slightly injured at her laughter, running his free hand through his Mohawk.
"That's a pretty accurate assessment. I may be the only female at our high school immune to your charms. Or those things you call attempts at charm, anyway."
Puck's eyes narrow, a frown falling across his features. "Attempts? My attempts at charm? I wrote the book regarding charm."
"Having sex with girls in various closets around school is not an element of charm. It's rather indecent and unsanitary. One only knows the limit of germs you've accumulated through your years. Girls liked to be wooed, not taken advantage of on every flat surface."
Puck wanders over to where she's still sitting, and presses his lips to her ear, feeling her fidget uncomfortably.
"Don't be jealous, Berry. You could have a try too. You look like you're flexible enough to fit in every position. We won't even need a flat surface."
Rachel leans in a little further, raising an eyebrow and feeling a smirk tug upwards at her mouth. She moves her hand to his waist, her thumb an inch underneath his sweater. "I guess you'll never find out, will you?" She has no idea what came over her. She should have just sent him home when she had the chance.
Puck's eyes widen in surprise. Now that was a comeback he wasn't expecting, nor can he think with her hand on his skin. He traces his finger across her cheekbone, and wonders if she'd hit him if he kissed her right now. She's biting her lip, a faint trace of teeth showing, and given the closeness they've found themselves in, he feels her warmth radiating.
"I bet I'll find out sooner than you think."
Uncomfortable with his look, and the movement of her hand, Rachel decides to get off the kitchen counter, her feet stepping on his in the process. She sees him wince in the corner of her eye while walking away, and can't help enjoy it slightly.
"My bad."
Laughing at her, Puck shakes his head.
"Oh, please. If you're going to deflect blame, at least do it well. You totally meant to do that."
Looking back at him, Rachel breaks into a fit of laughter, and nods.
"Of course I did."
Plopping herself down into the kitchen chair, she positions her legs to sit Indian style.
He places her plate in front of her, the delicious smell wafting to her nose. She's a sucker for spaghetti. She watched too much Lady and the Tramp while younger, and always swooned when they shared the plate. She debates swooning over spaghetti with Puck, and then it dawns on her that it's still Puck, and it'd still be gross.
"This tastes great. I mean, you know. Adequate," quickly correcting herself, lest he thinks she enjoys his cooking, and then he comes back all the time.
"Bite me, Berry. I know it tastes better than the leftover Chinese food."
"I'm just a sucker for spaghetti. And fine, I apologize for my poor behavior, and it tastes amazing. You're really fortunate to know how to cook. One time I had to boil the kettle by myself, and I set the kettle on fire. It ended up exploding all over the kitchen and my dads were furious about the damage done to the kitchen. Now they just leave me money all the time for take-out." Crap, she hadn't meant to share the childhood anecdote.
"I had to learn to cook quickly. Mom's always working, and there's only so much I could spend on fast food and still have leftover money to slushie you." His eyes twinkle at his comment, and she realizes she's never noticed how his green eyes sparkle.
"Please, if you believe that the cost of slushies is expensive, I'm going to send you my next dry cleaning bill. Then, we can compare notes on who spends more and everybody wins."
He sticks out his hand, waiting for her to grab on. "Deal, Berry. Deal." He doesn't mention to her she hasn't been slushied in a while, not if it means he'll win the bet.
They drop hands quickly, and he can't describe it, but he's pretty sure he just felt tingles in his hand. He wonders if she felt it too, but decides it's probably just static from letting go too quickly.
The rest of the evening passes in a blur to them both, and by the time Puck realizes he's finished his food, it's past one in the morning. He's amazed at where the time went, and how easy it felt talking to her. He's never seen such an easy going side of her, and he's kind of glad. Unsure of where the feeling came from, he realizes how many more guys she'd have fighting over her if she just loosened up.
"I kind of have to go, Berry. My mom is going to freak out, wonder why I'm not back yet. She's a worrier." He starts picking up the dishes, intent on leaving behind a spotless kitchen, and Rachel waves him off with her hand.
"Seriously, you were gracious enough to cook a wonderful meal. I'll clean up, you should get home so she doesn't worry."
"Thanks for everything tonight. I'm pretty glad you didn't kick me out of the house when you had the chance, or call the cops to report a disturbance."
Rachel grins briefly at his attempt at humor. Chances are, she probably would have called the cops, and enjoyed it.
"Maybe next time. Good night, Puck," her words come out softer than she intended and she is pretty sure she is staring at him with a starstruck look on her face. Since when does she even think Puck and starstruck in the same sentence? She doesn't know why she said next time. Why would there even be a next time? It must be the late hour playing with her mind, she can't seriously have a smidgen of feelings for the juvenile delinquent.
He looks at Rachel, staring at him expectantly, and doesn't move in for the kiss. He mutters his good-byes, and leaves without a backward glance. Jackass, he thinks.
Closing the door, Rachel bites her lip again, her face falling, and wonders why there's an ache of disappointment he didn't kiss her good-night.
Author's Note: Thank you for all the reviews and alerts! You guys are awesome, and now that finals week is done, finally, I have more time to dedicate to these stories. However, I'm probably going to hold chapters hostage just because I really appreciate your feedback and I know I don't get it frequently if I don't ask for it. So here I am, asking :)