"You know Berry, when I said we needed to meet early because we were working on something, this isn't what I meant, " he growls.
"Please, Noah? Just one more time?" She looks at him appealingly.
He melts a little bit. Fuck. They've been dating again for what, about two minutes, and he's already whipped. But there is no way he can let this slide because, A: he'll never be able to call his life his own again (that's a BAD thing, Puckerman!) and B: it's just too horrifying to contemplate.
"No," he says firmly. "No, absolutely not. No more Christina Aguilera."
She pouts. "You played it before..."
He smirks. "That's before I found out how easy you were."
She smacks him on the arm, but she's still sitting on his knee, so he knows she's not too offended. She leans over and whispers in his ear, "Noah, I don't think you've found out exactly how easy I can be."
He pretends to think for a minute and then picks up his guitar. "Christina Aguilera it is."
They're about halfway through the last chorus when Quinn, Santana and Brittney walk in and he doesn't stop playing. He's not a pussy and besides Quinn and Santana are both glaring at him, which is funny. Mostly. Truth be told, Santana is pretty forgettable, but Quinn is another story. There's living proof of that connection. Whether or not the truth ever comes out, whether or not Quinn gives up the baby, whether or not, god forbid, they get married and live in fucking misery forever, they're linked.
He puts down his guitar and hugs Rachel tightly. She looks at him curiously, but hugs him back and he smiles at her with relief. All the reasons why he should have left her alone--not the least of which is the question of Finn--still exist. But he'd called her "mine" last night and he's keeping her for as long as he can. Something is bound to break his way.
He gets through Glee by focusing on the spot where the hem of her skirt meets her legs whenever she has a duet with Finn. He knows he's a pig, but he doesn't think she'd like any of his other choices for dealing with the situation. Also, he smiles to himself, he's the one driving her home and they're hanging out before he has to head back for the game. As soon as Mr. Schue calls it a wrap, he's rushing her out the door. No sense in letting Finn or Quinn get to her. Not to mention the Gleeks. There had been a lot of giggling at lunch when he sat down next to her.
His heart sinks a little when he sees the cars in the driveway. He hadn't met her dads the last go around and fathers in general don't like him, but Rachel apparently feels no hesitation. She grabs his hand and bounces into the house and she's beaming when she introduces Daddy Ben and Dad Michael. They're friendly, but not warm and he guesses that his chances of hanging out in her bedroom are pretty much non-existent. She kisses him before running upstairs to change and the temperature in the room drops a few degrees, so he's relieved when they leave him alone in the den. Classy: nice furniture, art on the walls, big screen t.v. mounted opposite the couch.
He shrugs, feeling a little out-of-place and turns to inspect the photographs on the bookshelves. As expected, the visual evidence of about a million recitals and her mega-watt smile in every one of them. One stands out though: Rachel, maybe eleven, swimming in a Red Sox jersey and cap. Her fathers have their arms around her and in the background he sees the sign, FENWAY PARK. He jumps when she appears next to him and slides her hand into his.
"You've been to Fenway Park?" He can't keep the surprise out of his voice. "No, wait, you've been to a baseball game?"
She tilts her head at the picture. "Game two of the 2004 World Series. Schilling pitched. Daddy's from Boston and my uncle has season tickets so we go a few times a year."
"No shit! Did you know the Sox play 'Sweet Caroline' in the middle of the 8th inning for the home games?" Smarten up, Puckerman, of course she knows that. He blames his current mindless state on her outfit. He'd thought he was going to miss the skirt when she went upstairs to change (he loves that skirt) but those jeans look like they've been painted on her and the simple white tee hugs her curves in all the right places.
She smiles and laughs, "I know...it's one of the reasons why I loved it when you sang it."
Oh yeah, now we're getting somewhere, he thinks. "One of the reasons, Rach?" he says in a low voice, taking a step towards her. She doesn't say anything, but she doesn't back up either. Oh fuck, she's staring at his mouth.
"Mmmmm," she says, dreamily.
"What were some of the other reasons, Rachel?" he says, reaching out a hand and tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear. It feels so good that he brings his other hand up and cups her face, tilting it gently up towards him. She looks straight at him and he thinks he's going to drown in her eyes.
"You were singing to me," she says softly, "just me. That's when I knew..."
He's going to die right now. "Knew what, Rachel?" he whispers hoarsely.
"That...that you could be special. That you could be mine."
And that's all it takes. Before he knows what he's done, he's picked her up and laid her on the couch and he's lost for sure because she's completely pressed against him and he knows he's barely under control as he plunders her mouth. She moves against the thigh that's wedged between her legs and he moans, then moves his hand under her shirt, brushing her soft skin, daring to cup her breast, wringing out soft cries in return. Sanity is somewhere screaming in his ear, but he can barely hear it.
Dads. Fathers. Her fathers are in the house. He's about a second away from ripping both their clothes off and her fathers are in the house. He couldn't pull away quickly if his life depended on it--although if her dads walk in right now, it just might. But slowly, by degrees, he's able to make a little space between them. Her lips are red from kissing and her hair is mussed and she's absolutely the most beautiful thing he's ever seen and...fuck...he totally doesn't deserve her because even an idiot like him can see what's in her eyes. She trusts him.
Sighing, he sits up, pulls her next to him and tucks her under his arm. Sanity sucks. Also, strangely, it beeps. No wait, that's his phone, and he thinks somehow it's been beeping for a while. More as a way to clear his head than from any inclination to deal with the outside world, he flips open his phone. Shit...shit...shit...fucking shit. Three texts from Quinn in the last five minutes. He glances at Rachel, but she's not looking at him. He opens the last one.
EMERGENCY: BABY
Suddenly his head feels like it's going to explode. He has to go right now. He wants to stay and explain this to Rachel. Needs to tell her the truth. But he can't--this is not a 30 second conversation and he has to go now.
"Rach. It's an emergency. I'm not sure if I'll be at the game. I'll come see you tomorrow." He kisses her once, hard, trying to ignore the confusion in her eyes and the way her lips are pressed together in a tight line. He's out the door, trying to text W R U? and start his truck at the same time. He speeds in the direction of the hospital, hoping that there aren't any cops around when the next text arrives: HOME.
OK. His hands are trembling on the steering wheel. Not at the hospital. Not bleeding his daughter's life away.
He pulls into Quinn's driveway, she's sitting on the porch and he's out of his truck and up the steps in a second.
"What's the hell's wrong, Quinn?" He's almost shouting.
She shrugs, says nothing. Then coolly, "How was your date?"
The world stops.
"That's what this is about?" His voice is soft, but she's still flinching away, "Just whistling to see if you can bring me to heel?"
He waits. Her eyes are bright with anger and tears, but again: nothing. And maybe there's nothing for her to say. He continues flatly, "This conversation isn't over, Quinn." He doesn't trust himself to say more.
As he gets back in his truck, a cold wave of fury washes over him. He can't go back to Rachel's like this. Thank fuck there's football tonight. He really needs to hit something.
