A/N - It occurred to me that I haven't said thank you for all of your reviews yet - so thanks. Honestly, having someone quote your work back to you is an awesome feeling. Anyway, back to our regularly scheduled homosexuality (Oh, and I'll definitely look into writing a sequel to the last chapter).

It's not your fault that it keeps happening. You want to put that out there. Everyone should know that you are totally not doing this on purpose. And it can't even be remotely blamed on you anyway because a lot of it keeps occurring in your own home, so you can't be held accountable for weird actions – you're supposed to do all kinds of weird shit at home to get it out of your system, that's how you avoid being bullied when you start your formative years an only child without a sibling to beat you down. Although, now bordering the years of adulthood no one would dare mess with you, and you have a sibling (albeit a step one) and things are completely different to the way they used to be, except one thing still remains – you have every right to do weird shit in your own home.

The thing is though; the first time you embarrass yourself in front of Chloe Beale – the Chloe Beale – you weren't even doing anything weird. You should probably give some context into the whole thing though. The essential components of the situation were that Chloe Beale was quite easily the most beautiful girl you'd ever come across, and yes that is totally cliché and embarrassing, but also completely true (although you would never admit it out loud because you had a reputation of hatred and badassery to uphold).

She was also undoubtedly the most popular girl at school, and not because she was head cheerleader or valedictorian, those titles were owned by her best friend, but purely because she was nice. She was popular because she smiled at the science nerds, and took part in school plays, and stuck at sitting next to me in every AP class by choice without even trying to copy my hastily scribbled answers as I finished work between naps. Essentially she was totally perfect, the exact reason the complete and total mortification of the first situation was so crippling.

Stacie and her mom had moved in three months prior, and it was actually kind of awesome because you liked Stacie, and you liked not hearing your parents bicker constantly. You didn't like the hushed whispers of Stacie and Aubrey at all hours of the night as they tried to figure out how to continue to keep their relationship secret for some reason (based upon the espionage skills displayed as they woke the whole house attempting to sneak Aubrey through the front door, you wouldn't be going to them to keep secrets anytime soon).

So the newly formed family thing was going really well, up until the moment you realized Stacie doesn't ask to have friends over, or at least give you advanced warning to expect guests in the home before noon on a Saturday. Said… forgetfulness is what has you carelessly bounding down the stairs singing Titanium with nothing but your pajamas on. Now, you may think that doesn't sound so bad, and it doesn't, until you factor in the fact that your pajamas consisted of a "Say Hey if you're Gay" shirt and Spider-man boxers. Oh, and aforementioned guests are Stacie's secret (not so secret) gal pal and Chloe Beale. The Chloe Beale.

"Hey." Chloe. You almost manage to say it back in your attempt to act casual, except then it occurs to you the shirt you're wearing. Then you happen to clock the wink she throws your way. The one that looks suspiciously alluring, and while you were probably reading way too much into it, you still find yourself stumbling into the kitchen, knocking various items off their perch and gradually morphing into some kind of tomato-human hybrid with the intensity of your blush.

You should never leave your room

Ever.

As if that situation wasn't worthy enough for the world to swallow you up and die, things kept happening. Beca Mitchell's Greatest Embarrassments: Part 2 happened during lunch, which is totally sad because you love lunch and now it's tainted with a less than delicious memory.

You don't usually make a habit of sitting so close to the so called 'popular' table despite being offered a place on it upon many occasions. Generally you sit on the corner table and listen to Amy go on about her outrageous stories of the outback, and Emily's quiet scribble in her notebook whilst Benji studies her meticulously and Jesse see's how much food he can throw into his mouth. Basically you sit with a bunch of goofballs and blend into the surroundings – you reiterate, you love lunch.

Except today they all decided that the popular table was the exact place to be sitting directly next to, and spotting Baloney Barb in your usual corner tells you everything you need to know, so you can't exactly blame them. You will though. You will definitely blame them. You also want to blame Chloe for coming out with some ludicrous pun that's impossible not to laugh at, if only because she delivers it with such fervor and receives nothing but groans in return (except from you of course).

"I'm terrified for next period, apparently the lab smells crazily like eggs today" Is how it begins, and you're not exactly eavesdropping, you're just happening upon words in another conversation.

"At least we'll all be sulphuring together." As if the fact that you were legitimately drinking milk wasn't bad enough, the joke made you laugh so abruptly that it came out your nose. Your nose. Milk actually came out of your nose. Oh, and she was watching. Chloe Beale watched milk squirt from your nose and it was completely humiliating. Except, she wasn't laughing. In fact, she looked kind of fond as she grinned at you before having her gaze stolen from yours by Aubrey who was muttering about how the joke was completely ridiculous. You personally thought the fact that she thought you couldn't see her hand on Stacie's leg was the most ridiculous thing occurring that lunchtime, but you don't question it – you're just happy no one else paid attention to the milk incident.

Apart from everyone on your table.

You thank Christ for the bell but apparently your luck isn't really that good because as if the snort explosion and subsequent mocking wasn't bad enough, it didn't go unmentioned like the pants singing. In fact, it was very much mentioned, pretty much from the exact moment she took her seat on the bench beside you.

"So you liked my science joke, huh? I have loads more up my sleeve, you wanna grab your milk now and we can start?"

"Dude, seriously?" You roll your eyes in her general direction but she only grins harder at the sight, nudging your shoulder with her own in a way that has your heart racing both from the sheer proximity and the fear that you're going to fall from your precarious position on your stool.

"Obvs, who wouldn't want to experience the great Beca Mitchell laughing again. Especially since you looked so adorable with the milk shooting out of your nose." Was that a compliment? About my milk snorting abilities?

"Adorable?"

"Oh, totes. Which is a nice change since usually you're so hot you denature my proteins" Was she flirting? Oh God what if she was flirting? What do you even say to flirting? What do you say to Chloe Beale's flirting?

"Shut up." Good one, Mitchell. Smooth as fuck.

"Oh come on, Beca, think like a proton – always positive" She was such a dork. Why were you crushing on such a massive dork?

"Chlo, stop it" Her grin faltered before it was replaced by one twice the size and your heart almost jumped from your chest.

"You never call me Chlo"

"Sorry"

"No, don't be, I liked it. But, since we're on nickname basis, you've got to give something back to this relationship." You don't know why it's the first one in your head. Actually, scrap that, you definitely know why it's the first one you think of, you just don't quite know why you actually say it out loud. Probably because you have all these secret self destructing tendencies you're learning about with each new interaction with your favourite redhead.

"If I were an enzyme I'd be DNA helicase so I could unzip your genes." You've never been more thankful that a teacher began class than in that moment, because you have no choice but to tear your eyes away from Chloe's hanging jaw, and focus on anything other than the hitch in her breath in the silence following your words.

You have to admit this whole thing was maybe getting less embarrassing and more heated.

But you are still willing to crawl into a hole and hide for a few months until it all blows over.

Scrap all hope you may have had.

You are mortified.

You can't say you haven't dreamed about being in the position you ended up in, but you have to admit you didn't see it going this way – you had pictured something far more sensual or at least less likely to make you move to Canada to escape.

Just to clarify, your face was in her crotch. Chloe Beale's crotch. You had tripped, and you had fallen… head first, into her crotch, and you were now fully willing to be sucked into the pits of Tartarus. Or just straight up murdered. Anything really. Anything that didn't mean you had to lift your face from her region and face the proverbial music. You weren't going to be saved from this though. The only solace you really had was that it had occurred in your own home and not at school. But regardless, you really needed to lift your head as soon as possible to avoid being called a creep, or being accused of purposefully putting your head right there.

You spring up without a second thought.

"I'm so sorry, Chloe. I'm a klutz and I fell, as you obviously know because my face was all up in your-" You make a vague gesture towards her lady garden with a vicious blush. Why did you just so that? Sorry would have been good enough, just a simple "Sorry, Chloe. I fell" not an ogling of the crotch you'd already face planted into. Fuck.

"It's totally fine, Becs. Although maybe buy me dinner first next time – I don't want people think I'm easy."

"Oh no, of course not, definitely don't want that." She's smiling easily at you, and that was the moment you should have left with a simple step to your left and through the kitchen door to hide for a few moments to compose yourself, and then return well fed and clear minded. You did not do that. Apparently your brain was so fried that you had no real concept of space, hence you stepping directly into the coffee table and tripping over – straight back into her lap. Thankfully, you were sitting on it this time instead of flying head first. Not so thankfully, you were sitting on her lap and her arms were wrapped around your waist and her face was so goddamn close to your own and-

"Holy fuck" You just said that out loud. Way to go genius.

"You know, I'm starting to feel like you're doing this on purpose. Throwing yourself at me with the guise of being clumsy." You dip your head with a groan, only that is your next mistake because it brings your forehead to hers, and she tightens her grip at the contact until you can feel her body pressing into yours.

You worry that she can feel your heart thudding in your chest when her eyes dip towards your lips, but it doesn't really matter because you have to be dreaming. This cannot be real. She can't be leaning closer with each breath. You can't be able to taste the mint on her tongue. She can't be slipping her hands ever so slightly under the hem of your shirt. You can't be gently brushing her hair behind her ear in the second before your lips should touch. This cannot be real. Except, then the kitchen door flings open and Stacie and Aubrey look guilty and disheveled, and you're jumping up from your spot on Chloe's lap and it's definitely real.

Shit.

It's real.

You're avoiding her. Well, not really avoiding per se. You went about your day in much the same way, because your paths don't really cross all that much. And let's say maybe you talked your AP Bio teacher into letting you complete the work at home because you weren't 'feeling well'. So, you weren't avoiding, you were just tactically saving yourself the awkward conversation in which she explained that she wasn't really into you, it just got a little too heated, and it was a spur of the moment thing because lets be serious – Chloe Beale couldn't possibly want you.

Could she?

Your 'not avoiding' avoidance was actually going quite well until Stacie stuck you in it. You imagine she hadn't actually realised what she was doing when she brought Chloe home because she usually had your back, like you had hers. Chloe probably did that adorable smile where her nose crinkles up, or gave her those infamous puppy dog eyes, or just wore a low cut top and hoped for the best as she snuck her way into Stacie's subconscious, and convinced her to let her into your home because there was no way you were going to actually go open the door for her. You're not that stupid. Apparently you're an uncoordinated, milk snorter, but you're not stupid.

You did occasionally do stupid things though. Like, maybe, having your music playing so loud from your computer that you don't hear people walking through the front door, or the quiet footfalls from the stairs, or the parting conversation that leads to one particular person knocking gently on your door before pushing it open. You definitely did not hear these things. And you not hearing these things is the exact reason why said person stepped through your door just as you were halfway changed, and thus standing dead in the middle of your room, in nothing but the matching black lace underwear that was the first thing you happened upon in your drawer this morning. As things go, you actually got pretty lucky, because if this shit had happened yesterday you would have been wearing Captain Marvel underwear - Brightside and all that.

You don't scream as you turn around. You maybe squeal a tiny bit before shutting your laptop and just standing there, but you don't scream.

You're not quite sure why your first instinct is to shut your laptop and not, in fact, put some fucking clothes on but it is. You somehow still don't put your clothes on after though, probably because you're too busy trying to form a coherent sentence to explain yourself. Except… you don't have to explain yourself. It's perfectly reasonable for you to be changing in your own bedroom, and not so much for the Chloe Beale to waltz right in and then just stand there, staring at you from across the room.

"Can I ask why you're in my bedroom?" You place your hands on your hips – you think it's supposed to be a dominance pose, you're fairly sure you heard Aubrey say that once when you were actually listening to the words coming out of her mouth. Chloe doesn't look intimidated though. You actually can't quite place the look on her face as her throat bobs with a gulp and her legs squirm momentarily.

"I-I, erm. I came-"She winces and you watch her eyes darken as she reopens them. "I w- I wanted. To talk… about y-yesterday and the whole lap falling, head leaning thingamajig and stuff, things and oh God! Can you cover something?! Literally anything because I'm about three seconds away from coming over there dragging my lips along every inch of your body." You understand the look on her face in the instant you feel your own throat constrict painfully with each breath that follows the statement.

This was actually happening. Chloe Beale. The Chloe Beale was actually stumbling over her words because of you. This was real. This was a once in a lifetime, one in a million situation and it was happening to you.

Fuck it.

"What if I want you to?" You almost shock yourself when the words husk from your throat, but it's worth it to watch her breath hitch as she takes a few tentative steps towards you.

"Well that would be bad, because I came here to talk and you won't be able to do much talking when I'm done with you."You're not proud of the moan that escapes your lips in that moment. You are, however, extremely proud of how quickly it gets Chloe to cross the space between the two of you and haphazardly push you on the edge of the bed.

"We can totally just chat if you'd like." You remark with a smirk and revel in the growl she sends your way before she slips to rest between your legs.

Maybe you were finally starting to have some luck without the embarrassment.

THUD!

Or not.