Not Making the Same Mistake Again
Summary: Less than four months remain of the school year, for some students it's the last four months at William McKinley High. Therefore it's natural for the kids to want to make the best of the remaining time. However, a lot of things can go wrong in sixteen weeks . . .
Rated Teen for language primarily. There may be some spoilers for the two first seasons of the show as well as the third up until somewhere short after the episode Hold on to Sixteen.
I hope you will enjoy reading this multi-character fanfiction as much as I have enjoyed writing it!
I apologize in advance for any incorrect grammar or typo that may occur.
Reviews are very welcome.
Disclaimer: I donot own Glee nor do I own any of its characters. The same goes for anything involving the music mentioned.
End of author's note. Now on to the story!
Chapter 14 – Make up
[FRIDAY – part II]
'Is this really a good idea?' Quinn queers nervously. She allows her eyes to swift over the people—all of them familiar faces—gathered in her backyard. Santana turns her head a bit but never lets her gaze off of the pool in which a couple of their Glee Club friends are splashing around. There is one blonde in particular that the Latina girl cannot take her eyes off of. 'Of course it is. It was my idea.'
Quinn sighs quietly, hoping that her friend is right. Because if she's not and anything goes wrong tonight, Quinn is pretty sure that she won't be able to show her face in school on Monday, if ever again.
When noticing the Quinn's furrowed Santana offers a wry, but sincere smile and exhorts, 'Relax, Q!'
The blonde girl lets out another quiet sigh. I wish I could.
'Listen here,' Santana says and wraps and arm, the color of milky chocolate, around her friend's shoulders. 'It's all under control.' She stares directly into Quinn's hazel orbs. 'Now. Try to loosen up.' Slowly leveling her eyes to meet Santana's, Quinn drags one deep breath and then she nods. 'There you go!' Santana cheers and pinches Quinn's right arm.
'Ouch!' the blonde winces. Ignoring Quinn's "ouch" Santana just smiles and leaves. Quinn watches the Latina girl walk over to the pool where Brittany and Tina are babbling on about some movie they both saw on TV last night. From what few words Quinn can make out Tina thought the film was pretty okay while Brittany can't get her head around the ending. Not a very big surprise . . .
Letting her gaze wander around the patio Quinn notices that almost everyone from Glee Club is present already, only lacking Mercedes, Sam and Rory. Of those three she knows that Rory won't be arriving – he "had something important to do", he had said, plans he had made up a while back. Quinn cannot imagine what those plans could be though since she has never heard him talk about having friends outside Glee Club. But maybe the family he is staying with is having some kind of family night, eating extra nice food and playing old board games together.
Everybody that's present seems to be enjoying themselves though. That's a good thing, Quinn notes.
Brittany, Tina and Santana are engaged in a deep discussion involving films, hot actors and abs while the boys—Finn, Mike, Artie, Blaine and Kurt—are discussing football.
Quinn cannot help but to wonder how much Kurt actually relish the "guy-talk", but at least he looks kind of amused. Still she cannot let the thought escape that the boy would probably prefer talking about movies and steamy actors with the girls.
Speaking of girls . . . where's Rachel? The eccentric little diva scarcely ever leaves her boyfriend Finn's side, but right about now, she is nowhere to be seen.
Well, I better get going. Those drinks won't walk themselves out here any minute. Quinn points out to herself and turns on her heal.
She heads into the spacious kitchen and starts to picks out glasses from the cabinet right above the sink. But in mid-movement she changes her mind and puts the glasses that she has already put on the counter back into the cabinet. After closing the cream colored cabinet door she bends down and opens the doors to the counter instead. At the rear back—in the dark—she finds a stack of red plastic cups. After having placed them on the counter top she moves over to the fridge and pulls out two carafes of punch – and not the kind that Kurt served them last week. She pours the pinkish liquid into the cups and drops three cubes of ice in each and every one of them. Then she starts to place the cups on two silver trays.
She doesn't hear the footsteps that lead up to her from behind until the person is standing right behind her peering over her shoulder.
A startled Quinn almost knocks one of the cups over as she jumps a good five inches up into the air as she becomes aware of the little spy.
'Oh! Sorry Quinn! I didn't mean to scare you!' Rachel assures as she reaches for a paper towel to help mop up the punch that spilled over from the carafe when Quinn jerked.
'It's okay,' Quinn mumbles and kneels down besides the dark haired girl. 'I should have noticed you.'
'You seemed pretty far off,' the short diva points out as she wipes up the last of the drink. She offers a small smile.
Quinn stands up and straightens her back. 'I, I was just thinking about . . . uh, how I would get all of these out. Yeah.' She motions towards the two trays. Rachel nods slowly, not entirely sure she is buying the blondes explanation, but neither is she in a mood to start an argument in order to find out the true cause of the pretty girl's unusual mental absence. So instead of dwelling it over further, she offers to help Quinn carry the trays to the backyard.
The former head Cheerio gladly accepts the offer and hands one of the silver trays to Rachel. The other one she picks up herself and then the two of them walk out to the patio.
When handing out the glasses Quinn realizes that another soul has decided to join the party. Mercedes Jones. Upon seeing the black diva Quinn's heart drops, she has not expected the girl to come, especially not after what happened earlier this week. When seeing Mercedes turn in Quinn's direction, she automatically prepares herself for a heated argument, even a cat fight.
Since Quinn found out that Mercedes was the one who snapped the infamous photograph of Mr. Eaton and her, the black girl has been successfully avoiding her. Not even have they come across each other in the hall heading to and from classes. Glee Club being the only place where Quinn has even seen Mercedes, but then the girl had been careful not to look at Quinn, afraid of accidently making eye contact. But since Quinn has skipped all of her Glee classes this week except from one, Mercedes hasn't had much problem avoiding her.
Now, on the other hand, the black girl is walking straight towards Quinn. Her eyes still not making eye contact, but at the same time they're not staring at the floor like they had last time in Glee Club.
Rachel catches a glimpse of Mercedes heading their way and discretely backs away and out of earshot. She grabs two red plastic cups from the tray and walks with swift steps over to Finn and the boys, handing the tall dark haired boy one of the red cups.
As Mercedes approaches, Quinn can feel a cold shiver travel along her spine. Didn't Santana promise me everything would go fine? This is not my definition of fine . . .
When Mercedes is within touching range Quinn picks up a cup of punch and extends the hand holding it towards Mercedes. She tries to smiles, but soon gets the sense that she didn't succeed to pull it off. Mercedes slowly shakes her head and says in a low voice, barely higher that a whisper, 'We need to talk.'
Putting the red cup back down on the tray Quinn nods slowly. Crap, crap, carp!
'Could we?' Mercedes begins quietly, motioning with her head towards the open patio door. Quinn, feeling her throat clenching together and her mouth going dry manages noting but a weak nod.
Leading the way into the great house Quinn prays to God that this will be quick. She has had enough drama for weeks to come, hell, years. She strolls into the kitchen, stops and turns around first when she hears Mercedes closing the kitchen door behind them.
Standing face to face like this, with nowhere to run, is one of the most terrifying things Quinn has ever done. Sure finding out she was pregnant and being kicked out of the house were very scary things to go through, especially when she was only an insecure teenager, a child in praxis. Over and over again losing the boy she loves, being cheated on and betrayed by him are scary too, but this is another level of fear and discomfort. Mercedes used to be her friend, at one point her only friend, someone she could trust. Quinn used to be able to see part and bits of herself in the curvy girl, both strengths and vulnerabilities. Losing someone that means so much to you is hard. Sometimes harder than losing yourself.
Quinn shivers from the oppressing ache in her chest and the painful memories that are flashing before her eyes.
Mercedes sighs loudly. 'What happened to us?' she asks sadly. There is a plea in her eyes and her voice that Quinn has never before seen or heard. The blonde swallows hard, but doesn't manage to push away the lump in her throat. Mercedes continues. 'We used to be friends.'
Quinn lowers her gaze, the toes of her ballerina flats seeming much more interesting to look at. At least they are not staring back at her with sad dark eyes. 'Quinn?' the African American girl tries.
Quinn swallows again. Trying once more to get rid of the growing lump of tears caught in her throat. 'Why did you do it?' she manages after a moment, though her voice is not much stronger than a whisper. Mercedes drops her gaze to the floor. Quinn shakes her head in disappointment and hurt. 'I know I haven't always treated you right. I have looked pass you and refused to see you for who you are . . . I am not proud of that.' Quinn inhales raggedly. 'But I have never intentionally tried to hurt you.' There is moist pulling up at the edges of her hazel eyes. 'And I . . . I know that I could have been—no, should have been—more supportive of you and maybe . . . maybe of your relationship with . . .' Sam, 'him.' She swallows hard, fighting to hold the tears back.
Mercedes stands quiet, still staring at her feet.
'And I'm sorry that I haven't . . . But that is no reason for you—' Quinn shifts her eyes to the side and blinks a couple of times as he voice cracks. 'I loved you, Mercedes. You mattered to me,' she says after a short moment, her sweet voice once again under control.
Mercedes stands petrified. She is staring at her shoes completely terrified that if she looks up, even just a quick glance, and she meets Quinn's eyes, she might not be able to control herself. Whatever the feelings are that she will generate when and if that happens, she is afraid that will not make this situation any easier.
Quinn bites down on her lip. Ain't she going to say anything? I need you to say something, Mercedes. Do something! Her nerves are about as tense as the strings on a newly tuned guitar.
Mercedes hesitantly shifts her weight from one leg to another. 'Look,' she says after a long moment of pondering, 'I didn't mean for any of this to happen.'
Then explain the darn photograph that is circling around the school! Quinn points out to her inner self.
'What I did was stupid, hell, downright evil. And it kills me to know that, that what has happened to you the last couple of days is my fault. I never meant for it to get out . . .'
Quinn slowly shakes her head again. 'Then why did you take them?'
The tanned diva swallows hard. What am I supposed to say to the girl? That I was jealous? That I was pissed because I could see him slipping away from me, drifting towards her? She sighs loudly. 'I, I was mad with you, Quinn. I was . . . green-eyed.' Mercedes closes her eyes for a second or two, as if she is trying to build strength to tell the rest of the truth. 'When I saw you with Mr. Eaton that day . . . something just boiled over. The way you've been treating him – it wasn't fair! He always loved you! Everybody knows that . . . I simply couldn't stand seeing you break his heart again. I had to prevent it . . .' She finally looks up and into Quinn's eyes. 'I am so sorry.'
Quinn blinks a couple of times. She is pretty sure that what she just heard was an apology from Mercedes Jones but she cannot quite put together what the black girl was trying to say. There were too many things that didn't make any sense. She hadn't done anything to hurt Mr. Eaton, let alone break his heat. Well, unless Mercedes wasn't talking about the English teacher at all . . .
Mercedes stands completely still. What she feels now is what she believes a participant in a talent show feels when she is standing in front of the jury, waiting for their final call. Will she pass or will she get dismissed?
Quinn opens her mouth to speak only to find herself closing it again a split second later. Quinn, please, she pleads to herself.
But to Quinn's relief she doesn't have to wage this mental war much longer before Mercedes gathers courage to speak up. 'I know you probably hate me right now, and you have all rights to. But please,' she holds Quinn's eyes. 'Please let us be friends again . . . I miss you.'
The heartbreak in the black girl's voice and the sadness and the plea in her deep dark eyes right about shatter Quinn's already broken heart. She can no longer hold the tears back as she tumbles into the other girl's arm.
'I've missed you too,' Quinn sobs against Mercedes' shoulder, as she clings tight to the girl.
As he has expected the party is at full swing when he arrives. Usually, getting to a fest two hours after its starting time, means the party is on already. He had at first not planned on going to the party, the reasons being both many and complicated, but after finishing his shift, as a local pizza delivery boy, early, he had changed his mind, thinking What the fuck? Why's this gonna stop me from having fun with my friends.
Loafing in through the gate in the fence at the left side of the house, he casts an eye at the first window he passes. Yep, looking good. He runs a hand through his blonde hair. It's time to work up some mojo, some serious confidence.
The first face he sees is the one of Artie Abrams. The wheelchair bound boy is sitting in his chair by a table nursing a glass of what looks like some sweet punch or maybe ginger ale. 'What's up, dude?' Sam says cheerfully as he approaches the boy with the glasses.
Artie looks genuinely surprised as he greets the blonde boy with, 'Sam! Are you here?' Sam teasingly reaches out and pinches Artie's right arm. 'Ouch!'
'Yep, it sure looks like I'm here, man.' He smiles a toothy smile. A perfect one.
'I didn't think you would come, considering . . .' Artie's words dies out and he rubs the spot of his arm where Sam just nudged him.
Sam musters another smile, despite feeling the comment that Artie just dropped nagging at his soul. Come on! Dude, get over that already! He orders himself. She and you – over.
'Well, well, well . . . Look who's finally managed to pull his homeless ass over here!' Puckerman says as he walks up to Sam and Artie.
Jerk! Had the remark come from someone other than Puck, the residential bad boy, would the boy have had to use a broom and a dustpan to collect his kicked-out teeth.
'Puckerman! It is always as wonderful to see your pretty little lady face,' Sam beams and Puck grimaces.
'At least I've got a place to live and make love to all of those pretty ladies out there, in contrast to you.'
The blonde grins sarcastically. A real poetic, this Noah Puckerman . . . 'Hey, dude, just for the record I'm not homeless, anymore. And besides that, girls love men that have had to fight for . . . Hey are you listening?'
Puck lost his interest in Sam's short speech somewhere about when the blonde boy first opened his humungous mouth, but it wasn't until he caught eye of the pretty girl exiting the house he grew completely unaware of Sam's presence.
'What the hell are you doing man?' Sam queers teasingly and stares at Puck, who is mouth agape eyeballing something over Sam's shoulder. 'You're basically drooling.'
The boy with the Mohawk blinks a couple of times, as if he just woke up and has no idea where he is, then he pulls slightly at Sam's arm, motioning for him to turn around. Reluctantly the not so tall, blonde boy does as his friend has requested him to and he turns around with an eyebrow skeptically raised, expecting to see Finn making a fool of himself on the dance floor or maybe Brittany getting undressed in the pool. None of those would be a first timer.
What he sees instead is way beyond his expectations, let alone his aspirations.
Oh man! He can feel his knees beginning to give away under him.
Having dried her face from all tears and smeared make-up Quinn checks herself out one more time in the mirror, before she decides that she is ready to go back downstairs again.
After the confrontation with, and reconciliation between, Mercedes and herself, Quinn had retreated, up to her bedroom, both to calm herself down but also to clean herself up. Mercedes on the other hand had decided to go home. "I had never planned on staying the whole evening", she had said. The only reason she had come at all was to make up with Quinn. And when that was done and over with she had just wanted to go back home and think things through.
Happy that the dispute between Mercedes and her had been cleared, Quinn had waved the tanned girl goodbye with a smile on her face. An honest and eased smile.
Standing in her bedroom now, dressed in her new red and white striped bandeau bikini without shoulder straps, Quinn feels more at ease than she has in a long time. She grabs the dress that is lying on her bed, practically begging her to be put on, and steps into it and pulls it up. It fits her body perfectly, like close to everything else she has ever tried on.
She casts one last glance at herself in the mirror—and this time it really is the final one—before she opens her bedroom door and leaves.
While walking down the stairs she realizes that the party has been turned up a few notches. The music is louder now than it had been when Quinn had said her farewell to Mercedes and escaped up to her room. Also, the patio has, much to Quinn's delight, turned into a dance floor, where Mike and Tina, Rachel and Finn, Santana and Brittany are enjoying themselves greatly while dancing wildly to Jennifer Lopez and Pitbull's On the Floor.
Quinn smiles despite herself. Maybe Santana was right.
As she exits the living room, stepping out on the patio, she becomes aware that the party has become one teen richer. She first spots his silky blonde hair moving slightly in the wind as he stands by the outdoor table talking to Artie and Puck, his back against her.
Suddenly, as if ordered to, the blonde boy turns around. There is a weird expression on his face though, the look of doubt and mockery. As soon as he sees her though, his features softens and his confoundedly parted lips curl up at the ends into an adorable boyish half smirk.
Oh God, that smile! Quinn feels her heart screaming, but she abruptly feeds it the "it's just an illusion of your broken mind"-speach. It's just an act, Quinn.
Despite the disagreement between her heart and her mind, she musters a polite closed mouth half smile and proceeds to walk towards them.
'Dude, stop staring,' he hears Puck whisper into his ear.
Yeah, that comes from the right person. A split second ago I could have propped a bird's nest into your open mouth without your notice, Sam thinks as he snaps back to reality.
'You'll creep her out.'
Thank you, Puckerman. He shots the Jewish boy a look of vexation.
Puck shrugs, apparently he has recovered from the petrifaction he suffered from mere seconds ago. 'Just saying, bro. We could fill the pool with your drool. Ha! That rhymed!'
'Shut it, Puckerman!' Sam snaps back, in a firm but somewhat trembling tone. Puck snickers, amused over the fact that he is not the only one who loses it when she walks into the room . . . Or out from the room, in this case . . .
'She's coming our way, Lady Lips. Try to not make a complete fool out of yourself, will ya.' Puck smirks mockingly and bumps his shoulder into Sam's, causing the blonde to almost fall over Artie and his wheelchair. Sam sends his fellow Glee Clubber a murderous look.
'Hi Quinn!' Artie says, hoping that he accosting her first will prevent any embarrassing first lines from Puck or Sam. Unfortunately though, the plan doesn't work.
'Hello, Hot Mama!' Puck says and winks at Quinn, causing her to roll her eyes dramatically.
'Seriously, Puck? Grow up!' she mutters. The boy with the Mohawk smiles broadly. 'Artie . . . Sam,' she says and nods towards the other two boys. She has already said "Hi" to Artie, but somehow she feels a strong urge to greet him welcome again.
Being a smart kid, Artie immediately figures out why Quinn is acting the way she is. Therefore he chooses not to comment on the fact that he has been at the party for almost two hours now and that they have already spent half an hour talking to each other. So instead he presses out a smothered, 'The party's awesome,' before he turns his attention back to his plastic cup filled to the half with punch, and his newly grilled burger.
'Yeah, really cool, Q,' Puck chimes in and nods in the direction of the dancing party guests. Quinn nods and again she makes a mental note to later thank Santana. 'Hey, what about some punch for Big Mouth here?' Puck suggests and points to his own glass and then to Sam.
One day, Puckerman, you'll pay for your big mouth. The blonde boy sighs inwardly. 'You don't have to . . .' he starts, suddenly feeling an eminent urge to have her within the range of his vision.
She shakes her head slowly. 'No, it's, it's okay. I think the carafes out here are empty, but I've got more mixed and ready in the kitchen. I will go get you a glass,' she says and turns around. With mixed feelings of relief and heartache she heads back into the house. Sam watches her walk up the two steps to the patio door. Her hips swaying gallantly as she floats back inside.
'That ass's awesome, man. Like the best. But you've gotta stop staring at her like that,' Puck murmurs from behind him. 'Words from the wise. Tips from a pro, you know. Ha, that rhymed again! I'm freakin' awesome!' Then he leaves with his red plastic cup in hand. He strolls over to the dance floor where he picks up Santana and involves her in a daring and sensual dance, much to the raven haired girls amuse, even though most of the hormone fueled youngsters at the party is either fully or partially aware of her sexual orientation.
Sam sighs heavily. Sometimes I wish God could have given me the gift of speech instead of . . . He unconsciously brushes his hand over his cotton sweater clad torso, his fingers gently sliding over the ridges and valleys of his perspicuous abs. Or maybe not. A cocky smirk tugs at his lips.
As Quinn comes back out from the house again, this time with two red plastic cups of pink punch, he smiles despite himself. She looks . . . amazing.
She smiles as she hands him one of the cups. 'Here you go.'
'Red Solo Cup,' he says and raises the glass. 'Cheers.'
Her face changes and she puts on a feature of confusion and surprise. Suddenly she realizes why she had felt the need to switch the champagne glasses for the red plastic cups. What a wimp you are, Lucy Quinn Fabray.Upon seeing Sam noticing her change of expression, she smiles exculpatory. Don't blow this! 'What are we cheering for?' she asks as she raises her cup to his.
Brain freeze. 'Uh . . .' Come one, dude. Think of something. He smiles goofily. Fast. 'Senior year,' he finally says. 'Your senior year.'
She giggles softly when their cups clink together. 'To senior year!'
'To senior year,' he mumbles in a whisper right before he takes a first sip of the pink liquid. Glancing at her over the rim of the plastic cup, he can see that she looks a lot happier than she had earlier today when he had spotted her in the hallway at school.
'What?' she asks with a girly smile. Her eyes are shimmering in the light of the lit candles and the porch light. Sam wrinkles his forehead, knitting his brows together. His innocent expression causes her to giggle and him to frown even more. 'What are you thinking about?' she queers softly while looking straight at him.
'Lor menari,' he mumbles in a voice not much louder that a whisper. Then he feels his heart skip a beat, he quickly takes another gulp at the drink. You can't do that, dude. Not cool. You can't just walk around telling girls they have pretty eyes, just because they offer you a damn drink. He can feel his cheeks turning an embarrassing scarlet shade. She is beautiful though.
At first she thought she had just imagined everything, but now, judging by his sudden change of color and his reluctance to look her in the eyes, she is beginning to question herself and what she heard. Did he just . . . it was the first time . . . She shakes her head slowly and forces the thoughts away.
Noticing the rather terrified expression in her beautiful caramel eyes Sam quickly looks around. He is searching for somewhere to escape to, not physically but mentally. Registering that close to everybody is dancing he does the one thing he had never though he would do again. Putting down his plastic cup and taking a step closer to her, he prays for the all mighty that he won't screw up. He extends a hand towards her, smiling invitingly. 'May I?'
Surprised by his quick step towards her she winces, but as she notes his extended hand and the gentle look in his eye, she relaxes and accepts his hand.
Her hand in his, his arm around her waist, they move gracefully to the beat pumping from the iPod docking station. At first he is too nervous and distracted to pay attention to which tune is actually playing. When he finds out though, he cannot help but to smile. She glances at him suspiciously. 'What is it?'
'Nothing,' his answer comes, his eyes still smiling. Quinn grimaces and sniffs, making it obvious to him that she think he is acting strange. A grimace he has grown to love. And with that he quietly starts to sing.
Is it the look in your eyes,
Or is it this dancing juice?
Who cares baby,
I think I wanna marry you.
Feeling Quinn's body tensing under his touch he knows that she remembers the song. But more importantly he knows that she is aware of what part comes next. The one verse they sung, together, dancing down the aisle hand in hand. It had been he allows himself to admit here and now, one of the best moments of his life.
Sam is genuinely surprised when he hears her soft, almost nasal, voice singing the next lines with him.
Well I know this little chapel on the boulevard we can go,
No one will know,
Come on girl.
Who cares if we're trashed got a pocket full of cash we can blow,
Shots of patron,
And it's on girl.
As they sung the line 'Who cares if we're trashed . . .' he let go of her waist and spun her like he had done in church that day. The unexpected spin in the middle of the verse almost made Quinn giggle and come in late for the bridge.
Don't say no, no, no, no-no;
Just day yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah-yeah;
And we'll go, go, go, go-go.
If you're ready, like I'm ready.
Sam smiles despite himself, he hasn't seen her happy like this in a very long time. He pulls her back to him, wrapping his arm back around her waist, tipping her over to the side. She giggles heartedly. And there it is again, that spark in her eye.
Cause it's a beautiful night,
We're looking for something dumb to do.
Hey baby,
I think I wanna marry you.
As the others, one after one, becomes aware of the song that is being played, it holding a certain place in all of their hearts, they tune in for the remaining of the chorus.
Is it the look in your eyes'
Or is it this dancing juice?
Who cares baby,
I think I wanna marry you.
Reaching the second verse Sam leans in closer to Quinn, placing his forehead only inches from hers, subconsciously he sings the lyrics directly to her.
I'll go get a ring let the choir bells sing like oooh,
So whatcha wanna do?
Let's just run girl.
Much to Sam's amuse Quinn takes tone and smilingly sings the following two sentences of the verse, only to let her voice die out before the last one which Sam sings out loud.
If we wake up and you wanna break up that's cool.
No, I won't blame you;
It was fun girl.
Taking the lead again, Sam cannot help but to smile. The joy in her green mélange eyes; it's the most beautiful thing he has ever seen.
Don't say no. no, no, no-no;
Just say yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah-yeah;
And we'll go, go, go, go-go.
If you're ready, like I'm ready.
Once again the other Glee Clubbers join in for the chorus, singing it out at the top of their lungs. Together they form the most amazing choir.
To be honest Sam isn't sure whether the others have been singing during—though quietly—the whole song, or if they are just joining in for the chorus. Nevertheless it is beautiful and extremely funny.
He spins Quinn around and pulls her back into his arms, his eyes smiling in that characteristic way of his.
Cause it's a beautiful night,
We're looking for something dumb to do.
Hey baby,
I think I wanna marry you.
Is it the look in your eyes'
Or is it this dancing juice?
Who cares baby,
I think I wanna marry you.
Singing the bridge a key higher, he cannot stop smiling. His cheeks are hurting like hell from the crazy smiling and he bets he must look like a complete idiot. But as the man, Bruno Mars himself, would say "who cares baby?".
Just say I do,
Tell me right now baby,
Tell me right now baby.
Just say I do,
Tell me right now baby,
Tell me right now baby.
Watching Quinn dance and sing in his arms. Her lovely hazel eyes locked with his green ones, makes his heart skip a beat every now and then. Speeding its rhythm up and slowing it down at the same time. It does things to him, things that are beyond his control and even understanding.
Cause it's a beautiful night,
We're looking for something dumb to do.
Hey baby,
I think I wanna marry you.
Is it the look in your eyes'
Or is it this dancing juice?
Who cares baby,
I think I wanna marry you.
They end the song singing the last sentences quietly, forehead to forehead, dancing at a slow pace. Both his arms are wrapped around her waist, keeping her warm body close to his. One of her hands is gently gripping his bicep and the other has its fingers intertwined with the blonde locks at neck. And every time her slender body accidentally brushes against his it sends electric impulses down to his lower abdomen, and causes his knees to soften, and his breathing to become ragged.
As the last bells ring, Quinn giggles and squirms out of his arms. He can see that her cheeks have taken on an abashed crimson. He isn't sure though whether it has to do with them dancing or the fact that it is less than sixty degrees Fahrenheit in the air.
Keeping her eyes on the ground between them, she smiles shyly and excuses herself, exclaiming that she needs to get some more burgers and breads from the kitchen. Then she leaves him with hurried steps.
Smitten by the heat of the dance they just shared and a little astonished by her sudden urge rush off he stands quietly where she left him.
'You should seriously consider investing in a pair of not so tight jeans,' he hears the voice of Santana from right beside him. She is half-whispering into his ear and he can even hear the smirk in her voice. Abashed and a little taken aback by her statement Sam peers down on his middle section and notices a not so flattering and definitely inappropriate bulge there. Santana chuckles beside him. 'Looks like someone needs to cool off a little . . . Lucky you this is a pool party.' She winces at him and slides a finger along his collar bone before she parts off and heads back to wherever she came from.
Closing his eyes and wishing he could just dissolve and assemble somewhere else, he begins to pull his shirt off. Santana is right. I cannot walk around here like . . . like this. He drops his shirt on a nearby chair and starts unbuckling his belt. But doing this . . . is it really a good idea, man? I mean, are you sure your boxers won't go all see-through, like the shirts of the girls that do Wet Shirt competition.
Fortunately Puck—of all people, Puck—saves him from the reflections. 'Going skinny dipping Evans?' he hollers before he rips off his shirt and pulls down his pants. Apparently Sam isn't the only one who didn't think of bringing swim trunks.
'You wish, Puckerman!' he says as he kicks off his denims. Puck is the first to hit the water, but not shortly after Sam follows him down into the pool. Their dives cause water to splash all over the tile closest to the pool, very unfortunately for one Rachel Berry. The short diva screams—a high-pitched one—as the water splashes all over her. From the view of the other kids, the situation looks very amusing and it generates a long row of laughter.
'Sorry, Rach!' Sam calls out from the pool and chuckles. The image is indeed entertaining.
'Sam, Puck!' Rachel screeches, her body shaking with rage.
'Chill out, Berry,' Puck sneers and splashes some more water over her.
'You, you . . .' she literally shakes with fume.
'Hey, Rach,' Finn says and walks up to Rachel. 'it's cool. Let's get into the water, too.'
She frantically shakes her head. 'No, no. I, for one, think it is a very bad idea. You shouldn't do it either, Finn,' she says in a firm tone.
'Rachel,' the tall boy pleads.
'No, Finn!' Rachel snaps. She is staring right into his eyes. Her jaw is clenched and her whole body is fixed in that rigid position she usually enters when she is pissed off.
Puck and Sam exchange a quick glance, both knowing that what they just did might have trashed the whole party. 'Look Rach,' begins Sam, 'I'm sorry. We didn't mean for you to get . . . all soaked.' A muffled snicker is heard but Sam is too afraid of Rachel's possible reaction to check who it came from. 'We, we didn't think.' Gosh, you've got a way with words, dude . . . maybe next time you'll try using the word 'we' and 'didn't' a little bit more.
The short girl shoots him a sharp look, but says nothing to him.
'I am going inside to get changed. Try not to break something, Finn,' she tells—or rather mutters to—the tall boy and then she scurries into the Fabray house.
'Hey, dude, are you okay?' Sam asks Finn, who is standing mouth agape gazing at the spot where Rachel stood mere seconds ago. Sam and Finn have had their share of bumps and grinds—Finn making Quinn cheat being a major one—in their friendship, but never the less—even though Sam doesn't want to admit it—Finn was his first real friend at McKinley High. And for some unexplainable reason you seem to stick with those friends no matter what.
'Uh . . .' He clears his throat. 'I . . . uh, yeah.' He nods intensely and blinks a couple of times.
Poor guy, Sam thinks. He is even more daft that Brittany. And that says a lot.
'Come on, bro. Get into the pool!' Puck exhorts him. Then he turns to the others. 'You too!'
Finn looks around uncertain of what to do. Sam knows that if the tall boy doesn't do as his demanding girlfriend says she will be mad at him for a week and she will probably be giving him the silent treatment to go. And if he doesn't do as Puckerman wants, he will end up being the only one not goofing around in the pool. Puck has a great persuasion.
After a moment of contemplation Finn finally makes up his mind and pulls off his clothes. 'Good decision, bro,' Puck says as the brown haired boy enters the pool. Finn presses out a smothered and a bit nasal chuckle. Mike, Santana and Brittany are all quick to ditch their clothes and jump into the tempered water, while Tina, Artie and Kurt all decides to stay out of the water.
Kurt gets up from the chair where he has been seated for a while. 'I should go check on Rachel,' he says and heads into the house. In the doorway the slender boy meets Quinn, who is carrying a carafe of punch for refills. Sam can see that Kurt stops and whispers something into the blonde girl's ear before he enters the great house. Judging by the arc of her right eyebrow and the slightly concerned look in her eyes, he guesses that Kurt told her about Rachel's little misadventure.
'Hey, Q!' Sam can hear Puck call. 'Come on, join us!'
The ulterior motive of Puck's invitation is not hard to figure out, Sam notes and rolls his eyes. He wants her to take off her clothes. But really, who can blame him? Sam shakes his head inwardly. Stop it, man! You can't think like that. Not of her, you perv.
Quinn laughs heartedly and blushes a bit at Puck's suggestion.
'Oh, come on, girl!' Santana hollers, her arms are resting on the edge of the pool.
The blonde girl shakes her head modestly and giggles. 'It's cold. You'll all get sick,' she says.
'The pool's tempered, Q. You should know, since it's yours,' Santana pushes. 'Come on. Don't be a drag!'
Sam can see by the way Quinn's chest lifts and then drops that she is sighing. Even though she is one of the most popular girls at the school and she has been a Cheerio for most of her time at McKinley High, she is still feeling insecure when it comes to showing of her body. A body that Sam, for one, knows is kicking ass.
'Okay, okay,' Quinn sighs after a moment of inner debate.
Oh fuck! Sam has to gasp as she lets her cute cream colored dress drop to the tile floor. And judging by the sudden quietness in the pool, the other boys do the same. She looks absolutely amazing in a sexy yet elegant red and white striped bandeau bikini lacking shoulder straps. It is showing of her well-toned body perfectly.
Sam swallows hard. Oh God is she beautiful.
He watches her walk towards the pool and as she steps down the latter he unconsciously holds his breath. Startled by the unexpected sound of a man's voice in his ear he lets out the breath he didn't know he was holding.
'Before you come,' Puck says and lifts both his eyebrows, 'warn me.'
Sam frowns, at first not understanding. Then the light goes up and he ogles the other boy and slowly shakes his head. Disgusting.
Puck shrugs.
Author's note
Well, here's the fourteenth chapter. I really hope you like it! At least I had quite fun writing it! :)
The song featured in this chapter is Marry You by Bruno Mars. That song always makes me happy and I thought it would fit the occasion quite well. Also, I think it brings back memories of what I believe was the highlight of the show (early to mid-season 2).
Well, as I said earlier; I hope you liked the chapter! :)