Hello, dearest readers! My sincerest apologies for the wait, but I was actually mugged on the subway in New York City about 3 weeks ago, and among the things stolen was my laptop. But there was no angry mob waiting for me at the airport when I returned home, so I suppose you all don't hate me too much.

I'll be posting three new chapters today to make up for my absence. Now, enough talk. Here's the long-awaited, super long Chapter 7!

I'm standing in my en-suite bathroom at Shannon's, ruffling my unruly shock of damp blonde hair with a towel when I hear my cell phone vibrate on the balsa wood surface of my bedside table. Pulling on a pair of black Nike sweatpants and a white camisole, I flip the light off in the bathroom and make my way over to my bed. A smile cracks my face when I spot the name beneath the screen's flashing envelope icon. Rachel. I tug gently on the small metal chain of the lamp next to the phone, bathing my bedroom in a warm glow. Climbing under the navy blue duvet, I take my RAZR Maxx in my hand and tap the backlit display to open the message.

I had a wonderful time with you tonight. : )

My heart skips when I read the kind words, and I spell out my reply with a giddy grin.

i could say the same to you miss berry: )

After I send the text, I find myself wishing she was here in bed with me, allowing me to spoon her petite body from behind and inhale as much of her scent as my lungs can hold. I've never felt this way about anyone before… Sure, I'd pined after Santana for a few weeks after our incredibly brief affair, but she'd never had the hold on me that Rachel does. Thoughts of her could never set my body ablaze and cause my heart to flutter in my ribcage.

When will I get the pleasure of seeing you again, Miss Fabray?

My mind flashes back to the earth-shattering kiss we shared; the way she'd caused the heat to rise in my body and almost overwhelm my senses. Even my first kiss with Puck underneath the playground slide in sixth grade didn't hold a candle to what Rachel's lips gave me on her porch tonight. I let a contented sigh fill the room and remember her irresistibly delectable mouth and her determined tongue. A chuckle shakes my shoulders when I come to the happy conclusion that I'm hopelessly addicted to Rachel Berry.

tomorrow?: )

Her reply is nearly immediate, and I can't help but wonder if she's waiting by the phone the way I am, jumping at every opportunity to hear from me.

Perfect. : )

My lips split into an eager smile and I internally fist-pump as I tap out directions to the ranch Shannon and I use to practice five days out of every week. I'll be there most of the day tomorrow, and I want to see Rachel again as soon as I possibly can. Besides, there's something about the fact that she'll get to see me ride that turns me on a bit as well. I attach a flirtatious 'goodnight' to the text message and press the 'send' button with my thumb. Setting my phone down against my pillow, I reach over and turn off the lamp, allowing only the backlight of my RAZR Maxx and the dim glow of the moon to light the room. I pull my duvet up around my shoulders and close my eyes, a slightly foolish grin plastered onto my face, no doubt because the beautiful rider that's rapidly blazing her way into my heart.


"Dig, dig, dig! The son of a bitch isn't going to just roll over for you, Quinn!"

Shannon's yelling, an even mixture of abuse and coaching, comes from the platform against the fence of the ring. The one we use is one of five that Jim and Sandy McElroy, owners of Broken Horn Ranch, keep set up year-round. The McElroy men are good friends of Shannon's, and also hosted the rodeo in which I made my riding debut. After seeing my particularly impressive performance that day (second place in the men's bracket), Josie McElroy, the family's best rider, had generously offered me a ring to practice in and two young bulls, Theo and Crockett, to ride. I like to think that she'd tuned into my natural talent and was eager to help me hone my craft… But Shannon swears it was my signature half-smile, complete with dimple, that had made Josie so willing to lend a hand.

At present, I'm having a particularly rough go at taming Crockett, the most stubborn and determined of the two bulls. Theo will normally tire himself out, making his kicks less sporadic. Crockett, on the other hand, is a constant fire of perseverance, stopping at nothing to shake me off of his meaty flank. His horns are shorn down so that he can't gore me, but he can still trample me if I'm not careful. And now, as I approach my sixteen second goal, I can tell he's getting extra restless.

Fourteen. He's not goin' to wear down. Sit back and roll your hips.

My body responds to my mind immediately, but Crockett spins again, wrenching me forward in the saddle. I brace hard and sit back, preparing for him to kick again. My biceps ache from the exertion, but I know that I can break sixteen. I've done it before on Theo… Now, it's Crockett's turn.

Fifteen. Dammit, he's rearing up to buck; get flat and clench your legs.

Before I can complete my thought, the bull throws himself into a tail-spin, tossing me out of the saddle and onto my stomach. The wind is knocked forcefully out of my lungs from my fall, and the bullfighters, Matt and Blaine, hurry to contain the angry black beast before he uses my body as a doormat. I expect to hear Shannon swear loudly over on her platform, but no expletives come. I pick myself up, take a few deep breaths to stop the sputtering, and crane my neck to see what has my animated coach distracted.

The cream cowboy hat that sits atop long brown locks causes a grin to split my lips. Rachel.

I break into a light jog, hopping the low metal gate of the ring and making my way over to the pair. I give myself a heavy pat to shake some of the dirt off of myself, and Shannon nods toward me to signal my approach. Rachel turns and greets me with a gentle smile that I return effortlessly. Her cream off-the-shoulder t-shirt billows in the slight breeze and her ripped skinny jeans allow me to admire her perfect legs once again. Rachel lets out a small cough, and I blush to the roots of my hair when her smirk tells me I've been caught.

"Hi," I force out hoarsely, my chest still sore from the fall.

"Hi back," she simpers before taking a step toward me and grasping my hand lightly. She stands on her tip-toes, elevating her stature so that her lips are at my ear. "I just sweet-talked Shannon into letting you skip practice to spend the day with me. You're welcome."

My head spins when her warm breath ripples across my cheek, and I look up to see Shannon flash me a thumbs-up and a wink.

Good Lord… I think I love her already.


"You don't have to shower, you know…"

I chuckle at Rachel's obvious innuendo as I lead her up the stairs of Shannon's house to my bedroom. I'm holding her hand, something that still thrills me, even though I've done it a million times since I met her a few nights ago. She files into my room behind me, looking around to survey her surroundings while I gather some jeans and my favorite blue plaid button-up from my small closet. When I turn to glance at her again, a faint smile graces her features as she admires the twenty riding trophies on the shelf by the door.

"I'd rather not smell like a rodeo while I'm spending the day with a pretty girl."

Rachel blushes at my compliment and moves to sit on my bed. "I wouldn't mind… Dirty, dusty Quinn kind of turns me on…"

Her words turn my mouth to sandpaper. Rachel's brown eyes darken when they travel down my body and back up again. I can feel the wetness pooling between my legs, and I can't help but think about how easy it would be for me to close the door and lock it; to push her back against my mattress and pull her clothes off; to touch her, taste her, mark her…

Rachel's lips form her signature smirk, and I suddenly realize that my eyes are probably telling her everything that's happening in my head. I clear my throat and tighten my grip on my clothes before heading toward the bathroom door. She laughs airily at my abrupt nervousness, and lays back to recline against my pillow.

"Take your time. I'll be right here."

Damn it all to hell… This girl is going to kill me.

I spend thirty minutes under the ice cold spray of my showerhead, and even that does nothing to calm the heat radiating from my core.

However, the extra twenty I spend with my fingers inside myself, stroking to thoughts of the sexy rider outside my door, seems to do the trick.


After I get dressed in my bathroom and towel my hair dry, I open the door to find Rachel sitting at the edge of my bed with her hat at her side and her jeans unbuttoned. She sends me a knowing smile, and my mind runs rampant with what she's no doubt just done in my room.

Rachel Berry just touched herself. In my room. On my bed. While I was touching myself in the shower.

Oh. My. God.

I don't notice my mouth is open until I hear Rachel giggle from her perch at the foot of the mattress. I snap it shut hurriedly and run a trembling hand through my damp hair.

"Uh, sorry I took so long. I had to get all the dirt out of my hair," I manage to stammer out, my eyes looking everywhere but Rachel's.

"It's alright," she replies sweetly, picking up her hat and heading toward the door. "I had some… business… to take care of."

My heart stops in chest. My palms grow sweaty, and suddenly, it feels like the walls of my bedroom are closing in on me. All I can see, hear, and smell is Rachel, and it's threatening to overwhelm me. I blindly reach for a hair elastic from my nightstand and tie half of my hair up in a small ponytail and let the rest hang down. After a deep breath, I follow my vixen out of my room and back down the stairs.

It's going to be a long day.


"So your friend Noah is a mixed martial arts fighter?"

I nod as I guide the car into the parking lot of the Rocktagon Fighting Gym. I'd half-heartedly asked Rachel if she'd wanted to stop by Puck's MMA match this afternoon, and she'd agreed without hesitation. To say I was surprised would be an understatement, seeing as it really didn't seem like Rachel's kind of scene. She had told me she'd never been to a fight before, and I'm honestly more than a little worried that she'll be miserable in the environment she's about to put herself in: an airless room that reeks of sweat and beer, full of drunken, testosterone-fueled men placing bets on which fighters will leave the ring on a stretcher. However, I couldn't help but smile when she'd whispered that she wasn't afraid; she'd have me to protect her.

"Yeah," I say while letting myself out of the driver's side and circling around the car to open Rachel's door. "Calls himself 'Puckasaurus'."

A hearty, sonorous laugh erupts from Rachel, and I can't resist joining in. Shannon and I had come up with the nickname as a joke one night at Rosalita's, but Puck had been adamant about making it his ring name. In hindsight, it was pretty ridiculous.

I push the dirty glass door to the gym open for Rachel before I follow her in. The fights have already started, and the garbled voice that comes over the loud-speaker tells us that Puck is up next. There are various booths crammed onto the back wall of the small space, selling beer and fighter merchandise such as t-shirts, posters, and even gloves and trunks. The ring is in the center of the room and is elevated about two feet off the sticky hardwood floor. As I scan the sea of folding chairs for two open seats, I hear Rachel squeal in excitement.

"There's Noah! Look, Quinn!"

She points giddily at a black t-shirt hanging on a mesh grid near the back corner of the gym. Sure enough, Puck's full body, a fighting stance immortalized in cotton, stares back at us. Rachel uses her small frame to weasel her way through the crowd, and before long, we're standing in front of a sleazy looking old man with three teeth in his head and a dingy white wifebeater that reads 'I hope they serve beer in Hell'. He gives Rachel a lascivious grin at which I can't help but wince.

"What can I get for you two pretty young things?"

Rachel's clearly too excited about getting the shirt to notice the way the man has leaned over his small table to get a better look down her shirt. Before he can bore holes in the fabric of her blouse with his beady brown eyes, I step in front of her, keeping my arm on her waist to ensure that she doesn't get sucked into the crowd behind us.

"Eyes up here, pal. Give me an adult medium in the Puckasaurus t-shirt, please."

I spit out the pleasantry, and judging by the way he recoils under my stare, I can tell I've made my point. He quotes me a price - ten dollars, which I'm sure he inflated because of my harsh treatment, but I honestly don't give a damn - and I slap the cash on the filthy green tablecloth between us, grab the shirt, and take Rachel's hand in mine to lead her toward the octagon.

When we finally find two metal folding chairs that don't have urine or cheap beer on them, I guide her over and hand her the t-shirt as we sit down.

"Sorry about that," I grumble while she puts her arms through the sleeves of the garment and lifts it over her head. "Pervert was trying to look down your shirt."

Rachel sends me a warm smile and takes my hand in hers, her thumb working soothing circles against my wrist. "Thank you for protecting my honor, Quinn. As for the shirt, however, I would have paid for it."

I shook my head and laid a small peck against her cheek. "No dice, Berry. My date, my tab."

Rachel blushes lightly and gives my hand a squeeze. "Alright. But the least you could do is kiss me properly."

Before I can protest, her lips are against mine, a quiet moan slipping from my own mouth as it moves against hers. A series of catcalls erupts from the drunkards behind us, and I laugh when I open my eyes to see that Rachel has given them all the finger.

Dear Big Guy Upstairs,

Thanks for letting me borrow one of your angels. You can have her back when I'm dead.

Love, Quinn


We watch Puck beat the living hell out of some puny fighter from Columbus (and celebrate by kissing the fighter's busty girlfriend) before I check the time on my phone. The white Arial font numbers read 6:30 at night. Pushing it back into my pocket, I lean over and tell Rachel that we have to go.

"But Quinn," she whines adorably, tugging my arm as a toddler would his mother's. "We have to stay and wait for Puck! I really want him to sign my shirt!"

As happy as I am that she's had a good time cheering for Puck and watching the fighters, there's something special I'd like for her to see, and it's time-sensitive.

"Rach," I yell over the roar of the fans. "I have a surprise for you, and if we don't leave now, we'll miss it."

Before I can finish my sentence, Rachel is pulling me out of my seat and weaving through the crowd toward the exit. I laugh out loud at her eagerness, and once we're outside, I take a deep breath of the fresh air while she drags me to the car. I take Shannon's car key from the front pocket of my jeans and unlock the door. Rachel's inside before I can blink, and by the time I finally get into the driver's side and start the car, Rachel's almost bouncing in her seat.

"So where are we going?"

I chuckle and guide the car out of the parking lot and onto the highway. "You'll see, baby. Just hang on."

The term of endearment slips out before I can stop it, and I flush a bright crimson when I realize what I've said. "I mean Rachel. Sorry, I just -"

Rachel's reassuring giggle calms my nerves immediately. "Relax, Quinn. It's alright. In fact," she leans over the console to whisper in my ear. "I like it."

A smile so bright it sparkles in my eyes breaks across my face, and I reach for Rachel's hand, bringing it gently to my lips when her fingers grasp mine lightly.

"Good."


The gravel of the Heritage Park lot vibrates the small sports car as I pull onto the concrete. I park next to the only other car on the lot: a silver Chrysler mini-van. Between two large oak trees, a white screen is visible through the windshield. Before Rachel can open her door, I hold my hand up to tell her to wait. Getting out of the car, I stretch over to knock on the driver's side window of the van. Almost immediately, my old friend from high school, Artie Abrams, rolls it down.

"Hi, Quinn! All ready?" he chirps happily.

"Yeah. Thanks again for doing this, Artie. I know you probably have plans tonight."

He snorts loudly and opens the door, signaling to me to get his wheelchair from the trunk of the van. "Sure. My couch and Dr. Zhivago DVDs are really going to miss me."

I laugh heartily at the joke while I get his chair and help him into it. He wheels himself around to the trunk of the van and pulls out the projector and the small folding table he uses as a stand. I take the table from him while he pulls the machine into his lap, along with his laptop and a DVD case.

"That the right one?" I nod to the disc as we make our way over to the small grassy knoll behind the screen. Artie simply rolls his eyes at my question.

"No, Fabray. I brought my stash of Asian porn. You caught me."

I snort and go to make a joke about Tina, but Artie's death stare tells me I shouldn't. They must be fighting again.

"Alright, Quinn. I've already wirelessly synchronized the projector to my computer. Just tap the mouse pad to start the movie. You can just leave the equipment out; Tina and I will come and get it later."

"Thanks, Artie," I say genuinely, bending over after I set up the small table to give him a hug. "You're the best."

"Damn straight," he mumbles into my shoulder before turning and wheeling himself back toward his van.

I help him back into the driver's side of his handicapable vehicle, fold his wheelchair, and strap it onto the rack at the back of the car. After Artie's brake lights disappear into the dusk, I go over to the passenger side and let Rachel out. I'm met with a kind smile and a peck on the cheek. When I look down at her questioningly, she just beams harder.

"You set all this up for me?"

I just nod slowly and reach for the same red and white checkered blanket that we used for our first date, tugging it out of the back seat. Taking her soft hand in mine, I lead her over to one of the park's smaller shade trees and spread it out, gesturing for her to sit while I go and start the film.

The stars are out by the time I return to her, and Rachel gasps as the opening credits for The Way We Were flash onto the projection screen. She's staring at me in awe when I sit down next to her, reclining against the firm trunk of the tree.

"How did you know -"

"That this was one of your favorite movies? I called my friend Mercedes who works at the Family Video in Marion. She was able to run your name through the system, and she told me that you've rented this movie twelve times in the past year. So, either you loved it, or you were burning copies to sell on the bootleg circuit."

Rachel's eyes mist over with tears, a watery smile on her face. "That's probably the sweetest thing anyone's ever done for me."

Before I can brush off her compliment, she scoots over and rests her head on my shoulder, snuggling into my side and throwing her arm across my waist. I grin into her hair and plant a small kiss to the top of her head, wrapping my arm around her and marveling in the peace I've found for the first time in my life.


She kisses me each time Katie and Hubbell kiss, and when they dance together, she tugs me to my feet and lets me hold her as we sway slowly beneath the moonlight. And when the end credits begin to roll, she whispers against my collarbone.

"Do you think we could be like them?"

I nuzzle my nose into the crown of her head again, flexing my arms around her petite frame to pull her closer to me.

"Of course. I'd like to leave out the whole 'doomed love' part, though."

At that, Rachel smiles into my neck. "Right. We can just have the love, then."

"Right," I sigh happily, closing my eyes and breathing in the naturally sweet scent of Rachel's skin. "Just the love."