Sorry for the wait, I think its worth it though. Its getting juicy!

Page Six:

Spotted: Supermodel Santana Madison leaving low-key Central Park Café D'Arte arm in arm with a mystery man earlier this week. Who is this new piece of arm candy? Could it be love for the perennially single celeb? Turn the page for a photo!

Santana groaned in frustration and tossed the New York Post at her wall, knocking over her alarm clock in the process. She allowed herself to have a mini-tantrum in the security of her bed in her secluded apartment. She kicked and screamed for a good two minutes, running her bedcovers off the mattress and messying her hair. Five years ago, she would have been squealing with glee for a mention in the infamous Page Six. It was so hard to get your name out there in New York society, and a two line shoutout would have pretty much solidified her modeling legacy—if she even had one.

But now? She felt violated. Her friendship with Puck was going so well, if you could even call it a friendship yet. They hadn't killed each other yet or worse, slept with each other, or even worse, brought up the past. Everything had been perfect. He was the one thing that made her kind of excited in the last couple of months, not even the Dolce & Gabbana dress Ilario had sent her last month from Italy as a peace offering that she ended up giving to Katie. And now she was sure Richard Johnson and the rest of the damned paparazzi had scared Puck away for good, like every guy she tried to date. Plus, even if he did stick around, she didn't want to share him with anyone, not Hollywood—nobody. He was supposed to her little secret, like the "happy pills" Quinn's mom used to stash in the bathroom cabinet whenever she needed a pick-me-up. And now he was exposed, revealed to the harsh world she lived in.

Her phone buzzed from the sparse bedstand beside her and she picked it up. It was her first day off in too long and this wasn't exactly the perfect start to her perfect day. At least she'd gotten to sleep in. She looked at the screen, and saw that it was Puck calling. She groaned again. Maybe he hadn't seen the little "note" in the paper. Well, it was only like 4 sentences. An easy miss. Oh god, who was she kidding? Everyone who was anyone in this city read Page Six. And there was a color photo of the two of them on the next page! Even if he hadn't seen it, she was sure he would eventually, just like the rest of the world.

"Hi, what's up?" she answered. It was his first call since their little meeting two days earlier. She had been sort of waiting for him to call, but she hadn't wanted to make the first move and all that cliché crap.

"Hey, you have the day off right?" he asked. He wanted to hang out with her again. It wasn't like he had anything else to do in this city. She knew what was coming; he was going to ask her out. But she didn't want to waste both of their times (she was a very busy person, naturally), so she just decided to blurt it out. If he was going to run away from her because of his newfound "fame" or whatever, he might as well do it now and save her the trouble.

"Yeah, look I need to talk to you about something," she started. His heart sunk a little bit, because the last time she had said those words, things ended terribly. He stayed silent, getting ready for the blow.

"Are you there?" she said softly after a few seconds. She was just as worried as he was.

"Yeah," he grunted.

"Uhm, have you by any chance read the New York Post today?" she asked meekly.

"No, what the hell is that?" he answered. What the fuck was she talking about? He heard her take in a giant gasp of air through the line.

"It's a newspaper that's pretty big and respected around here. They have this gossip section, called Page Six. And I, uhm, just wanted to let you know that we're in it. Surprise!" she said. She added in that last bit to try and lighten the mood. So far it wasn't working.

"We?"

"Yeah, they have a picture of us leaving the café…from Monday, you know?" She didn't know how to characterize their previous little get-together. It wasn't really a date, but it was more than a couple of old friends meeting up. In the two hours they'd spent in the café, he learned more about her than anyone else in her life.

"Oh. Is it uh, well, incriminating?" He didn't really know how to respond.

"Oh no, nothing like that. They just suggested that we were a couple. Ridiculous right?" she laughed awkwardly.

"Ridiculous." he affirmed uncomfortably. Another awkward silence. "Anyways, did you maybe want to get dinner tonight? No more chocolate cake, promise."

"What?" she blurted.

"You. Me. Dinner. Yes?"

"No, I understand what you said, dumbass. That's it? You really want to take me to dinner?"

"Yeah…Why is that so crazy?" He may have been just an army brat, but he wasn't a total idiot. Did she think he wasn't good enough to take her to dinner, after he'd spent like an hour Monday trying to get her over her weird chocolate cake fear?

"Well…I just thought you might not want to see me anymore after the whole paparazzi thing. I'm giving you a free pass here, Puckerman. I'm giving you the chance to walk away now before your face is going to get plastered all over Perez Hilton."

"Are you a retard?"

"Excuse me?" She was being nice to him for once, and in return he calls her a retard?

"Jesus Santana. There's no way I'd stop talking to you because of something like that. If I did, who else would I have to bug all day? Umemployment's a bitch. Besides, this could be my fifteen minutes of fame," he joked.

"Oh." It wasn't the answer she was expecting, but she'd take it.

"So l was saying, why don't we go get like Chinese or something? I haven't had anything spicy in a while."

"Actually, we might want to stay clear of the public. I'm sure the stupid paps are going to be all over us. Like a mob. Sorry." She felt bad for turning him down, because she really didn't want to. But she had no choice. "Why don't you come over and I'll cook us dinner?" It was a generous offer; few people had ever seen the inside of her apartment.

He started laughing hysterically. "You, cooking? Do you remember what happened last time we tried that?"

Santana was annoyed at herself. She considered herself a feminist. Even more so, she believed in self-suffiency. She sure as hell didn't need anyone. But when Puck texted her saying, "Ma is on call tonight. Come over and make me a sandwich ;)," she couldn't help but give in to his pathetic—and sexist—little plea and drive the nine miles from Lima Heights Adjacent to his own little house. And she hated herself for it.

"You owe me big time for this," she said when he opened the front door, jabbing her car key in his face. She stomped past him, casually waving at his little sister, who was parked permanently in front of their TV.

"What, no hello kiss?" he protested, pulling her back to give her a kiss.

"It's called a goodbye kiss for a reason, Puck," she sighed.

"Who says you're gonna leave tonight?"

"Don't start. I'm only here to make sure you and Sarah don't starve."

"So what are you going to make?"

"Uhm…I don't know. You know I don't cook. I can do a grilled cheese," she offered on a whim, inspired by their recent Glee Club theme. He nodded and went out to play Super Mario with his sister.

Making a simple grilled cheese sandwich turned out to be more complicated than she originally planned. Come on, how hard could it be if Finnocence managed to pull it off? Still, the Puckermans didn't have any sliced cheese so she ended up using shredded Mexican cheese which was intended for quesadillas or something of the sort.

First she dropped the bread on the skillet accidentally while trying to rip the bag open with her teeth. The pan was already too hot for her to touch and she didn't care enough to fish it back up. The loud sizzling sound scared her and she dropped the bag of cheese in surprise, which landed upside down. The little cheese shavings fell out, half of them precipitating to the linoleum floor, while the other half missed the skillet and landed in the burner. Pretty soon, she smelled the burnt plastic, seeing as the bag landed on the pan, which was infused with the smell of burnt cheese. To make things worse, she suddenly felt a continuous stream of water spraying her head from above, soaking her in the process.

The fire sprinklers had gone off. Great. She let out a frustrated scream. Puck came running in.

"Jesus. What happened in here?"

"Don't ask." He didn't, out of courtesy, even though she had totally trashed their kitchen. He couldn't really fault her, considering he was the one who asked her over. An hour later, she was parked on the couch with Puck eating a pizza, flickering through his Pay-Per-View porn channels.

"You know, you could be pretty good at this housewife homemaker stuff," he offered.

"Ha. You're stupider than I thought. Like I'd ever stick around for that shit. You know I'm too good for this place."

"I know."

Three hours later, Allison Puckerman returned home to find her kitchen in ruins, and two teenagers asleep on the couch—a migraine-inducing sight for any single parent. Santana nestled into her son's side, wearing a pair of Puck's boxers, along with a Hannah Montana T-shirt belonging to Sarah. Puck had his arm wrapped around her, and they both had faraway looks on their faces. The coffee table was littered with Cheetos, pizza crusts, and empty beer cans.

Allison sighed. Allison didn't hate the girl, but really, Puck was too caught up in her for his own good. Santana practically had him wrapped around her skinny, class ring-embellished finger.

Santana Lopez was going to be the death of her son.

"Oh, right." She'd forgotten about that, even though they'd gotten in tons of trouble that night. His rejection stung a little bit, but she told herself it was all in the name of practicality that he turned her down.

"Look, I'm willing to face the throngs of paparazzi. I've been in worse ambush situations than a couple of annoying photographers. And I doubt they will follow us to Bamboo Palace. So what do you say, dinner?"

"Fine, but if a paparazzo tries to shove his camera up my dress to get a picture of my panties, you better protect me." The hard bitch edge to her voice was back, but he took it gracefully. It was…familiar, comforting almost.

"You got it. If you're worried about your panties, you could just not wear them, you know…" he suggested.

"Ha. You wish."

"So bad, baby. So is 7 okay? I would come pick you up, but I don't have a car."

"Don't worry about it, I'll meet you there. See you in a bit." She hung up the phone and found herself strangely excited. She couldn't remember the last time she'd done anything so "casual." It was how she imagined normal people did things together. You know, like those sweatpant couples who just stay in all the time except for…Chinese food. She frantically jumped in the shower, and began to prepare for her night out. She didn't want to look to desperate though, so she calmed herself. She was going for the "I-couldn't-care-less" look with her wardrobe, something that reminded her of when she was in high school, when she had felt so invincible that nothing really mattered to her.

Pretty soon, 7 o'clock came around and she drove to Bamboo Palace miraculously undetected except for one pesky fan who wouldn't stop leaving her alone. Maybe Lindsay Lohan was in town and all the paparazzi had flocked to Manhattan instead. She went inside and found him already sitting in a secluded booth, the overheard florescent bulbs highlighting the worn-in smirk on his face. He got up at the sight of her and greeted her.

"Hey. You look good," he complimented. She was wearing a pair of skinny jeans with a boyfriend tee (He wondered who she got it from). The strap of her crossbody bag dug into her skin, revealing the contours of the bra she was wearing underneath.

"Thanks," she mumbled before reaching up to kiss him on the cheek. It was a short peck, but he was glad it happened. It was the first step to something more, maybe. They sat down, and gave their order to the waitress.

"So how did you get here if you have no car? And how did you find Bamboo Palace?" she asked.

"I walked. I live just around the block."

"Really? You keep getting lucky with all the restaurants we go to. Bamboo Palace is actually kinda good, you know, as far as MSG-infused faux-Chinese food goes."

"Hey, don't knock the faux-Chinese food," he argued, pointing his chopstick at her, "It's got to be better than the gourmet sandwich crap you probably get at photo shoots."

"Are you kidding? We don't get to eat at photoshoots. Not until the very end, at least. But the sandwiches they do get us are delicious, worth every penny. You don't even know."

"Well, maybe you can take me to work with you one day and show me," he suggested, as a joke. But a weird look crossed her face.

"Maybe."

"Anyways, how's the apartment?" she said quickly, changing the subject.

"Total shit. Everything is on the verge of falling apart and the walls are covered in weird abstract nudie art. Thank god I'm out next Friday"

She laughed. "Who owns the place?"

He shrugged. "Some art chick with like forty too many piercings and dreadlocks. She's in Guatemala until next week building houses for orphans or something." She scrunched her nose.

"You screw her yet?" she asked. She felt that their friendship was far enough along that they could start with the facetious humor, insulting each other and making sex jokes.

"Ha. No, she's old."

"That hasn't stopped you before."

"So it hasn't."

"Well where are you going to go, after she comes back?"

He shrugged. She didn't press on. "Oh, here comes the food."

They spent the next hour catching up and laughing, as expected of long lost friends.

"Why did you leave the military?" she asked casually, spearing a piece of broccoli with her chopstick. It had been a question she wanted to ask ever since she first found out he'd even joined the military. She wondered if enlisting had something to do with her, and what she did to him.

"Actually, I got kicked out," he said sheepishly, running his hand over his head before realizing he didn't have a mohawk anymore.

"Oh yeah? Why?" she asked.

"Because of you, actually." He might as well tell her the truth.

"Me?" she said, totally shellshocked. Her?

"Yeah…long story."

"We have time. I mean, you can't just tell me that I got you kicked out of the military unknowingly and leave it at that."

"Fine. So you know how it gets very very lonely in the military, right?" Santana raised her eyebrows, and nodded, even though she indeed, did not know how "lonely" it could get. "Well, one of the guys got a hold of one of the Victoria's Secret catalogues…that happened to feature you." She suddenly felt sick to her stomach. "And uh, you know guys, one of them happened to make a comment about you, and I guess I just snapped."

"Snapped?" she asked. She didn't need to ask to know what the comment was about. Even though she felt incredibly blessed for having her job, she felt disgusted at the thought of people using her for their own pleasure without her consent

"I might have broken his nose and beat the shit out him. Needless to say, the bossman was not pleased," he said, all embarrassment gone from his voice.

"Are you serious?" she exclaimed. He nodded, his badass smirk creeping onto his face. "Wow. I got you kicked out of the military," she said, processing the information he'd just loaded onto her. Then, an accomplished smile creeped onto her own face. "Yeah. I got someone kicked out of the military." He must have still been thinking about her, must have still cared for her, if he'd done that. She suddenly felt guilty for shoving him aside in her own mind when she was focusing on her own career.

"Yup. Another bitchmove by Santana Lopez."

"Actually, its Madison now."

"Did you get married or something?"

She just laughed.

"Well, okay," he accepted. He noticed she had a little grain of rice stuck to her nose.

"What are you staring at?" she asked.

"You have a little something here…" he said and got up.

"Oh," she replied, and closed her eyes as he leaned over to brush it off. But when he got up close enough to see her face, to actually get a good look at it, he realized how at peace she looked. Her dreamy expression was the most content he'd ever seen her. Ever. He decided to just go for it.

So he kissed her.

At first it was an innocent thing, just a little kiss. She tasted a little different, almost foreign enough to be a stranger, but she still had that Santana quality that he would never have forgotten. He was going to pull away and apologize with something along the lines of "I'm so sorry, I have no idea what came over me," when she suddenly got up herself and deepened the kiss. What started out as an accident almost had turned into a lusty kiss, like one would imagine for the two ex-lovers. He was surprised by her forcefulness, but nonetheless obliged, running his tongue over her teeth. She surprised him even more by shoving her tongue down his throat. Soon, they had to come up for air, and they broke apart. They stood over his dinner table, eyes locked, panting. Silence.

A cough from beside their table. The waitress was standing over them, the check in her hand. If she felt uncomfortable, her businessy face didn't let on. She probably didn't even know who Santana was.

"Oh, hi. Here, I'll get that," she said quickly, digging into her bag for her black AmEx.

"No, let me," he said, grabbing her wrist. She didn't glance up.

"Are you sure?" she said, still rummaging.

"Yeah. I mean, I'm the dude, right?"

At that she looked up and giggled. "Right." He handed the waitress two twenty-dollar bills, and she walked off.

"So….you just kissed me," she said awkwardly. Awkward seemed to be the story of her life these days.

"Yup," he said, popping the p sound towards the end.

"Do you wish you hadn't?"

"Nope."

"Me neither. You know we're going to have to talk about this eventually. Do all that girly cliché shit."She really wished they wouldn't have to, but she knew they must if this was going to work. Still, she was going to put it off until the last moment possible. She was going on hold on to their little idyllic state, at the risk of everything blowing up.

"Eh, it can wait."

"Yes it can. Come on, walk me to my car."

"Sure." They got up and he escorted her over. The night sky was clear and the crisp wind bit at her shoulders.

"You can stay with me," she declared, out of the blue.

"What?"

"After your lease is up. You can stay with me," she affirmed. She considered it her highest show of affection to let someone into her apartment. He was apprehensive, but only because he didn't know if they were moving too fast. He didn't want them to skip a crucial step in their relationship and ruin everything. He didn't want to push her into anything. Maybe they should talk first. They had just kissed, for God's sake. But what was he going to say to her? No sorry, I don't want to temporarily live with you?

Instead, he said "Thanks. I'll take you up on that."

"Anything for an old friend."

Soooo what did you think? And thank you SO much to the readers who answered the previous questions. They really helped a lot, and I even got some good ideas for the future chapters. Im only responsible for what I put out, and I have no idea how you perceive it without the feedback. So thank you.

Here's questions for this chapter: (Answer if you want, because I would LOVE to hear what you think, and I think its kinda fun to answer them)

1) Why is Santana so reluctant to keep her work and social life separate? Does it have anything to do with shame? Which is she more ashamed of: Puck (and her Lima roots that may or may not come with him) or her job?

2) Consider Allison Puckerman's statement: "Santana Lopez was going to be the death of her son." Foreshadow much? What's your interpretation/take on this?

3) How does the cooking debacle further affirm Santana's not-belonging in Lima?

Rate it even if you hate it! Review, please!