CHAPTER TWO:

UP FOR THE CHALLENGE

A/N: There's a line that I used from an episode of Life With Derek. Wow, that brings back lots of fanfiction memories lol but whoever knows the line, gets extra brownie points. And who doesn't love brownie points, huh?

"All ready!" Rachel bounced across the field to where Puck was stretching his muscles. He didn't know why he had changed into just a wifebeater and sweats. He tried to convince himself that it was because he'd get all hot and sweaty in a shirt, but the cold air stung his skin. Maybe he just wanted Rachel to see what she was missing. Finn didn't have sexy arms like he did. Finn had toothpicks compared to Puck's "sexy Jewish gun arsenal" – as he preferred to call them.

"Good, you're still wearing that sweatshirt," Puck nodded towards her, "Those jeans okay to get dirty? You're not gonna squeal about grass stains or something when I tackle you."

"You're going to tackle me?" Rachel's eyes widened. She didn't know why she had a sudden wave of nervousness flood through her.

"Well I'm not gonna hurt you, if that's what you're scared of."

"I'm not scared of you," Rachel lied. She knew he wouldn't hurt her physically – of course he wouldn't – but she was scared of him for other reasons. One in particular being the feeling she knew he would make her feel if his skin came into contact with hers. The goosebumps and quickening rush of blood to her head. The dizziness.

Ugh.

Puck also was feeling a bit queasy at the thought. Not that that changed the fact that he wanted to grab her and throw her to the ground, pinning her underneath him. Why was he feeling like this? It was Rachel Berry for Christ's sakes! She was annoying and bitchy and geeky and a total freak. She sang showtunes in her sleep. Her idol was Barbra Streisand. She probably was still in possession of her V Card.

She didn't wear skanky clothes. She didn't curse. She didn't drink. She didn't put out. What the hell was he doing with her? She wasn't his type. But he liked her anyways. So did that mean that he didn't have a type.

What the hell was wrong with him? Of course he had a type and Rachel Berry was not it!

"Okay well I guess we should get this shit on the road," Puck rolled his eyes and held up his football, "this is the football. The pigskin. The golden ticket. You want the ball. You need the ball. If you have the ball…?"

"It's a good thing?"

"Well yes, but then you run your scrawny ass as fast as you can and you make a touchdown. That means taking this ball over to that line I drew over there. You toss it down. If you can't run all the way over there in time, you toss it off to someone who can. Got it so far?"

"I think so," Rachel nodded, "hold on."

She whipped out a fuzzy hot-pink notebook from her bag and a purple glittery pen with a feather sticking out of the end. Was she really about to take notes right now? Puck rolled his eyes, completely embarrassed by her. He prayed that no one would see this.

"What the hell do you think you're doin' Rachel Berry?"

"Taking notes. How else am I supposed to recall all this information and properly study it before the championship game? It's in two weeks you know."

"I think I know when the championship is," Puck snarled, "And you look like a fuckin' freak. Put that away…put that away!" Puck snatched it from her hands and tossed it aside. Rachel pouted. Puck hated the way that her bottom lip stuck out like that and he hated the way he so badly wanted to cover it with his own lips. He wanted to run his tongue across it. Bite it. Suck it. He wanted it. Now.

Puck mentally sucker-punched himself. What was wrong with him? Why was he being so stupid right now? It was Rachel Berry. He did NOT want to kiss Rachel Berry. He did NOT want to make out with Rachel Berry. He didn't want to touch Rachel Berry. He didn't want to be within a fifty-foot radius of Rachel Berry.

What Puck did want, however, was to be a better liar.

He was sucking miserably at it, and he hated himself for that. Fucking Rachel Berry! Fucking Rachel Berry…now that would be badass.

Oh my God! Puck kicked himself in the shin. What was his fucking problem today?

"What the heck is wrong with you?" Rachel backed away from him, "Don't hurt yourself! Are you crazy?"

"I-I don't know what that was…" Puck fought the blush that was so embarrassingly covering his cheeks, "So you think you're ready to learn how to throw and catch?"

"I think I know how to throw a ball, No-ah."

"Yeah. Sure. Show me," Puck challenged, shoving the ball into her hands.

Rachel gripped the ball in both hands and tossed it as hard as it could. It landed about two feet away with a flop. Puck turned away, snorts coming out of his nose. His shoulders were shaking and pretty soon the snickers and snorts turned into full blown laughter. The kind of laughter Rachel would never imagine coming from Noah Puckerman.

Rachel's cheeks flamed bright red.

"Are you laughing at me?" She demanded.

"Yes," Puck didn't even bother denying it, "Even you have to admit, that was the most pathetic thing ever. I mean, really, Berry? Is that really how you throw a ball? I know you're a total girl and all, but still…"

"Shut up!" Rachel marched over to him and shoved him with both hands. Puck, weakened by the laughter, stumbled backwards a tad.

"Did you really just do that?" Puck came towards her.

"What are you going to do about it?" Rachel challenged.

Puck stormed towards her, an unfamiliar glint in his eyes, "This."

He grabbed her like a sack of potatoes, picking her up in his arms, swinging her around as she screamed and squealed and begged him to put her down – which he did…eventually. After swinging her around, enjoying her squeals, Puck tossed her to the grass.

"Ow!" Rachel pouted.

"Football aint no bed of roses," Puck shrugged, "You get bruised up. You bleed. Get used to it."

"Did you really just do that?" Rachel asked, not understanding why her smile was seeping up to her eyes.

"Get your ass up, Berry," Puck rolled his eyes, "if you expect me to teach you how to throw a football."

"I-I don't think I really need to learn that. All I am going to do is sit in the stands. I don't need to throw anything."

"I am teaching you how to throw a fucking football rather you want to or not," Puck glared, and Rachel gave in. Neither one of them knew exactly what this power they had over each other was. It was completely unexplainable.

Rachel liked Finn. She knew that much was true. She was learning about football – the most pointless, irrational sport ever – just to impress him. So why was she allowing herself to feel so…drawn to Noah? It was Noah Puckerman for goodness' sakes! He was annoying and self-centered and egotistical. He drove her crazy. He drove her mad.

He was nothing to her, but an annoyance. And annoyances were NOT attractive.

"Alright," Rachel stood up, without any offered help from Puck. Once she was up off the ground, he walked towards her, putting his arms around her and placing her fingers around the white laces of the football. Rachel tried to ignore the goosebumps on her neck.

"Put your fingers here, like this," Puck said, his voice growing softer, not quite so gruff and commanding, "there you go. Just…like…that. Now when you throw it, bring your arm back, pull it back just like this. Elbow align with your…your mouth. There. Perfect. Now toss it. Hard. No more wimpy, girly throws, got it?"

Rachel looked up into his eyes and gave him one of her best eye-rolls. Puck rewarded her eye-roll with a crooked, half-grin.

"Berry…" he nodded. Rachel did as she was told and threw the football. It actually went about fifteen feet away. Rachel jumped up and down, clapping her hands and squealing. She was clearly very pleased with herself. Puck couldn't help but grin. He quickly realized what his lips were doing and covered his mouth with his hand. He couldn't let Rachel see.

"Did you see that?" Rachel cried, "It went far! I actually threw a football far, Noah! Far!"

"Not bad, Berry. Still throw like a girl though."

Rachel narrowed her eyes at him and Puck's grin turned into a small smirk. God, Rachel hated that smirk. She wanted to slap it off of his face for making her feel the way she did.

"Now you gotta learn to catch."

"I-I have absolutely no hand-eye coordination whatsoever, Noah," Rachel's eyes widened, "I will only be embarrassing myself…"

"And wearing a sweater with a kitten on it wasn't embarrassing enough?" Puck asked, Rachel smacked him lightly in the chest, "Hey!" Puck glared at her, "I could just not teach you football. I could just go home, pop open a beer, and watch a game. But noooo, I'm choosing to spend my time here. With you. Don't ask me why. In fact, I don't even know why. Maybe I should just go and let you figure it all out on your own."

"Noah!" Rachel folded her arms and stomped a little penny loafer on the ground.

"Wait…did you…did you really just do that?" Puck laughed, "I thought only girls in movies did that sort of lame dramatic shit."

"No-ah!" She whined.

"Rach-el!" He whined back, mimicking her down to the very octave.

"You are so incredibly impossible! I don't know how anyone can possibly put up with you! You drive me crazy, Noah!"

"It wasn't a far drive," Puck rolled his eyes.

"I hate you," Rachel lied.

"Yeah, same to you, Crazy," Puck lied right back.

Rachel and Puck stood there, staring intensely at each other for a moment. Both of the veins of their necks swelled violently. Their pupils were dilating. Both couldn't ignore, no matter how hard they tried to, the feeling of butterfly wings flapping in their stomachs.

"So are you going to teach me how to catch?" Rachel asked, leaning in a little closer to Puck. He could practically feel the breath of her words on his neck as she said, "Or are you not up for the challenge?"