A/N: Again, many thanks to all of you who've reviewed, favourited and put this story on your alerts! You make me smile.

Disclaimer: I don't own Glee. I merely used Ryan Murphy's amazing characters to get me out of my writer's block.

"Puck," Santana greeted him, her perfect ponytail swishing as she walked into the rehearsal room.

Puck let his leg fall lazily off the chair so she could sit next to him. Santana ignored the chair, standing next to him, instead. Her lips curled into her usual smile, reminding Puck of the Grinch's sneer. She leaned forward, stroking his mohawk seductively.

"It's been ages since we were all alone," she purred. She draped her arms around Puck's shoulders, her body pressing against his, but he merely stared ahead. He straightened up, causing her to slide ungracefully off of his body. She straightened up, plastering her smile on her face, again.

"Look, Lopez, we need two songs and that's it." Santana raised an eyebrow. "Personally, I wanna do Ludacris' 'Hoe.'" Santana's smile quickly turned into a scowl, her features wrinkling unflatteringly. She looked at Puck, her nostrils flaring, but Puck grinned, proud of himself.

The cheerleader looked down at her white sneakers, a contemplative look on her face.

"I really don't get you, Puck," she said in a tremulous voice. "One day, we're hooking up every other day, the next... it's like you don't even care." Her brown eyes met his hazel ones. "I really like you."

Puck wasn't expecting McKinley's Premiere Slut to actually develop feelings for him. Bull. Shit. He shook his head and stood.

"There's no way in hell that you could possibly care for me." He said, barely containing his laugh. "You don't have a heart." Santana looked up, fake-sadness on her face.

"How dare you?" She shrieked, but her face convulsed into laughter. "Okay, fine. You got me. I don't actually 'care,'" she made air-quotes, "if you like me. I just, well, I miss screwing. You were a good lay, Puckerman." She nodded, licking her lips for effect.

"Yeah, well," Puck shrugged. "We all grow up."

"True, but this happened pretty recently. I mean, we were hooking up four times a week until November. I was one sext away, y'know. What happened?" She crossed her arms over her chest.

Nothing happened, really, but I just got tired of blowing things with Quinn. "I guess I found something better," he smiled.

"Ouch." Santana bit her bottom lip. "You know, you started acting all 'freaky'," she air-quoted again, "in September. I mean, I came back from vacation, all fine and shit, and you wouldn't give me the time of day. What, did you 'do'" she air-quoted, "one cougar too many?" She smiled playfully, her eyes lingering on Puck's smile.

Truth was I did a lot of cougars that summer… but doing them couldn't wipe the memory of Quinn. I know it's not possible, but it's like when we were little and I had an irrational fear of catching her girl cooties if I touched her… I did catch something from having sex with her. And no, it wasn't an STD. It was worse than that—I got… feelings from her. Butterflies in my stomach, cold sweat, loss of appetite-type feelings.

Ever since we were little, Quinn and I got one another. We went to the same pre-kindergarten (my dad was still around, so the most expensive pre-school in Allen County wasn't out of the question… Quinn also went there). Seeing that I was one year older than the rest of the kids in our class and that Quinn was the most mature four year-old ever, we became friends on the first day.

Yeah, we were friends, but I loved teasing her. Teasing her was my way of showing her that I liked her. All I had to say was, "My mom doesn't believe in Jesus," and she'd go apeshit! I'd run off and she'd be right behind me. Fucked up, I know, but she got it. When other kids called me a bully, Quinn would say, "We're friends," her trademark glare in place. I would chase her around the playground, push her off of swings, pull on her blond pigtails... I just wouldn't leave her alone. Then, she'd call me a 'meanie', would kick me in the shins, would pull my pants down in front of everyone… she just wouldn't leave me alone, either.

Our teacher called our parents after we set the hamsters free one day. She told them we were "out of control." That's when our moms met, meaning that I had a steady play-date with Quinn every Saturday morning. Our moms were way different, but they knew that Quinn and I got along. We were laughing and playing one minute, screaming and crying the next—then again, she did most of the crying… I was the, what's the word our second-grade teacher called me…? Oh yeah. I was the "instigator", but she… she was my willing victim. Again, fucked up, I know, but that's just how our friendship was.

When I "discovered" girls (as my mom used to say to Finn's mom) in grade six, I used to stare at Quinn's mouth. It was always pink, even without that lip gunk that chicks wear, y'know? Staring at it, I often thought that her lips must've tasted like strawberries. Anyway, she had this habit of pouting when she was concentrating and it was during those moments that I… uh… well, let's just say I had to walk around with my textbook around my waist. Whatever! Quinn's hot, okay?

Anyway, I was all about the ladies when we reached puberty. Hell, my first girlfriend was three years older than me. I was 13, going on 26 and I loved having all the girls fight over me. The one girl I never dared mess with, was Quinn. She was too high and mighty and her old man scared the hell out of me. But a part of me always wondered what it felt like to kiss Quinn Fabray. Still, I figured that Quinn and I just didn't go together. I traded our once close friendship for chicks who put out. And I mean, why would I date Quinn when I knew she didn't let boys get to first base with her? Anyway, I started avoiding her, which may have blown up in my face a little, since I never did get to find what her mouth tasted like… that is until the summer between freshman and sophomore year.

My mom worked doubles that summer, so I was in charge of the house during the day. It wasn't too hard; I mostly took Hannah to the summer day camps offered at Lima's YMCA, which gave me ample time to socialize.

I saw Santana a lot that summer, Ashley and Tiffany, too. Oh, and the girl from Akron, Andrea. Dang, she was fine. Anyway, most the Cheerios wanted to party with the Puckerman (except Quinn—not that I cared). Soon, everyone started going away for the summer. Including Finn. I couldn't believe that the ball-less sucker was going to his grandparents' house of all places. He'd email me, bitching about how lame Cleveland was, but he would often talk about how much he missed Quinn. They'd started dating earlier that summer and I gotta say, he was whipped within the week! I mean, even for Dumbson that was quick.

Anyway, he wrote to me, telling me that he'd heard that all of Quinn's friends were gone. Being the softie he is (big lug has a heart, but is missing his brain), he asked if I'd chill with her. I followed my first instinct, emailing him to "Take out his tampon" and leave me alone. I was sick of getting his whiny emails. He kept nagging me, though (he was worse than my mom!), but I ignored him. I wasn't going to waste my free time on Quinn.

But when I saw that she was avoiding me that day in the Quick-N-Go, something inside me, call it my love of being a smart-ass, snapped. I took my fabric softener to the car, waited for her to reach the checkout and made my move.

"Hey, Fabray." I swear she jumped about a foot off the ground. "Fancy bumpin' into you at the Quick-N-Go." She slowly turned around, her perfect bitch smile already plastered on her flawless face.

"Hello, Puck." I loved how she managed to use my own name as an insult. Always the gentleman, I offered her a ride home, not knowing that she was driving with her learner's permit (what a bad-ass). She kept walking towards the sweet ride her dad had bought her the previous month, huffing and puffing the whole time. I felt kind of bad. I mean, a tight chick like Quinn shouldn't have to carry her own bags, but she was stubborn. She wouldn't even let me help her. Following her in silence was kind of weird, so I made small talk.

"So, have you heard from your loser boyfriend? He emailed me the other day about really missing you." I couldn't help but laugh at my pathetic best friend. I mean, seriously, he could get with any chick in Lima and he chose the Virgin Mary? "He wanted me to make sure you weren't too bored now that your worshippers are gone."

She looked at me like I had the plague. "Worshippers?" she asked, her eyebrow rising in confusion.

"Yeah, Satan and Bitch are gone... Finn's gone. Hell, do you have any friends?" I jumped on her trunk, watching as she fished for her keys, stupidly wondering how a goodie-two-shoes, 15 year-old girl without a driving permit would drive to the Quick-N-Go. I knew she had balls when we were in little, but I thought she'd changed since then.

"Leave me alone," she stressed, shooting one of her famous glares my way. She looked so sexy when she did that. She kept fishing through her purse and when she finally found her keys, I took them from her, smoothly popping her trunk open and stuffing the bags inside. I swung the keys around my back to her, and she smiled, shaking her head at me. She bit her lip nervously, tucking a stray strand of blond hair behind her ear. The way the sunlight hit her made my heart race. I mean, yeah. I've already admitted that she was hot, but she was more than that. She was perfect.

"Guess you won't need a ride," I said, slowly trying to get my legs to move. In that moment, I wished I had told Finn I would take care of Quinn, make sure she was having a good time. Instead, I was going to leave her at the Quick-N-Go parking lot. "I'll see you around, Quinn." I forced myself to turn around and walk to my car.

I hadn't made it 15 feet when I heard her yell my name.

"Puck!" Hearing the persistence in her voice made my heart jump. I smiled to myself, happy that she wanted to be with me too—at least for the day.

"Yes, Quinnie?" I called back, knowing how much she hated her parents' pet name for her. She pouted, her pink lips protruding a tiny bit, looking… so tempting. She sighed, obviously annoyed by me.

"Come here!"

"I'm sorry?" I pointed to my ears, shaking my head. I missed teasing her.

"COME HERE!" she yelled. I grinned and jogged the short distance back to her, loving the sight of her in her yellow sundress.

"Finn's right. I am pretty bored. We're going swimming." She told me. Nobody tells Puck what to do.

"Excuse me? I'm not going swimming. Have you seen the pools in Lima?" She rolled her eyes.

"Well, what pools do you approve of?" she demanded, jutting her chin out.

I smiled at her, raising my eyebrows suggestively. "Your family owns a pool, Fabray." She shook her head and I could see her fighting against my suggestion. She mouthed 'No,' pouting again.

"Well, then you can kiss your idea buh-bye," I shrugged, knowing that this would sway her in the end. I started walking back to my car, counting down the seconds until…

"Fine," she gave in. "But you're not cleaning my pool. We have our own pool cleaner." I rolled my eyes. She could be so stuck-up.

"Fine. I'll meet you at your place around 7:00?"

Quinn climbed into her red Civic. "Sure," she said over her shoulder before closing the door.

So, I sent Hannah to her best friend Molly's for the night. I figured I would be home late and it was easier to drop her off somewhere safe, than worry about having to pick her up before 10 o'clock. It wasn't that I was planning on it being a late night… I just wanted to make sure my little sis was looked after. I went to the 7-Eleven, looking as pathetic as possible in the hope that some idiot college frat boys would buy me some liquor. It worked and I was able to get a sixer of wine coolers and sixer of Natty Lite beers.

On the way to Quinn's mansion, I wondered if hanging out with my best friend's girl was really such a good idea, especially since the girl happened to be Quinn. Quinn Fabray: quite possibly the most amazing looking chick in Lima. Hell, the most amazing-looking chick to ever go to WMHS. On one hand, it was harmless… but something in me knew that a one-on-one hangout with Quinn wouldn't be all innocent. I mean, I'm studly and Quinn's fashion magazine beautiful. Things happen when too good lookin' people get together. I grabbed both sixers and made it to her front door. Taking a deep breath, I knocked.

As she opened her door, I could read the uncertainty in her eyes, but she let me through all the same. She tried not to smile, which made me wonder if I made her nervous. I was staring at her hardcore, but 1) she was a half-naked chick and 2) she was a half-naked QUINN FABRAY.

I'll never forget the way she looked that night. What? That's not a gay thing to say, so shut up! Anyway, her blond hair was loose, hanging in soft waves around her face. She was wearing a red and white swimsuit, which wasn't skimpy, but showed off her flat stomach and long legs. I tried not to stare, she was my buddy's girl after all, but not staring made me act all stiff and weird. She took the wine coolers from me, her left eyebrow rising in suspicion.

"College guys felt sorry for me," I shrugged. She laughed then, her laugh literally filling me with this weird... happiness... and all of the awkwardness between us lifted. We walked to her yard and had some innocent fun. I splashed her, she pretended to be annoyed. She called me a dick, I called her a bitch. It was just like old times, only there was some weird sexual tension building. I cracked open a wine cooler and she drank from it, concentrating on the alcohol, rather than on hurling insults at me. Watching her down those two coolers reminded me that Quinn wasn't much of a goodie-goodie. Hell, I'd seen her drink at parties… I guess I'd expected Quinn to be a lot different from how she was when we were little. I figured she was an angel. She sure looked like one.

I watched her, studying her moves (which showed she was at least somewhat into me), mesmerized by her pink lips (which kept pouting every so often) and completely in awe of the muscles on her stomach. I knew the Cheerios worked out, but Quinn was in way better shape than Santana or the other Cheerios I'd been with.

We sat by the pool's edge, just… talking. She asked about Hannah, asked about my mom. There was a pause in our conversation and I watched as she drank from her wine cooler, leaning back against her right arm, staring out at the blue water.

"What?" She asked, her mouth inches from the bottle opening.

"You're beautiful," I blurted. I looked away, taking a huge swig of my beer. "I mean, you know. Whatever." I added lamely, still not looking at her. What was wrong with me? I wasn't a lightweight, so I couldn't blame it on the alcohol.

"Yeah… right." She sat up, biting her lower lip. "I don't know if you could call me beautiful. I mean, blond hair, green eyes, popularity. They all add up to perfect as far as American society says. I'm even dating the school's quarterback! Talk about cliché. But, the thing is… I'm not beautiful." She turned to look at me and grabbed my wrist. "Did you know that I gained three pounds since last week? Yeah. I did. And now… Now, my captaincy is in trouble. I…" she looked at the bottle in her hand. "I'm not beautiful." She let go of my wrist, cupping the wine cooler with both hands. "And now Ms Sylvester has called for a practice this coming Wednesday! Ugh. Have one lousy weigh-in and the world thinks you're a heifer." She scoffed. Her lips twitched and I could tell that the demonic Cheerios coach ruled her squad through fear.

I looked at Quinn, lounging underneath the late August sky. Acting more like my friend than she had in years and I realized how much I missed just being with her.

"You know you're perfect," I stated. When I saw the surprise on her face again, I lightly added, "Right?" Feeling brave, I pulled a blonde curl off her face, letting my hand graze her shoulder. "Sylvester wishes she was you, Quinn. That, and I'm pretty convinced she's the anti-Christ, so…"

She smiled at me, reminding me how much I missed this. How much I missed us. She leaned back on her hands again, letting her head roll to the side lazily, her pose reminding me just how much I wanted in her pants. I remembered Finn… Remembered how much he liked Quinn. Remembered how Quinn would never want a guy like me. Remembered how Quinn was perfect. Remembered how Quinn was still a virgin...

I shot up, reminding myself that I couldn't sleep with Quinn. Reaching down to her, I helped her up.

"Jesus, Fabray. You cannot hold your liquor," I teased. She may have been my dream girl, but she was a lightweight. She'd only had two wine coolers and she was teetering like that?

"Don't use the Lord's name in vain," she said. My eyes rolled involuntarily and she laughed. I looked at her smile and felt high. Reminding myself that I couldn't have her, I wrapped her half-naked body in a towel and we walked inside. She leaned against me every step of the way.

In those minutes, as we went from the pool to her bedroom, I wrestled with the temptation before me: I could sleep with Quinn (something I hoped she wanted, but couldn't dare to expect) and forget my friendship with Finn or I could tuck her in. Yes. I would tuck her in. That's all I'd do.

I helped her into bed and wrapped the covers around her, feeling the warmth from her body. I hovered over her face, willing myself to walk out her door, when she kissed me.

I pulled away, confused by her actions (yet totally turned on) and just stared at her. Perfect Quinn Fabray, who was dating my perfect best friend, had kissed me. There was no way I was leaving her that night. I kissed her again (loving the fact that I had known all along that her lips tasted like strawberries) when I felt her tongue tickle my bottom lip. I opened my mouth, breathing her in as she breathed out. Our tongues met and I climbed into bed with her, my tongue massaging hers. Her teeth nibbled on my bottom lip playfully and smiled against her mouth. I stroked her hair, amazed at how soft it felt, while her hands pulled me in closer.

I know it was wrong. Knew it then, too. But come on, can you blame me? I liked her, she seemed to like me—it happened. But, she panicked as soon as we did it, yelling at me to leave. Guess she remembered that I was Finn's best friend and she was out of my league. Whatever. It happened I left and I felt like the world's hugest asshole. I mean, she wasn't drunk, but I was her first. Me. Noah Puckerman. Me. How does that even happen? Girls do me, cougars do me, but I had never done it with a virgin.

I tried calling her the next day and the day after that. She never answered. When school started back up it was the same thing: she avoided me and I tried talking to her. Finn could sense something was up, so he started inviting me and Santana along on more double dates. Guess he wanted his best friend and his girlfriend to get along. Whatever his reasons, nothing worked.

And now… now Quinn and I are stuck. We can't move forward and we can't go back.

"Yeah. Guess I'm a cougaholic." Puck answered, smiling back at Santana.

"Quinn, you're doing it wrong." Rachel's voice came from the door of the Berry's guestroom.

Quinn was trying to make her bed, but Rachel insisted on overseeing her every move. If Quinn folded her underwear "wrong," Rachel would point it out to her.

"Rachel," Quinn turned, a forced smile on her face. Rachel took a step backwards, clearly frightened by Quinn's faux-sweetness. "Leave me alone."

Rachel ducked out the room, mumbling to herself about "ungrateful people" having a "lot of nerve." Quinn shook her head. Did I jump too soon? Not that I'm not happy to be here. I'd take Rachel's home over Brittany's any day… but. A gentle kick came from Quinn's womb, startling her. Since December, her little girl had taken to "knocking" (as Quinn often referred to her kicks) whenever Quinn felt down. It was as though the baby knew when Quinn was at the end of her rope and her kicks were her little way of telling Quinn that it would be all right.

Quinn had never shared the new development with Puck. She knew that he was already too attached to the little stranger and knowing that she was progressing would only make his attachment that much stronger.

Quinn sighed, lightly stroking her belly and smiling to herself. Things are going to be okay. Rachel will grow on me. And if she doesn't and I end up killing her in her sleep, I can blame it on the pregnancy hormones.

"Cougaholic?" Santana rolled her eyes. "Puh-leeze. You're a skeez. That's all there is to it. If you're addicted to anything, it's sex."

Puck scoffed. He knew that he had needs, but come on. Addicted to sex. No way. Right?

"Just because I enjoy a roll in the sack, doesn't mean I'm a pyro…"

"Nympho," Santana corrected.

"Yeah. That." Puck fumed. "I can control my… urges."

"HA!" Santana uncrossed her arms. "If that were true, you wouldn't have cheated on me."

"I never cheated on you! You broke up with me because of my bad credit score."

"Wrong-o, dick. I broke up with you because I'd heard through the vine that you and Quinn got busy over the summer." Santana sat in one of the chairs. "Right around the time you stopped calling. Right around the time you started banging cougars double-time. Right around the time Quinn became bitchier."

So… she knows? She knows when and why and oh shit. Puck went to sit in the chair next to Santana.

"Technically it wasn't cheating." The girl scoffed. "I mean, yeah. We were technically together, but you were gone for the summer."

"Do you care for her?" Santana turned her head to look him square in the eye. "Like, before you guys 'did'" she air-quoted, "it and… Do you?"

Puck clenched his jaw, avoiding Santana's stare. For once, she looked convincingly sad. Maybe because I actually hurt her in August.

"Yeah," Puck answered shakily. "I care for Quinn."

"That makes your cheating… worse." Santana licked her top lip, staring fixedly at the piano. "How am I the 'ho', when you and Quinn betrayed me?"

"You didn't even like me that much! Admit it, you were only dating me because you wanted to get closer to the quarterback. And lets face it," Puck's voice was rising. Girls would use him to get to Finn. "Now that Quinn and Finn are done, you're going after Finn."

Santana's hurt dissipated and she glared at Puck.

"Yeah, so?" She balled her hands into fists.

"You don't care about Finn. You only want him because you hate Quinn and you want to hurt her. Thing is, I don't think you're hurting her so much as you're hurting glee club." Who would've thought I'd be standing up for Homo-Explosion?

Santana scoffed. "Puh-leeze. How is what I'm doing with Finn affecting glee?"

Puck stood again. "How? Are you blind? Rachel likes Finn, Finn likes Rachel, Finn is hurt, Finn is using you to get back at Quinn… Quinn couldn't care less. But all of glee club feels the tension. We all know that Finn is pissed off at the two of us, but you flirting with Finn hurts us more in the long run since Rachel is getting hurt. Newsflash, Lopez: Rachel is our star."

Santana waved her hand as though dismissing Puck's claims. She sat up. "How is Quinn over Finn? And how do you know that?"

"Call it a hunch," Or rather a hope. "She never mentions him and I see it. She doesn't."

"Are you sure it's not something you're hoping for?" Santana asked venomously.

"How the hell did you find out about Quinn this summer? Who told?" Puck asked, changing the subject. Luckily, Santana took the bait.

"Okay fine. No one told me," she said truthfully, her brown eyes rolling. "I could tell. That, and Quinn left her cell in my car one night. It had about ten missed calls from you. When I asked her about it, she told me that Finn had asked you to chill with her. Then… I found a text." Puck's eyes bulged. He'd forgotten about the text he'd sent Quinn a week before school started.

"'Quinn, I'm sorry I took it too far the other night. I know it was a mistake, but as far as mistakes go... it was pretty great.'" Santana glared at Puck as she finished quoting from his text. "It was pretty clear that something had happened between you two."

"Santana, look…"

"Screw it, Puckerman. I don't care." She shrugged, folding her slender arms in front of her, closing Puck off. "Anyway, I have cheer tomorrow. I'm out." She stood, walking towards the door. It was clear that she didn't care about Puck, but her pride was hurt. Puck almost felt bad for hurting her, but knowing that Santana was still intent on hurting Quinn annoyed him.

She stopped at the door, slowly turning around to look at Puck. "If you really care about Quinn, you should try talking to Finn." She raised an eyebrow. "Think about it."

Puck sat back in the vacant chair, slumping. He knew Santana was right. If Quinn had feelings for Finn, Puck had to mend part of his broken friendship with Finn. Great.

A/N: Thanks again for reading! I really hope that you enjoyed Puck's POV of The Night. He's so much fun to write, but he has a potty mouth! Haha!