A/N: Thanks to everyone who read and reviewed. I'm still pretty new to writing and it encourages me a lot. Sorry about the long wait for this update. I'm finding the second half of this story much harder than the first. I don't own anything other than my own mistakes.

An unfamiliar ringing pecked at the edge of Puck's consciousness and for a moment he tried to block it out. He was warm and comfortable. As the ringing persisted he slowly became aware that other things were unfamiliar. This didn't feel like his bed. It didn't smell like his bed. It smelled like vanilla and blackberries, and then it all came back to him in a rush of big eyes, and smooth skin, and music, and laughter.

He stayed. He stayed on purpose. Surprisingly, he didn't have the urge to slip out the door as quickly and quietly as possible. He thought he'd rather continue getting to know the amazing girl whose image was flashing across his mind. Sure, he was hoping to start with a repeat of last night, but after that, who the fuck knows? He just kinda wanted to see what might happen. He inhaled deeply and stretched as the slightest smile crept onto his face, then he opened his eyes.

The smile gave way to a confused scowl as he surveyed his surroundings. He wasn't surprised he was alone in the bed, but he figured she was probably in the bathroom or something. It didn't take long for him to realize that was not the case. The room was empty - not just empty of another occupant - it was empty. No jacket on the chair. No products on the counter. No suitcase in the corner. Not one trace of the girl he had fallen asleep with. Empty. Shit. Confusion quickly turned to anger and he slammed his fists down the bed with a loud "Fuck!" She just fucking took off! As he sat up something bright yellow caught his eye as it fluttered down toward to the sheet that was bunched around his waist. A post-it. A bright yellow, star shaped, mother fucking, post-it. He snatched it up crushing it in his fist and flung it toward the mirror across the room. It pissed him off to think of her sneaking quietly around the room, gathering all her stuff. Why bother with a god damned note if she couldn't bother to say good-bye?

As he sat on the edge of the bed with his fists clenched, he knew, logically, that he really had no room to be angry here. He'd slipped out on sleeping chicks more times that he cared to think about. He'd always figured that a girl who fucks some guy she barely knows and then expects something from him gets what she gets. Maybe that's harsh but he always made sure they had a good time and never promised any of them anything more. Yeah, he knows, she didn't promise him anything either. Fuck! He wasn't even sure if he was angry with her or with himself. He broke his rules one time! One time! And this is what happened! He knew better.

He stomped around the room getting dressed and didn't even care if he was being childish or a hypocrite. The whole thing just confirmed what he already knew. People suck. When he'd gathered his few belongings he glanced around the room one last time to be sure he had everything. The little yellow paper caught his eye once again and he blew out a long slow breath through his nose before crossing the room to pick it up, smooth it out, and read the small neat letters

Noah,

It was lovely to meet you.

Don't let your back-up plan

become your only plan.

You're too amazing for that.

R

It took a little bit of the sting away. He folded it and stuck it in his wallet, as a reminder or whatever. A reminder of what, he couldn't say. To stick to the rules? To go for what he wants? Whatever. He wanted to keep it. Fuck.

OO

By the time he got home it was after 11 and he was pissed again. She signed her note "R". Why the fuck wouldn't she tell him her name? The more he thought about it the more it bothered him. He let her see some really personal shit and she couldn't even let him know her first god damned name.

"What the hell happened to you? You were supposed to help me haul that furniture down for the Salvation Army truck." Sam looked up from the TV, but realized immediately that Puck looked more irritated than he felt.

"I was up late. Leave me the fuck alone," Puck barked.

"Why are you so bitchy? You accidentally fall asleep and have to have a conversation with a woman this morning? Oh my! Don't take it out on me."

Puck glared as the muscles in his jaw flexed. He told Sam to fuck himself and disappeared into his room.

OO

By Friday he was over it. Okay, maybe not over it. Mostly over it. He knew how to get over it anyway. He just needed a really good lay to get his head on straight (and to get her out of it). He'd been telling himself for the last couple of days that there was nothing all that special about Mardi Gras girl. It was his own damn fault. He'd been a stupid ass and broken his own rules. The rules are there for a reason. The whole thing really had nothing to do her; she was just the girl who happened to be there the night Sam filled his head with all that crap about relationships or whatever shit he was yammering about. He needed to remember to kick Sam's ass, cause it was his fault too. Clearly had nothing to do with her, though. She was a great lay, no doubt, but she wasn't the only one. Tonight he'd remind himself of that fact. He just needed to find the hottest piece of ass in the club and have mind blowing sex. Problem solved.

He ended up going home with a tall busty blond and making her come over and over just to prove a point. Unfortunately it was the wrong point. He already knew he was awesome and it didn't change the fact that he had to force his eyes to stay open as he bent her over the arm of her sofa and pounded into her. Every time he allowed his eyes to slip closed she was replaced by a tiny brunette, with the most amazing ass he'd ever seen, looking at him over her shoulder. He was so fucked!

Later, when he'd worn her completely out and she was passed out across her bed, he started to sneak out quietly and then he found out exactly how fucked he was. He couldn't do it. He wasn't gonna stay. Fuck no! But he couldn't sneak out either. He scrubbed his hands over his face and braced himself before poking the girl in the shoulder repeatedly until she was squinting at him, looking confused.

"Listen, I gotta go. Um, gotta be somewhere in the morning."

It wasn't entirely true. The only place he had to be was his own damn bed. She tried to persuade him to stay and ended up calling an asshole when it became clear he was blowing her off. He wasn't sure it turned out any better that way, but at least it seemed less cowardly.

OO

Nearly two months passed and he wasn't pissed anymore. His game was totally thrown, and he still hadn't figured all that shit out, but he wasn't pissed. The whole not sneaking out thing sucked ass, cause leaving right after or waking a woman up to tell her you're leaving both got him yelled at more often than not. A couple of times he resorted to bar bathroom hook-ups, but that shit got old. Options were limited and it also tended to lower the quality of willing participants. Yes, he went for easy women, but there's easy and then there's just nasty. Within a couple of weeks he stared to wonder if maybe Sam had a point after all. Maybe he had outgrown his rules. He had a good time with Mardi Gras girl, and lets be honest, he broke nearly all of his rules. They had a great time at dinner, yes dinner, he could admit that. They went to his place. No, they didn't goin, but he was really splitting hairs there. He definitely went back for a repeat and he'd do it again given the opportunity. No, she wasn't a teenager or a virgin, but those rules are probably pretty solid anyway. And staying till morning didn't go so well, but he's pretty sure that's because she'd never done anything like that and she panicked. That's what he told himself anyway. The point is, maybe he never met anyone awesome because he never gave them a chance.

So he took a few girls to dinner, went to a few movies (action movies, he not a total pussy), and it didn't suck too much. It wasn't great either. Not like Mardi Gras. Not even close. So he was back to the conclusion he's been coming to for weeks and weeks. He was fucked.

OO

Sam was sprawled out on the couch watching a Star Trek marathon when the doorbell rang. He glanced through the front window at car with the pizza hut sign on top and yelled up the stairs, "Puck, you order pizza?"

He yelled again and got no answer, so he dragged himself off the couch to get the door. He told the guy to wait a minute so he could get some money since he had exactly zero cash before running up the stairs to find Puck walking out of the bathroom in a towel.

"I hope you have cash. Pizza guy is waiting."

"Shit, I forgot. My wallet should be on top of the piano."

Sam hurried back down, grabbing the wallet on his way. As he pulled out Puck's cash a few scraps of paper fell to the floor and Sam stepped on them to keep them from flying out the door. He paid the guy, put the pizza on the little table by the door, and scooped up the random papers. A receipt, couple of phone numbers, and a bright yellow post-it. He was reading the star shaped note when Puck walked into the room.

"The fuck are you doing?"

"I was paying for your pizza. Shit fell out of your wallet." Sam leveled him with a curious look. "Why? Is it a big deal or something?" he asked, waving the note slightly.

"No. It's whatever. It's just a note from some chick," Puck answered, forcing a casual tone in hopes that Sam would just drop it. No such luck.

"And it's in your wallet because?" Sam started to sound amused as he carried the pizza, the wallet, and the note to the coffee table and deposited them there.

"Because it is. Don't be such a damn Yenta."

"Some chick huh? What chick?"

"What difference does it make. Brunette. Purple dress. Great legs. Shit, it's not like you know her or anything."

"The girl from Mardi Gras?" Sam watched Puck's face as his eyes widened just for a second. "Itis, it the girl from Mardi Gras! You've been acting strange for weeks. I thought it was just graduation, but no . . . you're totally hung up on her aren't you? I never thought I'd see the day."

"Fine. Yes. The girl from Mardi Gras. Whatever, dude. Drop it. I'm not hung up on anybody. Even if I was,which I'm not, I don't know her name or where she's from, so this entire conversation is pointless."

"Let's pretend I believe you for a second and move past the 'hung up' question because seriously, how do you not know her name?"

Puck snatched his wallet and the little yellow paper from the table, glared at Sam, and started to leave the room. He didn't really want the pizza anymore.

"Rachel." Sam called after him as he entered the hallway. "She lives in New York."

Puck spun around and gawked at him. "The fuck are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about your little Mardi Gras girlfriend. Her name is Rachel. She lives in New York. Her roommate is Santana and they've known each other since high school." Sam rattled off details as Puck just stared at him, mouth agape. "Remember the hot Latina she was with? That's her roommate - Santana."

Puck just blinked at him for a minute, processing Sam's words. "Are you serious right now? You knew this information and didn't tell me?"

"Excuse me? First of all, WOW. I've gotta say, you've got it sooo much worse than I thought. I just used the G word and you didn't flinch, or break out in hives, or hit me."

"Fuck you, Sam! It didn't deserve a response. I spent one night with the chick." Puck continued to refer to her . . . to Rachel . . . in the same indifferent tone he'd been trying to keep throughout the conversation. He wasn't fooling anyone.

"Yes. Allnight I believe it was." Sam looked at him meaningfully for a moment then continued. "Secondly, why would I tell you? How was I supposed to know you didn't get the most basic of information from the girl? I realize you were busy, but I assume that some time between 11:00 pm and dawn there were words exchanged. I mean I might have known if you weren't so busy being a sulky bitch about the whole thing."

"Hey, I was pissed, whatever. Anyway, not the point."

"Totally the point. It all makes so much sense now."

Puck would have been annoyed by his implication, but he wasn't listening anymore. He started to wander out of the room talking more to himself than Sam. "So, Rachel. Hmmm. New York is a big place, and Rachel is a common name, but Santana . . . Santana is pretty unusual . . . she's studying music and drama . . . I guess google . . ."

Sam let him mutter for a minute before interrupting. "Oooor you could finish this conversation with me."

Puck turned back to a very amused looking Sam. "You know something else don't you."

"I might." Sam shrugged.

"Don't fuck with me Sam. What do you know?"

"Admit you're hung up on her."

"Don't be a jackass. What do you know?"

Sam just crossed his arms and waited. Puck glared at him, but finally mumbled "She was cool, alright."

"She was cool? That's it? You're about to go cyber stalk her, cause youspent one night with the chick and she wascool?"

"Really cool, OK? Damn it Sam! Just tell me." He meant it to sound treating, but it came out almost whiny.

"Fine, fine. Don't get your panties in a bunch. So I hung out with Santana for a while. We danced a couple of times, had some drinks."

"And?"

"And I had a girlfriend at the time, so nothing really happened, but she was fun. Very . . . direct . . ."

Puck got the distinct impression that Sam was getting a kick out of toying with him. "I assume there's a point here somewhere. Find it."

"Dude, I was getting to it. Anyway, when we went our separate ways, she put her number in my phone and said to sext her sometime."

"You have her number?" Puck almost pounced on him before reigning in his reaction.

Sam laughed at him. "Not hung up, huh? Yeah, I have her number."

"Are you sure? Do you know it's her real number?"

Sam grabbed his phone and started pushing buttons, but didn't answer.

"Dude, are you blushing."

"Fuck off. And yes, it's her real number." Sam turned his phone toward Puck to show him the text on the screen.

Santana: I was hoping I'd hear from you.

Puck snatched the phone and took off around the couch. "You sexted her, didn't you?"

"Gimme my phone back!" Sam headed the other way around the couch to try to cut him off.

Puck punched some buttons and started to read aloud. "Let's see, let's see. Next message. I wish I had gotten better acquainted with your great big"

"Not funny, gimme my fucking phone!" They continued to circle the couch as Puck struggled to push buttons while avoiding Sam.

"Annnd scrooooling. Mouth. Ahahaha. That shirt's hilarious. Great big mouth."

Sam slammed into him, tackling him to the couch, and grabbed his phone back.

"None of your damn business." Sam glared at him, and looked like he might take a swing.

"Come on man, I was just messin' around. You know it was funny." He did not look amused, maybe murderous would be a better word, and Puck felt like maybe he'd crossed a line.

"Dude, I'm sorry. I didn't know you'd be so mad." He held his hands up in surrender, but Sam didn't answer, just clenched his fists.

"Seriously, why you so pissed?" When Sam still didn't answer Puck actually started to feel a little bad. "Listen, Sam. I'm sorry I looked, and I won't do it again. OK?"

Sam relaxed a little and looked at Puck. "Fine."

"So we're cool?"

"Yeah, we're cool."

He didn't sound cool, but he joined Puck on the couch and reached for a piece of pizza. He took a couple of bites in silence then spoke. He still sounded pissed. "She sent pictures, and she didn't send 'em to you, so stay out of my damn phone, OK?"

Suddenly Sam's anger made more sense. "OK. I got it."