Chapter 3.

Santana was the most observant bitch she knew, even more so than Rachel, who claimed she was physic. Her physic Mexican third eye gave her the ability to read people and situations so she was much more astute than others. And her physic eye was picking up on the fact that Kurt was having second thoughts. It was also picking up on how abysmal the seating arrangements were. What side was for Will's guest and which side was for Emma's? There were glee kids on both sides, not to mention the large amount of scattered gingers.

"It is a carrot top convention." Santana sighed as her and Quinn took their seats on the left hand side of the church, purposely sitting a couple of rows behind a nervous looking Hummel. Unfortunately, that also meant she was in plain view of seeing Brittany and Sam pretending to themselves that they were loved up together, who had the audacity to wave at her pitifully. She waved back to Brittany, she was still her best friend after all. Sam could go suck a donkey's dick, he had the lips to perform such a job. "I am so over this and it hasn't even started yet." she stated to Quinn, who was busy applying lipstick in her mirror. Santana suppressed a shiver in knowing exactly where those lips would be later on. "I'm clearly the hottest bitch in this lousy joint, but I'm all alone, stuck here sitting with you." she moaned.

Santana knew exactly what she was doing and how to play Quinn. After five years of turbulent friendship, Santana had learnt that the only way of getting into Quinn's panties was to let her believe that she was the one who instigated it. That and get her drunk. Bring on the reception.

"Do you want me to slap you again? Quinn offered offhandedly as she passed the compact mirror over to Santana.

"I hate weddings and I hate valentines day. They were invented by breeders to sell cheap chocolate and false hope."

"Do you know what I hate? Men!" Bingo! "Every single one of them is a pig, except maybe Mr. Shue and Al Roker." Quinn stated confidently. Santana frowned as she closed the compact mirror. Wasn't Al Roker a weatherman? "And you know what, you were right." Inevitably. "I do let men define me but not anymore. Like Gloria Steinem said 'a woman without a man is like a fish without a bicycle'"

Al Roker?

Seriously?

The weatherman?

"Al Roker's disgusting by the way." Santana said, finding the need to verbalize it. Quinn didn't deny or defend it, instead choosing to put away her makeup and lean back on the bench, giving Santana a lovely view of her cleavage. It didn't last long though as her phone began to vibrate in her bra.

Sighing, Santana dug in her bra, noticing Quinn watching her out of the corner of her eye, and pulled out her phone which indicated that she had a message. From her royal highness, Lady Hummel.

I'm out. He has a girlfriend. That slut Kitty Wilde from McKinley. Good luck to you though xoxo - K

Santana sneered disdainfully at the message. Kurt was getting cock blocked by Kitty? Looking around, Santana couldn't find the blonde sophomore anywhere. Shaking her head, she replied to Kurt's message with a single word.

"What's the face about?" Quinn asked, obviously seeing the disgusted look on the Latina.

"I asked Tina for the McKinley gossip about an hour ago and guess what, your little mini me is dating your baby daddy."

"Kitty's dating Puck?" Quinn asked, sounding scandalized. Santana nodded and shoved her phone back into her bra. Quinn watched the action again before shaking her head violently. "No, no way. I warned her about the Puckerman's on Thanksgiving. Actually, she was the one who reminded me of the drama's of messing with a Puckerman." Quinn pulled out her phone from her purse and with her head still shaking side to side, she began texting someone.

Santana smirked.

For a brief moment, Kurt completely forgot about how close Puck was sitting next to him when he caught sight of Blaine on the other side of the church, who waved at him. Kurt waved back politely but didn't ignore the fact that Tina was practically sitting on his lap.

"I swear to Mcqueen, if he is sleeping with her, I will hit the roof." Kurt mumbled when Blaine finally looked away. He wiped non existent dust off his thigh, huffed and look up front, where Finn looked rather pale. What the hell was going on there?

"Who?" Puck randomly asked, successfully breaking Kurt out of his inner brooding.

"Blaine and Tina." Kurt answered with a sigh. He was over Blaine, but it still hurt a bit seeing him so cosy with Tina. Oh dear sweet merciful Gaga, was Tina the one Blaine cheated with?

"Isn't he a homo though?" Puck frowned and then craned his neck to look over at the man in question.

"That's questionable." Kurt laughed bitterly. "Need I remind you of Rachel Berry's train wreck extravaganza? No that was mean. He is, but people do mad stuff at weddings."

Puck nodded his head slowly and hummed in agreement before saying the most mortifying line Kurt had ever heard. "Like staring at a straight man's goods knowing the straight man can't kick his ass because they are at a wedding?" it was said rather harshly and emphasis was put on the word 'Straight' both times.

Kurt could of died right there, in fact, he would happily welcome it. He couldn't even play it casual because of the stupid crimson blush that he was currently sporting was a dead give-away. He couldn't even look at Puck without feeling like he was going to explode. So he didn't. instead, he choose to sit ramrod straight and watch Mercedes make her way up to the front of the church before seeing Artie get turned down by a girl in a wheelchair, who's dress coincidently matched Kurt's blush perfectly. There was plenty of excuses and lies that played over in Kurt's head that he could possibly use to justice the ogling, but he was too mortified to speak.

"Hey." Puck said and nudged Kurt, rather forcefully, in the ribs. "I'm only teasing, no need to cry." the embarrassment was kicked up a notch when Kurt realized he really did have tears in his eyes. They weren't tears of sadness though, more like tears of frustration and humiliation. "I wouldn't really kick your ass, Hummel. Jeez!" Puck sounded really pissed off for some reason, but Kurt's brain was on too much of a melt down to try figure out why at the moment. "But in future, keep your eyes off the prize or else my girlfriend would beat your face in." it sounded like he was smirking, but Kurt didn't know as he still refused to look at him.

"Girlfriend?" Kurt asked, and praised himself mentally for sounding so nonchalant about the whole horrific ordeal.

"Yeah, don't know if you've heard of her. Kitty Wilde."

Humiliation, embarrassment and blush gone, Kurt snapped his head up at Puck to see if the man was joking. His serious face showed he wasn't. "Kitty Wilde, as in 16 year old, Robyn Sylvester babysitter, Quinn clone, Bulimic inducing, evil bitch, ex of your brother Kitty Wilde?"

"The very same." Puck said in an annoyed tone. Ewww, was he seriously defending her?

"That's gross." Kurt commented as he dug his phone out of his pants pocket and tapped a quick text to Santana.

"Go fuck yourself, Hummel" Puck spat venomously and turned around to engage Brittany and Sam in a conversation.

"Looks like I'm gonna have to." Kurt mumbled to himself.

He was completely frustrated, and at himself more than anything. How could he forget what an ass Puckerman was, simply because he looked absolutely edible right now. Puck was a Lima Loser bully who wasn't nearly good enough for Kurt, one time fling or not. He was out of the game. He may hate that trash talking cheerleader, but Kurt was not into cheaters (ask Blaine) and he wouldn't help someone else become one. He would indeed have to take Puck's advice and fuck himself.

His phone vibrated in his hand and looking down, he saw Santana's reply.

No - S

He frowned at the message briefly before he felt a tap on his shoulder. Looking up, he saw the groom, Mr. Schuester smiling at him and thanking him for attending or something, Kurt wasn't too sure, his mind was racing about a mile a minute. But he smiled politely up at his old music teacher and it seemed to do the job in making the man move on to thank Puck.

Puck, who had previously looked extremely fucked off, dropped his grumpy attitude to exchange a few kind words with the groom, which involved a handshake that had Kurt involuntary biting his lip. Prada, those hands looked so hot and strong wrapped round Mr. Shue's, Gucci knows what they would look like wrapped around his leaking, eager cock. Kurt sighed at the things that would never be and deflated unattractively in his seat and pouted. Fuck my life.

As soon as Mr. Shue moved on to Sam and Brittany, Puck dug out his phone from his jacket and looked at the screen hard for a second before scoffing.

"Looks like I'm single again." he mumbled, loud enough for Kurt to hear. The volume of his voice (which didn't sound upset at all and actually sounded kind of relieved, or maybe Kurt was looking too far into things) sounded like he intentionally wanted Kurt to hear. At least that's what the New Yorker let himself believe.

Looks like I'm back in the game again.

Kurt smirked.

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