Don't Fade Away
Prompt: This one at the meme by beckingham
Chapter: 1/1
Warning: None, really.
Character: Puck/Rachel
Word Count: 9,000-ish
Disclaimer: Don't own.
She's having a rough time. Still, he didn't think when she moved back to Lima that she'd spend all her time locked in her house. Yeah, it's winter and it's cold, but shit, the girl needs some damn sunlight.
No, he really shouldn't care. She dropped him so fucking fast his head spun. She was going to New York and he was going nowhere, doing nothing. They'd dated for a good half of senior year, and then she told him they'd never really work out anyway, kissed him on the cheek and wished him luck. He didn't really have any say in the matter, and she was probably right, so he didn't fight her on it, even if he really wanted to at the time.
He should have known that even if she wasn't choosing Finn, she'd never really choose him either. She's too good for all of them, too good for this whole fucking town, and it's taken him a couple years, but he sees that now.
He hasn't done too badly for himself. He sells cars on the south side of town, where all the rich people live. He's awesome at what he does because women want him and guys want to be him. Well, that was how it started out. Now he's just the best in town because he knows what he's doing and he's got a reputation for being a good guy.
Weird, right?
He bought a house near his mom's, which he regrets on a daily fucking basis, because she seems to always find reasons to 'drop by on her way home from work'. Now that his sister's old enough to realize the woman's insane, she practically lives in his spare room on weekends when she's not out with her friends.
He's got women. Not girlfriends, but women he knows who he hangs out with sometimes. Not even just for sex. He has Santana (sometimes Brittany) for that when she comes home from Cleveland for visits. He and Tina had a thing for a while after high school, since she deferred a year and worked as a receptionist at Mercedes' dad's dentist's office. But that kind of ended when she took off to backpack Asia with Matt and Mike. No, he doesn't want to know the details of that trip.
He's only seen Rachel a couple times since she came back, but it was nice, talking with her. Once was at temple (his nana died a few years back, so he's taken up going with his mom now) and once was at the local gym. She looks good, even if her eyes are a little dead and she's too skinny. If she'd fucking smile every now and again, he thinks she'd be more gorgeous than she used to be.
He doesn't believe in shit like 'the one that got away', but if he did, Rachel would probably be his. Quinn and Sam are married and so fucking perfect it practically makes him sick. Finn's seeing some girl he met on a skiing trip to Whistler. She lives in Seattle, so that's some long fucking distance, but whatever; dude's life is his own and Puck isn't going to judge.
No one really thought Rachel'd get married before she took the universe by storm.
The guy was a graphic designer or something, which is totally not what Puck expected. If anything, he thought she'd find Jesse St. James' less-of-a-dick clone. That seemed to be her type, if the dude she dated from Dalton for the last half of junior year and the entire summer after was any indication. Guy had floppy hair and a bit of a singing voice and treated her like gold until he fucked another girl. It's a wonder she doesn't have a complex about that kind of thing.
Granted, he doesn't really know a whole lot about her at this point.
Maybe he would if she'd step outside her fucking house.
He shows up one day with a four pack of those girly drinks she probably likes and his car keys in his hand. She's wearing a pair of jeans that are too big for her, a sweatshirt that's definitely not hers, and absolutely no makeup.
"Come on."
"I'm not going anywhere with you."
"Then let me in," he says. He puts his hand on the door to keep her from closing it in his face. She looks at him blankly. "Come on. You need to see the real world."
She glares at him and he's actually a little scared. "Lima fucking Ohio is not the real world," she spits out. He's never heard her swear. Ever. "I've seen the real world and it's awful. Leave me alone."
So yeah, he lets her slam the door on him just because he thinks she needs to take out her aggression on something.
He knows she must be pretty fucked up over her husband dying, but shit, she needs to start letting it go. It's been six months or something, he hears.
... ... ...
He gets her a pair of MMA gloves and hands them to her wordlessly the next time he sees her at the gym. She looks at him like he's crazy (or she hates him) and he points her in the direction of the punching bags.
He's on the treadmill a couple days later and she's wailing on a speed bag, covered in sweat, with a determined look on her face. He doesn't go over to talk to her, but that's mostly because she looks like she'll start hitting anything that moves.
... ... ...
"You sell cars," she says to him randomly. He's picking up some steaks to barbecue (fuck February; he barbecues year round) and she sneaks up on him. She doesn't scare him, since she's tiny and stuff, but Jesus. She could announce herself or something.
"Yeah."
"I need one."
"Okay."
She lets out a huff and puts her hands on her hips. "Well, do you intend to help me or not?" she asks.
He grins, pushes her sweater aside at the neck and slips his business card underneath her bra strap. She's still standing there with her mouth gaping as he walks away.
... ... ...
She actually looks like a human being when she comes to the dealership. She's wearing a black skirt that's practically three feet (or, you know, five inches) longer than the ones she used to wear, and her purple sweater covers more skin than he thinks she should. But fuck, she's skinny. Like, she needs to start eating meat or something and bulk up again. She doesn't really look healthy. Maybe he shouldn't be encouraging her to spend hours at the gym punching shit.
"Hi," she says as she walks up to his cubicle.
"Do you have an appointment?" he teases.
She rolls her eyes and puts her hands on her hips. "I haven't got time for your games."
He laughs and shakes his head. "Wouldn't hurt you to play around a little bit, Rachel," he tells her. He's not kidding. "You even remember how to smile?"
"Will you just show me some cars, please?" she asks.
She sounds all sad and defeated. It really isn't right. He remembers when she was going a hundred miles a minute and no one could keep up with her. Sometimes he thinks they only dated because he was the one who came closest.
They test drive a few cars and she hates all of them. One of them has 'bad cupholders' and another doesn't have lights in the vanity mirror. Apparently those things are deal breakers. He shows her a small crossover SUV and she's spewing shit about gas mileage like he's never heard of the concept before in his life. There's a sporty little convertible under an inch of snow at the back of the lot, and he grabs the keys from inside and takes her to it. It's bright red and she bites her lip as she looks at it, and he's been doing this long enough to know he has the sale before he's even unlocked the doors.
They drive it off the lot and she comments on how comfortable the seat is, and that she likes how it handles (she's probably talking shit, but he doesn't mind listening). She accelerates quickly away from a stop light, and maybe it's not much, but he sees her grinning.
"You look very nice in that tie, by the way," she says to him, like he cares what she thinks of his clothes and not the money she's going to hand over when they get back to the dealership.
"Yeah. Thanks."
"Why do you say that like you know and my pointing it out means nothing?"
He laughs a little and looks at her. "Have you seen me? Of course I look good in a tie." She chuckles and signals to turn back into the dealership lot. "So, you want it?"
"I beg your pardon?"
He grins at her. Good to know she's not totally closing up shop on the sex thing. "The car."
"Oh. Yes. Yes, I want it," she says quickly. Cute that she thinks that'll make him forget about what she just implied. "I don't have a lot of money. I don't have any money, actually. Can we set up a very simple payment plan?"
"'S'the idea," he tells her as they get out of the car. He lets her hold onto the keys, even if he can't let her drive off the lot with the car today.
They get the paperwork sorted out, and as he takes it to the financial department, he sees her toying with the necklace she always wears.
He gives her a time to come pick up the car, after it's detailed and all that and she's sorted out her insurance, and she smiles and thanks him, then tells him she'll see him at temple.
He wasn't going to go this week, but now he kind of has to, doesn't he?
... ... ...
"So," he asks her in the parking lot after service. "What happened to all your money?"
She turns around and glares at him. "I don't see how that's any of your business at all, actually."
"You brought it up," he reminds her.
She lets out a sigh and keeps walking. He doesn't know where she's walking to. Is she walking home? Jesus, it's freezing out and she's wearing heels and lives at least a half hour walk away.
"New York happened," she says. She leaves it at that and he grabs onto the back of her jacket. She sputters a little and turns around. "What?"
"Come on. I'll drive you home."
She looks like she doesn't want to let him but doesn't have any other choice.
... ... ...
When she comes to get her car, he tells her she should buy him dinner for all his help.
She puts her hand on his hip and tells him he should be buying the meal with the commission he just got from her.
She wins that (every) argument.
So they sit across from one another at this Italian restaurant he knows she's always loved. She sips her wine slowly, like it might be poison or something and she needs to check, and picks at her food as they talk and catch up. He knows this trick. Most of the women he dates pull this trick. They push food around on their plates and make it look like they're eating. He knows most of them do it because they don't want to talk with their mouths full or get something in their teeth.
Puck honestly just thinks she's not eating.
He drops his fork and sits back in his chair, and she looks at him like he's crazy.
"I'm not eating another bite until you do."
She stares at him, then opens her mouth like she's going to say something. He just raises his brow at her as if to ask if she's really going to go up against him on this, then she puts a forkful of lasagna in her mouth and chews carefully. By her third bite he's feeling better, so he starts eating again and she practically glares at him for the rest of the meal.
"Maybe you should eat with me more often," he tells her as he drops a few bills on the table.
"Why would that be?" she asks. He can tell she has no intentions of doing it. "I can assure you I won't act the same way as other women do when you spend a couple dollars on them."
Okay, that's kind of shitty of her. How can she just assume that he uses money to bed women? Or that it's all he does.
Whatever.
He doesn't want to fight with her, so he ignores all that.
"So I can make sure you actually eat."
She looks at him blankly again. He kind of likes this thing he has going where he gets her all speechless. It wasn't ever that easy to do.
"I eat."
He stands up and watches as she puts her coat on. Her waist is so small he's wondering if he could circle it with both hands, and her collarbone is practically protruding.
"Sure you do. Like a bird. Birds are tiny."
"You're a very irritating and annoying man," she tells him. He reaches out, just because he wants to, and puts his hands on her waist. (No, really, he's curious, okay?) "What are you doing?"
"Nothing. And it's kind of funny for you to call someone annoying," he tells her. He laughs when she lets out a huff. She takes his hands off her body and turns on one heel to make her way to the door.
"You know," she says when they're outside, "you're the only one on the planet who isn't treating me with a little compassion."
"Why the hell would I?"
"Are you kidding me?" she shouts. He likes this, her yelling, acting like she's got emotions and, you know, a soul. "My husband died!"
"Yeah, and that blows," he tells her. It does. He feels bad for her, and it sucks, and he kind of wishes she didn't have to go through any of it. "But it's fucking weighing you down, and you're better than that."
"You don't know what you're talking about," she tells him lowly. The way she's looking at him is like a warning not to push her, but he never really was good with things like that.
"I know you used to be so fucking ambitious that you left me in a dust cloud and ran off to do your own thing," he says. That shit's true and she knows it. "So what the fuck are you doing back here, wasting away doing nothing instead of actually living your fucking life? Not that I knew your husband, but I'm pretty sure the guy wouldn't want to know that you're living in your sweat pants and fucking up your life."
She slaps him hard, and he kind of expected it. He knows her well enough to know that if you want her to do something, anything, you have to get right under her skin and force her into it. And until that happens, she's going to resist it. It all has to seem like it's her idea, or she won't do it.
"You don't know anything about him," she says. He can hear the waver in her voice. She's about to cry, but she needs a fucking wake up call. "Don't talk about him again."
"Or what?" he asks. He takes a step closer to her, just to see what she'll do. She's intimidated, he can see, and that's kind of what he was going for. "You wanna hit me again?"
She lets out a quick breath, then takes another right away. She's looking up at him and he knows she's about to break down. He wants her to. He wants to see what she's like when she's not pretending she's tougher than she is.
"You don't want to know what I want," she says.
She turns around and walks to her car, and he lets her go because maybe he's pushed her enough for one night.
... ... ...
She doesn't talk to him for two weeks, not one word, and he realizes maybe he went too far.
... ... ...
He stops by her place. Her dad's place. The house she grew up in and now lives in again. He hasn't been here in a few years, not since her dads had a Seder and invited him and his mom made him go. (It's not like he wanted to walk back into the house he spent most of his senior year at. Seeing her dads around was one thing, but being forced to remember how good it felt to have her pressed beneath him on the sofa is totally another.)
Now he's got her dad leading him through to the kitchen and saying something about freshly pressed coffee. And Rachel's sitting at the table, cradling a mug in her hands and looking at him like he's a complete asshole for showing up at her house uninvited. But her dad's pretty welcoming and he owns the place, so whatever.
"I thought I was making it clear that I don't want to see you," she says. If he was a lesser man or whatever, he'd probably be scared of the glare she gives him.
"Figured that when you slapped me."
"Rachel!" her dad gasps.
She looks embarrassed or something. Maybe because her dad just scolded her like a child.
"It's alright," Puck says. He sits down across from her and folds his arms over his chest.
"Daddy, could you give us a minute?" she asks.
Her dad laughs and pats Puck on the shoulder a couple times. She doesn't look happy. "I don't know. He may need a witness."
She actually smirks (which Puck can't help but think is sexy) and eyes him. "If I hit him, I promise it'll be bluntly."
Puck doesn't know how that makes any sense, but it makes her dad laugh as he leaves the room.
"You about done?" Puck asks once they're alone.
"Done what, exactly?"
He takes a sip of the coffee her dad set in front of him and watches her watch him. "Being pissed at me for being the only one with the balls to be real with you."
She scoffs at him. "I didn't realize implying I'm tarnishing my late husband's memory by taking time to sort out my life took 'balls'," she says, and she sounds pretty serious and a little rehearsed, so he wonders how much she's thought about him and what she'd say next.
"Look, Rach," he says (feels weird to call her that right now; he only ever did it when they were together). "I'm not going to be a dick."
"You are."
"I'm just trying to get you out of your fucking sweat pants."
She giggles a little, then covers her mouth with her hand as she looks at him. "You didn't mean it like that," she states needlessly.
And no, he didn't really, but he wouldn't tell her to put clothes back on if she started taking them off.
He's just saying.
"Are we stumbling on your sense of humour here?" he asks, grinning at her. "'Cause it's about fucking time."
"I've never really been funny," she says, still smiling.
No lie, she looks fucking beautiful when she smiles.
"You always made me laugh," he says with a shrug.
"At me."
"Not every time." She laughs and he sips his coffee and watches her.
"Why are you taking it upon yourself to do this?" she asks, playing with the edge of her place mat instead of looking at him.
"You see anyone else doing it?" She looks at him, then lets out a sigh. "Guess I've always just had a soft spot for you or something."
She smiles at him again. He's really starting to like it when she does that. "Really?" She says it like he's ever been able to lie to her. Which he hasn't. "I could thank you."
He laughs loudly. "You could."
"I'm not going to yet," she tells him. He shrugs. "But maybe I could go change and we could do something together," she suggests. She's looking at him like he might say no.
He brings his mug to his lips and smirks at her a little proudly. "I'll wait here."
They don't do anything ground-breaking. It's frigid outside, so they grab some snacks to smuggle into a movie, and he lets her pick what they see. After, she admits Ben Stiller's not nearly as funny as he used to be, and Puck's wondering if that little glimmer in her eye is supposed to be some kind of nostalgia over the time they watched the one where the guy plays a rabbi. He thinks it is.
When he drops her back at home she asks if his number is still the same, then smiles a little bit when he says yes. She catches herself before she thanks him, but he totally knows she was going to.
... ... ...
"You talked about him yet?" he asks over dinner one night. They're at this kick ass all you can eat Chinese place. He can eat more than she can, apparently.
"I don't understand."
He pops another chicken ball into his mouth and she looks annoyed to have to wait until he's finished chewing. (Hey, he's got some manners.) "Talked about him. Casually or whatever. Like, not about him dying."
She thinks about it for a second, then looks down at the table and shakes her head. "No."
He doesn't say anything else to her about it. He knows she needs a little help with the moving on. He's just going to keep giving her ideas and she can keep figuring out whether or not they're good ones.
... ... ...
He has his own place and everything, but she keeps inviting him to hers. Usually her dads aren't around, but sometimes they are. She's an adult so they don't watch over them like they used to, but sometimes Puck still wonders what they're really thinking about his friendship with their daughter.
He brought her lunch. He wasn't really joking about the eating thing. She tells him she's going to be fat if he keeps bringing her Wendy's every time he comes over, but whatever. It's not every time, and she just eats salad and other vegetarian stuff anyway. She explained to him already that Joshua broke her of the vegan thing nearly immediately after they started dating. He'd taken her to his favourite pizza place and she was too polite to tell him she couldn't eat it. It was delicious anyway so she just ended up being vegetarian.
She still doesn't eat eggs on their own. Puck understands why she's got some issues there.
Anyway, they're in her room and she's picking away at a salad. He's already done his burger and fries, so he's laying on her bed with his feet hanging off the side. He doesn't know why; it just feels good.
"You know, sometimes he'd do things that reminded me of you."
He looks over at her. Not only is she talking about her husband, but she's bringing him into the conversation, and he doesn't know what to feel about that.
"Yeah?"
She nods a little. "He could swear," she explains. Puck laughs. "One time we were driving to see his parents and I swear I heard every curse in the book." He just grins at her and waits for more, because he knows she'll keep talking. "He didn't like to drive, really."
"Where'd his parents live?" he asks. He knows she trusts him and everything, but he wants her to get comfortable talking about the guy with him. She's been doing it a little bit lately.
"Pittsburgh."
"Ugh," he groans. "That place sucks."
She laughs and shakes her head. "No, it's lovely. I always liked it there." She says it kind of quietly, like there's something about the place and why she likes it so much that she's just never going to tell him. He doesn't mind. "Joshua also played guitar."
"Really?" He's surprised she never mentioned it before. "Any good?"
She smiles at him, then gives him a look like the answer is no, she just doesn't want to say it. "He really enjoyed it."
She switches topics and starts talking about Rosa Ross's birthday. They know this chick through temple and she's fucking annoying as shit, having this massive party the whole Jewish population of Lima is invited to. He doesn't want to go, but then Rachel starts talking about what dress she's going to wear, showing him things from her closet, and he figures there are worse things to do.
He's still wondering how else her husband reminded her of him, but he doesn't want to ask and he shouldn't really be so fucking curious about it.
... ... ...
He gets a little drunk at the party. That could be a problem, except Rachel agrees that it's the only way to make it through the thing, and she's drinking right along with him. She hasn't had as much, because she's tiny and can't hold her liquor. He still thinks she's fucking cute as hell, just like he thought the first time she got drunk and he was around to witness it. She was dating Finn at the time, and she wanted to know what beer tasted like. She had two, then part of another, and then Santana gave her a shot of vodka and Rachel was all cuddly with everyone. He remembers being their DD, her sitting in the middle of the front seat of his truck with Finn on the other side of her. She'd held both their hands, cuddled up next to him and then kissed his cheek and shouted, "I love you for driving us!" as Finn pulled her up the walkway to her house.
She's sitting next to him, across the room from where his mother is, and he can tell people are talking about them. He is who he is and Rachel's the towns new, young widow, and they're all probably saying he's sleeping with her or she's taking advantage of his generosity or some shit. At the end of the day, he doesn't give a fuck what any of these people think of him, but he knows Rachel does.
"Let's dance," she says, putting down her glass of gin and tonic. He gives her a look. "Noah, please?"
She bats her lashes, whether she means to or not, and he rolls his eyes and stands up. He tries to put his hands in his pockets as they walk to the dance floor, but Rachel starts walking backwards in front of him, takes his hands as she smiles at him and spews some random, useless fact about the song that's playing. He sets his hands on her hips, but she takes his left in her right and tells him to do it right. She's got this little scowl on her face and it's pretty fucking hard not to do what she tells you to do sometimes, okay?
"Hey, Rach?" he says partway through the song. "Who sings this again?"
She moves a little closer, like she's been waiting for a reason to do it or something. He doesn't need it, doesn't need to smell her perfume (Burberry, and he loves it more than he should) or feel her hair tickle his chin as she lets him lead.
"John Legend."
"'S'good." She lets out this little noise. It's partly a sigh and partly a mewl, and he swears she must be trying to kill him. "You know you look hot, right?"
She giggles and pulls away, looks up at him. "You've told me six times. Seven, now."
He grins at her and adjusts his hand over hers, squeezes a little. She squeezes back. "Just making sure."
At the end of the night, he leaves with his mom and Rachel leaves with her dads.
He feels like he's fucking sixteen again; him wanting her and her in love with someone who'll never be able to love her back the way she needs.
... ... ...
She calls him in the morning to complain about her hangover, like it's somehow his fault or something. He's got one, too, and he's laying in bed in an effort to make it all go away.
"You still have the ability to corrupt me, apparently," she says.
She's mostly joking, maybe, but it still makes him wonder about some things. And think of some dirty shit he never actually got to do with her.
She hangs up after saying she'll meet him for lunch tomorrow, and he can't stop thinking about her, which is a fucking problem, considering they're just friends. But he's thinking about the night before and how much fun they would have had if she'd let him get her out of that dress, and his hand slips under the covers before he can stop it.
Yeah, he definitely feels like a fucking teenager right now.
... ... ...
He didn't mean to be so blunt about it. They're just sitting at this Mexican place he loves in Cleveland after spending the day fucking around in the city (just to get away from Lima, to be honest) and he asks her when she lost her virginity and to whom, because it sure as hell wasn't him. The furthest he ever got with her was taking her shirt off, and if he tried to put his hand up her skirt, she clamped her legs shut so tight she almost broke his fingers.
She's just staring at him like she's not sure if she wants to answer, or maybe like she can't believe he actually had the nerve to ask this question in the first place.
He's just about to apologize and tell her she obviously doesn't have to tell him, when she says, "Finn," and he feels like he's going to puke up his chimichanga.
"What?"
She shrugs her shoulder and pushes her food around on her plate. "Christmas break of sophomore year of college. We were both home. He came over to catch up and..."
"And one thing led to another?" he mocks her. "What the fuck?"
He can tell she doesn't know why he's angry. He'd lie and say he doesn't know either, but fuck that.
"He admitted he'd always loved me. I needed to hear that."
"So you gave it up because you were insecure?" he asks. It's pretty low, but she doesn't back down.
"I gave myself to him because he made me feel desirable and cared for, and because I trusted him," she explains. "Not that you'd know anything about that."
He narrows his eyes at her. If they weren't in public, he'd be yelling. "That's a joke, right? 'Cause I spent half a damn year treating you like he never had the balls to, and you practically duct taped your panties on!"
That was a stupid thing to say, that last part. The first part's true.
"You treated me wonderfully," she concedes. He's kind of surprised she's staying so calm right now, but she's not quite as dramatic as she used to be, so maybe he should have expected it. "I just wasn't ready."
They're being honest, here, and he can't stop himself now. "I wanted it so badly."
She nearly chokes on her rice. "What?"
"You. Your virginity. Fuck, I wanted it." He doesn't know why he's saying this shit. It'll just make her all uncomfortable and everything. She's looking at him and her eyes are kind of soft or whatever, but he can tell she doesn't know what to say.
"Because you were collecting them from all the girls," she mentions quietly.
He pushes her foot with his under the table. "Because I really liked you and like, cared and stuff."
She pushes his foot back, barely smiles and sips her margarita. "It's funny that you still sound like a kid when you talk about your emotions." He shrugs his shoulder. He figures she's not too pissed, since she's still sitting here and absolutely busting his balls over this. "Truthfully, I wish I'd waited." Not what he wanted to hear. "Finn and I tried after, the long distance and...It was quiet because neither of us..." She sighs and looks up at him. "I met Joshua in April and Finn and I stopped trying so hard."
"'D'you fuck him more than once?"
"Why are you so fixated on my sexual past?"
He talks without thinking, says, "Because I want to be part of it," and she swallows thickly and he watches her blush.
They stop talking about it, because he knows she's uncomfortable and he doesn't want to push her any harder.
But he knows she only slept with Finn once and then the only person she ever had other than that was her husband.
It's pretty fucking intimidating, to be honest.
... ... ...
He stops by after work one night because she's been talking about going to see some movie and he figures he can take her. She's in her pajamas playing Scrabble (no joke) with her dads, and she jumps up and says she'll go change.
One of her dads goes to open a bottle of wine, and the other just looks at Puck until he sits down in the chair Rachel left.
"Be careful with her heart," he says.
Puck's a little fucking confused, because it's pretty obvious he doesn't have her heart. He has nothing, actually. Not that he necessarily likes it, because most days he feels like she's a step away from being his girlfriend or something. But this warning or whatever the hell it is doesn't really feel necessary.
"I don't think..."
"She's not like she used to be," her dad says. "She doesn't just fall in and think she's invincible."
"I know," Puck says seriously, because it's true and it's not exactly a secret. "I'm not trying to..."
"Noah," the guy says, fixing him with a look, "yes, you are."
Rachel comes down the stairs tucking her necklace under the neck of her tee shirt, and Puck takes a second to stop and think if he's really that transparent.
Also, when the hell did he start wanting her like, all the time?
... ... ...
He's kind of fixated on that spot on the inside of her thigh. She's sitting a few feet away and her legs are crossed, her dress riding up, and all he wants to do is clear everyone else out of the room, push her legs apart, and kiss that spot and up between her legs.
He doesn't know where she got that dress, but fuck, it was worth every penny of however much she spent on it. There's a zipper that goes all the way down the front, and she doesn't usually wear a lot of black, but he's having a hard time trying to figure out why.
She uncrosses then recrosses her legs, and he takes a sip of his cold beer because it's way too fucking hot in here right now. He can't even remember who or what the fuck this party is for. All he knows is that he wants her, badly, and she has no fucking clue.
She ends up driving him home. He's not drunk or anything, but he's had too much to drive, obviously, and she offers.
She parks in his driveway and cuts the engine. He'd ask why, but he doesn't care, just pulls his keys from the pocket of his pants as they walk up the walkway to his house.
"Wanna come in?" he asks, instead of telling her he doesn't need help. "Coffee or something?"
"Sure."
They're not going to have coffee. 'Coffee' is the universal euphemism for sex in situations like this. You know, where she's wearing a hot dress and he's had enough to drink to think it's a really good idea to just pull that zipper down and let her dress fall to the floor.
Genius plan.
He turns around and faces her after he shuts the door. She puts her hand on his shoulder and slips her feet out of her heels, hissing in pain and massaging her arch.
"Why do you wear them if they hurt?"
He'll never understand.
"Because they look good," she answers easily. He rolls his eyes and she giggles.
But he can't argue with that, really.
"You wanna watch something?" She shrugs her shoulder and looks at him. He swears she's, like, inviting him to fuck her or something. "Drink?"
"I shouldn't."
He grins and steps into the kitchen. She follows. "Lots of things you shouldn't do, Rach. They're always the most fun ones."
He sounds like a fucked up Yoda or some shit, but whatever. He's pouring her less than a half an ounce of whiskey.
She laughs a little and takes the glass from him. "I suppose a little won't hurt." He taps his glass against hers and winks. Fuckin' right. He's watching her throat as she takes a sip. She winces a little, but brushes it off. "Did you have fun tonight?"
He shrugs his shoulder and leans back against the counter. "Boring."
"Thank you!" she cries laughingly. "I thought I was going to fall asleep." He smiles at her. She's fucking gorgeous. "But I kind of wanted an excuse to wear this dress."
He sips his drink, looks her up and down. "It's a good dress." She smiles and smoothes her hand over her thigh. "Really good dress."
She takes another sip of her drink, then steps towards him and sets her glass on the counter next to him. "I should go," she says, glancing at the clock. It's barely midnight.
"Naw," he insists. He reaches out for the zipper between her tits, tugs it down a millimeter or two. "You should stay."
She sighs, but doesn't move away, and she definitely could. "Noah," she whispers. He tugs the zipper a little more. "You shouldn't."
"Why not?"
Her lips part a little. He licks his. She puts her hand on his chest and it's fucking over. He's gotta kiss her and she totally wants him to.
He's leaning back against the counter with his legs parted a little, so he pulls her between them. He lets go of her zipper so he can touch other parts of her, then presses his lips to hers because he knows she's not going to kiss him first. She just won't do it.
He can tell she hasn't been kissed in a while. Obviously he knows it, but he can really tell. Now, he's not going to say that to her, because that'd be really shitty of him or whatever. And then he realizes that the last person she kissed was the only person she kissed for years, and for a second he feels guilty. Then he feels her lips under his tongue. She parts them for him and his hand slides down from the back of her head, over the side of her neck. She mewls into his mouth and melts against him a little, shirt fisted in her hands.
He's still thinking about that zipper. His hand starts to move again, sliding down her neck, over her collarbone and down to...
She freezes, pushes at his chest and steps away, avoiding his eyes and touching her lips with her fingertips.
What the fuck just happened here?
"What's wrong?"
"I...can't. I can't."
He's just looking at her, kind of stunned, until he sees her slip the tip of her index finger through the ring that hangs from a chain around her neck. It's too big for her, obviously not hers. Obviously Joshua's.
"Rachel."
"I'm sorry," she interrupts him. She shakes her head and doesn't take her hand away from the ring. "I can't. It's too much. Too soon. You're...You and I are friends, but I'm still..."
He reaches out and touches her shoulders. He's a little surprised she doesn't pull away or tell him not to.
He wants to argue with her. It's been close to a year now since her husband died. He knows there's no timeline on getting over it or anything, but he thought she was making progress. Now he thinks she was just faking it. He's wondering what the fuck that means for him, because since they started this friendship, he's basically been ignoring all other women, and that's kind of a big deal.
"Go, then," he tells her. He reaches for the zipper and pulls it back up. Not like it's a big deal, but it's like, symbolic or something.
"I'm sorry, Noah. I don't want..."
"It's fine." No, it's not. "I can handle it."
He doesn't play it down like it's nothing, because it's not and he's emotionally evolved enough (that's what his mom says) to not pretend.
He wants her and she's still acting like she's married to someone else. As he hears her car pull away, he pours himself another glass of whiskey. He thinks of calling up someone he knows, someone to take the edge off, but he just pulls off his shirt, lets his pants drop to the floor and parks himself in front of the television until he's drunk enough that his mind shuts off a little bit. When his head hits the pillow he falls asleep easily, and he can only just barely still taste her if he tries.
... ... ...
He volunteers to go to Chicago and pick up a car for a customer. Yes, the dealership has people to do this shit, and no, he doesn't really want to go. He just needs to get the hell away from Lima for a day. Rachel's all in his head. She has been for a while and he didn't care, really, but now he's kissed her and he wants to do it again, only he knows he can't.
He gives his mom the heads up that he's gonna be out of town so she doesn't call the police or some shit when she doesn't see his car in his driveway. She tells him to be careful and 'clear his head' and he seriously wonders if she actually does know everything. Or has hidden cameras in his house.
The drive back sucks. He can't even enjoy that he's in a V12 Mercedes, because it's raining hard and visibility is shit. He's listening to talk radio for weather updates. There are all sorts of road closures, he's just lucky he doesn't need to use any of them.
It's late when he gets back to Lima. It's practically a ghost town because of the weather, so he drops the car off at the dealership, gets into his own and heads for home.
There's a soaking wet Rachel sitting in her car in his driveway when he gets there. She doesn't get out, so he taps on the window before he heads for his door. No, he's not going to wait for her. It's cold and disgusting.
And he's still annoyed. It's not like she's called him to talk in the past couple days since she bailed on him after the party.
He leaves the door open, shrugs off his wet jacket and shoes, and tugs at his tie, and Rachel practically stumbles into the house. He'd ask her what she's doing here, but if he knows her - and he thinks he does - she'll tell him whether he asks or not.
"Why is it raining so hard?" she questions, all out of breath. He turns around and she's standing there in his foyer, drenched. He undoes the knot of his tie and lets it hang loose around his neck. "We need to talk." She shivers - like some kind of full body chill - and he rolls his eyes. "I waited outside a while. It seemed bittersweet or something, but then it got too cold," she explains.
"Smart move." She shivers again. He hates her for this. "Phones exist for a reason."
"Would you have answered?" Okay, probably not. He doesn't say anything. "That's what I thought," she mumbles. "Where were you?"
"Work."
"No, you weren't. I went to the dealership."
He has to grin a little. "D'you practice being a stalker, or..."
She laughs and waves her hand around for whatever reason. "Shut up."
She's freezing and he can see her nipples through her sweater. Talking isn't even in the top 50 list of things he wants to do with her right now.
"Jesus," he mutters. "Come on."
He starts towards his bedroom and looks over his shoulder when she doesn't follow him. "Noah, I..."
"Relax," he says. He sounds angry because he is. "I'm going to get you some dry clothes."
There's a shirt in his drawer that he knows will cover her. It's old and from high school, and maybe she wore it once or twice back then, too. And in his clean laundry pile there's a pair of blue and grey plaid pajama pants Hannah forgot the last time she stayed.
"Bathroom's down the hall," he tells her. She knows, obviously, but he needs to change, too, and she probably doesn't want to be here for that.
He doesn't know what the hell she's going to say to him. Probably some bullshit about wanting to be friends and hoping it's not awkward between them. To be honest, he's not in the mood to hear it. He's been her friend and he's done with that now, thanks anyway. She's the only girl ever that he's wanted this much from, and she likes to think he's not allowed.
He likes to think she's full of shit. So there.
He's in clean, dry jeans and a white tee shirt when he opens his bedroom door. She's leaning back against the wall in the hall. Her arms are up and twisting her hair before she slips an elastic around it. He needs to tell Hannah to stop leaving her shit at his house. Not only because he liked Rachel's hair better all down and wet.
Yeah, she really rocks that tee shirt.
He heads for the kitchen and she follows him, accepts the beer he offers her. She hands it back, though, and he rolls his eyes. The caps aren't that hard to get off, but she can never do it.
"I'm really sorry," she says before he's even given her drink back. "For...I think I freaked out a little bit."
He laughs quietly. "Little bit."
She blushes and ducks her head. He drinks his beer and watches her. "It's just been a long time since anyone...Noah, the last person I kissed was my husband the morning of the day he died." He nods. He knew this was coming, this conversation about the guy she married, and he isn't even mad about it, really. "I kissed him goodbye at the door and he died."
He furrows his brow as he looks at her. Is she implying this is some Kiss of Death bullshit? "Rachel, I'm not going to..."
She laughs, shakes her head. "I know. That's not...I'm telling you that I haven't kissed anyone in a long time, and then you just went and did it."
He tilts his head at her. "Were you really all that surprised?" he asks. "Come on, Rachel. I'm not friends with women. Just you."
She takes a tiny sip of her beer and looks at him with her lids lowered. "Are you trying to make me feel special?"
"Shut up." But yeah, she really is special. She knows that shit, too, so he's not going to say it. Sometimes he'll play her game when she fishes for compliments. Now's not one of those times. "I mean, unless I was reading the signs wrong, you were into it."
If her cheeks get any more pink he's going to start laughing. She's a grown woman and she's blushing just talking about a kiss. "I was."
"So why?"
He doesn't think he needs to elaborate and tell her exactly what he's asking. She'll know. Why did you run?
She bites her lip, leans back against his kitchen table. Yeah, that's totally not helping him resist the urge to push her back onto it and take that shirt off her.
"You scare me," she admits quietly. He almost doesn't hear her. It feels like a punch in the stomach. He scares her? "Because of the way I feel."
Oh. That's not so bad, he thinks.
"Okay," he says. There's probably more and he doesn't want to interrupt her.
"You don't understand," she accuses, shaking her head. He'd understand better if she'd fucking talk to him. "I loved Joshua. It was unreal how much." This isn't the shit he wants to hear. He already feels like the guy's on enough of a pedestal. "But if I fall for you, then what does that mean about my relationship with him?"
It's a little hard to concentrate on anything other than her saying she's falling for him.
"Are you?" he asks. It's important. It's really fucking important. "Falling for me?"
She sighs, looks away from him. "Maybe. I don't know. I'm fighting it," she admits. "I can't stand the thought of feeling like he was some kind of mistake or stepping stone."
"He wasn't," Puck says quickly. Fuck, he can't have her thinking that. She was married to the guy, he gets that, and she probably would have been with him forever if he hadn't died. He knows that, too. "Soulmates don't exist, Rach. You're acting like they do."
"I want them to," she pouts. He laughs a little and shakes his head at her. "It's romantic."
"It's stupid." He walks over to her, sets his beer on the table next to her and sets his hand on her hip. He's not pressed against her, barely even really close enough to touch her. "Stop fighting it."
"I don't want to forget him," she says quietly. Her hand runs down his chest and sits right in the middle of his stomach.
"So don't," he says, shrugging his shoulder.
"You're okay with that?" She looks up at him and it's like this whole thing rests on his answer to this question. Considering what he just said, she has to know he doesn't care.
Well, he cares, obviously, but it's not like he's going to tell her to never think about the guy ever again. If she starts comparing him to Joshua, he'll be pissed. He doesn't think she'd do that anyway, not really.
"Kinda just want to be with you," he tells her.
She lets out a breath like she's all relieved, then hops up on her toes and presses her lips to his. He's pretty sure she's trying to keep it light and delicate, but he's not really a light and delicate guy, now, is he? He sets both hands on her waist and kisses her again, a few times, until she's pulling away and looking up at him.
"You're cold," he says, moving his hands up and down her sides. And not only because it pulls the shirt up so he can see some skin.
"I know." She licks her lips and seems to relax a little. "Do you want to sit under a blanket on your couch and watch a movie of my choice?"
He laughs. "Not really," he answers honestly. "But alright."
She ends up falling asleep there, and her dad calls at like, 3:00 in the fucking morning asking where she is. She says she won't be home until mid-morning, and then after she's hung up, she asks if it's okay if she stays.
He can probably find some room.
... ... ...
The next time he sees her she's not wearing the necklace anymore. She's wearing a v-neck sweater, almost like she wants to show him she's taken the ring from around her neck. He doesn't mention it, but he thinks this is a step in the right direction.
"Your dad warned me," he tells her a few days later when they're drinking wine at his place.
"Did he?" He nods and she smiles a little. "Good. You should be careful with me."
He'd roll his eyes, but she looks way too amazing right now to make fun of her. "I'm good at being careful with you," he says. It almost sounds defensive, but it's not quite there.
She kisses him, lets her hand linger on his cheek. "I know you are."
"You can be as rough with me as you want to," he tells her when her attention is back on the movie he's not paying much attention to. She almost chokes on her drink. He laughs and she shakes her head at him.
"I'll keep that in mind," she says quietly.
She leans against him again and he plays with the hair at the back of her neck until she lets out this little purring noise and pulls away from him. He's finding all these little things that he can tell turn her on. They haven't slept together yet, but it's okay. He's just gonna remember all these things for when they do.
Maybe it's dumb - or impossible - but he wants to know her better than anyone.
Chapter: 1/1
Warning: None, really.
Character: Puck/Rachel
Word Count: 9,000-ish
Disclaimer: Don't own.
She's having a rough time. Still, he didn't think when she moved back to Lima that she'd spend all her time locked in her house. Yeah, it's winter and it's cold, but shit, the girl needs some damn sunlight.
No, he really shouldn't care. She dropped him so fucking fast his head spun. She was going to New York and he was going nowhere, doing nothing. They'd dated for a good half of senior year, and then she told him they'd never really work out anyway, kissed him on the cheek and wished him luck. He didn't really have any say in the matter, and she was probably right, so he didn't fight her on it, even if he really wanted to at the time.
He should have known that even if she wasn't choosing Finn, she'd never really choose him either. She's too good for all of them, too good for this whole fucking town, and it's taken him a couple years, but he sees that now.
He hasn't done too badly for himself. He sells cars on the south side of town, where all the rich people live. He's awesome at what he does because women want him and guys want to be him. Well, that was how it started out. Now he's just the best in town because he knows what he's doing and he's got a reputation for being a good guy.
Weird, right?
He bought a house near his mom's, which he regrets on a daily fucking basis, because she seems to always find reasons to 'drop by on her way home from work'. Now that his sister's old enough to realize the woman's insane, she practically lives in his spare room on weekends when she's not out with her friends.
He's got women. Not girlfriends, but women he knows who he hangs out with sometimes. Not even just for sex. He has Santana (sometimes Brittany) for that when she comes home from Cleveland for visits. He and Tina had a thing for a while after high school, since she deferred a year and worked as a receptionist at Mercedes' dad's dentist's office. But that kind of ended when she took off to backpack Asia with Matt and Mike. No, he doesn't want to know the details of that trip.
He's only seen Rachel a couple times since she came back, but it was nice, talking with her. Once was at temple (his nana died a few years back, so he's taken up going with his mom now) and once was at the local gym. She looks good, even if her eyes are a little dead and she's too skinny. If she'd fucking smile every now and again, he thinks she'd be more gorgeous than she used to be.
He doesn't believe in shit like 'the one that got away', but if he did, Rachel would probably be his. Quinn and Sam are married and so fucking perfect it practically makes him sick. Finn's seeing some girl he met on a skiing trip to Whistler. She lives in Seattle, so that's some long fucking distance, but whatever; dude's life is his own and Puck isn't going to judge.
No one really thought Rachel'd get married before she took the universe by storm.
The guy was a graphic designer or something, which is totally not what Puck expected. If anything, he thought she'd find Jesse St. James' less-of-a-dick clone. That seemed to be her type, if the dude she dated from Dalton for the last half of junior year and the entire summer after was any indication. Guy had floppy hair and a bit of a singing voice and treated her like gold until he fucked another girl. It's a wonder she doesn't have a complex about that kind of thing.
Granted, he doesn't really know a whole lot about her at this point.
Maybe he would if she'd step outside her fucking house.
He shows up one day with a four pack of those girly drinks she probably likes and his car keys in his hand. She's wearing a pair of jeans that are too big for her, a sweatshirt that's definitely not hers, and absolutely no makeup.
"Come on."
"I'm not going anywhere with you."
"Then let me in," he says. He puts his hand on the door to keep her from closing it in his face. She looks at him blankly. "Come on. You need to see the real world."
She glares at him and he's actually a little scared. "Lima fucking Ohio is not the real world," she spits out. He's never heard her swear. Ever. "I've seen the real world and it's awful. Leave me alone."
So yeah, he lets her slam the door on him just because he thinks she needs to take out her aggression on something.
He knows she must be pretty fucked up over her husband dying, but shit, she needs to start letting it go. It's been six months or something, he hears.
... ... ...
He gets her a pair of MMA gloves and hands them to her wordlessly the next time he sees her at the gym. She looks at him like he's crazy (or she hates him) and he points her in the direction of the punching bags.
He's on the treadmill a couple days later and she's wailing on a speed bag, covered in sweat, with a determined look on her face. He doesn't go over to talk to her, but that's mostly because she looks like she'll start hitting anything that moves.
... ... ...
"You sell cars," she says to him randomly. He's picking up some steaks to barbecue (fuck February; he barbecues year round) and she sneaks up on him. She doesn't scare him, since she's tiny and stuff, but Jesus. She could announce herself or something.
"Yeah."
"I need one."
"Okay."
She lets out a huff and puts her hands on her hips. "Well, do you intend to help me or not?" she asks.
He grins, pushes her sweater aside at the neck and slips his business card underneath her bra strap. She's still standing there with her mouth gaping as he walks away.
... ... ...
She actually looks like a human being when she comes to the dealership. She's wearing a black skirt that's practically three feet (or, you know, five inches) longer than the ones she used to wear, and her purple sweater covers more skin than he thinks she should. But fuck, she's skinny. Like, she needs to start eating meat or something and bulk up again. She doesn't really look healthy. Maybe he shouldn't be encouraging her to spend hours at the gym punching shit.
"Hi," she says as she walks up to his cubicle.
"Do you have an appointment?" he teases.
She rolls her eyes and puts her hands on her hips. "I haven't got time for your games."
He laughs and shakes his head. "Wouldn't hurt you to play around a little bit, Rachel," he tells her. He's not kidding. "You even remember how to smile?"
"Will you just show me some cars, please?" she asks.
She sounds all sad and defeated. It really isn't right. He remembers when she was going a hundred miles a minute and no one could keep up with her. Sometimes he thinks they only dated because he was the one who came closest.
They test drive a few cars and she hates all of them. One of them has 'bad cupholders' and another doesn't have lights in the vanity mirror. Apparently those things are deal breakers. He shows her a small crossover SUV and she's spewing shit about gas mileage like he's never heard of the concept before in his life. There's a sporty little convertible under an inch of snow at the back of the lot, and he grabs the keys from inside and takes her to it. It's bright red and she bites her lip as she looks at it, and he's been doing this long enough to know he has the sale before he's even unlocked the doors.
They drive it off the lot and she comments on how comfortable the seat is, and that she likes how it handles (she's probably talking shit, but he doesn't mind listening). She accelerates quickly away from a stop light, and maybe it's not much, but he sees her grinning.
"You look very nice in that tie, by the way," she says to him, like he cares what she thinks of his clothes and not the money she's going to hand over when they get back to the dealership.
"Yeah. Thanks."
"Why do you say that like you know and my pointing it out means nothing?"
He laughs a little and looks at her. "Have you seen me? Of course I look good in a tie." She chuckles and signals to turn back into the dealership lot. "So, you want it?"
"I beg your pardon?"
He grins at her. Good to know she's not totally closing up shop on the sex thing. "The car."
"Oh. Yes. Yes, I want it," she says quickly. Cute that she thinks that'll make him forget about what she just implied. "I don't have a lot of money. I don't have any money, actually. Can we set up a very simple payment plan?"
"'S'the idea," he tells her as they get out of the car. He lets her hold onto the keys, even if he can't let her drive off the lot with the car today.
They get the paperwork sorted out, and as he takes it to the financial department, he sees her toying with the necklace she always wears.
He gives her a time to come pick up the car, after it's detailed and all that and she's sorted out her insurance, and she smiles and thanks him, then tells him she'll see him at temple.
He wasn't going to go this week, but now he kind of has to, doesn't he?
... ... ...
"So," he asks her in the parking lot after service. "What happened to all your money?"
She turns around and glares at him. "I don't see how that's any of your business at all, actually."
"You brought it up," he reminds her.
She lets out a sigh and keeps walking. He doesn't know where she's walking to. Is she walking home? Jesus, it's freezing out and she's wearing heels and lives at least a half hour walk away.
"New York happened," she says. She leaves it at that and he grabs onto the back of her jacket. She sputters a little and turns around. "What?"
"Come on. I'll drive you home."
She looks like she doesn't want to let him but doesn't have any other choice.
... ... ...
When she comes to get her car, he tells her she should buy him dinner for all his help.
She puts her hand on his hip and tells him he should be buying the meal with the commission he just got from her.
She wins that (every) argument.
So they sit across from one another at this Italian restaurant he knows she's always loved. She sips her wine slowly, like it might be poison or something and she needs to check, and picks at her food as they talk and catch up. He knows this trick. Most of the women he dates pull this trick. They push food around on their plates and make it look like they're eating. He knows most of them do it because they don't want to talk with their mouths full or get something in their teeth.
Puck honestly just thinks she's not eating.
He drops his fork and sits back in his chair, and she looks at him like he's crazy.
"I'm not eating another bite until you do."
She stares at him, then opens her mouth like she's going to say something. He just raises his brow at her as if to ask if she's really going to go up against him on this, then she puts a forkful of lasagna in her mouth and chews carefully. By her third bite he's feeling better, so he starts eating again and she practically glares at him for the rest of the meal.
"Maybe you should eat with me more often," he tells her as he drops a few bills on the table.
"Why would that be?" she asks. He can tell she has no intentions of doing it. "I can assure you I won't act the same way as other women do when you spend a couple dollars on them."
Okay, that's kind of shitty of her. How can she just assume that he uses money to bed women? Or that it's all he does.
Whatever.
He doesn't want to fight with her, so he ignores all that.
"So I can make sure you actually eat."
She looks at him blankly again. He kind of likes this thing he has going where he gets her all speechless. It wasn't ever that easy to do.
"I eat."
He stands up and watches as she puts her coat on. Her waist is so small he's wondering if he could circle it with both hands, and her collarbone is practically protruding.
"Sure you do. Like a bird. Birds are tiny."
"You're a very irritating and annoying man," she tells him. He reaches out, just because he wants to, and puts his hands on her waist. (No, really, he's curious, okay?) "What are you doing?"
"Nothing. And it's kind of funny for you to call someone annoying," he tells her. He laughs when she lets out a huff. She takes his hands off her body and turns on one heel to make her way to the door.
"You know," she says when they're outside, "you're the only one on the planet who isn't treating me with a little compassion."
"Why the hell would I?"
"Are you kidding me?" she shouts. He likes this, her yelling, acting like she's got emotions and, you know, a soul. "My husband died!"
"Yeah, and that blows," he tells her. It does. He feels bad for her, and it sucks, and he kind of wishes she didn't have to go through any of it. "But it's fucking weighing you down, and you're better than that."
"You don't know what you're talking about," she tells him lowly. The way she's looking at him is like a warning not to push her, but he never really was good with things like that.
"I know you used to be so fucking ambitious that you left me in a dust cloud and ran off to do your own thing," he says. That shit's true and she knows it. "So what the fuck are you doing back here, wasting away doing nothing instead of actually living your fucking life? Not that I knew your husband, but I'm pretty sure the guy wouldn't want to know that you're living in your sweat pants and fucking up your life."
She slaps him hard, and he kind of expected it. He knows her well enough to know that if you want her to do something, anything, you have to get right under her skin and force her into it. And until that happens, she's going to resist it. It all has to seem like it's her idea, or she won't do it.
"You don't know anything about him," she says. He can hear the waver in her voice. She's about to cry, but she needs a fucking wake up call. "Don't talk about him again."
"Or what?" he asks. He takes a step closer to her, just to see what she'll do. She's intimidated, he can see, and that's kind of what he was going for. "You wanna hit me again?"
She lets out a quick breath, then takes another right away. She's looking up at him and he knows she's about to break down. He wants her to. He wants to see what she's like when she's not pretending she's tougher than she is.
"You don't want to know what I want," she says.
She turns around and walks to her car, and he lets her go because maybe he's pushed her enough for one night.
... ... ...
She doesn't talk to him for two weeks, not one word, and he realizes maybe he went too far.
... ... ...
He stops by her place. Her dad's place. The house she grew up in and now lives in again. He hasn't been here in a few years, not since her dads had a Seder and invited him and his mom made him go. (It's not like he wanted to walk back into the house he spent most of his senior year at. Seeing her dads around was one thing, but being forced to remember how good it felt to have her pressed beneath him on the sofa is totally another.)
Now he's got her dad leading him through to the kitchen and saying something about freshly pressed coffee. And Rachel's sitting at the table, cradling a mug in her hands and looking at him like he's a complete asshole for showing up at her house uninvited. But her dad's pretty welcoming and he owns the place, so whatever.
"I thought I was making it clear that I don't want to see you," she says. If he was a lesser man or whatever, he'd probably be scared of the glare she gives him.
"Figured that when you slapped me."
"Rachel!" her dad gasps.
She looks embarrassed or something. Maybe because her dad just scolded her like a child.
"It's alright," Puck says. He sits down across from her and folds his arms over his chest.
"Daddy, could you give us a minute?" she asks.
Her dad laughs and pats Puck on the shoulder a couple times. She doesn't look happy. "I don't know. He may need a witness."
She actually smirks (which Puck can't help but think is sexy) and eyes him. "If I hit him, I promise it'll be bluntly."
Puck doesn't know how that makes any sense, but it makes her dad laugh as he leaves the room.
"You about done?" Puck asks once they're alone.
"Done what, exactly?"
He takes a sip of the coffee her dad set in front of him and watches her watch him. "Being pissed at me for being the only one with the balls to be real with you."
She scoffs at him. "I didn't realize implying I'm tarnishing my late husband's memory by taking time to sort out my life took 'balls'," she says, and she sounds pretty serious and a little rehearsed, so he wonders how much she's thought about him and what she'd say next.
"Look, Rach," he says (feels weird to call her that right now; he only ever did it when they were together). "I'm not going to be a dick."
"You are."
"I'm just trying to get you out of your fucking sweat pants."
She giggles a little, then covers her mouth with her hand as she looks at him. "You didn't mean it like that," she states needlessly.
And no, he didn't really, but he wouldn't tell her to put clothes back on if she started taking them off.
He's just saying.
"Are we stumbling on your sense of humour here?" he asks, grinning at her. "'Cause it's about fucking time."
"I've never really been funny," she says, still smiling.
No lie, she looks fucking beautiful when she smiles.
"You always made me laugh," he says with a shrug.
"At me."
"Not every time." She laughs and he sips his coffee and watches her.
"Why are you taking it upon yourself to do this?" she asks, playing with the edge of her place mat instead of looking at him.
"You see anyone else doing it?" She looks at him, then lets out a sigh. "Guess I've always just had a soft spot for you or something."
She smiles at him again. He's really starting to like it when she does that. "Really?" She says it like he's ever been able to lie to her. Which he hasn't. "I could thank you."
He laughs loudly. "You could."
"I'm not going to yet," she tells him. He shrugs. "But maybe I could go change and we could do something together," she suggests. She's looking at him like he might say no.
He brings his mug to his lips and smirks at her a little proudly. "I'll wait here."
They don't do anything ground-breaking. It's frigid outside, so they grab some snacks to smuggle into a movie, and he lets her pick what they see. After, she admits Ben Stiller's not nearly as funny as he used to be, and Puck's wondering if that little glimmer in her eye is supposed to be some kind of nostalgia over the time they watched the one where the guy plays a rabbi. He thinks it is.
When he drops her back at home she asks if his number is still the same, then smiles a little bit when he says yes. She catches herself before she thanks him, but he totally knows she was going to.
... ... ...
"You talked about him yet?" he asks over dinner one night. They're at this kick ass all you can eat Chinese place. He can eat more than she can, apparently.
"I don't understand."
He pops another chicken ball into his mouth and she looks annoyed to have to wait until he's finished chewing. (Hey, he's got some manners.) "Talked about him. Casually or whatever. Like, not about him dying."
She thinks about it for a second, then looks down at the table and shakes her head. "No."
He doesn't say anything else to her about it. He knows she needs a little help with the moving on. He's just going to keep giving her ideas and she can keep figuring out whether or not they're good ones.
... ... ...
He has his own place and everything, but she keeps inviting him to hers. Usually her dads aren't around, but sometimes they are. She's an adult so they don't watch over them like they used to, but sometimes Puck still wonders what they're really thinking about his friendship with their daughter.
He brought her lunch. He wasn't really joking about the eating thing. She tells him she's going to be fat if he keeps bringing her Wendy's every time he comes over, but whatever. It's not every time, and she just eats salad and other vegetarian stuff anyway. She explained to him already that Joshua broke her of the vegan thing nearly immediately after they started dating. He'd taken her to his favourite pizza place and she was too polite to tell him she couldn't eat it. It was delicious anyway so she just ended up being vegetarian.
She still doesn't eat eggs on their own. Puck understands why she's got some issues there.
Anyway, they're in her room and she's picking away at a salad. He's already done his burger and fries, so he's laying on her bed with his feet hanging off the side. He doesn't know why; it just feels good.
"You know, sometimes he'd do things that reminded me of you."
He looks over at her. Not only is she talking about her husband, but she's bringing him into the conversation, and he doesn't know what to feel about that.
"Yeah?"
She nods a little. "He could swear," she explains. Puck laughs. "One time we were driving to see his parents and I swear I heard every curse in the book." He just grins at her and waits for more, because he knows she'll keep talking. "He didn't like to drive, really."
"Where'd his parents live?" he asks. He knows she trusts him and everything, but he wants her to get comfortable talking about the guy with him. She's been doing it a little bit lately.
"Pittsburgh."
"Ugh," he groans. "That place sucks."
She laughs and shakes her head. "No, it's lovely. I always liked it there." She says it kind of quietly, like there's something about the place and why she likes it so much that she's just never going to tell him. He doesn't mind. "Joshua also played guitar."
"Really?" He's surprised she never mentioned it before. "Any good?"
She smiles at him, then gives him a look like the answer is no, she just doesn't want to say it. "He really enjoyed it."
She switches topics and starts talking about Rosa Ross's birthday. They know this chick through temple and she's fucking annoying as shit, having this massive party the whole Jewish population of Lima is invited to. He doesn't want to go, but then Rachel starts talking about what dress she's going to wear, showing him things from her closet, and he figures there are worse things to do.
He's still wondering how else her husband reminded her of him, but he doesn't want to ask and he shouldn't really be so fucking curious about it.
... ... ...
He gets a little drunk at the party. That could be a problem, except Rachel agrees that it's the only way to make it through the thing, and she's drinking right along with him. She hasn't had as much, because she's tiny and can't hold her liquor. He still thinks she's fucking cute as hell, just like he thought the first time she got drunk and he was around to witness it. She was dating Finn at the time, and she wanted to know what beer tasted like. She had two, then part of another, and then Santana gave her a shot of vodka and Rachel was all cuddly with everyone. He remembers being their DD, her sitting in the middle of the front seat of his truck with Finn on the other side of her. She'd held both their hands, cuddled up next to him and then kissed his cheek and shouted, "I love you for driving us!" as Finn pulled her up the walkway to her house.
She's sitting next to him, across the room from where his mother is, and he can tell people are talking about them. He is who he is and Rachel's the towns new, young widow, and they're all probably saying he's sleeping with her or she's taking advantage of his generosity or some shit. At the end of the day, he doesn't give a fuck what any of these people think of him, but he knows Rachel does.
"Let's dance," she says, putting down her glass of gin and tonic. He gives her a look. "Noah, please?"
She bats her lashes, whether she means to or not, and he rolls his eyes and stands up. He tries to put his hands in his pockets as they walk to the dance floor, but Rachel starts walking backwards in front of him, takes his hands as she smiles at him and spews some random, useless fact about the song that's playing. He sets his hands on her hips, but she takes his left in her right and tells him to do it right. She's got this little scowl on her face and it's pretty fucking hard not to do what she tells you to do sometimes, okay?
"Hey, Rach?" he says partway through the song. "Who sings this again?"
She moves a little closer, like she's been waiting for a reason to do it or something. He doesn't need it, doesn't need to smell her perfume (Burberry, and he loves it more than he should) or feel her hair tickle his chin as she lets him lead.
"John Legend."
"'S'good." She lets out this little noise. It's partly a sigh and partly a mewl, and he swears she must be trying to kill him. "You know you look hot, right?"
She giggles and pulls away, looks up at him. "You've told me six times. Seven, now."
He grins at her and adjusts his hand over hers, squeezes a little. She squeezes back. "Just making sure."
At the end of the night, he leaves with his mom and Rachel leaves with her dads.
He feels like he's fucking sixteen again; him wanting her and her in love with someone who'll never be able to love her back the way she needs.
... ... ...
She calls him in the morning to complain about her hangover, like it's somehow his fault or something. He's got one, too, and he's laying in bed in an effort to make it all go away.
"You still have the ability to corrupt me, apparently," she says.
She's mostly joking, maybe, but it still makes him wonder about some things. And think of some dirty shit he never actually got to do with her.
She hangs up after saying she'll meet him for lunch tomorrow, and he can't stop thinking about her, which is a fucking problem, considering they're just friends. But he's thinking about the night before and how much fun they would have had if she'd let him get her out of that dress, and his hand slips under the covers before he can stop it.
Yeah, he definitely feels like a fucking teenager right now.
... ... ...
He didn't mean to be so blunt about it. They're just sitting at this Mexican place he loves in Cleveland after spending the day fucking around in the city (just to get away from Lima, to be honest) and he asks her when she lost her virginity and to whom, because it sure as hell wasn't him. The furthest he ever got with her was taking her shirt off, and if he tried to put his hand up her skirt, she clamped her legs shut so tight she almost broke his fingers.
She's just staring at him like she's not sure if she wants to answer, or maybe like she can't believe he actually had the nerve to ask this question in the first place.
He's just about to apologize and tell her she obviously doesn't have to tell him, when she says, "Finn," and he feels like he's going to puke up his chimichanga.
"What?"
She shrugs her shoulder and pushes her food around on her plate. "Christmas break of sophomore year of college. We were both home. He came over to catch up and..."
"And one thing led to another?" he mocks her. "What the fuck?"
He can tell she doesn't know why he's angry. He'd lie and say he doesn't know either, but fuck that.
"He admitted he'd always loved me. I needed to hear that."
"So you gave it up because you were insecure?" he asks. It's pretty low, but she doesn't back down.
"I gave myself to him because he made me feel desirable and cared for, and because I trusted him," she explains. "Not that you'd know anything about that."
He narrows his eyes at her. If they weren't in public, he'd be yelling. "That's a joke, right? 'Cause I spent half a damn year treating you like he never had the balls to, and you practically duct taped your panties on!"
That was a stupid thing to say, that last part. The first part's true.
"You treated me wonderfully," she concedes. He's kind of surprised she's staying so calm right now, but she's not quite as dramatic as she used to be, so maybe he should have expected it. "I just wasn't ready."
They're being honest, here, and he can't stop himself now. "I wanted it so badly."
She nearly chokes on her rice. "What?"
"You. Your virginity. Fuck, I wanted it." He doesn't know why he's saying this shit. It'll just make her all uncomfortable and everything. She's looking at him and her eyes are kind of soft or whatever, but he can tell she doesn't know what to say.
"Because you were collecting them from all the girls," she mentions quietly.
He pushes her foot with his under the table. "Because I really liked you and like, cared and stuff."
She pushes his foot back, barely smiles and sips her margarita. "It's funny that you still sound like a kid when you talk about your emotions." He shrugs his shoulder. He figures she's not too pissed, since she's still sitting here and absolutely busting his balls over this. "Truthfully, I wish I'd waited." Not what he wanted to hear. "Finn and I tried after, the long distance and...It was quiet because neither of us..." She sighs and looks up at him. "I met Joshua in April and Finn and I stopped trying so hard."
"'D'you fuck him more than once?"
"Why are you so fixated on my sexual past?"
He talks without thinking, says, "Because I want to be part of it," and she swallows thickly and he watches her blush.
They stop talking about it, because he knows she's uncomfortable and he doesn't want to push her any harder.
But he knows she only slept with Finn once and then the only person she ever had other than that was her husband.
It's pretty fucking intimidating, to be honest.
... ... ...
He stops by after work one night because she's been talking about going to see some movie and he figures he can take her. She's in her pajamas playing Scrabble (no joke) with her dads, and she jumps up and says she'll go change.
One of her dads goes to open a bottle of wine, and the other just looks at Puck until he sits down in the chair Rachel left.
"Be careful with her heart," he says.
Puck's a little fucking confused, because it's pretty obvious he doesn't have her heart. He has nothing, actually. Not that he necessarily likes it, because most days he feels like she's a step away from being his girlfriend or something. But this warning or whatever the hell it is doesn't really feel necessary.
"I don't think..."
"She's not like she used to be," her dad says. "She doesn't just fall in and think she's invincible."
"I know," Puck says seriously, because it's true and it's not exactly a secret. "I'm not trying to..."
"Noah," the guy says, fixing him with a look, "yes, you are."
Rachel comes down the stairs tucking her necklace under the neck of her tee shirt, and Puck takes a second to stop and think if he's really that transparent.
Also, when the hell did he start wanting her like, all the time?
... ... ...
He's kind of fixated on that spot on the inside of her thigh. She's sitting a few feet away and her legs are crossed, her dress riding up, and all he wants to do is clear everyone else out of the room, push her legs apart, and kiss that spot and up between her legs.
He doesn't know where she got that dress, but fuck, it was worth every penny of however much she spent on it. There's a zipper that goes all the way down the front, and she doesn't usually wear a lot of black, but he's having a hard time trying to figure out why.
She uncrosses then recrosses her legs, and he takes a sip of his cold beer because it's way too fucking hot in here right now. He can't even remember who or what the fuck this party is for. All he knows is that he wants her, badly, and she has no fucking clue.
She ends up driving him home. He's not drunk or anything, but he's had too much to drive, obviously, and she offers.
She parks in his driveway and cuts the engine. He'd ask why, but he doesn't care, just pulls his keys from the pocket of his pants as they walk up the walkway to his house.
"Wanna come in?" he asks, instead of telling her he doesn't need help. "Coffee or something?"
"Sure."
They're not going to have coffee. 'Coffee' is the universal euphemism for sex in situations like this. You know, where she's wearing a hot dress and he's had enough to drink to think it's a really good idea to just pull that zipper down and let her dress fall to the floor.
Genius plan.
He turns around and faces her after he shuts the door. She puts her hand on his shoulder and slips her feet out of her heels, hissing in pain and massaging her arch.
"Why do you wear them if they hurt?"
He'll never understand.
"Because they look good," she answers easily. He rolls his eyes and she giggles.
But he can't argue with that, really.
"You wanna watch something?" She shrugs her shoulder and looks at him. He swears she's, like, inviting him to fuck her or something. "Drink?"
"I shouldn't."
He grins and steps into the kitchen. She follows. "Lots of things you shouldn't do, Rach. They're always the most fun ones."
He sounds like a fucked up Yoda or some shit, but whatever. He's pouring her less than a half an ounce of whiskey.
She laughs a little and takes the glass from him. "I suppose a little won't hurt." He taps his glass against hers and winks. Fuckin' right. He's watching her throat as she takes a sip. She winces a little, but brushes it off. "Did you have fun tonight?"
He shrugs his shoulder and leans back against the counter. "Boring."
"Thank you!" she cries laughingly. "I thought I was going to fall asleep." He smiles at her. She's fucking gorgeous. "But I kind of wanted an excuse to wear this dress."
He sips his drink, looks her up and down. "It's a good dress." She smiles and smoothes her hand over her thigh. "Really good dress."
She takes another sip of her drink, then steps towards him and sets her glass on the counter next to him. "I should go," she says, glancing at the clock. It's barely midnight.
"Naw," he insists. He reaches out for the zipper between her tits, tugs it down a millimeter or two. "You should stay."
She sighs, but doesn't move away, and she definitely could. "Noah," she whispers. He tugs the zipper a little more. "You shouldn't."
"Why not?"
Her lips part a little. He licks his. She puts her hand on his chest and it's fucking over. He's gotta kiss her and she totally wants him to.
He's leaning back against the counter with his legs parted a little, so he pulls her between them. He lets go of her zipper so he can touch other parts of her, then presses his lips to hers because he knows she's not going to kiss him first. She just won't do it.
He can tell she hasn't been kissed in a while. Obviously he knows it, but he can really tell. Now, he's not going to say that to her, because that'd be really shitty of him or whatever. And then he realizes that the last person she kissed was the only person she kissed for years, and for a second he feels guilty. Then he feels her lips under his tongue. She parts them for him and his hand slides down from the back of her head, over the side of her neck. She mewls into his mouth and melts against him a little, shirt fisted in her hands.
He's still thinking about that zipper. His hand starts to move again, sliding down her neck, over her collarbone and down to...
She freezes, pushes at his chest and steps away, avoiding his eyes and touching her lips with her fingertips.
What the fuck just happened here?
"What's wrong?"
"I...can't. I can't."
He's just looking at her, kind of stunned, until he sees her slip the tip of her index finger through the ring that hangs from a chain around her neck. It's too big for her, obviously not hers. Obviously Joshua's.
"Rachel."
"I'm sorry," she interrupts him. She shakes her head and doesn't take her hand away from the ring. "I can't. It's too much. Too soon. You're...You and I are friends, but I'm still..."
He reaches out and touches her shoulders. He's a little surprised she doesn't pull away or tell him not to.
He wants to argue with her. It's been close to a year now since her husband died. He knows there's no timeline on getting over it or anything, but he thought she was making progress. Now he thinks she was just faking it. He's wondering what the fuck that means for him, because since they started this friendship, he's basically been ignoring all other women, and that's kind of a big deal.
"Go, then," he tells her. He reaches for the zipper and pulls it back up. Not like it's a big deal, but it's like, symbolic or something.
"I'm sorry, Noah. I don't want..."
"It's fine." No, it's not. "I can handle it."
He doesn't play it down like it's nothing, because it's not and he's emotionally evolved enough (that's what his mom says) to not pretend.
He wants her and she's still acting like she's married to someone else. As he hears her car pull away, he pours himself another glass of whiskey. He thinks of calling up someone he knows, someone to take the edge off, but he just pulls off his shirt, lets his pants drop to the floor and parks himself in front of the television until he's drunk enough that his mind shuts off a little bit. When his head hits the pillow he falls asleep easily, and he can only just barely still taste her if he tries.
... ... ...
He volunteers to go to Chicago and pick up a car for a customer. Yes, the dealership has people to do this shit, and no, he doesn't really want to go. He just needs to get the hell away from Lima for a day. Rachel's all in his head. She has been for a while and he didn't care, really, but now he's kissed her and he wants to do it again, only he knows he can't.
He gives his mom the heads up that he's gonna be out of town so she doesn't call the police or some shit when she doesn't see his car in his driveway. She tells him to be careful and 'clear his head' and he seriously wonders if she actually does know everything. Or has hidden cameras in his house.
The drive back sucks. He can't even enjoy that he's in a V12 Mercedes, because it's raining hard and visibility is shit. He's listening to talk radio for weather updates. There are all sorts of road closures, he's just lucky he doesn't need to use any of them.
It's late when he gets back to Lima. It's practically a ghost town because of the weather, so he drops the car off at the dealership, gets into his own and heads for home.
There's a soaking wet Rachel sitting in her car in his driveway when he gets there. She doesn't get out, so he taps on the window before he heads for his door. No, he's not going to wait for her. It's cold and disgusting.
And he's still annoyed. It's not like she's called him to talk in the past couple days since she bailed on him after the party.
He leaves the door open, shrugs off his wet jacket and shoes, and tugs at his tie, and Rachel practically stumbles into the house. He'd ask her what she's doing here, but if he knows her - and he thinks he does - she'll tell him whether he asks or not.
"Why is it raining so hard?" she questions, all out of breath. He turns around and she's standing there in his foyer, drenched. He undoes the knot of his tie and lets it hang loose around his neck. "We need to talk." She shivers - like some kind of full body chill - and he rolls his eyes. "I waited outside a while. It seemed bittersweet or something, but then it got too cold," she explains.
"Smart move." She shivers again. He hates her for this. "Phones exist for a reason."
"Would you have answered?" Okay, probably not. He doesn't say anything. "That's what I thought," she mumbles. "Where were you?"
"Work."
"No, you weren't. I went to the dealership."
He has to grin a little. "D'you practice being a stalker, or..."
She laughs and waves her hand around for whatever reason. "Shut up."
She's freezing and he can see her nipples through her sweater. Talking isn't even in the top 50 list of things he wants to do with her right now.
"Jesus," he mutters. "Come on."
He starts towards his bedroom and looks over his shoulder when she doesn't follow him. "Noah, I..."
"Relax," he says. He sounds angry because he is. "I'm going to get you some dry clothes."
There's a shirt in his drawer that he knows will cover her. It's old and from high school, and maybe she wore it once or twice back then, too. And in his clean laundry pile there's a pair of blue and grey plaid pajama pants Hannah forgot the last time she stayed.
"Bathroom's down the hall," he tells her. She knows, obviously, but he needs to change, too, and she probably doesn't want to be here for that.
He doesn't know what the hell she's going to say to him. Probably some bullshit about wanting to be friends and hoping it's not awkward between them. To be honest, he's not in the mood to hear it. He's been her friend and he's done with that now, thanks anyway. She's the only girl ever that he's wanted this much from, and she likes to think he's not allowed.
He likes to think she's full of shit. So there.
He's in clean, dry jeans and a white tee shirt when he opens his bedroom door. She's leaning back against the wall in the hall. Her arms are up and twisting her hair before she slips an elastic around it. He needs to tell Hannah to stop leaving her shit at his house. Not only because he liked Rachel's hair better all down and wet.
Yeah, she really rocks that tee shirt.
He heads for the kitchen and she follows him, accepts the beer he offers her. She hands it back, though, and he rolls his eyes. The caps aren't that hard to get off, but she can never do it.
"I'm really sorry," she says before he's even given her drink back. "For...I think I freaked out a little bit."
He laughs quietly. "Little bit."
She blushes and ducks her head. He drinks his beer and watches her. "It's just been a long time since anyone...Noah, the last person I kissed was my husband the morning of the day he died." He nods. He knew this was coming, this conversation about the guy she married, and he isn't even mad about it, really. "I kissed him goodbye at the door and he died."
He furrows his brow as he looks at her. Is she implying this is some Kiss of Death bullshit? "Rachel, I'm not going to..."
She laughs, shakes her head. "I know. That's not...I'm telling you that I haven't kissed anyone in a long time, and then you just went and did it."
He tilts his head at her. "Were you really all that surprised?" he asks. "Come on, Rachel. I'm not friends with women. Just you."
She takes a tiny sip of her beer and looks at him with her lids lowered. "Are you trying to make me feel special?"
"Shut up." But yeah, she really is special. She knows that shit, too, so he's not going to say it. Sometimes he'll play her game when she fishes for compliments. Now's not one of those times. "I mean, unless I was reading the signs wrong, you were into it."
If her cheeks get any more pink he's going to start laughing. She's a grown woman and she's blushing just talking about a kiss. "I was."
"So why?"
He doesn't think he needs to elaborate and tell her exactly what he's asking. She'll know. Why did you run?
She bites her lip, leans back against his kitchen table. Yeah, that's totally not helping him resist the urge to push her back onto it and take that shirt off her.
"You scare me," she admits quietly. He almost doesn't hear her. It feels like a punch in the stomach. He scares her? "Because of the way I feel."
Oh. That's not so bad, he thinks.
"Okay," he says. There's probably more and he doesn't want to interrupt her.
"You don't understand," she accuses, shaking her head. He'd understand better if she'd fucking talk to him. "I loved Joshua. It was unreal how much." This isn't the shit he wants to hear. He already feels like the guy's on enough of a pedestal. "But if I fall for you, then what does that mean about my relationship with him?"
It's a little hard to concentrate on anything other than her saying she's falling for him.
"Are you?" he asks. It's important. It's really fucking important. "Falling for me?"
She sighs, looks away from him. "Maybe. I don't know. I'm fighting it," she admits. "I can't stand the thought of feeling like he was some kind of mistake or stepping stone."
"He wasn't," Puck says quickly. Fuck, he can't have her thinking that. She was married to the guy, he gets that, and she probably would have been with him forever if he hadn't died. He knows that, too. "Soulmates don't exist, Rach. You're acting like they do."
"I want them to," she pouts. He laughs a little and shakes his head at her. "It's romantic."
"It's stupid." He walks over to her, sets his beer on the table next to her and sets his hand on her hip. He's not pressed against her, barely even really close enough to touch her. "Stop fighting it."
"I don't want to forget him," she says quietly. Her hand runs down his chest and sits right in the middle of his stomach.
"So don't," he says, shrugging his shoulder.
"You're okay with that?" She looks up at him and it's like this whole thing rests on his answer to this question. Considering what he just said, she has to know he doesn't care.
Well, he cares, obviously, but it's not like he's going to tell her to never think about the guy ever again. If she starts comparing him to Joshua, he'll be pissed. He doesn't think she'd do that anyway, not really.
"Kinda just want to be with you," he tells her.
She lets out a breath like she's all relieved, then hops up on her toes and presses her lips to his. He's pretty sure she's trying to keep it light and delicate, but he's not really a light and delicate guy, now, is he? He sets both hands on her waist and kisses her again, a few times, until she's pulling away and looking up at him.
"You're cold," he says, moving his hands up and down her sides. And not only because it pulls the shirt up so he can see some skin.
"I know." She licks her lips and seems to relax a little. "Do you want to sit under a blanket on your couch and watch a movie of my choice?"
He laughs. "Not really," he answers honestly. "But alright."
She ends up falling asleep there, and her dad calls at like, 3:00 in the fucking morning asking where she is. She says she won't be home until mid-morning, and then after she's hung up, she asks if it's okay if she stays.
He can probably find some room.
... ... ...
The next time he sees her she's not wearing the necklace anymore. She's wearing a v-neck sweater, almost like she wants to show him she's taken the ring from around her neck. He doesn't mention it, but he thinks this is a step in the right direction.
"Your dad warned me," he tells her a few days later when they're drinking wine at his place.
"Did he?" He nods and she smiles a little. "Good. You should be careful with me."
He'd roll his eyes, but she looks way too amazing right now to make fun of her. "I'm good at being careful with you," he says. It almost sounds defensive, but it's not quite there.
She kisses him, lets her hand linger on his cheek. "I know you are."
"You can be as rough with me as you want to," he tells her when her attention is back on the movie he's not paying much attention to. She almost chokes on her drink. He laughs and she shakes her head at him.
"I'll keep that in mind," she says quietly.
She leans against him again and he plays with the hair at the back of her neck until she lets out this little purring noise and pulls away from him. He's finding all these little things that he can tell turn her on. They haven't slept together yet, but it's okay. He's just gonna remember all these things for when they do.
Maybe it's dumb - or impossible - but he wants to know her better than anyone.