The Best Man 3/?
Title: The Best Man
Chapter: 3/?
Rating: M
Characters: Puck/Rachel, minor Finn/Tina
Word Count: 3200
Prompt: "He's the best man. He's got three jobs. Keep the rings safe, get the groom to the church on time, and bang the maid of honour."
He doesn't care.
Why the fuck would be care? Shit, if it were anyone else, he'd be tempted to send them a thank-you note because here's the thing: he's a fucking expert at hit and run. Really, he's got a million excuses: work, illness, a family event. And believe him, it takes balls of steel to plead a family event at four AM with a pissed-off blonde throwing shit at your head. Hell, he's even got Finn trained to set off the fire alarm, or actually just try to make to toast under the broiler, but it works out to be the same thing.
So Rachel taking off before the sheets get cold? Means nothing in the grand scheme of things.
Still.
It is kind of rude way to treat a friend.
This is why he doesn't fuck friends. He fucks girls he knows from around, he fucks acquaintances, or even better, the acquaintances of acquaintances. That way, everyone knows what the deal is and nobody is left wondering if the other person needed to borrow a shirt or something (fucking outfit, ninety percent naked), or if they managed to find a taxi-cab when it was barely light out, or even if that other person woke up feeling like shit with a hangover. (She hates being hungover, a fact he's known since high school and she'll lie in bed and moan and act all dramatic about it, but the only thing that really makes her feel better is Gatorade cut with 7-Up. He'd bet a million dollars she doesn't have either at her place.)
She doesn't want to spend the night? Fine. But the friendly thing to do would have been to wake him up and say goodbye, or text him to let him know she got back home safe. Hell, the really friendly (and sensible) thing to do would have been to hit him up for another round before she left.
So if he's pissed off about anything, (and he's beginning to think from the way he's clenching his jaw and also from the way he almost punched the wall, that maybe he is pissed off) it's because it's just fucking bad manners.
He slams out of his bedroom, grunts at Finn and Tina who look up at him in surprise while eating cereal in the kitchen and almost fucking scalds himself in the shower. It's not even worth thinking about since he doesn't even know what Rachel's deal is. (Is she mad? Is she freaking out? His money is on freaking out.)
Tina's gone when he gets out of the shower and Finn just pushes the cereal box and milk towards him. He slumps into a chair and pours some out, hoping that Finn won't feel the need to make conversation.
Fine. He's met Finn, so he knows that isn't going to happen.
"Youtube girl again today?" Finn mumbles through a mouthful of cereal, either oblivious to or ignoring his mood.
"Yeah," he says shortly. Shit, he'd forgotten all about that. His day is just getting better and better.
"Jesus, you should have heard Rachel last night. She delivered this epic rant about your talents being wasted. I tried to tell her that as long as you got to go to work in jeans and a ratty concert t-shirt you were good, and she nearly took my head off. Hilarious, dude."
She did? Not entirely surprising, because Rachel appreciates the technical aspects of what he does better than just about anyone he knows, but you know, it's nice for about three seconds until he remembers that his fucking sheets smell like her and she took off without a word. And then, shit, he's still pissed, but at the same time he can't help barking out an unwilling laugh because having been on the receiving end of a few of those rants, he can absolutely picture it. There was probably stomping.
Finn's brow is starting to cloud and he realizes he hasn't responded yet, so he lets something fly randomly. "Jealous much Hudson? Hey, 1987 called. It wants your sports-jacket back."
"Hey!" Finn complains, "Burt got me this jacket for Christmas!" With a quick glare, he surreptitiously fingers his lapel before continuing. "Anyway, Tina wanted to know if Rachel made it home okay last night. I was going to offer her the couch...," here his face changes and Puck recognizes disappointedFinn, "but you know she doesn't like sleeping on our couch any more."
What? Like that story wasn't going to get out.
"She's fine," he says, pushing his bowl away. He's not hungry.
When he goes back into his room, he finally sees it. Like he said, he keeps his shit neat, so usually when things get changed around, he notices right away. Sue him, he was distracted. The guitar that he left on the floor last night has been moved back to its stand and there's a little piece of yellow lined paper from the pad he keeps on his desk tucked between the strings at the neck.
He almost doesn't bother with it; it's not like it's going to change anything. And anyway, if she's just telling him to go to hell, maybe he's just better off not knowing. He throws on some clothes (shorts and a short-sleeve shirt with buttons, fuck you very much, Hudson), grabs his phone and wallet and heads out the door. He's almost at the stairs before he heads back and he's telling himself it's because it feels too much like pussying out, but truthfully, it's because he just needs to know. He yanks it out and forces himself to read it.
And then he re-reads it three times.
Noah,
Sorry I had to run! There's a special rehearsal for the understudies this morning and I thought I should be there in case I'm needed! We should have lunch this week to discuss the shower. Let's skip the Carnegie, they're always so rude there and charging an extra three dollars for sharing sandwiches is absolutely outrageous! What about that kosher deli you like on 33rd? I love their soups and I'm sure your mother would feel better knowing that you have hot brisket somewhere in your system. Thursday or maybe Friday? I'll text you.
Rachel
Brisket? They finally get horizontal after years of dancing around this thing they've got going and she wants to talk about brisket? Is she fucking kidding him?
As for the rest of it, great. Fucking fantastic. Obviously, she's just fine with everything, not a freak-out in sight.
(So why the hell does he still feel like shit?)
*****
He throws himself into work over the next few days, but it's hard not to think of her when she apparently uses her key to come in while he's gone to dump off a load of wedding shit. Seriously, what are they going to do with five hundred tiny candles and matching glass holders? He sure as hell hopes that Tina's 'found materials' aren't flammable. And then of course, he sees that Rachel's also dropped off a fire-extinguisher. (Which leads to thoughts of hot Rachel, and then Rachel dancing in fire-retardant foam, and that leads to him jerking off in the shower to her again. Fuck.)
*****
She texts him with a date and time for lunch when he's in the booth and can't respond. He shoots her back an acceptance when he knows she's performing.
*****
He yells at the Ben-the-intern when the kid loses a crucial take from a piece they're layering together for a well-known jazz trio. It was a stupid mistake, but Ben already knew that, plus he volunteered to show up early to fix the problem. He throws a bag of doughnuts on the kid's desk when he comes in the next morning because it's a shitty thing to yell at someone when that's not even what you're really pissed about.
*****
That black and white polka-dotted dress is visible from like half a block away, and when he gets a little closer he can see that her sandals match and her hair is pulled back neatly in a headband. If the whole effect is meant to be cute and kind of girlish, it's missing the mark with him because all he can think of is the tiny noise she made when he kissed that spot on the inside of her knee, exactly where the hem hits. She waves when she sees him and for just a second it's awkward, but then she reaches up and kisses his cheek, just like she has every other time she's seen him for the past two years. (It does send a little spark racing through him, but then that's happened every time too, so no big thing.)
She immediately launches into this complicated story about almost being late because the guy who plays Bernardo is in love with the head costume designer and he keeps messing up everyone's fittings so the guy keeps having to come back in. Puck laughs because he's met 'Bernardo' at a few cast parties and the guy is hilarious, almost as crazy as Rachel and anyway, he wouldn't be at all surprised if the whole scheme was Rachel's idea in the first place. And true, saying he's got whiplash from this week is an massive understatement, but right at this second it almost doesn't matter. He likes spending time with her and maybe he still hasn't totally figured out who Tommy Tune is, but he's always kind of liked listening to her talk.
Of course that was before she orders her soup and then spends thirty minutes going through the pros and cons of every other item on the menu, even after he orders the pastrami on rye. She then provides a detailed analysis of what kind of mustard he should use on his sandwich (whole grain, not Dijon in case you're wondering) and polls the people sitting at the surrounding tables to find out if the sour pickles are sour enough.
By the time they finish their food, she's on to the wedding, and she's five minutes into a monologue about floral centerpieces when he realizes that she's not even going to acknowledge it. Or them. Whatever.
Fuck that.
"Really Rachel? This is how you're trying to play this off with me?" he demands, cutting off some babble about petals threaded through lily grass that she's spouting.
Her eyes narrow just a fraction of an inch. It's the look she gets when he starts going off-script which he knows drives her batshit.
Hold on. Off-script? Ohhhhhh. Suddenly, this enormous wave of relief floods through him, but he's not going to try to analyze that right now, instead focusing on the gorgeous girl fidgeting in the seat opposite him.
"I don't know what you're talking about, Noah," she says coolly, but her eyes drop to her lap.
Look, he's watched her onstage enough times to know that Rachel Berry has come a hell of a long way from 'Run Joey Run'. That said, now that she's right here across the table from him, there's no fucking way that she's a good enough actress to get this one past him.
"You're freaking out," he says flatly. "You're panicking about Monday night and all this brisket and pickles and wedding shit is just you deflecting or something."
She looks incredulous and makes a scoffing noise. He grins because he's seen it all before.
"The wedding is in three weeks in case you haven't noticed!" she huffs, smoothing her hair and checking her immaculate manicure.
He crosses his arms and leans back in his seat.
"And I happen to think that informed decision making is very important. How can you enjoy your food without thoroughly considering the options? Besides, the pickles really aren't sour enough!" she complains.
He raises one eye-brow.
She sighs noisily. "Noah, I...I think that our timing is off and while I certainly don't regret what happened between us, any sort of repeat performance would just complicate things. Honestly, I think it might be best if we both tried to forget about it."
"No," he says firmly.
"What?" she splutters.
"No. I think timing is a bullshit excuse. No, I'm not going to forget about it. And no, I don't think you want to forget about it either. "
"I don't think you get to say no!"
"I totally get to say no. S'matter of fact, I'm picturing about you naked right now."
Or scratch that, he's actually picturing her in one of his dress-shirts, and she's looking at him through her lashes as she slowly undoes the buttons and lets it slide off her shoulders and onto his floor...and okay, now she's naked.
"Noah!" she almost shrieks, looking around wildly to see if anyone is listening.
"Yeah, just like that baby," he teases, watching her closely as her eyes flash and her cheeks turn pink and right there, her tongue darts out to wet her upper lip.
"Noah," she hisses much more quietly. "Just stop."
"Stop what?" he asks softly, leaning in so that his knees nudge hers under the table. "Stop thinking what it felt like to have your body practically vibrating under mine? Stop thinking about how amazing it was to be inside you?"
Fuck, just thinking about it is enough to make him start to harden, that and the way she's squirming in her seat, her eyes wide. He reaches across for her hand and carefully strokes his thumb along the soft skin at the inside of her wrist, holding back a groan when she inhales hard.
"And what about you, Rach?" he asks, "Ignore all the other shit for a minute, do you want to forget it? Forget about my mouth and my fingers and how wet you got and how good it felt?"
There's a long pause and his stupid heart is drumming in his ears so loud that he can barely hear her quiet 'no'.
He slides his hand to cup her cheek, his fingertips brushing her jawline and the hollow behind her ear and when she meets him halfway, pressing against the small table, he finds her mouth easily. Her lips taste like the iced tea she was drinking and like flavored gloss and he wonders randomly if kissing her is always going to be like this: simple, but at the same time, intoxicating. And he never wants to stop kissing her, especially when she opens her mouth to him and winds one hand behind his neck, pressing him closer enthusiastically, and the entire restaurant full of people surrounding them is nothing more than a dim memory.
"Hey loverboy, if you're finished up here, we could use the table," a voice from behind him startles them both.
Son of a bitch. Fucking busboys think they own New York.
Rachel's already pulling back and he's enjoying the hell out of her slightly dazed expression when she admits, "All right Noah, I have to admit you make a very compelling argument."
"Damn right I do," he rasps, trying to pull her in again, but she laughingly evades his hands.
"Maybe you're right. Maybe we should pursue this. We're both consenting adults after all," she smiles up at him. "I'm sure we can both agree to put our friendship first."
"I can be very friendly, baby," he smirks, trying his level best to sneak one hand up her dress under the table.
"Be serious, Noah!" she demands, trapping his hand with hers and looking him searchingly. "Your friendship is incredibly important to me."
For a second it feels exactly like she's knocked the wind out of him, but somehow in a really good way.
"Me too Rach," he manages after a moment.
She nods like she sees what she was looking for. "So if you'd like to, you can pick me up from the theater tonight and we'll discuss some guidelines," she says as she stands to go, twisting the strap of her handbag nervously.
He has to bite back a grin because this is Rachel, so of course she's going to want to make up all kinds of rules.
"I can work with that," he assures her, placing his hand on her back and guiding her out the door. Well, probably he can. Actually, he's never been all that great with following rules, but as long as her guidelines allow him to see her naked again as early and as often as possible, he should be okay.
He kisses her again out on the street, right before they split up for their separate subway lines, and he knows he could get used to the way she melts right into him.
She calls his name before he's gone ten steps.
"And then we're absolutely going to plan this shower, Noah Puckerman, so don't think you're going to distract me from that!"
"Wouldn't dream of it," he laughs.
Yeah, he's totally going to have a go at distracting her.
Chapter: 3/?
Rating: M
Characters: Puck/Rachel, minor Finn/Tina
Word Count: 3200
Prompt: "He's the best man. He's got three jobs. Keep the rings safe, get the groom to the church on time, and bang the maid of honour."
He doesn't care.
Why the fuck would be care? Shit, if it were anyone else, he'd be tempted to send them a thank-you note because here's the thing: he's a fucking expert at hit and run. Really, he's got a million excuses: work, illness, a family event. And believe him, it takes balls of steel to plead a family event at four AM with a pissed-off blonde throwing shit at your head. Hell, he's even got Finn trained to set off the fire alarm, or actually just try to make to toast under the broiler, but it works out to be the same thing.
So Rachel taking off before the sheets get cold? Means nothing in the grand scheme of things.
Still.
It is kind of rude way to treat a friend.
This is why he doesn't fuck friends. He fucks girls he knows from around, he fucks acquaintances, or even better, the acquaintances of acquaintances. That way, everyone knows what the deal is and nobody is left wondering if the other person needed to borrow a shirt or something (fucking outfit, ninety percent naked), or if they managed to find a taxi-cab when it was barely light out, or even if that other person woke up feeling like shit with a hangover. (She hates being hungover, a fact he's known since high school and she'll lie in bed and moan and act all dramatic about it, but the only thing that really makes her feel better is Gatorade cut with 7-Up. He'd bet a million dollars she doesn't have either at her place.)
She doesn't want to spend the night? Fine. But the friendly thing to do would have been to wake him up and say goodbye, or text him to let him know she got back home safe. Hell, the really friendly (and sensible) thing to do would have been to hit him up for another round before she left.
So if he's pissed off about anything, (and he's beginning to think from the way he's clenching his jaw and also from the way he almost punched the wall, that maybe he is pissed off) it's because it's just fucking bad manners.
He slams out of his bedroom, grunts at Finn and Tina who look up at him in surprise while eating cereal in the kitchen and almost fucking scalds himself in the shower. It's not even worth thinking about since he doesn't even know what Rachel's deal is. (Is she mad? Is she freaking out? His money is on freaking out.)
Tina's gone when he gets out of the shower and Finn just pushes the cereal box and milk towards him. He slumps into a chair and pours some out, hoping that Finn won't feel the need to make conversation.
Fine. He's met Finn, so he knows that isn't going to happen.
"Youtube girl again today?" Finn mumbles through a mouthful of cereal, either oblivious to or ignoring his mood.
"Yeah," he says shortly. Shit, he'd forgotten all about that. His day is just getting better and better.
"Jesus, you should have heard Rachel last night. She delivered this epic rant about your talents being wasted. I tried to tell her that as long as you got to go to work in jeans and a ratty concert t-shirt you were good, and she nearly took my head off. Hilarious, dude."
She did? Not entirely surprising, because Rachel appreciates the technical aspects of what he does better than just about anyone he knows, but you know, it's nice for about three seconds until he remembers that his fucking sheets smell like her and she took off without a word. And then, shit, he's still pissed, but at the same time he can't help barking out an unwilling laugh because having been on the receiving end of a few of those rants, he can absolutely picture it. There was probably stomping.
Finn's brow is starting to cloud and he realizes he hasn't responded yet, so he lets something fly randomly. "Jealous much Hudson? Hey, 1987 called. It wants your sports-jacket back."
"Hey!" Finn complains, "Burt got me this jacket for Christmas!" With a quick glare, he surreptitiously fingers his lapel before continuing. "Anyway, Tina wanted to know if Rachel made it home okay last night. I was going to offer her the couch...," here his face changes and Puck recognizes disappointedFinn, "but you know she doesn't like sleeping on our couch any more."
What? Like that story wasn't going to get out.
"She's fine," he says, pushing his bowl away. He's not hungry.
When he goes back into his room, he finally sees it. Like he said, he keeps his shit neat, so usually when things get changed around, he notices right away. Sue him, he was distracted. The guitar that he left on the floor last night has been moved back to its stand and there's a little piece of yellow lined paper from the pad he keeps on his desk tucked between the strings at the neck.
He almost doesn't bother with it; it's not like it's going to change anything. And anyway, if she's just telling him to go to hell, maybe he's just better off not knowing. He throws on some clothes (shorts and a short-sleeve shirt with buttons, fuck you very much, Hudson), grabs his phone and wallet and heads out the door. He's almost at the stairs before he heads back and he's telling himself it's because it feels too much like pussying out, but truthfully, it's because he just needs to know. He yanks it out and forces himself to read it.
And then he re-reads it three times.
Noah,
Sorry I had to run! There's a special rehearsal for the understudies this morning and I thought I should be there in case I'm needed! We should have lunch this week to discuss the shower. Let's skip the Carnegie, they're always so rude there and charging an extra three dollars for sharing sandwiches is absolutely outrageous! What about that kosher deli you like on 33rd? I love their soups and I'm sure your mother would feel better knowing that you have hot brisket somewhere in your system. Thursday or maybe Friday? I'll text you.
Rachel
Brisket? They finally get horizontal after years of dancing around this thing they've got going and she wants to talk about brisket? Is she fucking kidding him?
As for the rest of it, great. Fucking fantastic. Obviously, she's just fine with everything, not a freak-out in sight.
(So why the hell does he still feel like shit?)
*****
He throws himself into work over the next few days, but it's hard not to think of her when she apparently uses her key to come in while he's gone to dump off a load of wedding shit. Seriously, what are they going to do with five hundred tiny candles and matching glass holders? He sure as hell hopes that Tina's 'found materials' aren't flammable. And then of course, he sees that Rachel's also dropped off a fire-extinguisher. (Which leads to thoughts of hot Rachel, and then Rachel dancing in fire-retardant foam, and that leads to him jerking off in the shower to her again. Fuck.)
*****
She texts him with a date and time for lunch when he's in the booth and can't respond. He shoots her back an acceptance when he knows she's performing.
*****
He yells at the Ben-the-intern when the kid loses a crucial take from a piece they're layering together for a well-known jazz trio. It was a stupid mistake, but Ben already knew that, plus he volunteered to show up early to fix the problem. He throws a bag of doughnuts on the kid's desk when he comes in the next morning because it's a shitty thing to yell at someone when that's not even what you're really pissed about.
*****
That black and white polka-dotted dress is visible from like half a block away, and when he gets a little closer he can see that her sandals match and her hair is pulled back neatly in a headband. If the whole effect is meant to be cute and kind of girlish, it's missing the mark with him because all he can think of is the tiny noise she made when he kissed that spot on the inside of her knee, exactly where the hem hits. She waves when she sees him and for just a second it's awkward, but then she reaches up and kisses his cheek, just like she has every other time she's seen him for the past two years. (It does send a little spark racing through him, but then that's happened every time too, so no big thing.)
She immediately launches into this complicated story about almost being late because the guy who plays Bernardo is in love with the head costume designer and he keeps messing up everyone's fittings so the guy keeps having to come back in. Puck laughs because he's met 'Bernardo' at a few cast parties and the guy is hilarious, almost as crazy as Rachel and anyway, he wouldn't be at all surprised if the whole scheme was Rachel's idea in the first place. And true, saying he's got whiplash from this week is an massive understatement, but right at this second it almost doesn't matter. He likes spending time with her and maybe he still hasn't totally figured out who Tommy Tune is, but he's always kind of liked listening to her talk.
Of course that was before she orders her soup and then spends thirty minutes going through the pros and cons of every other item on the menu, even after he orders the pastrami on rye. She then provides a detailed analysis of what kind of mustard he should use on his sandwich (whole grain, not Dijon in case you're wondering) and polls the people sitting at the surrounding tables to find out if the sour pickles are sour enough.
By the time they finish their food, she's on to the wedding, and she's five minutes into a monologue about floral centerpieces when he realizes that she's not even going to acknowledge it. Or them. Whatever.
Fuck that.
"Really Rachel? This is how you're trying to play this off with me?" he demands, cutting off some babble about petals threaded through lily grass that she's spouting.
Her eyes narrow just a fraction of an inch. It's the look she gets when he starts going off-script which he knows drives her batshit.
Hold on. Off-script? Ohhhhhh. Suddenly, this enormous wave of relief floods through him, but he's not going to try to analyze that right now, instead focusing on the gorgeous girl fidgeting in the seat opposite him.
"I don't know what you're talking about, Noah," she says coolly, but her eyes drop to her lap.
Look, he's watched her onstage enough times to know that Rachel Berry has come a hell of a long way from 'Run Joey Run'. That said, now that she's right here across the table from him, there's no fucking way that she's a good enough actress to get this one past him.
"You're freaking out," he says flatly. "You're panicking about Monday night and all this brisket and pickles and wedding shit is just you deflecting or something."
She looks incredulous and makes a scoffing noise. He grins because he's seen it all before.
"The wedding is in three weeks in case you haven't noticed!" she huffs, smoothing her hair and checking her immaculate manicure.
He crosses his arms and leans back in his seat.
"And I happen to think that informed decision making is very important. How can you enjoy your food without thoroughly considering the options? Besides, the pickles really aren't sour enough!" she complains.
He raises one eye-brow.
She sighs noisily. "Noah, I...I think that our timing is off and while I certainly don't regret what happened between us, any sort of repeat performance would just complicate things. Honestly, I think it might be best if we both tried to forget about it."
"No," he says firmly.
"What?" she splutters.
"No. I think timing is a bullshit excuse. No, I'm not going to forget about it. And no, I don't think you want to forget about it either. "
"I don't think you get to say no!"
"I totally get to say no. S'matter of fact, I'm picturing about you naked right now."
Or scratch that, he's actually picturing her in one of his dress-shirts, and she's looking at him through her lashes as she slowly undoes the buttons and lets it slide off her shoulders and onto his floor...and okay, now she's naked.
"Noah!" she almost shrieks, looking around wildly to see if anyone is listening.
"Yeah, just like that baby," he teases, watching her closely as her eyes flash and her cheeks turn pink and right there, her tongue darts out to wet her upper lip.
"Noah," she hisses much more quietly. "Just stop."
"Stop what?" he asks softly, leaning in so that his knees nudge hers under the table. "Stop thinking what it felt like to have your body practically vibrating under mine? Stop thinking about how amazing it was to be inside you?"
Fuck, just thinking about it is enough to make him start to harden, that and the way she's squirming in her seat, her eyes wide. He reaches across for her hand and carefully strokes his thumb along the soft skin at the inside of her wrist, holding back a groan when she inhales hard.
"And what about you, Rach?" he asks, "Ignore all the other shit for a minute, do you want to forget it? Forget about my mouth and my fingers and how wet you got and how good it felt?"
There's a long pause and his stupid heart is drumming in his ears so loud that he can barely hear her quiet 'no'.
He slides his hand to cup her cheek, his fingertips brushing her jawline and the hollow behind her ear and when she meets him halfway, pressing against the small table, he finds her mouth easily. Her lips taste like the iced tea she was drinking and like flavored gloss and he wonders randomly if kissing her is always going to be like this: simple, but at the same time, intoxicating. And he never wants to stop kissing her, especially when she opens her mouth to him and winds one hand behind his neck, pressing him closer enthusiastically, and the entire restaurant full of people surrounding them is nothing more than a dim memory.
"Hey loverboy, if you're finished up here, we could use the table," a voice from behind him startles them both.
Son of a bitch. Fucking busboys think they own New York.
Rachel's already pulling back and he's enjoying the hell out of her slightly dazed expression when she admits, "All right Noah, I have to admit you make a very compelling argument."
"Damn right I do," he rasps, trying to pull her in again, but she laughingly evades his hands.
"Maybe you're right. Maybe we should pursue this. We're both consenting adults after all," she smiles up at him. "I'm sure we can both agree to put our friendship first."
"I can be very friendly, baby," he smirks, trying his level best to sneak one hand up her dress under the table.
"Be serious, Noah!" she demands, trapping his hand with hers and looking him searchingly. "Your friendship is incredibly important to me."
For a second it feels exactly like she's knocked the wind out of him, but somehow in a really good way.
"Me too Rach," he manages after a moment.
She nods like she sees what she was looking for. "So if you'd like to, you can pick me up from the theater tonight and we'll discuss some guidelines," she says as she stands to go, twisting the strap of her handbag nervously.
He has to bite back a grin because this is Rachel, so of course she's going to want to make up all kinds of rules.
"I can work with that," he assures her, placing his hand on her back and guiding her out the door. Well, probably he can. Actually, he's never been all that great with following rules, but as long as her guidelines allow him to see her naked again as early and as often as possible, he should be okay.
He kisses her again out on the street, right before they split up for their separate subway lines, and he knows he could get used to the way she melts right into him.
She calls his name before he's gone ten steps.
"And then we're absolutely going to plan this shower, Noah Puckerman, so don't think you're going to distract me from that!"
"Wouldn't dream of it," he laughs.
Yeah, he's totally going to have a go at distracting her.