Puck was getting annoyed. Mostly because he was forced to partner with Rachel today, Finn being sick with the flu. She was super into Glee (duh) and he wasn't really.... kind of. Finn had been right... being good at something besides football did feel really good. But he wasn't thinking about that right now. Rachel was his partner which meant he was holding her around the waist and picking her up to spin her... had to catch her twice for this song. Not that she was heavy, in fact she seemed to fit perfectly in his arms. That was what was so annoying. Rachel was distinctly girl shaped... and parts of Puck just happened to notice. He was trying to think of other things which wasn't helping his dancing... he was trying to concentrate on the music and not screwing up. But he kept screwing up. And Rachel being Rachel, well she was glaring at him and sighing dramatically ever time he put one foot where the other one was supposed to go or turned to quickly and threw them off the beat. Once or twice while still in his arms, she'd let her head roll back and kind of gone limp so he'd had to pull her in closer to hold her up. He was not at all thinking about the line of her neck or what kind of noises she might make if he were to happen to graze her collar bone with his teeth. He was annoyed. It was all her fault.

Because Rachel smelled good. Every time he had to spin her around her hair would flare out and throw the scent of her perfume or something into his face and his brain would just shut off. Cause she smelled good... he hated that. Berry was a weirdo loser little miss perfect bitch. He kept telling himself that. And then he'd have to spin her again and he'd end up tripping over his own feet because he had to suddenly start thinking about football or cars... or explosions in action movies. Anything to keep his mind off the fact that Rachel Berry was a girl...who smelled like vanilla and coconut or something... and then it would get worse. Her lips pouted when she got mad at him. He really did try not to stare at them... which he was absolutely not thinking about kissing. And that little pink tongue that darted out to wet her lip every so often killed him... or it would have. If he wasn't busy hating her and thinking about football and stuff.

"MR. SCHUE!!! He's not even trying! Can we just call it a day please?" she'd thrown her hands up in frustration and stamped her foot. He was trying really hard not to notice the fact that she was still really close to him and he still had his arm around her waist from the last spin. Also not being noticed, the fact that all those dance classes kept her in killer shape. No. He was not noticing that Rachel Berry smelled good, or looked hot in the skirt Mercedes had picked out (sorter than her usual by a whole hell of a lot) and the heels made her legs look so long that they gave him ideas about them wrapping around things... like him if he should happen to carry her off to a dark corner of the auditorium. But she snapped her body out of his arms, reminding him that he should be thinking about cars and explosions and not how hot she was. Because she wasn't hot... nope not in the least.

"I don't know why you even bothered showing up, Puckerman." she mumbled crossing her arms in front of her chest (not that he'd been looking there originally or anything).

"Can't a guy just wanna bask in the glow of your perfection?" the sarcastic response flew out of his mouth automatically.

She mutters something about him being a jerk and flounces away. He'll have to remember to throw Kurt in the dumpster again for being around him long enough to make him use the word flounce. Right after he reminds himself not to look at Rachel when she's walking away from him ever again... not that he was staring at any particular body part just now... but that skirt was really short and her legs were still really long.

Tina shoved by him.

"T-t-t-take a p-p-picture, why don't ya?" She hissed at him. That's when he remembered that he wasn't supposed to notice that Rachel was pretty, or smelled good, or had perfect lips. None of that was on his mind at all. Football, cars, explosions he kept repeating to himself. He added baseball stats for good measure.