Puck never realized how into gingers he was. The only real ginger he'd ever seen that he might have potentially set his sights on was Miss Pillsbury, and even though she was kinda hot in her own way, the rumors went that she was a virgin (which would mean Puck would have to teach her about sex, which was totally not what he was looking to sign up for), and – she wasn't a mother, so there was something there that made her less attractive to Puck.
And then, Puck happened to fall in love at the grocery store. Or, his penis did, anyway. He'd just been minding his own business, looking for a can of spray-cheese in the hick town of Lima that wasn't bacon-flavored, when he noticed a head of fiery orange hair scurrying down the aisle, pushing a cart filled to the brim with junk foods of all natures. Judging by the woman's backside, she was in her mid-sixties or so (Puck was usually pretty good with dating; he wouldn't put her at a day over sixty four), but her frame didn't show too many signs of poor aging – her ass was actually not completely saggy. (And that was always a bonus.)
Intrigued, Puck had followed the woman, and had sidled up next to her with the intentions of playing it smooth, meaning to win her over with a husky, "Hey there, Momma."
The woman had given him a startled look, before she smiled in a warm, maternal – if not slightly confused – way, and responded, "Hello, there – is there something I can help you with?" She had an accent – a fucking British accent – and Puck instinctively licked his lips (conspicuously), having always had a bit of a thing for the sophisticated type that the accent practically embodied.
Shaking his head, Puck reached out a hand to rest on the handle of her cart, flexing his guns not-at-all-subtly in doing so. "I think the question is, can I do anything for you?" he countered, raising his eyebrows suggestively to drive the point home, in case it somehow went over the woman's pushing-elderly head.
Frowning, the woman had given Puck a more irritated look, before answering uncertainly, and with noticeably forced politeness, "No, I don't think that there is, other than letting go of my cart."
Not one to be deterred so quickly, and definitely being one to enjoy a nice, challenging MILF, Puck continued grinning at the woman, though he did concede to her request. She proceeded to ignore him, and continued on her way with a long list in hand. Puck followed along next to her, canned cheese forgotten as a telltale smirk took up its rightful position on his lips, and a twinkle found its home in his eyes.
"So, that's a lot of dip," Puck noted conversationally, as he appreciatively took in the four tubs of dip in the woman's cart, in addition to the half a dozen assorted and sugar cereals, and other varying and largely-quantified foodstuffs. If he'd had any doubts about her being a mother before, they had all disappeared as he scanned over the contents of her shopping cart.
Giving Puck a sideways look that clearly asked What in god's name are you doing? with a hint of Why me? thrown in, the woman slowly responded, "Yes, well, my two oldest sons are coming home this weekend – they're a great deal number of years older than you, I think," she added pointedly, while Puck just continued smiling, nonplussed. "And my youngest son – about your age, I'd imagine – is having his friends over, so I thought I should stock up. Can I ask why you're so interested in my groceries?" she inquired carefully, obviously not wanting to hear the answer, with her assumption of Puck's intentions being easily read from her countenance.
Shrugging dismissively, and not bothering to fix his tee-shirt when he felt it ride up slightly and expose a tan bit of skin along his waist, Puck answered simply, "No reason, I'm just a friendly guy. Real friendly, if you know what I mean?" he said with a lusty intonation that appeared to scandalize his target beyond all necessity.
She was most definitely not amused, or charmed, by Puck's actions, and glowered before stopping her cart a little more violently than she had to in front of a freezer housing an ungodly amount of different ice creams. "Little boy," she stressed, as Puck moved in a little closer. "I don't know what is going through your mind right now – though I get the feeling that I also don't want to – but I'll have you know that I have a husband, in addition to seven children that I love dearly."
Seven – seven. If Puck hadn't been certain that he wanted in the woman's pants before, he'd known it then. The most children any of his clients had ever had was four – and they had been young, too; definitely not older than Puck. "So?" Puck said, as the woman's mouth dropped into an o, and she visibly began to try to discern if Puck was serious or not. (Which he totally was; Puck never joked about his female conquests.) "I've got a mom and a little sister – but they don't have to know about this, either."
"This," the woman repeated with an incredulous half-laugh. "Just what do you think that this is? All I want is to pick up groceries for my family – I don't know what type of woman you take me for, but I'm most certainly not about to throw away everything that I have for the sake of some deluded teenage boy who –"
"Who has one nipped that's pierced, and another that's scarred from where it was pierced, and the nipple ring got torn out," Puck interrupted knowingly, striking the woman wordless, and causing her to flush in what Puck knew from experience was excitement at the prospect.
He grinned in victory when the woman turned back to her list and mumbled thoughtfully, more to herself as a justification than to Puck, "Maybe – I could convince my husband to go out with the children, so that I can tidy up the house a bit…"
Smirking, Puck agreed casually, "I'd buy that excuse," while the woman dug a piece of paper and a pen from her purse. Quickly, she scribbled her phone number, and the name "Molly" down, before stuffing the paper into Puck's hand, and hastily turning to escape down another aisle. Her lingering whisper of "Call before three," and the screeching of her wheels on the tiled floor was the only farewell that Puck received from her.
Not that there was anything wrong with that, he thought as he clutched the paper tight in his palm and grinned triumphantly. As he spun on his heel and sauntered towards the exit of the store with a new spring in his step, he couldn't help but think that there should really be more redheaded women in the world.
And that Mike would never believe this story, unless Puck brought him proof in the form of granny panties.
AN: I wish I could blame this on huffing glue or something. But sadly, I do not partake in any illegal substance abuse.
Disclaimer: I own nothing. Thank god.