Broadway Baby

[acontrollist]

Rachel's packing when the phone rings. It's not a ringtone she immediately recognizes (Don't Rain on My Parade, her general one) as belonging to one particular person, but when she looks down at the number she contemplates not answering at all. It's the casting director for Spring Awakening, that much she's sure of. And since it'd be rude to not answer, she picks up the phone, all the while preparing herself for the worst.

"Rachel Berry speaking!" The girls' got a game face if nothing else. "Yes, yes, of course I remember!...O-oh?....Oh. Oh my God, oh my-yes. Yes, yes of course! I'd be honored! Thank you so much!" The next 5 minutes of the conversation goes that way. Oh my God and Thank you so much and This means so much and a million other exclamations intended to keep her from crying on the phone with her -- her -- casting director. "Thank you. Thank you so much. I'll see you soon, then!" She finally hangs up after a few more thanks yous, dropping her phone on the bed and turning to bolt into the living room.

Of course, she manages to stop herself halfway down the hall. Be cool, Berry. After a few deep breaths, she manages to cool her jets and stride into the living room instead. Noah's watching some silly game and she knows he hates it when she gets in front of the tv, but she's going to do it anyway. Crossing in front of him, she pulls his ankle down from where it's resting on the opposite thigh and takes a seat right in his lap. After prying his beer out of his hands and wrapping her arms around his neck she leans in, kissing a slow trail up his neck to his ear.

"Have you ever made love to a Broadway Starlet, Mr. Puckerman?"

Comments

[but_idontlie]

Shit's been good for them recently. He'd made mad bank working overtime on Christmas Day a few days earlier - one of the perks of being a Jew, and he'd told his Serge that he'd be happy to work whatever they needed on Christmas as long as he could have the last night of Hannukah off for sure. It was a weekday and it hadn't been a problem, and it had freed up the day for the other guys to spend with their families, and it was holiday pay for him without having to sacrifice any special time with Rachel or Beth. It was a win-win. He and Rachel would be getting married on the 30th, which was just about the benefits but they both knew [and refused to admit] that, like their relationship in Lima, it was probably more than that. He and Rachel were amazing. Most days, it felt as though Beth was living with them instead of Shelby, even going so far as to call Rachel Mommy.

But Beth isn't here now, and he kicks back fairly late on the afternoon of the 28th, watching the Knicks kick a little Heat ass, drinking a beer. [Yeah, he's 20. He's also a rookie cop. Whatever.] He's supposed to be gearing up for a night of something with Rachel, 'cause they'll cook if they have time or they feel like it and they'll get take-out if they don't, but she'll be leaving for Coco's in the morning and he won't see her until they're getting married, and he is going to fucking miss her sweet little Jewish ass. She's in the bedroom packing, and he's killing time watching some ball, and he figures that she's done when she slides onto his lap and wraps her arms around his neck.

His slide automatically around her waist, and the remote falls to the floor. Fuck the Knicks; Anthony's kicking ass and taking names, and they got this game in the bag. He's more interested in doing a little scoring of his own, and his fingertips slide into the waistband of her pants as he searches for the cute little dimple of her ass. [He can't explain why, but he loves it, and it makes her squeal when he touches it.] "Mmmm?" he murmurs in distracted curiously, focused more on his own actions and the texture of her skin than on her words. "Not cheating on you, I swear."