I know, I know. It's just - it wasn't me this time, okay? Some guy fucking bashed me. [He closes his eyes, rolling onto his back with a soft groan.] I went out for drinks and just to have a good time, and this guy kept flirting with me. I didn't do anything with him, you know I wouldn't cheat - [There may have been a judgmental stare tossed along with those words.] - but he wouldn't leave me alone. I danced with him once, and then I got bored and started missing you, so I was gonna go home. But this dude kept bugging me, asking if I'd take him home and if we could hook up or something. I finally told him I had a boyfriend, and I went out to the parking lot, and he followed me and then he - he hit me right in the face. Then he started calling me all these names and talking about how I was disgusting, and that's when I realized he was one of those sickos who hangs out at gay clubs to find people to bash. [He takes a slow breath, wincing.] So obviously I hit him back, but he got a couple more hits in before he ran off.

[He thinks he might have his priorities a little out of whack when he finds himself getting more upset over Puck suggesting a three-way than nearly getting his head busted open in a parking lot. In a way he guesses it could work, if Quinn was down with it. But then he'd have to watch Puck and Quinn kissing and touching and fucking and - just, no. But if it was that or nothing? It would have to do. He's been trying to loosen up the imaginary leash he pretends he has Puck on anyway; it's kind of ridiculous that Puck's not allowed to fuck his girlfriend in his own house, so Sam had told him that it would be okay to have Quinn over for the afternoon or the night or anything like that. All Sam asked for was an advance warning.] Are you serious? Quinn would never go for it. [Though, she might. It's not like she hasn't made out with him before.]

Ice. Seriously, dude, hurry up, I feel like shit.