I'm living with you, dude. Sam doesn't say anything to that, because, sure, it's true, and Sam doesn't doubt that Puck loves him, but at the same time, Puck's also in love with Quinn. And maybe he's not living with her, but he still loves her. Sam just never predicted that his first real relationship that actually means something to him would involve a third party. It's hard to swallow. On nights like these when all three of them are in the same space, it's even harder. Puck texts someone again - Quinn - and Sam just sighs, slouching in his seat.

"If you have to take me home, then you can't go home with Quinn," Sam mumbles. "Or are you gonna dump me at home and then leave for Quinn's?" He knows he's pretty unpleasant to be around when he's drunk, but he wants Puck to stay with him. No matter what. He's not going to say that, though - not sober, anyway. Puck has a life outside of him, and that life involves Quinn, and it wouldn't be fair if he didn't let him go live it. Their shots arrive with a little dish of limes, and Sam slides one glass over to Puck. He wants to lick the salt off Puck's hand, but he settles for his own. The tequila makes him cringe - it's not very expensive and it tastes like shit, and he sinks his teeth into a slice of lime as he puts his shot glass down. He's sure everything would taste better if he was licking the flavor from Puck's mouth right about now. He wants to so badly, but they have appearances to maintain. Sam does another shot and shudders, making a face. "You can go find Quinn if you want. Seriously, I'll be fine. I'm not mad." And he's not, mostly. He's mostly just sad. But at least he has his shitty tequila.