Quinn puts her head on his shoulder, and he hugs her softly, swaying in time with her. He's glad he can't see her eyes anymore, because he recognizes the look in them. It's the same way he knows he looks when he thinks about Puck, when he looks at him, when he talks about him. Quinn and him? Exactly the same. In love with the same guy. And Sam almost envies her right now for not knowing a thing about what's really going on. "That promise ring I gave you was the cheesiest thing ever. But this one's nice. Puck must've..." He swallows hard, smoothing a hand down her hair. That first night, when he was alone in the house, Puck was giving Quinn a ring. "He wanted to make you feel really special." His eyes feel wet. Puck didn't even tell him. Not that he needed to - whatever he does with Quinn is his own business - and Quinn said herself that it's not a promise ring or anything, or at least she doesn't think it is. But his chest still feels tight, and his face feels hot, and he's not nearly drunk enough for this.

"I-I'm sorry, I can't, um... I'm not good at dancing," Sam says, pulling back abruptly. "I'm just tired from our set. I need a drink." He leaves her on the dance floor with a mumbled apology, and his vision blurs as he makes it back to the bar. He wipes his eyes and grabs a shot glass, not even bothering with salt as he throws it back. He wipes his mouth, then wipes his eyes hastily, looking at Puck. "Go dance with her, okay? She's your girlfriend, don't just leave her out there." He grabs another shot, ignoring the way his eyes prickle with tears again. The tequila makes him shudder, and he bites into a lime wedge. "Go, Puck, okay? Just go, please."