A/N: This is a new oneshot I thought of while sleeping last night. For the remaining DL fans, I will be finishing 'Easy As ABC' because I do have readers on both sides. So, the last part will be in progress, as I try to juggle school, and my life outside of Fanfiction. Newsflash: I have hit the 60 mark! YAY!

You're not sure how it started, or when the feelings you decide to ignore take root, and grow but you do everything in your power to stop it. You're hundred percent – a thousand percent – sure you are the school's "man candy", and she is the school brainiac, and that you can never fall for someone like her. But you're proved wrong, as you recall the first time she makes you blush. Denial often helps not tot think about it, but the more you do, the more your tanned complexion fluctuates to that of a cherry, or a ripe tomato.

It's the first day of eighth grade, and the first year, females are allowed here. You've challenged them to a basketball game to see which is the better gender, and as usual you make good on your promise to win even if it's just by one point. You're not sure, but somewhere between winning and even your position of point guard taken away from you, your face reddens as the girls all stride off, and a soft shoulder collides with yours. You're not going to even entertain the thought of those electric sparks running up your toned, and muscular arms.

No girl does that, and the school nerd won't either.

You're rooted to the spot, her braids swishing behind her. Your friends think your face reddens with disbelief, and even rage because Coach gives your spot away…to a girl. It's wrong, and totally outrageous.

Not because of the infestation of females.

It's totally unfair because you absolutely can't stand the butterflies that flutter around in quite toned stomach. You'll hide the blush rising in your face, and stalk off the court, making a silent promise to yourself.

Quinn Pensky will never make you blush again.

You break that promise.

You break that promise and you hate that, because you hate that feel guilt. Why would you feel guilt, for anyone, especially her? He's not sure when he finds out about her favourite flower, but he finds it strange that he knows it. Why would he retain such a small detail like her favourite flower? Or the fact that she likes bright colours, preferably yellow and orange.

"Girls like flowers, right?"

"Yeah, so?" you respond, trying to suppress the small tinge of pink that wants to grace her cheeks. You won't blush for her. You refuse to. Your face can't blush, so you won't. Because you don't have the ability. It won't happen.

Your roommates glare at you.

"This was your mess, so you fix it."

You sigh, throwing the tennis ball up and down, so it'll distract you from her. Those girls that chase after you and everyday you realize that your speed-dating methods are failing much to your displeasure, and slight dismay. Maybe she would like flowers. You sigh, and throw your phone in the direction of the blond-haired girl in front of you.

"Here," she catches the black cell phone, looking at you with confusion and slight scepticism. "I have the flower place stored on my phone. Go to my Phonebook, and order a bouquet of yellow tulips. It's on me."

"And you would know this, how?" the actress prods, raising an eyebrow. There's the sound of a drill that's starting up, since you and your friends have to fix the robot yourselves.

"Because they're her favourite flower," you admit, and tell yourself that the heat slowly rising up in your face are just the sun's rays reflecting of the window pane and making contact with your face. Because she doesn't make you blush.

Not even a little bit.

What does she know about basketball?

You've seen her play, and she can't score a basket, much less help you with your free throws. You're stunned, when not one basket is made, but three in a row as made as the orange basketball sails smoothly in her air from her hands and the only sound made is a swish. Okay, so you're desperate, and she does know more about basketball than you thought, and you hate that you sound so desperate and needy especially towards her, but there's no way you're being benched in the next game. Let Zoey Brooks have the last word? No way.

"Please help me."

And she looks at you like there's a secret you don't know, and you innocently grab a rack of orange basketballs, surprised that she would even agree to help you. You swear your heart stops, when she touches your arm and slides her hand down to grab your wrist. Is she seducing you? Is she teasing you just like you do her? Is that concept of "what goes around, comes around" concept coming back even though you find so stupid and basically dumb?

"What about the balls?"

She almost laughs, "You won't be needing those balls."

Her voice is smooth in your ears, and for the first time, you see her in a whole new light. Her brunette hair is no longer in braids, and littered with all these colourful feathers, but it falls and the sun shows off how the richness in her chestnut locks. You almost want to punch yourself for thinking such ludicrous thoughts.

It's her. You don't have anything for her. Nothing. Nada. Absolutely nothing at all. Because she has a boyfriend and you could care less with the multitudes of girls that vie for your attention, and that makes you happy. When you're happy, the world is good.

Yet you break that promise you make to yourself on your first encounter with her, for the second year in a row.

She hasn't let go off your wrist, but you will not break the no-blushing promise a third time.

You're adamant on this rule, and intend to keep it even though there are little electric sparks currently running amuck, just like when your shoulders collide on the basketball after your first game.

In the back of your mind, you know this first encounter will always come back to bite you in the ass.

She's kissing you.

You're kissing her.

Somewhere between your sheepish question of talking to her, the day after the kiss that will change your view on her completely, and pulling away, looking quite frazzled as to what you're doing, your lips somehow finds hers and you don't want to stop. Her eyes sparkle behind her black-rimmed glasses with a look, you can't read. For the first time, your head is reeling with so many thoughts going faster than you can gel your hair.

"Quinn, we need to just forget that we kissed on that bench and stuff," you say, and you're not making a good job of making your point known, so she shakes her head and pushes her glasses up to her nose.

"Yeah, I agree with it," she replies, as you both look down and see that your hands graze each other. You're not sure who takes the initiative of starting it, but you feel like you've been burned and pull away hand away from hers. Or she pulls hers away from you. You're not sure. You can't stand those sparks you know all too well. You've spent each day, since eighth grade telling yourself they don't exist. Hey, what's one more shot anyway? She laughs. "…and it's not like we would actually date."

"Yeah, right. Me and you would just be too weird."

"I understand," she says, and slings her backpack over her shoulder. "I've got chemistry homework. See you, whenever."

She's kissing you again, and she pulls away, says a quick apology, but the redness of her cheeks are growing as she hurries away. You make the conclusion that her lips taste of strawberries.

Then again, the redness you try to suppress along with the stupid grin on your face, only grows more. You can still feel traces of her lips on yours, and conclude that you'll blushing for Quinn Pensky a lot more than you want to from now on.

You're a little more mature, and little wiser, as you kiss your new wife, ten years later. The kiss drowns out the cheers of jubilation that ring out in the church that sunny day. The thought of her last name attached to yours makes you giddy, and you're looking forward to married life. Surprisingly, you're not afraid of attachment or commitment because you're making the right one. You're sure, as she wraps her arms around your neck so securely. Just like your love for her encircles her heart, your arms encircle her frame as you kiss back.

Pulling away, she smiles at you, taking your hands in hers, wedding ring and all, while yours has the matching silver band. You still remember the proposal you make to her.

"You know, you're like the Chase to my Zoey. Only I'm not a clumsy or awkward and I don't fall over things. My hair is also better looking. So…will you marry me, Quinn?"

You blush like an idiot that day, like the first time it occurs when you're just fourteen years old. But you're used it now. She no longer wears glasses, thanks to laser eye correction. Technology has advanced, and she probably has something to do with it, but her eyes sparkle beautifully. In fact, she's just glowing and radiant.

He playfully smirks and whispers, "Quinn, you are the one girl that could make me blush. No girl has ever done that to me."

She smiles, widely, and replies, "I'm glad I have that effect on you, then, and that you're my husband now."

She leans over, allowing her lips that graze your cheek, and they instantly heat up. With mirth shining in her eyes, she giggles softly, "Baby, you're blushing."

You shrug, interlacing your fingers with hers, "I know."

You've come to believe that Quinn Pensky is the only girl that can make you blush. You're not sure when it starts, or how it began, but you're strangely happy with that fact.

A/N: Hope you enjoyed. I wrote this for Jess (drucillamalfoyrox), because I owed her a flashfic. Unfortunately, the prompt wasn't coming together the way I wanted, and didn't want to give you half-ass writing, so I thought of this before I went to bed and I thought of you. I hope you liked this, because I had fun writing it. Good news, I will be putting out the new chapter of 'All Year Round', because of your support. Thanks to all of those you stood by me, and gave that writer hell. I appreciate that, so now I'm motivated enough to lift the hiatus so thanks.

For those of you that like both DL/QL, I will be updating 'Easy As ABC' because I have DL fans on that side of the fence, and I don't want to DL/QL war to break out, even I'd probably laugh myself to death, lol. So, yeah. Last installement is coming out next weekish. It's really hard when I'm riding the QL wave so hard.

AHH! Chasing Zoey is TOMORROW! AHHH! OMG! QUOGAN KISSED IN FRONT OF EVERYONE! I literally fell out of my chair, watching the promo. Holy crap.

Anyway, review.

-Erika

PS. I need one more review of AYR to make it 80! Review, pretty please?