Chapter 1 – I’ll Never Let You Sweep Me Off My Feet

 

She doesn’t actually know how it started; this game she’s been playing during office hours to make it through the day. Except that’s a lie and she absolutely knows how it started and even why; but honestly, what else was she supposed to do when she only has three hours of work to fill an eight hour day? Talk to Angela about what a hussy she’s turned into? Watch Kevin try to beat his record for how many M&M’s he can fit into his mouth? No, she can’t or won’t do any of that.

Besides, no matter how hard she tries, no matter how many rubber bands she snaps against her wrist, she can’t stop herself from turning to look at his desk approximately thirty-seven times an hour. Yes, she spent four hours one afternoon playing her own version of Pam Pong and then took the averages and yes, it’s thirty-seven times an hour and has she mentioned she’s bored yet? She’s been playing this game for five years and she can’t stop now just because her partner has changed.

She sent him an email. It was literally that simple. She’s pretty sure it was a Tuesday because nothing important ever happens on a Tuesday and at the time; this didn’t feel like an important thing. It still doesn’t, but she also realizes it’s still something.

To: Ryan Howard
From: Pam Beesly
Subject: Salesman Job Responsibilities for Pod #1, Desk Two

It’s your job to entertain the receptionist.

From: Ryan Howard
To: Pam Beesly
Subject: I left my tap shoes at home

Besides, I’m Desk One.

To: Ryan Howard
From: Pam Beesly
Subject: You wish

Yeah right. Ask Dwight about that and he’ll explain why his desk is number one and why you’re number two. Please ask him. I dare you.

To: Pam Beesly
From: Ryan Howard
Subject: Stop Emailing Me

Seriously.

She knows this has nothing to do with being friends with Ryan. She doesn’t even want to be friends with him but she also can’t un-train her eyes from looking that way every time he coughs, which is weirdly a lot of the time. And it’s really unfair that he has dark hair because if she squints or only looks quickly out of the corner of her eye, she can almost pretend he’s Someone Else. Until he opens his mouth and calls her a stalker and then she remembers who he is and that she doesn’t like him.

But she’s bored.

She’s bored after work too. It wasn’t like she and Roy ever actually went out that much but at least when she was engaged she had someone to talk to at night. But she doesn’t have that anymore and it’s weird. Changing your day to day habits after ten years is weird and it’s only been a little over a month but she still feels like she doesn’t know what she’s supposed to do; with her time or her life.

She’s been staying with Isabel since she told Roy she wasn’t going to marry him. She has an apartment to move into but it won’t be ready until the first of August so the few things she owns are in storage and she’s in Isabel’s guest room; which is great because she’s needed her real best friend a lot lately.

You know, ever since her work best friend confessed his love for her and then ran away.

Right. She knows that’s not actually how it happened. She knows she’s equally to blame for the fact that Ryan now sits across from her, but sometimes, most times, she doesn’t want to think about that. Sometimes, it's easier to pretend. Mostly, she doesn’t want to think about him but he’s still all she ever thinks about. Hence the rubber bands on her wrist, which don’t make her think about him any less seeing as how she stole them from his desk drawer in the first place.

Isabel let her mope around for exactly three weeks after she left Roy before she started asking, and then begging, and then finally making Pam go out with her at night. It was the first time since high school that the two of them were single at the same time and according to Isabel, this wasn’t something to let slip through their fingers. It was summer, they were young, and there were plenty of men willing to buy them a drink or two.

Isabel was right about all of that and now, Pam isn’t as bored at night as she is during the day and she knows why she keeps at this. Why she won’t just accept defeat.

Emails didn’t work. He just stopped replying to them. So she takes a page from Jim’s book and she starts throwing things into his coffee cup. At first she’s a terrible shot, but Ryan doesn’t spend a lot of time actually at his desk so she has a lot of time to practice and by the end of Thursday, she’s pretty sure his cup hold eleven thumbtacks, six paper clips and one piece of crumpled up neon green post it note on which she’s drawn a picture of Dwight and Ryan holding hands, surrounded by hearts.

He comes over to her desk for the first time that week and dumps the coffee cup on the counter and she sees there are actually twelve thumbtacks, so she smiles pleasantly and folds her arms across her desk and asks how she can help him.

“Pam.” He looks down at her with such derision on his face that she has to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing at him. “Stop it.”

“I’m bored,” she sighs. “Just, tell me a joke or something. What’s Dwight up to? Does Michael still think you’re dreamy? Give me something, Howard.” His last name doesn’t roll off her tongue as easily as others have so she decides never to use it again.

He lifts an eyebrow and instantly she knows he’s going to say something inappropriate so she raises her hand to wave him off. “Never mind. Go back to your desk.” She scoops up all of the things he scattered on her desk and drops them back into the cup. “Those are yours now.” She turns back to her computer before he can say anything else.

He catches her staring at him later that afternoon, only she’s not actively staring at him. Sure, she’s sitting with her chin propped in one hand and her eyes are pointed in his direction but she doesn’t actually see him. She sees grilled cheese sandwiches and yogurt lid medals and dark sweaters over white shirts and tears. His then and hers now.

She blinks, shakes her head quickly and turns away. That’s certainly enough of that. She finds her phone and texts Isabel; telling her that they need to go out that night.

An instant message pops up on her screen and she’s intrigued because it’s from Ryan and he’s never messaged her before.

RHoward: I don’t think Michael’s the only one who finds me dreamy.

PBeesly: Yeah, there’s Kelly too. Obviously. Probably Meredith. I can ask her if you want.

RHoward: And you.

PBeesly: Gross. That’s a lie.

RHoward: Then quit staring. It’s weird.

It is weird, and she is trying to stop, but she can’t, and she knows she probably won’t because stopping kind of feels like giving up and yes, she knows he’s not Him, he’s not even a close second but she will not stop staring at that desk and that chair and apparently, whoever happens to be sitting there too.

It’s not healthy. She looks down at her phone and for the first time this summer, Isabel is hesitating on going out. Something about how she kind of just wants to sit home and eat ice cream. Pam gets that, she does. She’s eaten no less than seven gallons of mint chocolate chip ice cream by herself in the last thirty days but she doesn’t want to eat ice cream tonight and she tells Isabel as much. And because Isabel’s a good friend, she agrees to a night out as long as Pam buys the first round and gives her first pick of the men. Isabel drives a hard bargain but it’s worth it.

It’s Thursday Night, otherwise known as Ladies’ Night at no less than six establishments in Scranton but when Pam gets home to Isabel’s and sees what she’s wearing; it’s clear they’re not headed anywhere that serves dollar draft beers.

She kind of loves that she knows this now. That she’s gone out enough times that she has two different versions of Pam After Dark and while she has different but equal amounts of fun; she knows that she’s more suited to Isabel’s idea of going out than she is say, Kelly’s.

Because yes, she goes out with Kelly. Saturday nights have kind of become their thing, and it’s completely different than Thursdays nights with Isabel.

She goes out with Isabel and wears little black dresses and drinks Old Fashioneds and flirts with accountants and real estate agents; guys who are still wearing their suits but have loosened or ditched their ties in the car on the way to the bar. She realized quickly that she has a soft spot for the ones wearing blue. She stays away from anyone who works in sales.

But then she goes out with Kelly and she wears much less. They drink sugary pink drinks and order shots with offensive names. Flirting turns into making out with grad students on sticky dance floors and something new and fun she’s learned about herself is that she’s fascinated by a full sleeve of tattoos on a well-muscled arm.

Pam’s not stupid. She knows she’s absolutely Going Through Something but sometimes, usually late Saturday night or early Sunday morning when she’s dropping Kelly off at her place or watching her leave with some guy that she just met, she wonders if Kelly’s going through it too. She doesn’t judge because she’s not being judged.

But it’s an Isabel night so she’s wearing a green sundress and they’re drinking whiskey sours on a patio where there’s a late 90’s alt-rock cover band playing a Counting Crows song she vaguely remembers from college and two guys are asking if the two empty chairs at their table are taken because there aren’t any other seats.

Isabel turns her chair toward the redhead and is instantly fascinated as he starts to tell her about his day. Pam sips her drink and turns her attention to his friend, a cute thirty-something with brown hair and blue eyes. He says his name is Ben but she quickly tells him she’s going to call him Benjamin. She doesn’t tell him why she’s done with three letter names like Pam or Roy or Jim. Or that lately she’s spent a lot of time focusing on names.

The thing is, sometimes, on nights like tonight when she’s making new friends, she calls herself Pamela. Or Ella. God help any man who tries to call her Pammy. She’s rarely Pam, but that’s only because Pam is connected to the daytime and to the office and to him and well, Pam definitely doesn’t approve of what happens after five.

Tonight, she says she’s Pamela, because she kind of likes how Pamela and Benjamin sound in her head. Like two people who probably have their shit together. Benjamin’s a high school English teacher and he spends the next hour making her laugh with stories of the kids in his classroom. He’s funny but he doesn’t spend the whole time talking about himself, he asks her questions about her life and she gives vague answers and half- truths. She’s an art student, she says. And she just got out of a long relationship. They aren’t lies, but she doesn’t need to weigh him down with her baggage.

He’s a nice guy but she’s not really looking for anything other than them sharing another drink while she entertains the idea of letting him take her home. She wonders if she’d be more interested in him six months from now, or whenever it is that she’ll finally be over Jim. It’s the thought of finally being over Jim that makes her order another drink when she’s already reached her limit of three. She knows she’s going home with Benjamin before he even asks.

And since Benjamin is a nice guy, he doesn’t ask right away. So with whiskey coursing through her veins she scoots her chair a little closer to his, leans against his arm, and grins when his eyes drop quickly to her cleavage before he looks back at her and asks if she wants to go somewhere quieter and talk.

Talking is the last thing she wants to do, and she tells him as much with her hand sliding up his leg. She kisses him right there at the table and for the moment she isn’t thinking about best friends or parking lot declarations. They steal away from their friends without so much as a goodbye, and leave while the band plays a decent cover of Semi-Charmed Life.

She doesn’t hate it. She doesn’t exactly love it, but she definitely doesn’t hate it.

--

Her head hurts the next morning, which is to be expected. She drank a lot of whiskey for a Thursday night. At least it’s Friday, and Michael is out of the office so she already knows she’s going to leave early but it’s only ten and she can’t leave that early.

The candy dish on her desk is almost empty and she decides to run out at lunch to get something to fill it with. Anything but jellybeans, she tells herself. She thinks of jellybeans and her eyes automatically slide to his desk but it’s still Ryan sitting there and honestly, she doesn’t think she’s ever seen him even eat candy.

PBeesly: Got a question for you.

RHoward: Is it a real question or is it like the time you asked me why school busses don’t have seat belts?

PBeesly: That was a real question. Think of the children, Ryan. But anyways. What kind of candy do you like?

RHoward: I’m going back to work.

PBeesly: You’re playing Tetris. Come on, just tell me.

RHoward: Why?

PBeesly: Because I’m asking. Jesus, can you just answer a goddamned question for once?

She hears him snort but doesn’t look up until he’s standing over her desk. “Can I help you?” she asks a beat later.

“Someone’s cranky,” he comments. “Rough night?”

“My night was fine,” she says, hoping her face is as passive as her voice and that he can’t tell she’s still wearing last night’s mascara.

“Then why are you such a bitch this morning?”

“Why can’t you just be nice for once?”

“We aren’t nice to each other.”

“Fine.” Her head hurts too much to try any harder. “Forget I asked.”

Ryan raps his knuckles against the counter and then goes back to his desk. She’s momentarily distracted when her phone vibrates across the counter. It’s a text message from Benjamin. He had fun last night. He’d like to see her again, take her on a real date.

She had fun too, but she still feels the way she did last night. She’s not looking for this. Not with him. She wishes she felt different but before she can give it too much thought, her instant message pings.

RHoward: wintergreen lifesavers

PBeesly: ?

RHoward: I like those

PBeesly: Wow. Are you 70?

RHoward: Shut up. Did you know that they glow in the dark?

PBeesly: You shut up. That’s just one of those urban legends. Like mentos and diet coke. No one’s ever actually done it. It’s always a friend of a friend or a kid in the next school district.

RHoward: you were the hot dog girl, weren’t you? Its okay, you can tell me.

PBeesly: I hate you.

Neither of them says any more. An hour later he sends her a YouTube video that proves Mentos do explode if mixed with Diet Coke and though she wonders why anyone would waste a perfectly good Diet Coke on that, she still stops at the store on her lunch break and then dutifully fills her candy dish with the chalky looking Lifesavers. They remind her of the pastel colored buttermints Roy’s mother insisted on at her first bridal shower and she sets out a second dish of candy out of spite. Skittles. Completely different than jellybeans.

He waits until almost three before he takes a detour past her desk on his way to the copier. She waits for him to try to take a piece of candy before she pulls the dish out of his reach and shakes her head at him.

Ryan tilts his head at her and sighs. “What?”

She pinches a single wrapped candy between two fingers and holds it in front of his face. “Prove it.”

“Prove what?”

She rolls her eyes. “That they spark; what else?” She doesn’t know why she’s doing this, but she stands and motions for him to follow her into the supply closet.

“You’re really weird. You know that, right?”

“There are worse things. Come on, hot shot.” She drops the candy into his hand and doesn’t miss the smirk on his face just before she hits the light switch.

“This is dumb. It’s not my fault if it doesn’t actually work.”

“You’re the one who brought it up.” She folds her arms and leans against the door.

“I think I hate you.”

“I don’t care. Get on with it already. I’m trying to leave early today.”

“Yeah? Kelly says you guys might be going out tonight?”

She kind of remembers telling Kelly she’d go out with her. “Yeah, probably.”

He bites into the mint and she’ll be damned if something doesn’t spark.

--

She and Kelly go dancing. She's barely surprised when Ryan and his friends show up an hour later. She's truly surprised by the fact that outside of the office, Kelly and Ryan barely interact with each other. On the way home that night she’ll learn that Kelly’s whole Ryan kink is simply him at the office and she’ll completely understand but for now, she’s confused when Kelly brushes past him with a cool hey Ryan and asks his friend Nathan if he's going to buy a round of shots. Ryan stands next to Pam and orders a beer without looking at her. He looks confused too.

It's a weird night. They circle around each other without actually saying anything. But he buys a pitcher of beer to share with her and she ends up dancing with him when he tells her he doesn't believe she knows how. She knows how. She pretends not to notice when his hands dip a little lower on her hips than is considered co-worker appropriate but then she has to laugh because considering their job and their coworkers, this is pretty fucking appropriate.

She also pretends not to notice that Ryan and his friends show up the next two times she and Kelly go out. It's the same every time; drinks and dancing, no talking. He stares at her more openly though and she tends to get careless with her personal space when they're sitting side by side at a table. It’s completely harmless.

They don't mention it at work. It’s all status quo; he insults her, she ridicules him. She genuinely doesn’t like him but it’s so easy to get him to take her bait that she just can’t help herself.

Ryan finds out about her thing with names and thinks it’s hilarious. He introduces her to his friends as Mila and it’s ridiculous but she goes along with it. He doesn’t think it’s so funny when she’s grinding against him on the dance floor or licking salt and lime from his skin before tipping tequila down her throat.

Because yeah. They do that now. Things have… progressed.

The dancing, well, that isn’t her fault. The other night she got to the bar just in time to see him shove his tongue down Katy’s throat, of all people; and for fuck’s sake, was that girl going to work her way through the entire office?

She thinks about glass houses and stones but whatever. She really needs to learn to say no to Nathan’s Sambuca shots because not only are they gross, they obliterate any filter or self-control she has and she ends up doing and saying things that make it easy for Ryan to call her things like jealous. It goes over about as well as either of them expect and even though they both know it has nothing to do with him and everything to do with the one who moved away, they’re still the ones having a stare-down in the middle of a dimly lit bar.

So to recap, Katy is the one he kisses but she’s the one who lets him cop a feel on the dance floor because the cheerleaders can’t always win.

The body shots on the other hand? Entirely her fault. She’s not even sorry about it really. He doesn’t want to play games in the office with her but he never says no outside of work.

This game is easy. The only point is to see who can rattle the other person first. It usually ends in a draw, they’re both weirdly good at keeping their composure, but tonight she thinks she wants to win.

“Ryan.” She tugs on the arm lying flat across his leg. “Give it.”

He smirks. She hates that smirk but she understands why it works for other girls. “Nah,” he says, flexing under her grip. “Right there. Unless you’re afraid it’s too much?”

She hates him but she really doesn’t want to lose this round. “Ugh. Fine.” And then she kicks his legs apart and sinks between them. She’s all business as she turns his arm until his palm is face up and licks a straight line from wrist to elbow. They’re both silent as he tilts the saltshaker over his arm.

She knows he thinks he has her this time but he couldn’t be more wrong. She darts her tongue over her lips and her hair spills over his legs as she dips her head back to his lap. He’s expecting her to start at the wrist but her tongue dips into the crook of his elbow. She keeps her eyes locked on his and slowly drags her tongue the length of his arm. Her hair catches when he clenches his fist and she can feel muscles tense as she presses her lips to his pulse, delicately scraping her teeth against the inside of his wrist before catching the last of the salt with the tip of her tongue. She rocks back on her heels, finds the shot glass on the table, fucking winks at him, and swallows the tequila like a goddamn champion. She flicks the lime wedge he holds to the floor. She doesn’t need it.

It’s her turn to smirk as she braces her palms on his legs and lifts herself up and onto his knee. “Got you.” Her voice is rough from the sting of alcohol but that doesn’t account for the fact that it sounds more like a question than a statement and she realizes she’s breathing a little heavier than she should be. At least his eyes are glassy and unfocused.

He stares at her for a minute and then the corners of his mouth quirk. “You looked good down there.”

“Fuck off.” She laughs but still tries to hit him. He leans to the side and catches her arm against his chest.

“Aww, it was a good try.” He pats her on the head just to be a dick about it and she kind of wants to punch him in the face. She tries to slide off of his lap but he’s surprisingly strong as he holds her there. “It’s my turn.” His eyes sweep over her. “Where?”

Her hand flutters through the air as she gives him her best I’m bored look. “Your choice.” He always chooses the spot just beneath her collarbone.

He cups her chin, tilts her head to the left. “Here?” he asks, trailing his index finger down the side of her neck. She nods quickly and hands him a sugar packet off the table.

Ryan can’t handle tequila shots so he does lemon drops. It’s been almost two weeks since she found that out and she’s pretty sure it’ll never stop being funny.

She fixes her eyes on a spot just over his shoulder and tries to steady her breathing as he leans in. If he notices her nails digging into his thigh as he first licks and then sprinkles sugar over her skin he doesn’t mention it.

Instead he grins, tightens the fingers around the curls at the back of her head and pulls sharp enough that she gasps. She lets her eyes fall shut when his lips touch her neck. They stay shut as his tongue darts against her, rough where it cuts through sugar and soft when he strays from his original path. He strays more than not and she slides her lower lip between her teeth when his find the tip of her ear.

“Take the shot,” she reminds him when his mouth moves dangerously close to her jaw. She lets herself wonder, not for the first time, what else his he could do to her if she let him.

“No.” She doesn’t realize his hand is still tangled in her hair until he tugs at it again and his mouth is hot on hers.

“Fuck.” She thinks maybe they both breathe the word into each other but she can’t think about it for long because she tastes tequila and sugar and it’s distracting her in the best of ways. He’s even more talented with his tongue inside of her mouth than out and for a second she forgets to hate him.

She remembers about ten seconds later when he pulls back and tells her he wins. But then he lets her drink the vodka and doesn’t argue when she tells him it doesn’t count because he didn’t complete the whole ritual.

Later, when they’re dancing and his fingers are digging into the curve of her hips and her back is pressed to his chest she wonders what it would be like to fuck him. Given the things he’s whispering into her ear, she knows he would but she also knows she never will.

But this is still fun.

She lets him work her up, probably works him up too if she’s being honest with herself, but then she bails before last call and takes a cab to a condo on the other side of town.

Later that night when she collapses, sweaty and spent, across Danny Cordray’s bed, he asks her where all that came from and she pretends she doesn’t hear him.

--

Roy gets a DUI and she almost fucks the temp.

Okay, it’s a little more complicated than that. But it does all start when Roy gets a DUI at ten-thirty in the morning on a Wednesday. And then he’s in jail and he calls her and she tells him that it’s not her problem and hangs up on him.

Everyone else seems to think it is her problem and the other phone calls start rolling in by noon. First it’s Mrs. Anderson, and honestly, she’s always liked Patty but now the older woman is screaming at her, telling her how all of this is her fault, that she’s ruined Roy’s life and how can she just sit there while he’s hurting and you know, locked up, and not do anything about it?

She wants to tell Patty to go to hell, but she just says that they broke up for a reason and that she’s sorry, but Roy isn’t her concern anymore.

Next, his sister Stacey calls her and this time, she does tell her to go to hell, but it’s only after Stacey reams her out for breaking Roy’s heart and slutting it up around town. She never really liked Stacey anyways.

Then her own mother calls her and she’ll be damned if she lets her try and guilt her into helping with the Roy situation because honey, how can you just walk away from ten years and isn’t this a little selfish of you?

So yeah, she’s not having a great afternoon. She almost loses it when just before five; fucking Darryl comes into the office and says she really should come to Roy’s with him because she owes him at least that after everything she’s done.

Ryan takes her to a dive bar and they throw darts and play shuffleboard and drink. They drink a lot. She drinks a lot.

She’s pretty sure she’s the one who kisses him first but they’re not really keeping score anymore. She just knows that they end up in the backseat of his car and she’s straddling his lap, grinding furiously against him.

It’s not enough though and she refuses to admit it to him, she can’t even admit it to herself, but she thinks maybe she wants him a little bit and she just doesn’t know what to do with that information.

Because she can’t have sex with him. She made herself that promise at the beginning of the summer when this was nothing more than an elaborate prank to annoy him at work. It can’t be anything more. She can’t do that to Kelly. Or to Jim. She tries to remind herself that they hate each other.

“I can’t fuck you,” she breathes against him and it sounds ridiculous because her hand is down his boxers and she’s practically riding him already through thin layers of clothing. “We can’t, but…”

“We won’t.” He lifts her up and off of him, pushes on her shoulders until she’s reclining opposite of him. He raises his eyebrow at her and gives her a stupidly smug look as he runs his hands under her skirt, brings her panties down to her knees. “Like I even want to,” he scoffs as he bends forward.

“God, shut up.” She closes her eyes when his tongue touches her and yes he’s every bit as good at this as Kelly has told her and that she’s imagined he would be. He knows it too, and she hangs on to that thought because it keeps her slightly annoyed with him for just existing and that’s going to be what gets her off more than the things his mouth is doing to her.

Whatever it is, it works and she comes hard and fast against him, screaming obscenities into her fist and blindly grabbing his shoulders and bringing him close enough to kiss.

From this position, his body is stretched against hers and she can feel him hard against her and for a split second she weighs the consequences.

He grinds into her twice, kisses her hard on the mouth and then drops his head to her chest. They lay there silently for a few seconds and then he props his chin up so that he can look at her.

His eyes are a little sad and she realizes for the first time that she isn’t the only one distracting herself that summer. She shifts a little, is about to open her mouth to ask if he wants to go back to her place because she feels like maybe she owes him something but he rolls his head side to side and looks at her with the most satisfied smirk she’s ever seen. He knows he’s won. She hates him all over again and you know what? It feels right.

“I’m hungry,” he says, reaching for his jeans. “Wanna go get tacos?”

She stops going out with him and his friends not long after that. She tells Kelly she’s too old for college nights and frat boys, and now she and Isabel only go out on Thursdays.

Things are weird in the office, but honestly, when has it ever been anything but weird in there?

She still spends too much time looking at his desk.

It’s not like anyone asks her if this is how she thought her night would go but even if they had, would she have been able to answer confidently that she thought it would end with her fucking Jim Halpert in a Buffalo Wild Wings bathroom? Well no. She honestly didn’t see this one coming.

But it did, and they are, and honestly? It’s pretty fucking great.

It’s not at all how she planned her night to go (though who could plan this?). It had been a particularly exhausting day at work. Ryan was still being an ass and you know, that was fine and all but also, get over it already; and Michael and Dwight had done nothing but slowly drive her mad all day. Her evening plans were nothing more than to go home and change into her pajamas and fall asleep in front of the tv.

Her cousin Jocelyn shows up at quarter to eight, hands on hips and a patented Beesly pout on her lips. “But Pam, I’ve been flirting with this new guy at the gym for like a week now and he and his friends are going to watch the game and I said maybe I’d see him there so you need to come with me so I can maybe see him there.”

Pam suggests she take Isabel but Isabel is at her new boyfriend’s house for the night and Jocelyn is insistent. “What, are you just going to sit home and watch Grey’s Anatomy? Boooooring!”

She makes a mental note to introduce Jocelyn to Kelly soon. But also, she’s not wrong. That’s exactly her plan. “There’s a good chance Meredith might die tonight,” she says, pointing at the screen.

“That’s every episode.” It is, but it doesn’t matter and Jocelyn sits down in a huff to watch and during the commercial breaks, Pam gets ready to go out.

Meredith doesn’t die and Pam ends up at a chain sports bar with a cold beer in her hand. Things could be worse.

“There they are, let’s go say hi.” Jocelyn is pulling her towards a table and fuck, shit, goddamn, and hell, the guy from her gym is Mark. Of course he is.

“And this is my cousin—“

“Ella,” she interrupts quickly when Mark doesn’t immediately recognize her. And why would he? It’s been almost a year since she saw him last. Still, she starts to sweat a little.

“Ella,” he repeats, his eyes sweeping over her once before he turns back to Jocelyn and say something about how maybe the two of them showing up will be a good luck charm because the Phillies are playing like shit.

It’s not the best pick up line, but she appreciates the effort he makes with her cousin. She scans the table quickly and only sits down when it’s clear Jim isn’t anywhere in the group. Of course he’s not there. He lives in Connecticut now, she reminds herself. It only makes her feel slightly better about the whole thing. Sometimes she forgets how small Scranton actually is and really, it’s pretty amazing she hasn’t run into Mark before this.

Mark looks at her a few times but he’s definitely into Jocelyn and she finally relaxes enough to join in random conversations around the table, even if she still wants to ask every single one of them if they know Jim.

She excuses herself to get another drink and her entire world comes crashing down as soon as she gets back to the table.

Dramatic? Maybe, but it fucking feels like the end of times when Mark’s eyes land on her as he’s calling for someone named JD to come meet his new friend Ella.

JD. James Duncan. This is it. This is how she dies.

Contrary to popular belief, Pam does own a hair straightener and she knows how to use it. She’s also mastered the perfect liquid line and owns several shades of lipstick that aren’t translucent against her lips, including the red one she’s matched to her Phillies t-shirt.

She assumes this is why Mark hasn’t recognized her yet. It’s possible he’s just drunk. Or dumb. She doesn’t really know, but either way, he’s introducing her to Jim, sorry, JD as “a way hotter version of the chick you used to work with, right?”

She smiles because she is and because they both know it.

But then she looks, really looks, at him and it’s like staring into the sun. Her eyes water and her mouth literally goes dry and she tries to convince herself that it’s because it’s Jim and she hasn’t seen him in months and there’s history but it’s not that at all.

It’s that he’s standing in front of her in a t-shirt just tight enough to see definition normally hidden by button-downs. Dark jeans. Nikes. She had no idea that Jim After Dark would be so entirely fuckable but she knows now. Fuck, she knows now.

And this is bad. It’s very bad because just three weeks ago, over cheesecake and cosmos, she told Isabel that she was giving up sex for the rest of the summer and up until this very second, she had meant it.

She thinks about texting Isabel, wonders if she can get away with calling a Celibacy Hall Pass for the night.

She grips her beer bottle tighter because she’s afraid otherwise she’ll run that hand through his hair. “JD,” she says curiously.  Something deep in the recesses of her brain reminds her of the time he told her that there were like, three Jims in his extended friend group and he refused to be called Jamie, so JD was the nickname given to him by the others.

“Ella,” he returns, his eyebrow lifting just enough to show he’s amused, but not entirely pleased with the situation. And then she really is dying because he kicks out the empty chair next to him and nods for her to take a seat and she does.

And so they talk without really talking because tonight they aren’t themselves. She does well for the most part but her voice trembles the tiniest bit when she asks him how his summer has been.

They’re already a few drinks in and she wonders when it was that he stretched his arm across the back of her chair, but then his hand bumps against her shoulder as he tells her his summer’s going fine. He recently moved out of state and is just back in town for a week for a family thing. She already knows it’s an annual family reunion but she pretends not to as he tells a story about his weird cousins from Florida.

She reaches her own hand up to tuck back a strand of hair, makes sure to flash her ringless finger as she tells him how her own family’s been weird since she called off her wedding. In case he doesn’t know.

He doesn’t look surprised. “That sucks,” he acknowledges.

Pam shrugs so that her shoulders brush against his arm and tips her beer until it’s empty. “It does, but it’s okay.” And then she’s on her feet to get another round. She waits until she’s at the bar to glance over her shoulder and he makes no apologies for being caught watching her ass the entire time.

It’s not long before Jocelyn joins her. “He’s cute,” she says, nodding back to their table.

“Yep.” She doesn’t trust herself to say any more than that.

She hands him a beer and when she sits back down he drops his arm from the back of her chair. His fingers tick up and down her spine as he quizzes her on baseball stats. Ten years with Roy finally proves good for something.

Someone bumps into her from the other side and when she grabs onto him for balance, his thigh is warm and solid under her hand.

Neither moves as they get caught up in mindless table chit-chat. Jocelyn and Mark have clearly hit it off and she wants to ask what happened to his girlfriend but she holds her tongue because that would ruin this game they’ve been playing all night.

His thumb edges just past the waist of her skirt, presses lazy circles into the skin there and she tries not to lose her mind because if she moves her little finger even just a fraction of an inch, she can feel him straining against well-worn denim. She knows this because she keeps accidentally doing it.

She fake laughs at another one of Mark’s jokes and then leans up and inward into him.

“Did you ever come here before?” She fights to keep her voice casual. “Years ago, when it was The Score?”

“A few times, yeah.” His hand slides to cup her ass before he goes back to tracing shapes into her skin.

She flicks her gaze to his, checking to see she has his attention. She does. “You see that door in the corner by the jukebox?”

“Yes.”

Her eyes are trained on the baseball game as she takes a sip of beer and slides her hand more firmly into his lap. Strokes him twice. Squeezes once. “It’s a private bathroom,” she explains quietly. “Locking door.” She’s out of her chair and moving before he can say anything but she doesn’t risk looking back because she doesn’t know what she’ll do if he isn’t following her.

She barely has time to worry because she turns and he’s already stepping into the room. The aforementioned lock clicks loudly into place and she swallows, lifting her eyes to his.

Anger radiates off of him. Sure, she sees lust and want and a thousand other things in the green of his eyes but the tightness in his jaw and the way his fist keeps clenching at his side screams anger and that’s fine with her. She’s angry too.

She wonders which emotion is going to win out. Are they going to scream at each other until they’ve exhausted all of their unsaid words or are they—

It take him two steps to get to her and then her back is against the wall and his hands are pulling her face to his and his lips are on hers and she’s pretty sure he’s not interested in talking things out.

It is nothing like when he kissed her in the office. This is all teeth and tongue and he’s taking rather than asking but she’s pretty sure she wouldn’t deny him anything right now.

It takes her a second to catch up but once she does, she doesn’t hold back either. She’s not strong enough to push herself away from the wall but she can pull him closer to her. She gasps when he pushes his knee between hers.

His hands are on her ass, her tits, in her hair, gripping her thighs. She feels dizzy trying to keep up with where his hands are and she stops because it’s easier to just give in and let go.

Until he steals under her skirt and then one hand is pulling her panties down and the other is gliding over bare skin and she accidentally bites his lower lip hard enough to taste the tiniest bit of blood. He either doesn’t care or notice because he’s too busy sliding his fingers into her.

He scrapes his teeth against her collarbone and she takes the moment to finally tangle her hands into his hair and pushes his head down until he’s tonguing her breast and her head thuds back against the wall.

She tries to slide down the wall, she wants to know what he tastes like and she maybe voices that thought out loud because he stops her, shakes his head, and mutters something like “no time” because right, they’re in a sports bar bathroom.

But then his hands are under her thighs and lifting her higher against the wall and then he’s pulling her onto him at the same time he’s thrusting into her and she kind of forgets how to breathe for a second because holy shit this is actually happening.

She’s relieved that this is how it happens, with his jeans barely pushed to his knees and her panties dangling from one sandal as she whispers into his neck for him to fuck her harder. She’s spent a lot of time this summer thinking about things, about him and her and on the nights she’s most honest with herself, she can admit that she was scared of the pedestal he seemed to have her on before. She’s not perfect, she never has been, and she’s certainly proved that she’s no angel. She doubts that the Jim she knew last spring would ever have fucked her against a wall. He would have wanted it to be something different, something more intimate, probably would have used the phrase making love and right now, in her current state of being, she will not and cannot think about making love to Jim.

But she sure as hell can do this.

Someone will come looking for them soon. The thought must cross both their minds because all of a sudden there are two hands reaching between them but he quickly waves hers away. She settles for digging her nails sharply into his shoulder and across his back as makes her come just before he does.

It’s completely silent and still for five impossibly long seconds before she remembers to breathe again. She exhales against his shoulder and his grip around her waist tightens before he sets her back on her feet.

She doesn’t know what’s going to happen when they leave this room so she pulls him close again and kisses him before he can say no. It’s not as bruising as earlier but it’s sloppy and desperate and she can feel his own shuddering breaths before she releases him and knows he’s just as lost as she is.

They dress silently and she motions for him to leave first. She needs a minute. She needs him to leave before she gets back to the table because there’s no way she can go out there and pretend nothing’s happened. She turns to the mirror so that her back is to him as he leaves and she can feel his eyes on her but she will not turn around. She can’t.

The door closes behind him and she takes a few steadying breaths and stares at the floor as she imagines him walking back to the table, paying his tab, saying good-bye to his friends.

She remembers earlier in the summer when she thought that Pamela and Benjamin sounded like the names of two people who had their lives together and now all she can think about is that maybe JD and Ella are too fucked up for any of this.

Jocelyn stares at her for a long minute when she finally gets back to the group and then asks if she wants to leave. She tries to play it off, whatever emotions must be crisscrossing her face to make Jocelyn give up going home with Mark and tells her she’s fine to stay. She must look completely wrecked or at the very least, like she just got fucked in a bathroom; and Jocelyn isn’t buying her excuses so they’re quickly saying goodbye and heading home.

It’s only later, in the darkness of her new bedroom, hidden in her new bed, that she lets herself slip just enough to admit there’s a tiny part of her that’s surprised that even though she told him to, he still left without saying goodbye. Again.

--

She’s watching Friends reruns late Tuesday night when her phone lights up the darkened room. Are you up?

She answers him instantly. Yes. What are you doing? It’s almost one in the morning. She’s pretty sure she knows what he’s doing.

She’s not wrong. His texts are short and come through in rapid succession.

Thinking about fucking you.

Properly.

In a bed.

Not that the other night wasn’t fun.

What are you doing?

It’s not enough to respond with “same” but like, same. She hasn’t stopped thinking about all of the things she could do to him since she left the bar that night and the only thing that’s kept her away is that he’s been staying at Mark’s and she’s not crazy about going back into that house, or that bedroom, and she doesn’t think he wants her there either because up until now, he hasn’t asked.

Thinking about you…

Still wondering what you taste like.

It’s not a lie, but her hands are shaking when she presses send. It’s only ten seconds before he responds but it feels like ten minutes.

Fuck.

She runs her fingers over the buttons on her phone and then types before she can talk herself out of it.

Come over.

He doesn’t answer right away and she frowns. But then she remembers that as much as she doesn’t want to be in Jim’s old bedroom, he probably really doesn’t want to be anywhere near Pam’s room either. Except she’s not at home. If he agrees, they could still meet on neutral ground and keep their twisted game going.

She’s not above begging. I’m at Isabel’s while my place is being repainted. She’s out of town. Just come over. The subtext couldn’t be clearer. They don’t have to be themselves.

It works because her phone lights up again. Address?

She fires off another text and then she’s moving to the guest bedroom because right now her only thought is that her underwear doesn’t match. She needs to brush her hair and her teeth and she only has about fifteen minutes before he’s knocking at the front door and she barely gets the bed made even though she knows they’re about to unmake it.

She’ll wash the sheets before Isabel gets home. It’s fine.

She tries to focus on the tv again as she waits for him but she doesn’t laugh as hard as she should at Phoebe and Rachel’s cries of “they don’t know that we know they know we know!” but she still jumps at the sharp knock at the door.

“Hey.” She’s not at all shy about giving him a complete onceover as he walks into the living room. He’s wearing basketball shorts and another faded t-shirt and again, she takes a second to appreciate what Late Night Jim looks like. She wonders what he was doing before he came over; and while the answer is most likely video games, she prefers to think of him stretched out across his old bed.

He hadn’t bothered to comb his hair and this time she really can’t help herself. She threads the fingers of both hands at the back of his head and kisses him. It’s not like he came over so they could talk.

He kisses her back as she pulls him further into the room. They stumble over each other’s feet and when he keeps her from falling, her hips bump against his and she can feel that he’s already hard. She presses against him again and giggles into his mouth to let him know she knows and he nods.

“You’re responsible for that.” His voice is rough and low in her ear and she pulls back and arches an eyebrow at him. “Your text,” he clarifies.

“Really?” She reluctantly loosens her grip on his hair and lets that hand drift over his chest and down his stomach. She’s never guessed how solid he would under those work shirts or that he’s ticklish and both of these things make her smile into his mouth as he twitches under her fingertips. The sound he makes, sucking his breath in quickly when she slips beneath the waist of his shorts, is something she decides she wants to hear again and again and she can think of at least eight ways to make that happen.

“Did you mean it?” He could be asking in reference to a million things but she’s pretty sure right now he’s only thinking about one thing and she laughs fully because it’s comforting to know that no matter how much she loves him and how perfect her fantasy of him is, at base, he’s still very much a man just like every other man.

“Maybe,” she says. Her voice is light and teasing but she’s already pulling his shorts down and sinking to her knees because she’s pretty that right now she wants this more than he does. “Did you mean what you said about properly fucking me?” She runs her hand back up his leg and waits for an answer.

“Yes,” he spits out through clenched teeth.

She trails her index finger over him, base to tip. “And I did this?” she asks again, all wide eyes and innocence as she toys with him.

One of his hands lands hard on her shoulder. “You’re doing it right now.” The last word cuts off abruptly when she leans forward and takes him into her mouth without breaking eye contact.

“God.” The word falls from his lips but she’s thinking it too.

This particular act has never really been a favorite of hers but she knows she’s good at it. In the past she’s always been a good sport about it because the rewards have always, always outweighed the effort, and she’s pretty sure tonight isn’t going to be any different because it feels more like a gift than a chore.

This with him? It’s fucking intoxicating and she catches herself slowing down so it doesn’t end as soon as it could. Maybe it’s the way his hands feel tangled in her hair or the way he’s trying so hard to stay quiet but she slows even more, dragging her lips and tongue along him until he begs her to stop teasing him.

He doesn’t warn her when he’s about to come, but in all fairness, her whole point was that she wanted to know how he tastes and now that she does, she’s even more reluctant to stop.

“Sorry, sorry,” he mumbles when he realizes he wasn’t a perfect gentleman over the whole thing and she just laughs because she’s not mad at all; but also, it’s such a Jim thing to do and now he’s helping her back to her feet and she needs to distract herself again before she says or does something to ruin it all.

She looks at him, makes sure he watches her run her tongue over her lips, and then turns away, walking toward the kitchen.

“Do you want something to drink?”  She jumps when she feels his hands on her waist but doesn’t fight him as he turns her to face him and lifts her onto the kitchen table. Her hands skim his shoulders; pull at his t-shirt, as he drags her shorts down and off of her. “This isn’t the bed,” she murmurs.

“We’ll get there,” he promises and she doesn’t argue because now he’s the one kneeling in front of her and pushing her knees apart and she thinks she could come from just his breath on the inside of her thighs.

Inexplicably, she thinks to herself that she needs to bleach the kitchen after the laundry she’s already promised she’d do after this tryst in her best friend’s house.

She stops thinking of chores the second his mouth closes around her because fuck, he’s good at this. Unlike him, she makes zero effort to stay quiet as his fingers and tongue relentlessly tease at her and she’s very glad she closed the kitchen window earlier in the evening because God knows what the neighbors would have heard otherwise.

“God,” he mutters again and she kind of loves how monosyllabic he is but she also wants to hear him say the filthiest things imaginable to her. She gets it though, the risk of accidentally saying each other’s names is high and would ruin everything in a second so if he needs to not talk, she’s not going to force it. She gasps when he grazes her with his teeth before he drops her leg from his shoulder. His forehead rests against her stomach briefly but then he stands and lifts her back off the table, helps her wrap shaky legs around his waist. She’s still trying to catch her breath when he brings his mouth close to her ear and asks, “Now, tell me where the bedroom is.” She waits as he pulls her t-shirt over her head and tosses it to lie somewhere on the kitchen floor with his own and then points to the only open door in the hallway before he kisses her again.

She’s surprised at how strong he is and how easily he carries her down the hallway and into the bedroom she called her own for most of the summer. He all but tosses her onto the bed and she decides that being manhandled by him is her new favorite thing.

She raises herself on her elbows to move herself back toward the pillows and is surprised as he stops her.

He hesitates as he runs his hands from her ankles to her hips and stops. “I—“ His hands close around her ankles again and pull softly. He huffs out a breath when she doesn’t resist, sliding back down toward the foot of the bed when he tugs again, bringing her back to the edge of the mattress until her feet hit the floor. His hand flexes at her hip. “Can I…” His voice trails off but he shakes his head and doesn’t wait for her answer because she makes it clear he can do whatever he wants.

She wonders, as he turns her over and waits for her to brace herself on her forearms as he runs his hands down her back and over her ass before he grabs her hips again, if he’s imagining bending her over one of their work desks. She hopes he is, because when he presses kisses up her spine and finally pushes into her, she swears she can hear pencil cups and staplers falling to the floor.

He stays the night, but not because she asks him to. It’s more that by the time they’ve worn themselves out she explicitly asks him to leave but she’s exhausted so she kind of hears him say he needs ten minutes and then he’ll go but she’s already half asleep herself. He’s still there when she wakes up an hour later and she wakes him up and tells him he really should go but all he does is press her back into the mattress and suddenly she isn’t so tired anymore.  An hour and a half later he wakes her to say he’s really going to go this time, but he only makes it as far as the front door before she stops him and they end up fucking on the hallway floor. She doesn’t remember how they gets back to bed after that but she won’t forget what they do just before the sun rises. Or what they do in the shower when she’s already late for work, a fact they’re both aware of but neither of them feel necessary to mention.

She’s still wrapped in a towel when she finally pushes him out the door because she simply can’t handle the thought of his seeing her dressed in her skirt and cardigan. She locks the door before she can change her mind and looks around. Pillows are knocked off the couch. A bowl of fruit is perched dangerously close to the edge of the kitchen table. Her clothes are still lying on the floor.

Isabel won’t be back from her dental convention for two days. She has plenty of time to hire a cleaner.

She laughs because it’s so ridiculous to be worried about actual chores at the moment but she’s self-aware enough to know that it’s her subconscious keeping her from thinking about everything else because she has no idea what she’s even doing anymore.

And okay, on some level, she understands everything perfectly. She gets it. Three years of pent up feelings and frustrations coming from both of them is the perfect catalyst for an insatiable night. It makes sense that they got carried away, that he couldn’t leave until he absolutely had to.

But.

She can’t help but wonder if it’s all backfired. If last night was supposed to drive him out of her system, well, she fails, because she’s right back where she started at the beginning of the summer.

 Sitting at her desk and staring at his.

--

She runs into him at the grocery store. Of course she does. They’re standing across from each other in the snack aisle and she realizes she has no idea what to say to him.

Because this is different. In this moment she is very decidedly Pam and he is Jim and there is just no way for her to spin it into anything else and for the moment, she’s kind of terrified.

He breaks the silence first. “I had to get out of the house,” he explains. He smirks. “Your cousin is kind of loud.”

She laughs but resists reminding him that so is she. “And the grocery store is the best you could come up with?”

“Well, the arcade was closed.” He shrugs. “What are you up to?”

She holds up her basket. “Gossip magazines and pizza rolls.” Her Sunday night is pathetic and she knows it. He laughs with her this time.

His eyes drift down the length of her body and she’s grateful she at least changed out of her pajama pants before leaving the house. She watches curiously as he looks away and then right back at her. “I leave tomorrow morning,” he says quickly.

“Oh.” She focuses her eyes on the shelf over his shoulder and hopes the wave of panic she’s feeling is masked by her sudden interest in Little Debbie snacks.

“Yeah.” He’s equally interested in the row of Pop-Tarts behind her. “I was—I mean, I’m still at Mark’s and Jocelyn is there right now but I thought about seeing if—“

She’s not at Isabel’s anymore and she knows Isabel is home tonight. She also knows that he one hundred percent cannot come to her apartment. She knows she’ll lose any and all control she still has over the situation if she even thinks about him in her apartment. Or in her bed. Or on her floor.

“Hey.” She snaps back to attention at the feel of his hand on her arm. He’s frowning slightly like he thinks she might say no. “We can probably sneak into Mark’s if—“

“No,” she says quickly. She can’t go there either. “Not Mark’s,” she adds so he knows she isn’t saying no to him. She bites her lip and meets his eyes with hers. “I um…” This is awkward and she hates it. “Okay, I know a place and it’s not far from here.” She sighs. “Do you trust me?”

He snorts but his tone is anything but malicious when he says no and it makes her heart ache all over again because even though it’s just one syllable it sounds like Flonkerton and staplers in Jello and the end of a game of Jinx all rolled into one.

He cocks his head toward the door. “Let’s go.” She ditches her basket there in the snack aisle and they head for the exit silently. She tells him again that it’s not far and he says he’ll just follow her.

She tells herself not to be surprised if when he sees where they’re going, he takes a sharp left and leaves her without a goodbye again.

This is a terrible idea. It’s the worst idea she’s ever had and for fuck’s sake, she should just be an adult and take him back to her place that holds no history of them or even really of her, but it’s like she’s on autopilot and before she knows it, she’s pulling up to the Scranton Business Park gates.

She puts the car into park and only then does she check to see if he’s still with her. He is, but he doesn’t look happy about it. She can’t exactly blame him.

They meet between their cars. She has a blanket folded in her arms and he holds a six pack of some craft beer she doesn’t recognize. They stare at each other for a long moment and then he tilts his head to the side to let her know that he’s following her lead.

Keys dangle from her shaking fingers as she turns and motions for him to follow her inside, into the elevator and up to the second floor, and across the hall to the stairwell.

It’s dangerous, being here with him. Bringing him here, of all places, but she tells herself it’s what she needs to do to really say goodbye. She considers briefly, as his hand steadies her waist when she misses a step on the ladder, that this could actually be the rubber band snap to finally drive him out of her for good.

And if not, well, she can just throw herself off the roof.

He takes the blanket from her and spreads it out, sitting so he’s facing the back of the property and not the parking lot of doom. He holds out his hand to help her sit next to him and then grabs two of the beers and twists the caps off. He hands one to her and they clink them together half-heartedly and stare off into the distance.

She doesn’t know what to say so she doesn’t say anything at all. It’s late enough in the evening that the sun has dipped past the horizon but there’s still a pinkish-purple hue to the night and she thinks about recreating the colors at her easel sometime soon.

He sighs heavily and leans against her. “Weird week,” he muses and she laughs delightedly before she can stop herself because it’s such a ridiculous statement.

“Weird summer.” She pauses and takes a drink. Looks at him and then looks away. “Stamford?” she asks quietly, praying he can hear every single question she can’t ask him.

“I like it,’ he says cautiously. “Mostly,” he amends as his fingers brush against hers. “The work is pretty much the same but the people are different.”

She pushes her luck with a direct reference to their real lives. “So you really miss Dwight, huh?” She breathes easier when he laughs.

She babbles on for way too long then but it suddenly seems very important for him to know that she’s taking art classes; that in spite of the train wreck they’ve made of their lives, there is something good to come out of it. She wonders if it’s selfish but for the moment it’s all she has and she clings to it.

He waits for her to take another drink before he takes the bottle from her hands, which have started shaking somewhere along the way, and sets it next to his.

They shouldn’t do this. She sees it in his eyes and feels it on her lips so she kisses him before either of them can say it.

This kiss is nothing like the ones they’ve shared over the past week but it’s everything like the one (okay, two) they shared in the office beneath them. Honestly, it scares her and she tries to shift the mood between them into anything but what it is.

He holds her in place next to him; one hand grips her waist and the other cradles her cheek as he keeps kissing her. “Isn’t this why we’re here?” he asks against her mouth as he eases her them both down to the blanket. She wants to argue that she doesn’t want this but it would be a lie and she hates that he knows why she’s brought him here. Fingertips trace her cheekbones, her jaw, and down the slope of her neck before he leans down and kisses her again.

Her eyes stay closed because she prefers to memorize his body by touch but also because she can feel his eyes burning into her while he pulls her shirt off of her and his hands continue to map her body. His movements are so slow and deliberate and gentle that she thinks she might cry if she opens her eyes to watch him.

Her breath catches when he kisses her stomach, his fingers undoing the snap of her jeans. “Jim, please,” she whispers when his hands are sliding back up her bare legs.  She instantly recognizes her mistake and they both freeze. “I’m sorry,” she whispers. “Sorry, sorry. I didn’t mean—“

He cuts her off, moving back up her body quickly and kissing her fiercely. “Say it again.”

She feels herself flush hot all over when she feels him press against her and she wraps an ankle around one of his legs and tries to roll them over but he’s still stronger than she is.

“Say it,” he pleads as he buries his head in her neck. “Please.”

She pushes on his shoulders until he lifts his head and finally, both their eyes are open and they’re looking at each other. She shifts under him again, a little impatiently this time, and palms the side of his face. “Jim,” she says softly and then finally, he’s moving inside her.

It’s slow and quiet and delicate and they watch each other silently. She doesn’t know how much time passes, it could be minutes but feels like hours before he moves a little quicker, lifts an eyebrow at her and waits for her nod before he moves faster still.

And then it’s not slow or quiet at all and god, she’s so close but she’s waiting for him and he doesn’t seem to be in as much of a rush as she is and it’s not a bad thing at all, but…

Her eyes flutter open in time to see him look down at her. Something in his expression crumbles a little and she realizes that maybe just now in this instant he’s remembering everything and she grabs his face with both hands, kisses him harder than she has and whispers as many things as she can against his lips as she can without actually saying what they both want her to.

“Pam.” Finally he says her name and she forgets waiting for him.

He’s not long in following after her and then it’s quiet again and she doesn’t know what to do because they haven’t done this part, they’ve never lingered after, but his arms are still around her, their legs still tangled together and his lips are pressed to her throat and neither of them is ready to move first.

But it gets colder as the night goes on and at some point she realizes they’re naked on a roof and it’s late and a million other reasons force them back into reality.

It’s not awkward until they’re in the parking lot, standing between their cars again.

She bites her lip and looks up at him. “Jim, I…”

He shakes his head too fast. “No, don’t.” He grimaces and looks off into the distance and she knows what he’s going to say before he says it. “I can’t, Pam.” He sighs. “Not now.”

She knows. She hates it, but she knows.

“The cameras come back tomorrow,” she says softly, even though she figures he’s aware because he’s on the same filming schedule. She needs to say it because she knows that with the production crew around, none of this has a chance of happening again. They can’t risk it. She can’t risk having to talk about this when she doesn’t even know what it is.

“Yeah.” He finally drags his eyes back to her. “I’m glad this happened.”

She doesn’t know yet if she agrees so she just nods.

“I should go,” he says reluctantly. “I should try and get a couple hours of sleep before I have to get on the road again.”  Again, she just nods mutely and she furiously blinks back tears as he roughly pulls her into his arms again. “You gotta say something,” he begs.

She lets out a long and shaky breath and manages to smile at him. “Drive safe,” she says weakly. What else is she supposed to say?

He closes his eyes briefly and then presses his lips to her temple. “Be good,” he murmurs before he releases his grip on her.

She starts to nod again but catches herself and smiles as best as she can. “You too.” Neither of them wants to be the first to leave but she gives him a pointed stare. “Go. It’s fine.” He’s about to climb into his car when she stops him again. “Hey.”

“Yeah?”

She smiles again, for real this time, and she feels calmer than she has since May. “We’re going to be okay, Jim.”

He crooks his head to the side. “We are?”

“We are.” She has no way of knowing that it will be okay but she says it anyway. They both need to believe it so she says it again. She has no idea what the next year is going to bring.

And at first, it’s not okay. It’s really not okay at all. Even when Jim comes back a few months later, things are terrible and awkward and it all just really sucks for a long time.

But there are short moments of promise too. A prank played on a coworker. Small talk in the break room. She literally walks on fire for him. That’s a lie. The coal walk was one hundred percent for her but it leads him back to her so she’s willing to share the moment. And then finally, things are good between them again. Really good.

They don’t talk a lot about last summer. In fact, they talk about it exactly one time. It’s still the very early stages of them being together and one day when they’re rehashing and forgiving past wrongs, she tells him everything. Not because she needs forgiving or because he’s owed an explanation but because they deserve to start with a blank slate and no secrets.

It goes over as well as she expects it to, which is not great, but it doesn’t turn into a huge thing. They fight and he leaves, but he comes back and she promises she loves him and he says he knows. He loves her too.

They don’t talk about it again. Until they do.

It’s late August, almost exactly a year after that night Jocelyn barged into her apartment and they’re at work on a Friday afternoon and she’s trying not to fall asleep at her desk when her IM pings.

JIM9334: So, this might sound weird.

Receptionitis15: You know I love conversations that start out this way.

JIM9334: Mark just texted me. He wants to know if we want to meet up later tonight to watch the game with him and some friends.

Receptionitis15: You mean like almost every other weekend? This isn’t weird.

JIM9334: Ah see. Here’s the thing. They’re going to Buffalo Wild Wings.

She sucks in a quick breath and feels her cheeks turn pink as she keeps typing.

Receptionitis15: Ohh. Interesting.

JIM9334: I thought so too.

Receptionitis15: Could be fun.

She won’t look at him but she hears him snort from across the room.

JIM9334: Yes, it could be. So… do you want to go?

Receptionitis15: I could be talked into it. Do you want to?

JIM9334: I should warn you, Jim Knight will be there too, so…

Receptionitis15: No yeah, I got it.

Receptionitis15: JD. ;)

She bites her lip. It’s getting harder to keep her eyes on her computer screen but she manages.

JIM9334: Cool. So I’ll tell him we’ll be there?

Receptionitis15: We’ll be there. Well, I’ll have to stop at home first so I’ll meet you there?

JIM9334: Sure, but why?

She blushes again as she pictures the dresser drawer where last summer she buried a Phillies t-shirt underneath all of her other t-shirts and never pulled it out again.

Receptionitis15: Just want to change my clothes before heading out, that’s all. Gotta wear red, right?

When she looks at his desk this time, he’s already grinning back at her.