Everyone thought her favorite color was white, but it was really gold. Gold had been so taboo for so many years that when it finally made a comeback this past season, Kelly could hardly contain her joy. She remembered one evening giving Ryan a very informative lecture on why gold was the perfect color for every skin tone. He had just reached over her, grabbed the remote, and turned it to one of those cable news channels she hated so much. Ryan didn’t appreciate fashion, or shiny things, or nice smelling things. Six days after he dumped her, she came to the realization that he was the most depressing person she’d ever been around and she was better off without him. She resolved that her next boyfriend would understand the difference between couture and runway, Vogue and Marie Claire, lavender and heather flower. The girls at work didn’t believe her when she said she was totally over it in about a week; what the hell did they know anyway? They weren’t exactly the relationship hall of fame.

Kelly pulled her still-damp hair from the turban-shaped towel on top her head, shaking the loose ends until a few drops of water fell on the carpet. She grabbed some of her favorite French perfume from the vanity. It cost about half a month’s rent, but it smelled like jasmine and heaven, basically. She dabbed a bit beneath each earlobe and on her wrists. She ran her wet tresses through her fingers as she observed the two gold dresses lying on her bed. One was very Studio 74-esque and appropriate for a late summer gathering, while one was beautiful, but more appropriate for a religious celebration.

It was a tough decision.

Not religiously—but, Andy Bernard did sort of worship Carson Daly and the first generation of TRL. It wasn’t unhealthy—more like he appreciated the music that came out of that time period-- just like she appreciated her collection of gold accessories and tunic length sweaters. Andy appreciated the differences in things like that—just like she appreciated the fact that MTV was just no good after Carson left. 

She pulled the gold halter empire-waist dress from the covers and placed it against her body. She ran the soft, shimmery material through her fingers and did a small twirl. She had made up her mind, finally. Andy may have saved her in a lot of ways, but he was certainly no god and his party tonight was certainly no religious celebration.

“I got two packs of fake hot dogs in addition to four packs of real ones, you think that will be enough?” his voice echoed from the kitchen outside.

Kelly grabbed two beers from the cooler on Andy’s back patio, watching him unload groceries through the open French door.

“Are you kidding? Angela and I are the only ones who will eat the veggie dogs that I know of—have you seen her lately? She’s not exactly strapping on a feedbag. Me, on the other hand…” she sighed, patting her ass gently and handing him one of the beers in her hand.

He dropped the two packs of soy hot dogs on the counter before twisting open the beer and mumbling his reply. “I think you’re perfect.” He looked at his feet and peeled idly at the label on the bottle.

Kelly didn’t know what was better – the fact that he just told her she was “perfect” or the fact that he almost didn’t want her to hear it. He let out his breath in a whoosh, clapped his free hand on his thigh and walked back into the living room. He motioned for her to follow him.

“The guests shall be arriving momentarily, and since this is a theme party, we must give the people what they are expecting. What did you bring me?” he left his beer (on a coaster) on the coffee table and walked over towards the large stereo.

Her eyes lit up as she took a swig of her beer. “I think I brought some amazing stuff. I hope you agree.”

He flipped through a nearby book of CDs, grabbing some as he went. He didn’t look up when he responded to her. “I’m sure you did. I trust your judgment.”

She smiled and grabbed a stack of CDs from her nearby gold bag. She held them close to her chest as she walked back towards him. “Some of these are just so totally embarrassing, I almost didn’t bring them.”

“Quiet, now,” he placed a finger to her lips. “Show me the goods.”

She handed the albums to him, watching his eyes light up as each title was revealed. “SWV? Bell Biv Devoe? Nelson? C&C Music Factory? Kelly Kapoor, you’ve been holding out on me.”

She laughed and rolled her eyes. “I brought some Ace of Base, too, if that interests you.”

His jaw dropped. “Does it interest me? It’s totally awesome! And perfect, too. Most of the stuff I found is from about 1997-on. So together, we’ve got the entire decade covered.”

“Team work,” Kelly mused, taking a sip of her beer.

Andy’s eyes darted quickly to her mouth. “We are indeed a real team.”

This is normally the time when a guy would kiss her, but she had known for a while that Andy was not a normal guy. So when he shuffled past her, mumbling something about getting ice for the cooler outside, she wasn’t surprised.

“I have to hand it to you, Kelly, you guys certainly cracked the vault for this party,” Jim raised his scotch on the rocks and motioned his hand towards the stereo. He took a sip of his drink as he perused the nearby CDs in stacks on the table. “Right Said Fred. Really?”

Kelly laughed, taking the CD from him and looking at the back. “I think that’s Andy’s.”

Jim raised his eyebrows. “’I’m Too Sexy.’ Why am I not surprised?”

Kelly ran a finger over the gold feather earrings dangling on her neck. “Yeah, me neither.” She sipped on the glass of pinot grigio in her hand and smiled up at him. She glanced around the living room to see it nearly empty. Most of the guests were outside on the patio, enjoying the warm August evening, drinking cases of beer and scarfing down tons of hot dogs (real and fake). Andy and Pam were sitting on the couch, Andy’s acoustic guitar between them. Pam sipped her margarita and giggled as she delicately plucked at the strings. The doors to the patio were open and Kelly could hear the music and her co-workers’ voices coming from outside. Michael sang “Waterfalls” loudly at the top of his lungs.

“So what’s going on with you two, anyway?” Jim asked, gesturing between her and Andy.

“Um, what?” Jim’s newfound bluntness still startled her a bit at times. “Oh, nothing, yet. He’s not Ryan,” she looked down at her glass uncomfortably.

“He’s certainly not,” Jim searched her face. “Not necessarily a bad thing, Kel.” She raised her head and nodded. “Look at my drunk girlfriend.” Jim crossed the distance towards the couch and sat beside Pam, pulling her backwards into his lap. She laughed and put her arm around his shoulders.

“I missed you,” she pouted, taking another sip of her drink, her tongue snaking around the rim of the glass to get the last of the salt. “Jim, no more salt.” She leaned down and sucked his earlobe between her teeth.

Andy stopped strumming random chords on the guitar and looked at him with mock indignation. “Whoa, whoa there, Big Tuna! Mating season is not happening on my couch.”

“Understood, man,” he pulled Pam’s glass from her hands and placed it on the end table beside them. In one fluid motion, he pulled her from the couch and slung her body over his shoulder. He motioned towards the porch. “She needs some air, anyway--” he paused momentarily as the music outside got louder, followed by an accompanying group scream.

“Rhythm Nation!” Pam squealed from over Jim’s shoulder, pounding his upper back with her fists excitedly.

He called back to Andy and Kelly on the couch. “--and apparently, she also needs some Janet Jackson.” He pushed open the French door with his free hand and walked through it. Kelly watched Andy intently as his fingers returned to the guitar strings.

He looked up and smiled. “I need an audience,” he patted the empty cushion beside him. Without a word, she sat beside him, sipping her wine and enjoying the warm, comfortable buzz as she relaxed into the cushions. He looked over at her and raised his eyebrows. “I think you know this one.” She nodded as he began fluidly playing the opening chords to “I Want It That Way” by the Backstreet Boys. She closed her eyes and smiled happily, letting her head loll back and forth on the couch as he sang the opening lines to her.

“You are—my fi-re, the one—de-sire.”

He didn’t watch her as he went through his perfect (if a bit high falsetto) rendition of the song. After a few verses, she gently put her fingers over his hand to still him and smiled.

“You should play that for everyone, outside on the patio. You know Michael has probably taken over the microphone out there.”

Andy nodded, standing up and slinging the guitar over his shoulder so it was resting on his back. “Let’s save our party, m’lady,” he extended his hand to Kelly and pulled her into a standing position.

The wine made her warm and a bit unsteady on her feet and she braced herself onto his chest. Andy stared blankly at her manicured hands resting on his red polo shirt. He paused a moment before leaning in slightly towards her, his breath hitting her exposed clavicle.

“Jasmine?” he asked as he recognized the scent, eyes searching for an answer.

She dug her nails forward a fraction of an inch, scoring his skin through the cotton. She threw an arm around his neck and pulled him down, down, down. Their lips met briefly, tenderly, promising more.

“You noticed.”