The day had warmed up considerably, so by the time Devon called a half-hour lunch break at the end of the fifth inning, Pam was perspiring heavily in her sweatshirt. Pam was glad for the break; Kevin had been grilling hot dogs (over Angela's objections) for the last half hour and the smell was making her mouth water. She walked back behind the backstop and found the rest of the DunderHeads crowded around the ice chest. She tugged at the stubborn straps of her chest protector.

"Here, let me help." Jim walked up, holding a paper cup. "Drink this." He handed her the cup.

It was lemonade: cool, sweet and refreshing. Jim's long fingers worked the buckles of the straps and soon he was pulling it off of her. Pam thought about Jim taking any article of clothing off of her... She repressed that thought immediately. Keep your head in the game.

"You're catching a great game," Jim said, reaching over Kelly's head for another cup of lemonade. "Too bad we're not getting the hits to back it up."

Pam shrugged. She looked around for some place to sit but the rest of the team had taken up both picnic benches, and were now busy digging through bags of chips and pretzels. "It's going better than I expected," she said.

Jim reached one long arm past Kevin and snagged two hot dogs off the platter. "Hungry?"

"Yeah!" Pam perked up.

Jim handed her both hot dogs; she juggled them in one hand. "Those are yours." He reached again and came back with three hot dogs in his big hand. He ate one of them in two bites.

Pam laughed to see his cheeks distended. "You look like a squirrel hoarding nuts," she said.

He grinned, mouth full, and waggled his eyebrows at her. His eyes had gone from hazel green to hazel brown. He jerked his head towards the tree a few yards behind the picnic table. Pam followed him. They settled onto the hard ground under the tree, backs against the trunk. Pam practically inhaled her first hot dog, while Jim made short work of his last two. They swapped the cup of lemonade back and forth in affable silence. Jim shifted, and his shoulder touched Pam's, and they watched Andy and Dwight squabble over the potato salad.

"Want some?" Jim asked, nodding towards the salad.

"Not if Michael brought it."

"Good call. I think he ages it like wine."

"Ewww."

"Yeah. Hey, are you gonna finish that other hot dog?" He looked hopefully at her.

She smiled and handed him her hot dog. He took a bite out of it and closed his eyes. "Man, these are good. All beef, I think."

"The lemonade is good, too. Angela really knows how to pack a picnic," Pam agreed. "Who knew?" She reached and took the hot dog from his fingers, took a bite, and returned it. Sweat trickled down her temple. She stuck a finger in the neck of her sweatshirt, pulled it out for some air circulation. A peculiar feeling made her look up, and caught Jim looking away. Had he been peeking down her front? The thought of him being reticent about that amused her.

"Hotter than I expected it to be today," Jim said neutrally. He waved a hand at the field. "Gonna get hotter before we're done."

"Yes," Pam said regretfully. "I wish I'd known. I'd have brought a T-shirt. I'd forgotten how hot it gets in that catcher's outfit."

Jim looked down at her. "I've got a spare T-shirt, if you want."

Pam pursed her lips. "I don't know. Does it smell like a locker room?"

"Nah. I wash it once a year, whether it needs it or not."

"Good to know. Does it have the name of some weird indie band on it?"

"Alas, no."

"Deal."

"Be right back." He unfolded himself and walked back to the picnic table. Pam watched him go, long legs scissoring across the grass. Jim came back bearing lemonade and three more hot dogs, with a faded grey T-shirt over one arm. "Here you go."

Pam stood and took the T-shirt. "Thanks," she said. She looked at the three hot dogs. "Still hungry?"

Jim grinned and bit into another hot dog. "I'm a growing boy."

Pam laughed. "You are anything but a boy."

Jim grinned. "So. You gonna change into that T-shirt now?" he asked.

"Not out in public."

"Oh, don't mind me."

"It's not you I'm worried about," she said. "Creed's watching." She walked off towards the field house and the bathrooms.

In the women's room, Pam splashed cold water on her face to cool it off, then tugged her sweatshirt off over her head. She held out Jim's shirt, and realized it was the same Scranton High T-shirt he'd worn in that long-ago basketball game. She slid it on and smelled laundry detergent, fabric softener...and him. That same masculine smell, the same one she caught sitting next to him. It spoke of muscles, a big body in motion, of testosterone and adrenaline. She felt a shiver go over her as the fabric settled around her, several sizes too large. Pam decided she didn't care about the fit.

On the way back to the oak tree, she stopped and collected her art kit. Jim had slumped down against the trunk of the tree, cap pulled forward over his eyes. She sat down beside him, intending to get a few quick sketches of her teammates in action. But when she glanced over, she saw his eyes were closed. She could not resist; she turned sideways, opened her sketchbook, and started drawing his profile. Long lashes and all, she thought. Maybe I'll even show it to him when I'm done.

She had finished her first sketch and started one of his hands (big, loosely clasped over his chest, so sensitive and strong) when a breeze suddenly ruffled the pages of her notebook loudly. Jim opened his eyes and sat up, blinking. Pam quietly closed her sketchbook.

"Hey," she said.

Jim yawned. "We ready to finish this?"

She looked back at her teammates. Andy and Devon were talking, Angela and Dwight were huddled, whispering. The rest were scattered around, eating and talking. "Doesn't look like anyone's in a hurry."

Pam looked around for her chest protector. Jim reached to his left and picked it up. "I adjusted this middle strap for you," he said. "I think it's too tight."

"Thanks," Pam said, reaching for the lemonade.

"Listen, we can rotate the roster a little," Jim said. "Kevin said he'd catch for awhile, if you want to change." He handed her the protector, then stood and helped her to her feet.

"I'm good," she said. "I can finish the game." She slipped into the protector and turned to fasten a buckle, but Jim's swift fingers were ahead of her. She could feel his breath on her cheek as he leaned in to fasten it. She looked up, and his eyes were so close she could count his eyelashes if she'd wanted. "Thanks," she breathed.

He was smiling, and then his eyes dropped to her mouth.

He wants to kiss me.

I want him to.

But then Michael yelled something and Jim's eyes went to the others and back to hers and the moment was gone. Too public. "Back to the game," he said in a heavy, fake-jolly voice.