A/N: Wow. This is why I need to step away from this site! I have two WIPs, three multichapter fics that have been in the works for a while (this is one of them, the one that's been on the hard drive for the shortest amount of time) and probably a permanent indentation in my mattress for typing these out all night with my computer on my lap.
Okay, one more of these and then I promise I'll get back to what I've already started, elsewhere. Haha. Season two is just the best, though. Short chapter to kick it off... ETA, thanks for pointing out that typo guys. Jim is just not a barbecue.
Disclaimer: I don't own anything. But wouldn't my own Jim in stripes be great?
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The entire house is starting to smell like burgers, chicken, and hot dogs. See, this is all I'm asking for from Febreeze. Honestly.
I wipe my sweaty palms over my jeans. I'm glad the barbecue is going well, truthfully. Especially for being kind of thrown together at the last minute, the e-vites sent out this morning. Mark thinks everyone's hilarious, because I know for a fact he refused to believe me about Dwight. And then he led Dwight all throughout the kitchen, totally fucking with him and coming up with new "hide a key" places to store they key. He had opened the door to the microwave and gestured inside, raising his eyebrows when Dwight answered him, "No, idiot, how would you get it from outside?"
I wonder how it would have turned out if Mark had nailed the interview a while ago at Dunder-Mifflin when he needed the job. We would've been working together and both wreaking havoc on Dwight? Awesome. He got a better paying job though and got to use his degree. It's fine. I made a different friend.
I smile thinking about her downstairs, fitting well around everyone else and my own friends. The two of them anyway, Mark and Steph. It's funny, because they've met her before, but she's still shy around them. I love her.
I pick up the yearbook she deposited onto my bed earlier and stick it back onto the shelf. She needs that picture. That would probably make her laugh. I keep that in the back of my mind for now as my hand runs down the spine of the book.
It's really warm downstairs because of all the people, and I'm wearing two shirts, so that's why I'm up here. Plus, it's a lot of people and Dwight seems to be everywhere, so I just need a short break.
I hear someone coming up the steps and it sounds like they're wild. I'm smoothing out the sheets on my bed when I hear it, and stop to look toward the door.
All I see is a flurry of Pam's red hair as she backs into the doorway, pulling the door shut with her. I can see her shoulders heaving as she curls the hair behind her ears. I smile, just because she's here. I have no idea what's going on, though. But still. She pretty much just entered the room like a hurricane might.
She turns around and falls back against the door, her wide eyes staring at me.
I glance around and purse my lips together, shrugging. "What?"
She bends her fingers nervously before she shakes her head and leaps at me. I'm sure the surprise has barely registered on my face before I grab her shoulders, when she's close enough. Our lips probably bruise when they meet, and her tongue hits my lips and it's the sloppiest kiss I've ever had.
Her arms steal around my neck and I think about laughing but she's kissing, kissing and kissing me so I go with it. It feels almost perfect, the way that we keep moving. I back up until my knees are touching the mattress and tip us over onto the bed.
Usually I'm not so smooth to pull off that move, because I'm so tall and awkward. But it works, and then she crawls up a little and hangs onto me tightly, tilting her head to the side to kiss me a different way. My fingers drift up and into her hair, smoothing the skin at her temples.
I back my head up to ask her what she's doing but she follows me and kisses me harder, harder. I'm actually struggling to keep up, and she squeezes her knees against my thighs and okay. That feels amazing.
I still squeak out this chuckle because somehow my eyes open and I see her looking so frustrated. I pull away; detaching my lips from hers makes a pretty cute sound. I roll my head to the side and regard her from the corner of my eye.
Rubbing my hands up and down her back, watching her eyes close and her lungs work to breathe, I crinkle my brow. "What's up?"
She opens her eyes but doesn't look at me. Her hands crawl up my chest as she looks at some point above me, the wall behind me and bites her lip. One of her hands gathers the fabric of my shirt in her fist.
"I think Phyllis knows," she says in a desperate voice as her eyes flutter shut.
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