Dwight has wedged himself as far back into the corner of the booth as possible, still curled into a tight ball. By degrees, Pam slides past him on the bench, a little closer to Jim and farther away from Ryan, who has spilled beer over most of his quarter of their table. Someone -- Pam thinks it was Michael -- has ordered a few rounds of shots that smell like nail polish remover.
"Pretty impressed with how well you're keeping up," Jim whispers to her, while Michael and Ryan flick droplets of beer at each other. "What's your secret?"
"You guys are lightweights compared to Roy and his friends," she replies, "but to tell you the truth, I can't feel my feet."
He glances down. "They're still attached to the ends of your legs," he says, "which leaves only two possibilities."
"Yes?"
"One: your knees are missing. Two: you're going to be paying for this tomorrow like you wouldn't believe."
She smiles. "Is it wrong that I don't care either way?"
-----
"You guys are awesome," says Michael, apropos of nothing. "Pam, you're the best receptionist Dunder-Mifflen has ever had."
"Thanks," she says.
"Remember that -- Jim, who was the one before Pam?" Michael snaps his fingers impatiently. "Brenda? Monique?"
"Susan, technically," says Jim. "But she was only around for a week and a half. Brenda was before her."
Michael's brow creases. "Susan? There was a Susan?"
"Kind of tall, light brown hair, training to be a dental assistant?"
"Not ringing any bells," says Michael.
Jim sighs. "Kind of... busty?" he says, in a resigned tone.
Michael's face clears. "Susan!" he crows. "Well, our Pam may have smaller breasts, but she has a bigger heart."
"Again, thanks," Pam says.
-----
Kevin returns, and Pam slides even closer to Jim to make room. Her vision swims a little every time she moves her head, so she keeps as still as possible. Michael is talking, and she realizes she hasn't been listening for several minutes.
"...the front of the neck, right at the bottom. That kind of divot thing. I don't know what it's called. This." Michael puts out a finger to touch the hollow at the base of Ryan's throat, above his loosened tie and open collar.
She half-expects Ryan to slap Michael's hand away, but instead he fixes Michael with a wolfish grin. The moment stretches awkwardly.
"On a woman, of course," finishes Michael, pulling away and taking a hasty gulp of his drink. "What about you, Soul Sista Pam? The Mel Gibson butt?"
"Shoulders," she replies reflexively. "I like nice shoulders."
Ryan nods sagely. "That's why she's with the quarterback."
Michael orders another round of shots. "I'm sure shoulders aren't the only things that turn our Pammie's crank," he says, when they arrive. "What else, Pam?"
She takes refuge in her glass. "New topic."
"Oh, c'mon," says Michael, splashing a little beer her way.
"Dude, give it up, she's not going to tell you anything juicy," says Ryan sourly. "Even liquored up, she's vanilla through and through."
She doesn't like his tone, or his condescension, or the way he keeps talking about her in the third person, or his stupid blue shirt and red tie, and is about to tell him so when Kevin announces gravely, "I like really, really big tits."
They dissolve into childish giggling, and her anger evaporates. She is aware of her own shoulder, lightly touching Jim's, and she leans into him a tiny bit more, to see if he notices. He doesn't seem to.
"There is something," she hears herself say. "And if I'm so vanilla, Ryan, you should have no problem guessing what it is."
Ryan's eyes narrow. "We're still talking body parts?"
She regards him evenly. "No. We've definitely strayed into the neighborhood of kink."
Michael chokes violently on his drink.
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© 2006-2023 More Than That | Skin created by Kali