Jim stood up and wiped his hands on the front of his jeans. Not wanting to embarrass himself further, he ever-so-carefully picked up the beer that Mark had ordered for him when the first one became a casualty of love, and sat down next to him and the rest of the crew from Dunder-Mifflin.

He looked around at his co-workers, noticing that it was an unusually light turnout for a Friday night. Perhaps the fact that Michael had been summoned to the New York office on Wednesday for an emergency meeting with the other branch leads meant less stress for the rest of the office. And less stress meant less alcohol consumed. Even Dwight told Jim to have a good weekend when he left for the day.

Kevin, Meredith and Creed occupied the opposite side of the table from Jim and Mark, engrossed in a conversation that only the three of them could be engrossed in. A few of the guys from the warehouse were in the back playing darts. But Jim never really counted them as part of the team, since the only time they ever mingled with the rest of the staff was when Michael had his yearly Dundie Awards. He couldn’t blame them for staying away.

“You okay, dude? You’re shaking,” Mark stated to Jim as if it was the most obvious thing ever uttered.

“Hmmm?” Jim tore his eyes away from the bar for a second before they settled on Mark. “Oh, yeah, I’m fine. My beer slipped. That’s all,” he replied. Jim took another gulp of his beer, wondering just how damned obvious he was being.

There were two women sitting at the end of the bar nearest their table. Unbeknownst to Jim, the tall blonde in the fiery red shirt had been making eyes at him for the better part of thirty minutes - slippery fingers, or not. After a half-hour of zero eye contact, she sent her friend over to talk to the less-attractive guy who was sitting next to him.

“My friend, Jessica, thinks your friend is hot,” she half-shouted to Mark as she slid into the seat next to him. “And she wants to talk to him.”

Mark, who had ridden Jim’s coattails to numerous phone numbers over the years, saw this as another opportunity to get some digits from a girl who normally wouldn’t give him the time of day. Jim had an affect on women, and Mark liked to think that some of that charm rubbed off on him. When in reality, the wing women usually gave Mark the wrong number on purpose. Jim, always the good friend, would go along for the ride, only to inevitably throw his number away when he got home. Mark didn’t think this opportunity would be any different.

With a tiny smirk on his face, Mark turned to Jim to see if he was up for a little flirting, but all thoughts of mingling with the girls at the bar flew out the window when he saw a foreign look on Jim’s face. Intense? Happy? Noticing that Jim’s gaze was focused on the opposite end of the bar, he followed Jim’s eyes with his and they landed on a petite woman ordering a drink. Mark isn’t the brightest guy in the world, but it only took him about two seconds to figure it out.

“Is that…”

Jim is nodding his head before Mark can finish the question.

“Ah, yes…the infamous Pam Beesley,” Mark mutters, almost to himself.

Jim turns in his chair so he’s facing Mark.

“I think I’m going to go talk to her,” he explains carefully.

“Why wouldn’t you? You’ve only been talking about her non-stop since she started on Monday,” Mark answered.

_________________________

It was Tuesday night. A typical night in the Mark/Jim compound. They were watching the Sixers when Jim started talking about a girl. The same Jim, Mark thought, who throws out phone numbers. Mark had a feeling this was monumental…at least to Jim.

“I’m telling you, dude - she’s way different than any other girl I’ve ever met. She’s sweet. She’s funny. She makes work bearable. And, to be honest, I have a hard time not looking at her.”

“Who is?”

“Pam. The new receptionist. The one I mentioned last night.”

“Oh, right - the one you fell in love with at first sight?” Mark snickered a bit as be turned his attention back to the television.

“Um, no. Jim Halpert does not fall in love at first sight.”

“Whatever, dude. You never talk about women.“ Mark turned and looked at Jim with a serious expression on his face. “I’ve actually been meaning to talk to you about this: it’s okay if you’re gay. You don‘t have to cover it up with a story about a fictional woman named ‘Pam‘. I‘m here for you.” Mark’s face betrayed his seriousness as a grin escaped from his mouth.

“You’re a dick, you know that?”

“I know. But you still love me. In a strictly platonic kind of way, of course.” Mark turned his attention back to the game as Jim began again.

“I mean, I’ve never looked forward to going to work. Ever. But now I find myself waking up early and punching in before 9 o’clock. To be honest, knowing that I’ll see her when I walk in the door is enough to get me out of bed.” Jim let out a small laugh. “I’m actually a little scared.” Mark muted the game and addressed Jim again: “Well, I think it’s pretty simple. You’re in love. Did you happen to see a midget with wings holding a bow and arrow when you got to work on Monday? Because that little bugger pulled an arrow out of his quiver and shot you right between the eyes. This Pam chick arrives not ten minutes later and before you know it, you’re totally gone.”

Jim quickly brought his hand up to his chin to stop the beer from dribbling onto his shirt; he wiped his chin with the back of his hand.

“I certainly did not see an angel midget flying around the office. We started talking because Dwight creeped her out when he quizzed her on the Scranton phone book. She must’ve assumed I was a bit more normal than Dwight.”

“Her powers of observation are impressive.” Mark raised his eyebrows and took another swig of his beer. “Listen - if she’s so magnificent, and you’re so sure your destiny is to be with her, why don’t you just make a move? See if she wants to join us for drinks on Friday.” Mark took another pull from his beer. “Then I can see if she’s as hot as you say she is.”

“Yeah, maybe I will.” He punched Mark in the arm as he rose to get them another beer.

_________________________

Jim stood up from the table. If this really felt as right to her as it did to him, talking to her would be a piece of cake. He couldn’t help but wonder if maybe, just maybe, the spark he felt during their initial conversation was not all in his head; the way in which they eased into an easy rhythm had been hard for him to comprehend. This really didn’t have to be so difficult. If it were any other women, he would’ve charmed her in ten seconds flat.

But this was Pam. The new receptionist.

He began to wonder if maybe there was an ounce of truth to his idiot roommate’s explanation.

But just as he was about to reach out and get her attention (a potentially life-altering moment, to be sure) a loud voice boomed out from the back of the bar. The totally unexpected shouting of her name over the din of the bar caused him pause.

“Pammy!”

Jim’s head snapped around to see one of the warehouse guys, Roy, lumbering her way with a big grin on his face.