Pam grabs his yearbook and bounce-collapses onto his bed. She grins over at him and flips through the pages, pausing to laugh, ask questions. After she exhausts the conversation the yearbook offers, she still doesn't want to leave. Pam looks around, spots a photo album, raises an eyebrow as she stretches over his bed to reach it. It's family pictures. Pictures of him and a girl who can't be anyone other than sister, they look so much alike.

Pam turns pages and smiles at young Jim in pajamas on Christmas morning, little Jim on his bike in the sun, pre-teen Jim concentrating on...something, "what are you doing here?"

He moves so he can see the picture. "Building a model of the Apollo space shuttle."

Humor colors her voice, "you were really cool weren't you?"

"Shut up. It was a science project."

Jim steps out of his room for a minute, yells down the stairs to Mark, something about where to find more soda.

Pam turns another page and stops....her breath catches in her throat; her chest constricts; her mouth goes dry; her palms go damp. Jim stares at her from the page. Yes, it's him, but it's a different him. She's never seen him in those clothes. That shirt fits really well...really well....and um, those jeans...wow. Plus, that expression...shows intent, purpose....Ok, it's definitely warmer than it was a few minutes ago. She can't make herself turn the page, and she's a little concerned about that.

Jim steps back into his room and sees her staring. He directs a groan inward. What is it? The chicken pox pictures? The three years he had braces? Oh, no, no no no, not the halloween pictures! He steps toward her looks down, relaxes slightly. "My sister took those."

Pam jumps. She had really been paying attention to that picture not to notice his return. Her hand rests against her chest and she knows the rapidity there doesn't have all that much to do with him startling her. She can feel the flush on her cheeks and wonders if her pupils are dilated. She hopes her voice doesn't give her away. "Your sister?" Breathy, throaty, damn!

He concentrates on her face, gaze traveling from eyes - dilated - to cheeks - pink - to lips - parted - to throat - pulse. "Yeah, she was taking a photography class last quarter. She gave me the extra prints. I stuck them in there and forgot about them."

She smiles, feels shy. He is standing in front of her. He's close and she feels really small sitting on his bed.

Thoughts won't stop running through her head, 'hot guy, really close. It's Jim. Jim's the hot guy in this picture. Oh man, Jim's really hot. Jim's really hot and I'm on his bed and he's really close and I swear I think I might actually pass out or hyperventilate.' Then it all gets worse.

Jim sits next to her, slightly behind her, on the bed. His arm circles around her and she knows that this is it. This is the moment when she's not going to be able to back away. His arm circles around her, and he peels the clear covering off the photo, separates it from the adhesive page and offers it to her, slides it in between the fingers of her left hand and the barest bit of his thumb slips over the skin at the inside of her wrist and she swears the world stops. His right arm is almost completely encircling her waist. If he lowers it, the back of his hand will rest on her thigh. "Keep it."

She turns her head to look at him, and their faces are too close. She's blinking way too much, why can't she stop blinking? Her lips part and an insubstantial "thank you" escapes, made more of breath than voice.

She turns her head to look at him, and their faces are too close. He feels her "thank you" ghost against his cheek and lips and he can't help it. His arm tightens the slightest bit around her. When "you're welcome" escapes his mouth, it's deep, gravelly. His eyes move from hers to her mouth and he feels her inhalation against his forearm; her lips part.

She can't help it, her eyes flutter closed. She feels herself pulled toward him. They are so close already, all she would have to do is move just the tiniest bit.

Then there are feet on the stairs. Mark yells Jim's name.

Jim's off the bed too quickly. He gets to the door before Mark enters, says he'll be down "in a minute." He turns to look at her and does his best to smile normally. "Take your time. See you downstairs." He steps half out of the room and turns, "seriously, keep it."

Pam takes a moment, places a shaking hand to her mouth, closes her eyes and takes a couple deep breaths. She stands and slides the picture into her back pocket, places the album back where she found it and straightens the rumples on the bed where they had been sitting. Before rejoining the party, she stops in the bathroom to run her hands under cool water and get herself under control.

Pam stays later than most, but makes sure she isn't the last to leave. She doesn't want to put herself in that position. She does, however, hug him as she leaves. She catches his eye and nods toward the door. Jim excuses himself from the people he's talking to and walks her to the front door. She pauses before she puts on her coat. "So, thanks for having me over," and she feels like a dork, like she's 11 and it's her first boy/girl party or something.

He grins at her, "your always welcome in my home Beesly," and he feels like a complete idiot. Welcome in my home???

She shy-smiles then stands on tip-toes to reach her arm around his neck. She holds tight to him, stretch-presses against him, wanting him to embrace her. She murmurs in his ear, "seriously, I had fun tonight."

He finally just lets himself hold her, wraps his arms tight around her, closes his eyes and breathes contentment. When her words warm his ear, he squeezes her closer, smiles, "I'm so glad you made it."

When they part, she puts on her coat, and he pretends her collar needs to be turned under just so he can touch her. She thanks him and pretends she doesn't know he's pretending. When he pulls her hair out of her coat for her, a shiver runs through her and she tells herself it's because her hair tickles her neck when it leaves her coat.

Pam smiles all the way home, all the way to the front door. When she gets inside, she really hopes Roy's asleep. It's not that she doesn't like seeing Roy or talking to Roy, she's just really happy right now, and it's such a delicate balance.

The lights are all out, and she enters the bedroom quietly, not wanting to disturb him. She hears a sleepy murmur and stomps quickly on the annoyance and disappointment that rise inside of her.

"Have fun Babe?"

"Yeah, I had a really good time."

Roy's mostly out of it and mumbles a few incoherent sounds and ends with "that's nice....'m glad."

She feels like a really bad person.

Pam pulls a clean t-shirt out of her drawer and heads for the bathroom to get ready for bed. She washes her face, brushes her teeth, changes her clothes, and finally, carefully pulls the photo out of her pocket before placing her jeans with the other laundry. She stares at it, runs her finger lightly over it and doesn't let herself think about why she's trying to decide where to hide it from Roy. She finally decides on placing it inside one of her watercolor technique books. Roy barely behaves as if those exist.

After putting the photo in her book, she climbs into bed next to Roy and does her best to sleep. But each time she moves, she remembers what it felt like to collapse on his bed. She tries to get comfortable and pulls her hair out from behind her head, but all this does is remind her of his hands on her hair. She lays on her side, her arm pressed against her stomach and it's his arm tightening around her. She's having a hard time breathing quietly; she can't get comfortable, and she's really warm. She rolls onto her back and Roy apparently has had enough.

"Babe, I know you don't have to go out early tomorrow, but I'm getting up early to meet Lee. Do you think you can lay still?"

Pam apologizes, feels awful, gets up. "Sorry, I just can't sleep. Maybe I'll read for a while in the living room."

Roy yawns. "That'd be great, thanks."

She moves to the living room and turns some music on low. She walks to the book shelf and looks at the novels there, picking a classic she's read many times, and her hand pauses over the watercolor book. She runs her finger along the spine, but turns away and collapses on the sofa. 'Collapsing on his bed.' She blows out an impatient breath and determinedly opens her book.

She's read it before and never fails to enjoy it, but tonight it's not holding her attention as it usually does. Her mind wanders and she thinks maybe she shouldn't have picked a romance. 'His arm around her waist, tightening, his hand on her hip, fingers pressing and she can feel the warmth through the denim.' She shifts on the sofa and throws the book on the floor. She catches sight of the watercolor book, argues with herself, then gets up and feels a little ridiculous to be this distracted over a picture of her best friend.

She opens the book to the pages that hide Jim's picture, and even though she's already seen it, she feels an involuntary stab trip through her stomach. 'He's always so careful not to show this side of himself to me.' She stares at his face. 'His hand on her hip, fingers pressing and she can feel the warmth through the denim. His face close, she inhales his exhalations and tastes his breath.' If not for Mark...what? What would have happened; what would she have done? She wonders how it would have felt to kiss him.

She imagines his lips would be soft. She knows he would kiss her gently; he's always so mindful of her. Pam closes her eyes. 'His face close, she inhales his exhalations and tastes his breath. He moves toward her; her tongue dampens her lips and he presses his mouth to hers. His lips part against her lower lip and her hand cradles his head. Her mouth opens and his teeth catch at her.'

A sound comes out of Pam that she hasn't made in so long, she almost doesn't recognize it as want. She's on her back on her sofa and her hand rests on her stomach. She's breathing fast and her pulse is running, and she knows what she's going to do, but she doesn't think about it. Thinking about it would bring up too many questions, like why she's more aroused right now than she has been in years and why she's laying on her sofa ready to touch herself over Jim and why she's not even considering waking up Roy.

Her hand moves down her stomach and pauses at the waist of her panties. 'His hand moves down her stomach and pauses at the waist of her panties. He looks at her, his eyes so dark. He holds her gaze and his fingers slip under the elastic. His hand rests on her belly and his fingers warm to match her temperature, and his hand slips down softly, teasing skin. His fingers slip over and around her and it feels so good. Her hips jump against his hand. His fingers are long and they circle and dip and twist.'

Pam is so aroused, it doesn't take her long to finish. She pushes against her hand and presses her face into the back of the sofa because she whimpers and gasps.

Eventually, her breathing slows and her heart calms. Her body is so relaxed, she knows she will have no trouble falling asleep now. She rolls on her side and places the picture back in the watercolor book and pretends it's not intentional when she slides it under the couch. She reaches up and turns off the lamp on the end table. She pillows her head on her arm and falls asleep telling herself the only reason she isn't joining Roy in their bed is because she's very drowsy and doesn't want to wake herself up.