Chapter 1 – I’ll Never Let You Sweep Me Off My Feet

She doesn’t actually know how it started; this game she’s been playing during office hours to make it through the day. Except that’s a lie and she absolutely knows how it started and even why; but honestly, what else was she supposed to do when she only has three hours of work to fill an eight hour day? Talk to Angela about what a hussy she’s turned into? Watch Kevin try to beat his record for how many M&M’s he can fit into his mouth? No, she can’t or won’t do any of that.

Besides, no matter how hard she tries, no matter how many rubber bands she snaps against her wrist, she can’t stop herself from turning to look at his desk approximately thirty-seven times an hour. Yes, she spent four hours one afternoon playing her own version of Pam Pong and then took the averages and yes, it’s thirty-seven times an hour and has she mentioned she’s bored yet? She’s been playing this game for five years and she can’t stop now just because her partner has changed.

She sent him an email. It was literally that simple. She’s pretty sure it was a Tuesday because nothing important ever happens on a Tuesday and at the time; this didn’t feel like an important thing. It still doesn’t, but she also realizes it’s still something.

To: Ryan Howard
From: Pam Beesly
Subject: Salesman Job Responsibilities for Pod #1, Desk Two

It’s your job to entertain the receptionist.

From: Ryan Howard
To: Pam Beesly
Subject: I left my tap shoes at home

Besides, I’m Desk One.

To: Ryan Howard
From: Pam Beesly
Subject: You wish

Yeah right. Ask Dwight about that and he’ll explain why his desk is number one and why you’re number two. Please ask him. I dare you.

To: Pam Beesly
From: Ryan Howard
Subject: Stop Emailing Me

Seriously.

She knows this has nothing to do with being friends with Ryan. She doesn’t even want to be friends with him but she also can’t un-train her eyes from looking that way every time he coughs, which is weirdly a lot of the time. And it’s really unfair that he has dark hair because if she squints or only looks quickly out of the corner of her eye, she can almost pretend he’s Someone Else. Until he opens his mouth and calls her a stalker and then she remembers who he is and that she doesn’t like him.

But she’s bored.

She’s bored after work too. It wasn’t like she and Roy ever actually went out that much but at least when she was engaged she had someone to talk to at night. But she doesn’t have that anymore and it’s weird. Changing your day to day habits after ten years is weird and it’s only been a little over a month but she still feels like she doesn’t know what she’s supposed to do; with her time or her life.

She’s been staying with Isabel since she told Roy she wasn’t going to marry him. She has an apartment to move into but it won’t be ready until the first of August so the few things she owns are in storage and she’s in Isabel’s guest room; which is great because she’s needed her real best friend a lot lately.

You know, ever since her work best friend confessed his love for her and then ran away.

Right. She knows that’s not actually how it happened. She knows she’s equally to blame for the fact that Ryan now sits across from her, but sometimes, most times, she doesn’t want to think about that. Sometimes, it's easier to pretend. Mostly, she doesn’t want to think about him but he’s still all she ever thinks about. Hence the rubber bands on her wrist, which don’t make her think about him any less seeing as how she stole them from his desk drawer in the first place.

Isabel let her mope around for exactly three weeks after she left Roy before she started asking, and then begging, and then finally making Pam go out with her at night. It was the first time since high school that the two of them were single at the same time and according to Isabel, this wasn’t something to let slip through their fingers. It was summer, they were young, and there were plenty of men willing to buy them a drink or two.

Isabel was right about all of that and now, Pam isn’t as bored at night as she is during the day and she knows why she keeps at this. Why she won’t just accept defeat.

Emails didn’t work. He just stopped replying to them. So she takes a page from Jim’s book and she starts throwing things into his coffee cup. At first she’s a terrible shot, but Ryan doesn’t spend a lot of time actually at his desk so she has a lot of time to practice and by the end of Thursday, she’s pretty sure his cup hold eleven thumbtacks, six paper clips and one piece of crumpled up neon green post it note on which she’s drawn a picture of Dwight and Ryan holding hands, surrounded by hearts.

He comes over to her desk for the first time that week and dumps the coffee cup on the counter and she sees there are actually twelve thumbtacks, so she smiles pleasantly and folds her arms across her desk and asks how she can help him.

“Pam.” He looks down at her with such derision on his face that she has to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing at him. “Stop it.”

“I’m bored,” she sighs. “Just, tell me a joke or something. What’s Dwight up to? Does Michael still think you’re dreamy? Give me something, Howard.” His last name doesn’t roll off her tongue as easily as others have so she decides never to use it again.

He lifts an eyebrow and instantly she knows he’s going to say something inappropriate so she raises her hand to wave him off. “Never mind. Go back to your desk.” She scoops up all of the things he scattered on her desk and drops them back into the cup. “Those are yours now.” She turns back to her computer before he can say anything else.

He catches her staring at him later that afternoon, only she’s not actively staring at him. Sure, she’s sitting with her chin propped in one hand and her eyes are pointed in his direction but she doesn’t actually see him. She sees grilled cheese sandwiches and yogurt lid medals and dark sweaters over white shirts and tears. His then and hers now.

She blinks, shakes her head quickly and turns away. That’s certainly enough of that. She finds her phone and texts Isabel; telling her that they need to go out that night.

An instant message pops up on her screen and she’s intrigued because it’s from Ryan and he’s never messaged her before.

RHoward: I don’t think Michael’s the only one who finds me dreamy.

PBeesly: Yeah, there’s Kelly too. Obviously. Probably Meredith. I can ask her if you want.

RHoward: And you.

PBeesly: Gross. That’s a lie.

RHoward: Then quit staring. It’s weird.

It is weird, and she is trying to stop, but she can’t, and she knows she probably won’t because stopping kind of feels like giving up and yes, she knows he’s not Him, he’s not even a close second but she will not stop staring at that desk and that chair and apparently, whoever happens to be sitting there too.

It’s not healthy. She looks down at her phone and for the first time this summer, Isabel is hesitating on going out. Something about how she kind of just wants to sit home and eat ice cream. Pam gets that, she does. She’s eaten no less than seven gallons of mint chocolate chip ice cream by herself in the last thirty days but she doesn’t want to eat ice cream tonight and she tells Isabel as much. And because Isabel’s a good friend, she agrees to a night out as long as Pam buys the first round and gives her first pick of the men. Isabel drives a hard bargain but it’s worth it.

It’s Thursday Night, otherwise known as Ladies’ Night at no less than six establishments in Scranton but when Pam gets home to Isabel’s and sees what she’s wearing; it’s clear they’re not headed anywhere that serves dollar draft beers.

She kind of loves that she knows this now. That she’s gone out enough times that she has two different versions of Pam After Dark and while she has different but equal amounts of fun; she knows that she’s more suited to Isabel’s idea of going out than she is say, Kelly’s.

Because yes, she goes out with Kelly. Saturday nights have kind of become their thing, and it’s completely different than Thursdays nights with Isabel.

She goes out with Isabel and wears little black dresses and drinks Old Fashioneds and flirts with accountants and real estate agents; guys who are still wearing their suits but have loosened or ditched their ties in the car on the way to the bar. She realized quickly that she has a soft spot for the ones wearing blue. She stays away from anyone who works in sales.

But then she goes out with Kelly and she wears much less. They drink sugary pink drinks and order shots with offensive names. Flirting turns into making out with grad students on sticky dance floors and something new and fun she’s learned about herself is that she’s fascinated by a full sleeve of tattoos on a well-muscled arm.

Pam’s not stupid. She knows she’s absolutely Going Through Something but sometimes, usually late Saturday night or early Sunday morning when she’s dropping Kelly off at her place or watching her leave with some guy that she just met, she wonders if Kelly’s going through it too. She doesn’t judge because she’s not being judged.

But it’s an Isabel night so she’s wearing a green sundress and they’re drinking whiskey sours on a patio where there’s a late 90’s alt-rock cover band playing a Counting Crows song she vaguely remembers from college and two guys are asking if the two empty chairs at their table are taken because there aren’t any other seats.

Isabel turns her chair toward the redhead and is instantly fascinated as he starts to tell her about his day. Pam sips her drink and turns her attention to his friend, a cute thirty-something with brown hair and blue eyes. He says his name is Ben but she quickly tells him she’s going to call him Benjamin. She doesn’t tell him why she’s done with three letter names like Pam or Roy or Jim. Or that lately she’s spent a lot of time focusing on names.

The thing is, sometimes, on nights like tonight when she’s making new friends, she calls herself Pamela. Or Ella. God help any man who tries to call her Pammy. She’s rarely Pam, but that’s only because Pam is connected to the daytime and to the office and to him and well, Pam definitely doesn’t approve of what happens after five.

Tonight, she says she’s Pamela, because she kind of likes how Pamela and Benjamin sound in her head. Like two people who probably have their shit together. Benjamin’s a high school English teacher and he spends the next hour making her laugh with stories of the kids in his classroom. He’s funny but he doesn’t spend the whole time talking about himself, he asks her questions about her life and she gives vague answers and half- truths. She’s an art student, she says. And she just got out of a long relationship. They aren’t lies, but she doesn’t need to weigh him down with her baggage.

He’s a nice guy but she’s not really looking for anything other than them sharing another drink while she entertains the idea of letting him take her home. She wonders if she’d be more interested in him six months from now, or whenever it is that she’ll finally be over Jim. It’s the thought of finally being over Jim that makes her order another drink when she’s already reached her limit of three. She knows she’s going home with Benjamin before he even asks.

And since Benjamin is a nice guy, he doesn’t ask right away. So with whiskey coursing through her veins she scoots her chair a little closer to his, leans against his arm, and grins when his eyes drop quickly to her cleavage before he looks back at her and asks if she wants to go somewhere quieter and talk.

Talking is the last thing she wants to do, and she tells him as much with her hand sliding up his leg. She kisses him right there at the table and for the moment she isn’t thinking about best friends or parking lot declarations. They steal away from their friends without so much as a goodbye, and leave while the band plays a decent cover of Semi-Charmed Life.

She doesn’t hate it. She doesn’t exactly love it, but she definitely doesn’t hate it.

--

Her head hurts the next morning, which is to be expected. She drank a lot of whiskey for a Thursday night. At least it’s Friday, and Michael is out of the office so she already knows she’s going to leave early but it’s only ten and she can’t leave that early.

The candy dish on her desk is almost empty and she decides to run out at lunch to get something to fill it with. Anything but jellybeans, she tells herself. She thinks of jellybeans and her eyes automatically slide to his desk but it’s still Ryan sitting there and honestly, she doesn’t think she’s ever seen him even eat candy.

PBeesly: Got a question for you.

RHoward: Is it a real question or is it like the time you asked me why school busses don’t have seat belts?

PBeesly: That was a real question. Think of the children, Ryan. But anyways. What kind of candy do you like?

RHoward: I’m going back to work.

PBeesly: You’re playing Tetris. Come on, just tell me.

RHoward: Why?

PBeesly: Because I’m asking. Jesus, can you just answer a goddamned question for once?

She hears him snort but doesn’t look up until he’s standing over her desk. “Can I help you?” she asks a beat later.

“Someone’s cranky,” he comments. “Rough night?”

“My night was fine,” she says, hoping her face is as passive as her voice and that he can’t tell she’s still wearing last night’s mascara.

“Then why are you such a bitch this morning?”

“Why can’t you just be nice for once?”

“We aren’t nice to each other.”

“Fine.” Her head hurts too much to try any harder. “Forget I asked.”

Ryan raps his knuckles against the counter and then goes back to his desk. She’s momentarily distracted when her phone vibrates across the counter. It’s a text message from Benjamin. He had fun last night. He’d like to see her again, take her on a real date.

She had fun too, but she still feels the way she did last night. She’s not looking for this. Not with him. She wishes she felt different but before she can give it too much thought, her instant message pings.

RHoward: wintergreen lifesavers

PBeesly: ?

RHoward: I like those

PBeesly: Wow. Are you 70?

RHoward: Shut up. Did you know that they glow in the dark?

PBeesly: You shut up. That’s just one of those urban legends. Like mentos and diet coke. No one’s ever actually done it. It’s always a friend of a friend or a kid in the next school district.

RHoward: you were the hot dog girl, weren’t you? Its okay, you can tell me.

PBeesly: I hate you.

Neither of them says any more. An hour later he sends her a YouTube video that proves Mentos do explode if mixed with Diet Coke and though she wonders why anyone would waste a perfectly good Diet Coke on that, she still stops at the store on her lunch break and then dutifully fills her candy dish with the chalky looking Lifesavers. They remind her of the pastel colored buttermints Roy’s mother insisted on at her first bridal shower and she sets out a second dish of candy out of spite. Skittles. Completely different than jellybeans.

He waits until almost three before he takes a detour past her desk on his way to the copier. She waits for him to try to take a piece of candy before she pulls the dish out of his reach and shakes her head at him.

Ryan tilts his head at her and sighs. “What?”

She pinches a single wrapped candy between two fingers and holds it in front of his face. “Prove it.”

“Prove what?”

She rolls her eyes. “That they spark; what else?” She doesn’t know why she’s doing this, but she stands and motions for him to follow her into the supply closet.

“You’re really weird. You know that, right?”

“There are worse things. Come on, hot shot.” She drops the candy into his hand and doesn’t miss the smirk on his face just before she hits the light switch.

“This is dumb. It’s not my fault if it doesn’t actually work.”

“You’re the one who brought it up.” She folds her arms and leans against the door.

“I think I hate you.”

“I don’t care. Get on with it already. I’m trying to leave early today.”

“Yeah? Kelly says you guys might be going out tonight?”

She kind of remembers telling Kelly she’d go out with her. “Yeah, probably.”

He bites into the mint and she’ll be damned if something doesn’t spark.

--

She and Kelly go dancing. She's barely surprised when Ryan and his friends show up an hour later. She's truly surprised by the fact that outside of the office, Kelly and Ryan barely interact with each other. On the way home that night she’ll learn that Kelly’s whole Ryan kink is simply him at the office and she’ll completely understand but for now, she’s confused when Kelly brushes past him with a cool hey Ryan and asks his friend Nathan if he's going to buy a round of shots. Ryan stands next to Pam and orders a beer without looking at her. He looks confused too.

It's a weird night. They circle around each other without actually saying anything. But he buys a pitcher of beer to share with her and she ends up dancing with him when he tells her he doesn't believe she knows how. She knows how. She pretends not to notice when his hands dip a little lower on her hips than is considered co-worker appropriate but then she has to laugh because considering their job and their coworkers, this is pretty fucking appropriate.

She also pretends not to notice that Ryan and his friends show up the next two times she and Kelly go out. It's the same every time; drinks and dancing, no talking. He stares at her more openly though and she tends to get careless with her personal space when they're sitting side by side at a table. It’s completely harmless.

They don't mention it at work. It’s all status quo; he insults her, she ridicules him. She genuinely doesn’t like him but it’s so easy to get him to take her bait that she just can’t help herself.

Ryan finds out about her thing with names and thinks it’s hilarious. He introduces her to his friends as Mila and it’s ridiculous but she goes along with it. He doesn’t think it’s so funny when she’s grinding against him on the dance floor or licking salt and lime from his skin before tipping tequila down her throat.

Because yeah. They do that now. Things have… progressed.

The dancing, well, that isn’t her fault. The other night she got to the bar just in time to see him shove his tongue down Katy’s throat, of all people; and for fuck’s sake, was that girl going to work her way through the entire office?

She thinks about glass houses and stones but whatever. She really needs to learn to say no to Nathan’s Sambuca shots because not only are they gross, they obliterate any filter or self-control she has and she ends up doing and saying things that make it easy for Ryan to call her things like jealous. It goes over about as well as either of them expect and even though they both know it has nothing to do with him and everything to do with the one who moved away, they’re still the ones having a stare-down in the middle of a dimly lit bar.

So to recap, Katy is the one he kisses but she’s the one who lets him cop a feel on the dance floor because the cheerleaders can’t always win.

The body shots on the other hand? Entirely her fault. She’s not even sorry about it really. He doesn’t want to play games in the office with her but he never says no outside of work.

This game is easy. The only point is to see who can rattle the other person first. It usually ends in a draw, they’re both weirdly good at keeping their composure, but tonight she thinks she wants to win.

“Ryan.” She tugs on the arm lying flat across his leg. “Give it.”

He smirks. She hates that smirk but she understands why it works for other girls. “Nah,” he says, flexing under her grip. “Right there. Unless you’re afraid it’s too much?”

She hates him but she really doesn’t want to lose this round. “Ugh. Fine.” And then she kicks his legs apart and sinks between them. She’s all business as she turns his arm until his palm is face up and licks a straight line from wrist to elbow. They’re both silent as he tilts the saltshaker over his arm.

She knows he thinks he has her this time but he couldn’t be more wrong. She darts her tongue over her lips and her hair spills over his legs as she dips her head back to his lap. He’s expecting her to start at the wrist but her tongue dips into the crook of his elbow. She keeps her eyes locked on his and slowly drags her tongue the length of his arm. Her hair catches when he clenches his fist and she can feel muscles tense as she presses her lips to his pulse, delicately scraping her teeth against the inside of his wrist before catching the last of the salt with the tip of her tongue. She rocks back on her heels, finds the shot glass on the table, fucking winks at him, and swallows the tequila like a goddamn champion. She flicks the lime wedge he holds to the floor. She doesn’t need it.

It’s her turn to smirk as she braces her palms on his legs and lifts herself up and onto his knee. “Got you.” Her voice is rough from the sting of alcohol but that doesn’t account for the fact that it sounds more like a question than a statement and she realizes she’s breathing a little heavier than she should be. At least his eyes are glassy and unfocused.

He stares at her for a minute and then the corners of his mouth quirk. “You looked good down there.”

“Fuck off.” She laughs but still tries to hit him. He leans to the side and catches her arm against his chest.

“Aww, it was a good try.” He pats her on the head just to be a dick about it and she kind of wants to punch him in the face. She tries to slide off of his lap but he’s surprisingly strong as he holds her there. “It’s my turn.” His eyes sweep over her. “Where?”

Her hand flutters through the air as she gives him her best I’m bored look. “Your choice.” He always chooses the spot just beneath her collarbone.

He cups her chin, tilts her head to the left. “Here?” he asks, trailing his index finger down the side of her neck. She nods quickly and hands him a sugar packet off the table.

Ryan can’t handle tequila shots so he does lemon drops. It’s been almost two weeks since she found that out and she’s pretty sure it’ll never stop being funny.

She fixes her eyes on a spot just over his shoulder and tries to steady her breathing as he leans in. If he notices her nails digging into his thigh as he first licks and then sprinkles sugar over her skin he doesn’t mention it.

Instead he grins, tightens the fingers around the curls at the back of her head and pulls sharp enough that she gasps. She lets her eyes fall shut when his lips touch her neck. They stay shut as his tongue darts against her, rough where it cuts through sugar and soft when he strays from his original path. He strays more than not and she slides her lower lip between her teeth when his find the tip of her ear.

“Take the shot,” she reminds him when his mouth moves dangerously close to her jaw. She lets herself wonder, not for the first time, what else his he could do to her if she let him.

“No.” She doesn’t realize his hand is still tangled in her hair until he tugs at it again and his mouth is hot on hers.

“Fuck.” She thinks maybe they both breathe the word into each other but she can’t think about it for long because she tastes tequila and sugar and it’s distracting her in the best of ways. He’s even more talented with his tongue inside of her mouth than out and for a second she forgets to hate him.

She remembers about ten seconds later when he pulls back and tells her he wins. But then he lets her drink the vodka and doesn’t argue when she tells him it doesn’t count because he didn’t complete the whole ritual.

Later, when they’re dancing and his fingers are digging into the curve of her hips and her back is pressed to his chest she wonders what it would be like to fuck him. Given the things he’s whispering into her ear, she knows he would but she also knows she never will.

But this is still fun.

She lets him work her up, probably works him up too if she’s being honest with herself, but then she bails before last call and takes a cab to a condo on the other side of town.

Later that night when she collapses, sweaty and spent, across Danny Cordray’s bed, he asks her where all that came from and she pretends she doesn’t hear him.

--

Roy gets a DUI and she almost fucks the temp.

Okay, it’s a little more complicated than that. But it does all start when Roy gets a DUI at ten-thirty in the morning on a Wednesday. And then he’s in jail and he calls her and she tells him that it’s not her problem and hangs up on him.

Everyone else seems to think it is her problem and the other phone calls start rolling in by noon. First it’s Mrs. Anderson, and honestly, she’s always liked Patty but now the older woman is screaming at her, telling her how all of this is her fault, that she’s ruined Roy’s life and how can she just sit there while he’s hurting and you know, locked up, and not do anything about it?

She wants to tell Patty to go to hell, but she just says that they broke up for a reason and that she’s sorry, but Roy isn’t her concern anymore.

Next, his sister Stacey calls her and this time, she does tell her to go to hell, but it’s only after Stacey reams her out for breaking Roy’s heart and slutting it up around town. She never really liked Stacey anyways.

Then her own mother calls her and she’ll be damned if she lets her try and guilt her into helping with the Roy situation because honey, how can you just walk away from ten years and isn’t this a little selfish of you?

So yeah, she’s not having a great afternoon. She almost loses it when just before five; fucking Darryl comes into the office and says she really should come to Roy’s with him because she owes him at least that after everything she’s done.

Ryan takes her to a dive bar and they throw darts and play shuffleboard and drink. They drink a lot. She drinks a lot.

She’s pretty sure she’s the one who kisses him first but they’re not really keeping score anymore. She just knows that they end up in the backseat of his car and she’s straddling his lap, grinding furiously against him.

It’s not enough though and she refuses to admit it to him, she can’t even admit it to herself, but she thinks maybe she wants him a little bit and she just doesn’t know what to do with that information.

Because she can’t have sex with him. She made herself that promise at the beginning of the summer when this was nothing more than an elaborate prank to annoy him at work. It can’t be anything more. She can’t do that to Kelly. Or to Jim. She tries to remind herself that they hate each other.

“I can’t fuck you,” she breathes against him and it sounds ridiculous because her hand is down his boxers and she’s practically riding him already through thin layers of clothing. “We can’t, but…”

“We won’t.” He lifts her up and off of him, pushes on her shoulders until she’s reclining opposite of him. He raises his eyebrow at her and gives her a stupidly smug look as he runs his hands under her skirt, brings her panties down to her knees. “Like I even want to,” he scoffs as he bends forward.

“God, shut up.” She closes her eyes when his tongue touches her and yes he’s every bit as good at this as Kelly has told her and that she’s imagined he would be. He knows it too, and she hangs on to that thought because it keeps her slightly annoyed with him for just existing and that’s going to be what gets her off more than the things his mouth is doing to her.

Whatever it is, it works and she comes hard and fast against him, screaming obscenities into her fist and blindly grabbing his shoulders and bringing him close enough to kiss.

From this position, his body is stretched against hers and she can feel him hard against her and for a split second she weighs the consequences.

He grinds into her twice, kisses her hard on the mouth and then drops his head to her chest. They lay there silently for a few seconds and then he props his chin up so that he can look at her.

His eyes are a little sad and she realizes for the first time that she isn’t the only one distracting herself that summer. She shifts a little, is about to open her mouth to ask if he wants to go back to her place because she feels like maybe she owes him something but he rolls his head side to side and looks at her with the most satisfied smirk she’s ever seen. He knows he’s won. She hates him all over again and you know what? It feels right.

“I’m hungry,” he says, reaching for his jeans. “Wanna go get tacos?”

She stops going out with him and his friends not long after that. She tells Kelly she’s too old for college nights and frat boys, and now she and Isabel only go out on Thursdays.

Things are weird in the office, but honestly, when has it ever been anything but weird in there?

She still spends too much time looking at his desk.