“I’m considering joining a nunnery.” 

Jim surveys his friend with amusement. “A nunnery?” 

Pam nods. She’s two beers down, by his count, and starting to peel the label off the bottle in front of her. Which is usually a good sign that she’s agitated. Pam doesn’t shout or pace when’s she’s wound up. She fidgets. 

Plus, she’d started her drink before he even arrived at Poor Richards. 

He’d been late, apologising profusely as he folded his lanky frame into the booth and slung his messenger bag down. His producer Wade had kept him at work, in another attempt to land an interview with Scranton’s number one sports agent. (Number one is a dubious honour in Scranton, obviously, but still a big deal for their radio show).   

He’d been impressed, when he sat down opposite Pam, to discover there were two bottles already waiting on the table. Except hers was half empty, and it hadn’t been long before he was ordering a second round. 

“I think it could work,” she says now. She sounds serious. Two beers down and a heaping of despair serious. “I wouldn’t have to talk to people, or worry about frizzy hair under that head covering thing…”

He glances at said frizzy hair with a faint smile. She’d started trying to straighten it recently, he thinks, and it looks nice. But he’s always going to have a soft spot for the frizz too. Especially now, late in the day, when it’s starting to creep back in.

“I think they’re called wimples,” he offers. “If that helps.” 

She scrunches her face at him. “Weird word. I didn’t know you were religious?”   

She knows full well that he’s not. “Sister Act, Beesley? It’s a classic.” He shakes his head at her, as a reluctant grin forms on her face.  “Well,” he considers after a beat, “Based on that movie, nuns do seem to have a pretty sweet life.” That makes her laugh. “Although no sex,” he adds lightly. 

He said it without thinking, and she goes a bit pink. “Yeah,” she mumbles. “Not really a problem at the moment.”

He hesitates. They’re not exactly the kind of friends who talk about each other’s sex lives. (Also because, between Roy and Katy, they’ve always sort of known what was going on in each other’s sex lives). But Jim hasn’t, since she called off the wedding to Roy over the summer. 

Now that he thinks about it, it doesn’t totally shock him to hear that she’s maybe not slept with anyone else since. Although it has been several months. 

He wonders if she…

Yeah, he shouldn’t be thinking about that. 

He changes the subject. “Does this new religious zeal have anything to do with last night’s date?” 

(He’s not sure, but he thinks they might both be a bit relieved at the subject change). 

She covers her eyes with her hand. “It was a disaster, Jim.”

“Ok,” he laughs. “What happened?” He’s settled in now.

She takes a breath like she’s bracing herself to relive it. He fights a smile. She’s leant closer, almost unconscious, and so has he.

“It was the in the park.” 

“Ooh,” he teases her, gaze flicking over her serious face, “Not the park.” 

“No.” She rolls her eyes at him. “It was in the park…because he thought it would be fun to watch a frisbee competition.” 

Jim stifles a snort. Oh man. “Did you leave immediately?” 

“No, I was prepared to keep an open mind!” 

“Uh-huh. So you watched some frisbee-”

“Four hours of frisbee.” 

He looks at her, wondering why the hell she didn’t leave sooner. But he knows why, really. She just wouldn’t. “Ok,” he allows. “And then you realised you’d been wrong about the game the whole time?” 

“No. Frisbee sucks, Jim.” 

He does snort, then, as he takes a sip of his beer. He slightly loves it when she glowers at him like that. “Hey, I’m not arguing.”

“But,” she groans, “That wasn’t even the worst part. He kept singing.” 

Jim tries to imagine this. “Like, humming to himself? Or-”

“No, not humming. Full-on singing. He went falsetto at one point.” 

Jim starts laughing again. “No way.” 

“Yes.” 

“You’re making this up,” he insists, shaking his head. “Frisbee and falsetto? In one date?”  

“I swear.” Her eyes are wide. 

“You’re sure this wasn’t someone trying to prank you?” It would be a pretty genius prank, he thinks, except for the part where Pam had to sit through it for four hours. Maybe he shouldn’t be laughing quite so hard. “How did you meet the guy, again?” 

“Erin,” Pam says miserably. “And definitely not a prank, unless you put her up to it. She doesn’t know me that well.” 

He watches as she tips her bottle up to her lips and empties it. He’d consider telling her to go easy, but…from the sound of it, she probably needs this. His brow furrows. “Wait. You let Erin set you up?” 

Erin is the newest employee at the gallery Pam works at. Jim’s heard enough about her to not have a great deal of faith in her judgement, dating or otherwise. If Pam’s late these days, there’s a fifty per cent chance it’s because Erin has messed something up. (As opposed to the other fifty per cent, which is reserved for Kelly drama or a meltdown from Pam’s boss Jan). 

“I know,” Pam wails, “But she’s nice! At the very least, I thought she’d set me up with a nice guy.” She goes to take another sip of her bottle, then realises there’s nothing in it. Her nose crinkles. It’s cute, Jim thinks abstractedly. He signals to the guy walking past for another. “And,” Pam goes on, “It seemed like a better option than letting Kelly set me up.”

He’s pretty sure Kelly has been asking since the day Pam called off the wedding. (He’s also pretty sure Kelly was asking to be a bridesmaid literally the day before). He’s not surprised Pam’s still saying no to Kelly. He’s maybe surprised that she actually seems to be looking for options. When she’d mentioned that she had a date the other day, he’d assumed she must have been pushed into it.

But if she’s actually looking to date…

Well, he figures. Maybe it’s time. God knows she deserves to move forward. He can’t think of a single other person who deserves that more than she does.  

He realises he still hasn’t answered her. “That’s true,” he reflects. “Kelly has the worst taste in guys.” 

“Exactly.” 

“So how did you leave it with the date?”

“Well.” She’s started picking at the label of her empty bottle again. “He leaned in to kiss me.” 

Jim nods seriously. “Before or after the falsetto?” 

(There’s something weird about the idea of Pam kissing…someone who’s not Roy. He’s not sure why). 

“Shut up,” she tells him.  

“During?” 

“No!” She sees the expression on his face, and gives in. “Like,” she mutters, "A few seconds after.” 

Jim manages not to choke with laughter on his beer. It’s not funny really. He knows that. But. Wow. “So that went, uh, really well for him?” 

“I leaned away. And,” - she’s not finished yet, and Jim doesn’t know how this can get any worse, but he’s listening - “One of the guys playing frisbee saw. And started laughing. And then he missed a goal, or something, I don’t know. But I guess it was an important one, because they lost. And then…my date punched a hole through the picnic basket.” 

Jim gapes at her. “I’m sorry, what?” 

“Yeah.” She sinks her face into her hands again. “Now do you see why I need to join a nunnery?” 

“Well yeah, if you’re gonna go on with dates on psychos!” He can’t help but feel the faintest twinge of concern for her, despite his teasing. “You didn’t-”

She shakes her head, still in her hands. “I think he did more damage to himself than the basket, to be honest. I left him crying over the wicker.” 

She says it easily, but he hasn’t forgotten how much she used to hate Roy’s outbursts. And maybe it wasn’t the same, he thinks, but it still sucks that that was her first experience on her first date after Roy.

He can tell she doesn’t want him making a fuss. So he settles on, “Please tell me you’re never letting Erin set you up again.” 

“I am never, ever letting Erin set me up again.” 

“Good.” He exhales. “Jeez, Beesley.” 

“I know.” 

Their drinks arrive, and she latches on to hers immediately. He’s still nursing his second. He figures he can go slow, if it means she doesn’t have to. 

“So,” he says a moment later. He’s turning his bottle round in his hands.  “Here’s a crazy idea. You could branch out beyond Kelly and Erin. I mean, there are other options-”

“No.” She cuts him off, holding up a palm. “Don’t tell me to try dating apps.” 

That hadn’t actually been what he was going to suggest. But now he’s intrigued. And amused. “What’s wrong with dating apps?” 

She puffs out her cheeks. Like, where do I even begin. And this, he needs to hear. “Well, first of all, Ryan Howard keeps popping up on every one.” 

“Wow,” Jim states. He stands by his earlier statement that Kelly has the worst taste in guys. “Actually,” he adds, as an afterthought, "Why am I even surprised?” That is Ryan down to a tee. “His profile’s like fifty shots of him staring moodily into the distance, right?”  

“Oh yeah,” Pam nods. "I’m pretty sure he’s even using a picture Kelly took of him. You know that black and white one that she keeps trying to get us to hang in the gallery? And don’t get me started on the tiger photos.”

“Do I want to ask?” (Jim obviously, totally wants to ask).  

(Pam knows). “I think they’re meant to be from his trip to Thailand that we’re pretty sure never happened? So my guess is photoshop.”   

Jim’s not sure whether to snicker or wince. “That’s hilarious. And sad. But mainly hilarious.” He thinks about it for a moment. “Well, you can’t let Ryan-”

"I’m not done. Guess who appeared the last time I went on?”

He tries to think of who might be worse than Ryan. Roy, maybe. Seeing your ex on a dating site is…not great. But he doesn’t think she’d quite be reacting like this if she’d come across Roy.  

“I’m too scared to guess,” he tells her in the end.  

She exhales dramatically. “Do you remember Michael Scott?” 

“No.” Jim actually chokes this time, eyes bugging. “You’re kidding.” 

“Nope.” She’s grim.

Jim and Pam had ended up briefly working in the same company after college. She’d been temping as a receptionist, and he’d been wondering if sales might set him up for his future career.  

(It didn’t, but the radio prank he’d played on one of his weird co-workers had landed him an interview for his current job. So the high school teacher who told him his elaborate practical jokes would get him nowhere in life could suck it). 

The office job had only been for a few months, before the branch got closed down. But there was no forgetting Michael Scott.

“Oh my god,” Jim wheezes now, “This is too good.” There are almost tears in his eyes. “Tell me you got a photo of his profile?”

He can only imagine the gold it must contain.  

“No! I was so scared I’d accidentally swipe the wrong way, I blocked him.” Pam shivers. "And then deleted the app.” 

“Wow,” is all Jim can say. “Wow.”  

She flicks him half-heartedly over the table. “Stop laughing.” It’s half-hearted, because she’s trying not to laugh herself now. She attempts to glare at him. It’s not very effective. 

“Ok, ok, I’m sorry.” He holds up his hands in surrender. He’s still grinning. “So…dating apps are out, then.” 

“Yup.” 

“All right. Fair enough.” He shakes his head. “But you know there are other ways to meet people, right? Ways that don’t involve your crazy co-workers?” 

She looks unconvinced. “Like what?” 

“Like…I don’t know, in a bar?” He angles his head towards the one they’re in, eyebrows quirking. 

She looks round. “Yeah, ‘cause there are so many options here.” She’s dry. 

He follows her glance. The collection of middle-aged men in his line of sight is, admittedly, not very inspiring. “Well, you never know.” 

“I don’t think I’m that kind of person.” She takes another gulp of beer, and he can’t be sure that it’s not an attempt to end this line of conversation. 

“What are you talking about?” 

“Guys don’t randomly approach me in bars.” She’s exasperated now. “Like, how many years have I been coming here? That’s never happened.” 

“Because you were always with Roy,” he points out. (And not many people coming into Poor Richards would have been dumb enough to hit on Roy Anderson’s fiancée). 

Her mouth twists. “Not since the summer,” she shoots back. 

“Right, but…” He squints round the bar, trying to find an answer to that. “Maybe we need to try a different bar.” 

“It’s not the bar, Halpert.” 

She’s saying something about how it’s fine, she doesn’t want skeevy bar guys hitting on her anyway - and then he realises how close they’re sitting, and it dawns on him. 

“It’s because you’re with me.”

She blinks. “What?” 

“I mean,” - he’s not sure why this suddenly feels awkward, because it’s Pam - “I just mean, we’re always together. Not, together. But people might think…” 

Somehow letting that sentence trail off now sounds worse than finishing it. 

“Oh. Right. Yeah.” Does her laugh sound weird, or is it just because he’s let things get weird? For no reason? “So what you’re really saying,” she goes on, more quickly, “Is that we need Katy here, so that I can let all these great options know I’m single.”  

He nods, suddenly very focused on his beer. “Mm.” 

She hesitates. She’s trying to be casual, he can tell. “Katy couldn’t make it again?” 

“No.” 

There’s a pause. He casts around for a change of topic. He’s just about to make a lame joke about the options, when she blurts - 

“Did Katy get Roy in the break-up?” 

He freezes. “What?” 

“Just,” she mutters, swallowing, “I know it’s a thing sometimes, when couples are friends and one of them breaks up. And I - this isn’t the first time Katy’s bailed on drinks lately.” She catches Jim’s eye before he can look away. “And I know she knew Roy first, and they were always closer, so I wondered if maybe…like, she got Roy, and you got me.” She cringes slightly when she says the last part. “I mean. Not like that.” 

He’s stalling for time as he sits there. 

It’s true that Roy and Katy had always been closer. They’d been friends in high school first, the cheerleader and the football star, and Jim and Pam had been introduced as the awkward interlopers to their circle. Jim had never felt totally at ease with Katy’s friends, and it had been a relief when he was introduced to Roy’s girlfriend. To discover someone in that group - someone warm, and quiet, and funny - who he actually clicked with. He knows the feeling had been mutual. 

They’d used to hide in the kitchen at parties, sit in the bleachers together for all of Roy and Katy’s games. Roll their eyes at each other across the cafeteria table when Roy and Katy’s buddies were being extra obnoxious.  

It wasn’t like they didn’t have their own hobbies, but football was the big thing at Valley View High School. Not basketball, not volleyball, and certainly not art.  

And because the ever-pervasive football games always seemed to clash with Jim and Pam’s interests, sometimes they were the only ones who turned up for each other. He can remember basketball games where Pam was one of the only people in the front row. And he’d gone to art shows where her mom was the sole other visitor. (He’d always liked Mrs Beesley, though). 

“No,” he says to Pam now. “Katy’s not…avoiding you.” He knows he’s still struggling to meet her gaze, so he forces himself to look at her. “Look,” he says, more honestly, “She said herself, Roy’s family gave you enough shit over the wedding.” 

Now it’s Pam’s turn to glance down. “Well. It’s not like they didn’t have good reason to.” 

“Hey,” Jim murmurs. He catches her wrist across the table. “What did they want you to do, be miserable? You were doing him a favour, Pam.” 

They’ve not really spoken about this. Jim had been one of the first people Pam had told, pale and shaking, that she’d called the wedding off. Two weeks before the big day. Jim had just pulled her into his arms and hugged her. She’d cried a little. But he hadn’t probed her on it, and she hadn’t told him much more. 

She’d admitted to him, on what would have been her wedding day, that she’d felt relief. He’d squeezed her hand. 

But she’d never given him an exact reason for why she’d called it off (to be honest, she’d never needed to, because by that point he only had to look at Roy and Pam together to know why). And he’d never explicitly told her that he thought she’d made the right decision, that she shouldn’t have been with Roy. 

This is the closest he’s come to admitting it. He wonders for a moment if he’s gone too far. 

But she gives him a watery smile, and she doesn’t pull her hand away. 

He feels his throat move as he stares down at her. They’re sitting in silence, and he thinks that he should - 

“So. Any other dating tips?” 

(He feels guilty, and he feels relieved, that she’s stopped him from completing that thought). 

“A question, actually.” There’s comfort in slipping back into their familiar pattern. “How did you not work out your date’s frisbee and falsetto loving ways before you met him?” Jim raises a brow at her. “Didn’t you google him?” 

“Uh…no?” Pam looks sheepish. "I thought that would be stalkery.”

“Pam, Pam, Pam.” He shakes his head at her, mock aghast. “That’s dating 101.” 

“Stalk your dates?” 

“Online? Yes.” He’s already pulling out his phone. “Ok, give me this guy’s name. I bet you anything this could all have been avoided if you’d just checked his Facebook page.” 

It turns out there aren’t that many Andy Bernards in Scranton. Specifically, there aren’t that many Andy Bernards that went to Cornell (“He would not shut up about it”), or that are the member of multiple ultimate frisbee groups, or that have posted multiple videos of themselves singing in a very high-pitched voice. 

“Oh, Pam,” Jim is beside himself as he holds up his phone, “And he plays the banjo! Please tell me this came up?” 

Pam looks utterly appalled. “No. Maybe we spent too long talking about Cornell.” 

Jim insists on playing a couple of the videos, to her protests and attempts to cover her ears with her hands. It’s a bit much even for him to listen to for long. 

“Four hours, Beesley. Really?” 

“I tried to get out sooner,” she insists. 

“You need plans with a flaky friend.” Jim nods sagely. “For any date you’re not sure about.” 

“What?” 

“So you agree to meet your date at like, 6. But you say you’ve got plans with a friend at 8, so that you’ve got an easy escape route if the date’s a disaster.” 

Pam sounds dubious. “And if the date’s good?” 

He shrugs. “Then your friend’s flaky, and your 8 o’clock plans fall through.” 

She stares at him, and then shakes her head. “How are you meant to know all this stuff?” Her expression is despairing as she finishes the last of her beer. “Maybe I’m not ready to date.” 

“Ok, easy, grasshopper. You had one bad date.” He nods over at the guy for another beer, and a soft drink for himself. He’s fairly sure she’s going to need a ride home tonight. “That does not mean you can’t do this.” 

“I’ve never even really dated before,” she admits. “Between Roy, and…wait.” She suddenly frowns. “How do you know all this stuff? You’ve been in a relationship nearly as long as I have.” 

He pulls a face. “Uh, the clue there is the ‘nearly’. I learnt this stuff the hard way in college. When Katy and I were - you know.” 

When they’d been on a break. 

Or, more specifically, when Katy had broken up with him. Because she’d been freaking out about a long distance relationship with Jim at college, after her mom told her it would stop her having any fun. The biggest mistake she could make, apparently. 

(She told Jim when they got back together that she wasn’t going to listen to her mom any more, because the biggest mistake she’d ever made was breaking up with him. She still listens to her mom quite a lot, though). 

“Oh yeah,” Pam says guiltily. 

Jim looks across at her. She’s verging on the right side of tipsy, he sees, her cheeks pink and eyes bright - but he can tell that she’s still a bit unsure, a bit despondent, underneath it all. He hates seeing her like this. Not just because a drunk Pam is usually a happy Pam, but because he’s painfully aware of each of the small steps she’s been taking, inch by inch, to carve out her own life since she left Roy. And the dating stuff is just another hurdle. Another, bigger step. 

He doesn’t want to see her fall at it before she’s even tried, just because of weird banjo-playing Bernards. And yeah, she is kind of bad at this, but then why wouldn’t she be? All it takes is experience. 

And maybe a bit of help. 

“Ok,” he sighs. His voice is somber. “Do you want me to be your sensei?” 

She starts giggling. (Tipsy for sure). “What?” 

He lays his hands on the table. “Your dating guru, Pam. I can help you avoid…you know, basic mistakes like not pre-stalking your dates.” 

“Like my wingman?” 

(Yeah, he thinks, except doesn’t a wingman help you get laid? And Jim’s not - ok, he’s definitely not ready to do that. With Pam. That’s not something he wants to think about). 

“I prefer sensei.” 

“Ok.” She’s still giggling, and he’s pleased he’s displaced some of her gloom. She takes him by surprise by catching his hands on the table. “In that case…I accept.” She’s trying and failing to be serious, but her hands are warm in his, and she’s not let go. 

He keeps it light. “You’ll be a dating pro in no time.” 

She grins, and eventually does let go of him to raise her bottle to his. “No more frisbee dates?” 

He clinks his coke back. “No more frisbee dates.” 

By the time they leave the bar, Pam is fine but perhaps not the most coordinated she’s ever been on her feet. He has to catch her back a couple of times as he guides her over to his car. 

She’s quiet on the car journey, her head pressed comfortably against his window. 

“Hey, Jim?” She looks over at him once he pulls to a stop in front of her apartment.  She looks worried all of a sudden. “What if I suck at dating even if you help me?” 

“No way.” 

“Yeah, but…I mean, you can’t help with everything.” She chews her lip. “You know, I’m bad at small talk-” 

“We can rehearse conversation starters,” he assures her with a wave of his hand. (But really, anyone she finds difficult to talk to probably isn’t worth her time). 

“-I’m a massive klutz-”

“We can go over first date foods,” he jokes. “And safe restaurants.” (But anyone worth dating would find that klutziness cute). 

“-I’ve never even kissed anyone apart from Roy-”

He pauses, at that. “That’s not entirely true.” 

It’s enough to make her stop mid-thought. “Oh.” She seems to flounder. "Um, yeah.” 

It doesn’t really count. Spin the bottle in eleventh grade. Technically, it hadn’t even been pointing at Pam. It was meant to be pointing at one of Katy’s more handsy friends, but Pam had seen Jim’s face, and given the bottle a tiny nudge. Everyone but Jim was too drunk to notice. He’d been stupidly grateful to her. 

Roy and Katy had been laughing hysterically as Jim and Pam got up and headed to the closet. 

It had been dark and very close, his long legs pressed against hers. He remembers thinking her shampoo was nice, sort of floral, but with the curves of her body so close to his it was undeniably awkward. Because this was Pam. “So, we don’t have to…” 

“No cheating!” Katy had yelled from outside, between fits of girlish laughter. “The rules are very clear, thirty seconds with tongue!” 

Pam’s voice had been hesitant in the darkness. He could feel her breath fluttering against his cheek in the narrow space between them. “We can just, um, make it quick-?”

He wasn’t sure who reached out first - it was too dark to see very much at all - but then their lips were suddenly pressed together. Hers were warm and yielding. Their noses almost bumped. He remembers that he’d tried to reach through his muddled thoughts to start a countdown in his head, for her sake. 

One second - 

He’d been a bit dizzy, because it was Pam. Roy’s girlfriend. Jim’s friend. Probably his best girl friend, but not his actual girlfriend. 

Five seconds - 

It was Pam. He didn’t get to think about her like that. Not like that. 

Ten seconds - 

He remembers how different she felt to Katy. She didn’t taste of bubblegum lipgloss, for one thing. And when Katy kissed him, she always went for it. Like, tongue in his mouth, breasts pressed against him, hand sliding down his pants. 

Pam was very still. Like she was trying to contain herself. When he moved his head, she did too. Her sweater was soft when his hands grazed her sides. 

Twenty, maybe twenty-five seconds, he’d lost count - 

He opened his mouth, just a fraction, and he swore her breath caught. 

And then Roy had been pounding on the door, laughing. “You better not be trying to cop a feel in there, Halpert!” 

There had been more laughter and whoops from outside. Jim hadn’t needed light to know that Pam had gone crimson as they scooted away from each other. 

She’d muttered something about being able to kill Roy sometimes. And then she’d realised what she’d said, and added that she was kidding. Obviously. 

Jim had gone to stand in the confined space, and her warm cheek or her hand had brushed the seam of his pants, and in reaching over to help her up he found her head was suddenly level with - shit, shit, shit. She’d scrambled upright. “Sorry-” She’d reached quickly for the door handle. If she’d noticed, she didn’t say anything. 

They’d stumbled out into the light, limbs still clumsy and half-brushing as they tried to extricate themselves from the closet. 

Roy had slapped Jim on the back, and Katy had gigglingly launched herself into his arms. You’re so red! Pam had ducked her head and disappeared. 

Jim was still feeling strange about it later in the party, when they’d finally found themselves alone in the kitchen together. She’d glanced at him quickly, like she was too. Bit her lip.

“Hey. I’m sorry if that was weird. Earlier.” 

His head had jerked up. Distracted by the memory of the lip that she was worrying pressed against his. By the thought of whether she’d still taste - “Oh, no.” Then he’d realised that wasn’t the right response. “I mean, me too.” He gathered himself. “Sorry.” 

He’d thought that they must be setting some kind of record, for the most apologies to each other in the space of an hour. 

They’d stood side by side for a moment, the party raging on in the other room. He remembers kicking his foot against the kitchen’s linoleum, glancing down and thinking how big his scuffed Vans were next to her white sneakers. 

They both put effort into looking nice and nondescript for these parties. He didn’t own a letterman jacket, and teetering heels and mini dresses weren’t really - well. 

There was another party where Katy had insisted on lending Pam some of her clothes because it would be fun. She’d meant well. Doesn’t Pam look hot, you guys? And yeah, but Jim wasn’t meant to be thinking that, and also he’d never had a problem with her neat a-line skirts and sweaters and tights before. But he wasn’t meant to be thinking that either. 

She’d spent most of the party awkwardly tugging the tiny dress down and trying not to trip, until Roy had grumbled that she was no fun, because she was too hunched and nervous and miserable to join in with any of the games. Jim had found her outside in the cold, trying desperately to get a ride home before anyone noticed she was crying. His girlfriend was inside laughing, oblivious. He’d tamped down on his guilt and embarrassment, and given her his sweater and a piggyback to his car.  

So of course it had been Katy pushing them to do spin the bottle. 

“That game sucks,” Jim told Pam. In the kitchen, side by side, trying not to think about her soft sweater in the dark and the feel of her body underneath it. Trying not to think about that intake of her breath and Roy’s sniggering cop a feel. Because this was Pam. And he wasn’t one of Roy’s gross friends. 

The ones who had whooped while they were in the closet, the ones who always leered whenever Roy took Pam upstairs, who teased Roy about when he was finally going to get some action because why else would he be putting up with the nerdy arty girl? Roy, to his credit, normally told them to shut the fuck up about her. Unless he was drunk. 

He’d told Jim once, when they were both drunk, that he was glad he never had to worry about him around Pam. Cause you’re a good guy, Halpert. I’m glad you look out for her. Not like those other assholes. He’d grinned a bit. Also, you know. Cause you’ve already landed the hottest girl here. 

Jim had swallowed and cracked a lame joke instead of answering that one. He doesn’t know to this day why he’d got so frigging weird about it, why he hadn’t jumped to his friend’s defence like he should have done, why it had felt so suddenly impossible to find the words to respond. 

It hadn’t been his finest moment. 

Neither was standing in the kitchen with her, thinking about kissing her. 

But - 

“It really sucks,” Pam had agreed with relief. They’d smiled at each other a bit. She’d tucked her hair behind her ears. Cleared her throat. “So, uh, are you gonna be all awkward around me now?” The sideways look she’d given him had been fleeting, her smile stretching a bit wider.  

He’d nodded. “Oh yeah, definitely.” He’d bumped her elbow with his. "Hope that`’s ok.” 

She’d laughed, and then everything had been ok. Back to normal. 

She’s not quite laughing now, as they sit facing each other in his silent car. 

He wonders why the hell he brought it up at all. 

He decides to do what he does best. “I can’t believe you’d be so quick to dismiss our seven minutes in heaven,” he jokes. “I made many a tenth-grade girl’s wildest dreams come true. Awkward frenching in a too small closet.”

“Eleventh grade,” she corrects, almost automatically. 

He falters. Caught. (And he thinks maybe they both know that there were no other girls. Because he really, really hates that game). “Yeah,” he says at last. 

“Yeah.” She drags her gaze away from his. He rubs his thigh, like that will somehow alleviate the inexplicable tension between them. They sit for a moment. When she finally looks back at him, her is expression soft. “I meant to say, by the way. Thanks for all this. Seriously.” 

He’s not sure if she means the ride home, or the dating thing. (Which, she shouldn’t be thanking him for the dating thing yet, because based on tonight’s performance he’s apparently capable of being twice as awkward as she is).

He gives her a gentle nudge anyway. “Any time.” 

She nudges him back. Her hand wraps around the door handle. “Speak tomorrow?” 

He nods. “Night, Beesley.” 

He watches to make sure she gets safely into her apartment before he drives off.