A/N: So here's the thing - I've never, ever written an AU before... and I'm seriously nervous about it.
I definitely wouldn't have the guts to do it if I didn't have the fabulous Bethany to beta for me - and if Katya hadn't talked through so much of it with me in the beginning. Thanks, guys!
-x-
She chooses the bar based solely on location.
It's just one block over from the Hamish, Hamish, Hamlin, & Hawthorne offices, and after a two-hour orientation session that consisted of filling out copious amounts of HR paperwork, smiling blandly for the photo on her building ID, and and watching a video about sexual harassment that has to be nearly as old as she is, she could use a drink. The bar looks just decent enough too, a place where she can actually afford to miss Happy Hour, but isn't so divey that she has to worry about getting hit on by angry biker types.
It's the perfect place to escape for a few hours.
The good news is that it's not as crowded as she expects, given that it's located right in the heart of Greendale's business district and the work day is officially over for most. Maybe it's the fact that she's just missed the end of the drink and tapas specials that makes it so easy to find a seat at the bar, tucked away in a dim corner where no one is likely to bother her unless she decides that she wants some company.
The bartender slides her glass of wine in front of her with a half-hearted smile and moves over to refill beers for the couple in the middle of a pretty steamy PDA without missing a beat. Her first impulse is to throw back the wine like it's a dose of cough medicine, a shot of tequila, but that seems a little too unseemly. So she does it in several dignified sips, like it's just too sweet and delicious not to. She's barely set the empty glass down before the bartender is back with another - and she's not entirely sure that she should drink a second glass so quickly after the first, but it's there, just waiting for her, and it would be rude to refuse it.
So she drinks.
She isn't entirely sure why she's feeling quite so unsettled. It wasn't even her first official day of work yet - that isn't for another fourteen or so hours - and all of it was so disappointingly boring, more like an afternoon at the DMV than an episode of Law & Order. This is supposed to be her fresh start, the beginning of something big, and she wanted it to feel like that, like she'd said goodbye to the bland, by-the-book world she's always lived in and stepped forward into something bold, unexpected, and new.
Maybe she isn't quite there yet.
She finishes her second glass of wine, and this time, she actually signals the bartender for a refill. It's not like she's looking to get drunk, but she can't go back to the apartment just yet, because she knows exactly what will happen if she does - she'll lay out her clothes for tomorrow on the dining table, the only spot that she can really claim as her own, and then move on to organizing her bag - making sure that she has her lucky purple pen, that her laptop and phone are properly charged, that she has her little emergency kit with Advil, bandaids, a couple of tampons, and peppermint Altoids - like it's the first day of kindergarten and not a very real, very adult job that she's spent almost a decade scratching and clawing her way toward.
She'll stay at the bar a little bit longer, have another drink or two, so when she finally calls a cab - earlier, when she'd taken the bus down here, she'd regretted lending her car to Abed and Troy so they could go to the mall, but she couldn't really refuse them, not when they're letting her camp out on their futon indefinitely without a word of complaint, and now she's actually glad that she doesn't have to worry about getting her beat-up Toyota home - she'll be drowsy and relaxed, ready to get a good night's sleep.
And she's firmly committed to that simple, foolproof plan until he slinks into the bar.
She notices him immediately, because even though his suit is a little rumpled and his tie is loose at his throat, it's obvious that they're both expensive, probably made by some fancy designer that she's never heard of, and even though it looks like he hasn't shaved in a couple of days, that doesn't do a thing to hide the fact that he's got one of the most handsome faces that she's ever seen in real life. He could seriously be a model or a game show host or even the tortured star of a movie based on a Nicholas Sparks book.
But, she thinks, what really draws her eye is the fact that, no matter how hot he is, it's pretty obvious that he hasn't had the best day, not if the way he slumps onto his stool and immediately downs the drink that the bartender slides in front of him is any indication, anyway.
And she knows all about bad days herself, so maybe she senses a kindred spirit.
In all honesty, though, she isn't entirely sure what it is that gives her the nerve to call the bartender over and ask him to bring the handsome stranger another drink.
She is pretty sure that it's not just sympathy or his good looks, though. It probably, almost certainly, has something to do with the fact that tomorrow she starts her brand new life, where no one knows her, or has any clue about her past, or can even guess at the very twisted road that's gotten her here, and it feels like it's time to reinvent herself.
The old Annie Edison wouldn't send a drink over to a hot guy in a bar, but she's ready to shake things up, celebrate this night when the world is about to open up for her in a hundred new ways. Besides, she's feeling kind of sexy in the sleek, little black suit and heels that she splurged on, and there's no good reason that feeling should go to waste.
Even the bartender seems to appreciate the new Annie - he shoots her an impressed grin just before he hurries off to pour Mr. Hottie a fresh drink.
She tries to play it cool as he brings the drink over, running a finger along the bottom of her wine glass and practicing a bored expression. The handsome stranger looks confused at first, like the drink has materialized out of thin air, but then the bartender points her way and he turns to look at his mysterious benefactor. He studies her for barely a second before the corner of his mouth lifts in a devastating grin.
Crap.
She may have overestimated new Annie because something in his smile literally makes her feel weak, dizzy and shivery like the wine has suddenly gone straight to her head, but he's rising from his stool and heading toward her before she can fully entertain any second thoughts. Her only hope is that she remembers how to speak.
"You stole my move," he says, lifting his glass toward her in an almost toast as he settles on the seat next to her. "But I'm obviously off my game tonight. Not noticing you when I came in."
He shakes his head, like he's supremely disappointed in himself, and she smiles easily.
"You just looked like you had a rough day," she tells him. "And I know a little bit about that, so…"
His eyes rake over her from head to toe in a slow, deliberate way that makes every inch of her feel hot and edgy. "You look anything but rough."
She can feel the blush burning her cheeks and hates herself for it, so she fiddles with her glass just for something to do. "Well, things have actually been picking up for me lately."
"Yeah? Maybe some of your good luck will rub off on me then. I could use it, believe me."
"What's the problem?" she asks.
"Work," he sighs wearily. "But who the hell wants to talk about that?"
She certainly doesn't - the whole reason she's here, talking to him at all, is to forget that the job that she's spent every minute of the last seven years working for begins tomorrow - so she takes another sip of wine, hoping it calms her. He taps his hand against the bar, and it occurs to her suddenly to check for a wedding ring or a tell-tale tan line that shows he's just shoved it away in his pocket. Besides a neat manicure, though, there's nothing noteworthy about his hands. Well, they are also seriously big, with long, elegant fingers that she can suddenly picture sliding up her thigh, disappearing beneath her skirt.
She feels it then, the night taking a decidedly different turn.
"What about you?" he asks. "What has you drinking all alone on a Monday night?"
She doesn't want to give too much away, because while she is trying to be a shiny, new person, she is still the same old cautious Annie at heart. "It's partly a celebration," she tells him, "and partly because I'm a little nervous about something. If I'm at home, I know I'll just be obsessing over it."
He nods thoughtfully. "Ah, I see. So you need a distraction."
She vacillates between feeling relief that he isn't pushing to know what she's celebrating or why she's worried and exhilaration at the idea that he knows exactly how to take her mind off things - because seriously, he is as good a distraction as she can imagine.
"They've got pool tables in the back," he says, which isn't exactly what she's expecting. "Let's go play a game. You can't be obsessing when I'm kicking your ass."
The gleam in his eyes is almost too delicious to stand, and she laughs, shaking her head. "Kicking my ass wouldn't be much of an accomplishment, actually. I don't know how to play."
He grins again, and he seriously has to stop doing that because she might jump him right here in this bar, in front of 30 or so drunken strangers, if he doesn't. "It's really your lucky day then," he declares. "Because I happen to be a world class pool player. And a pretty good teacher too."
"That's really not necessary. I'm just-"
"Hey, come on. It's the least I can do after you bought me a drink." He lifts his glass, draining it in one smooth, deep sip. "You need a distraction and you may not believe this, but I've been told that I'm very distracting."
She bites at her lip, trying hard not to smile - because new Annie is inscrutable, plays hard to get, wraps hot, charming men around her little finger without breaking a sweat. So instead, she just shrugs, like none of this is a big deal and she hasn't really got anything better to do with her time. He stands, waiting for her to slide off her stool. Like a gentleman, though, he holds an arm out, gesturing for her to go first, and he rests his hand lightly at the small of her back as he steps behind her, guiding her toward the rear of the bar.
The spark that travels through her is impossible to ignore - and maybe she hasn't felt anything like it in a long time or maybe she hasn't ever felt anything like it ever before, but either way, she only wants more.
-x-
Right from the start, he has the sense that she's not like the women he usually picks up - there's just this spark of something bright and earnest in her eyes that's impossible to turn away from and a softness to her smile that's almost too genuine to be real.
Sure, she sends over a drink, a pretty standard opening shot in the back and forth that tends to lead to a one-night stand in his experience, but she seems unsure and nervous about the whole thing, like she's trying to talk herself into it. She's also got a sweet, wholesome name to go along with her angelic face (the women he typically finds himself chatting up have sophisticated, pretentious names like Audra, Brigette, or Sonia) and a habit of humming what sounds suspiciously like bubble-gum pop under her breath when she's trying to concentrate.
Frankly, it's not really what he's usually attracted to, and he wonders briefly if it's worth all the trouble it might bring.
But she's got a ridiculously hot body, even in her conservative little suit, and he can't lie - even those wide, soulful blue eyes of hers are doing something for him. So he's willing to roll the dice, and if she goes all Fatal Attraction on his ass, he'll just never show his face at L Street again.
It's when they start the pool lesson, though, that he realizes just how different this woman really is - because she's not just letting him "teach" her as an excuse for stupid, clichéd flirting, to let him lean over her and feel her up in a way that's acceptable in a public place. She takes his instruction seriously, asking questions and trying to perfect her technique,which, truthfully, is kind of awful (he keeps that bit of info to himself, because getting in her pants is still the end goal here), and when they finally move on to an actual game, she is firmly committed to beating him, even if she doesn't have the skills to do it.
And strangely, all of that only makes him like her more.
Of course, she isn't only interested in learning to play pool, and really, that's reason enough to like her.
She takes a few opportunities to squeeze between him and the table when she's making a shot, and she might do it with an innocent, little blush, but she bends just enough to rub against him more firmly than is strictly necessary, and when he leans over her to help her line up a shot or two, she shivers a little and presses back against him - so yeah, he's pretty sure they're on the same page about where the night is headed.
He doesn't believe in fate or destiny or any of that crap, but for a second, he wonders if she's the universe's way of making up for the utter shit that his life's been the past few weeks - the iffy case where he couldn't charm the judge into granting his mistrial motion, the fender bender that was entirely his fault, the stock in that tech company he bought on a tip from Mark falling nearly 25 percent in a span of a few days, his mother making noises about coming for a visit at the end of the summer. It's a clusterfuck of crap, for sure, and that asshole Alan stealing the McAllister case out from under him today is just the fucking cherry on top. And he's turning 40 in barely two months, and his chances of making senior partner at the firm by then have all but gone up in smoke.
The least he deserves is a night of hot sex with a beautiful woman who also happens to be smart and sexily competitive and maybe even a little sweet.
It doesn't take much effort to win the first two games, and she seems pretty annoyed with herself that she's not picking up the game fast enough, so as much as he likes winning, he goes easy on her and lets her have the last one. She said she sent him the drink because she could tell he was having a rough time, and maybe he just wants to return the favor. But she eyes him suspiciously as she sinks the final ball, like she knows exactly what he's doing. He busts out his most charming smile and shrugs, feigning innocence.
"You're a quick learner," he says.
She smiles back, laying her pool cue on the table. "Well, you were right. You're a pretty good teacher." She takes a step toward him and tilts her head coyly. "And very distracting."
He grins. "You think this was distracting?" he teases. "It wasn't even my best stuff."
She steps even closer, and he can feel the warmth of her body, drawing him in. "No?"
He shakes his head and is about to ease his way into a kiss when she beats him to the punch, grabbing a fistful of his tie and tugging him down in a hurry so she can seal her mouth over his.
She tastes rich and sweet, like the wine she's been sipping all night, but she kisses like she wants to devour him whole, hard and unrelenting and with just enough bite to make him push away from the pool table and press her up against a nearby column. She doesn't seem to mind, though, not if the way she digs her nails into his shoulders through his dress shirt and tugs at his lower lip with her teeth is any indication. He nuzzles his way across her cheek, so he can press breathless, open-mouthed kisses to her jaw, and she pulls at his hair, making a hungry moaning sound that clues him into the fact that maybe this is all getting a little too heated for public consumption.
"Hey," he says, shivering a little when her warm breath ghosts over his neck. "Wanna get out of here?"
She jerks her head in a frantic nod. "Yeah. Okay. Yes."
"Do you live far?"
She wrinkles her nose a little, and he thinks he might hear the warning bells go off in his head. "Oh, um… actually, I'm kind of in between places at the moment. So I'm sleeping on some friends' couch."
He tries not to frown, but the fact is that it's against all of his rules to bring a woman back to his apartment, where he can't slink away in the dead of the night, never to call her again. But he looks down at this woman, practically squirming against the column, like she can't wait to tear all of his clothes - and hers too - off, and he knows there's no way that he can walk away from her, not after the way she kissed him, not when he's still dying to know what she looks like out of that suit.
"My place isn't too far," he offers reluctantly, and she grins, pulling him down for another kiss.
Somehow, when he follows her out onto the dark street, he doesn't have a single second thought.
-x-
She's been taking karate for almost six years - she can take care of herself.
That's the thought repeating through her head as she fastens the seatbelt in his sleek, dark Lexus (she notices that it's a convertible, even though he has the top up, and thinks that it's a perfect match for him, with his relentless charm and expensive suit) and considers the fact that this is a total and complete stranger and he could be an axe murderer for all she knows.
He also might be a little old for her, if the faint lines around his eyes when he smiles are any indication - but honestly, they only make him sexier. And it's not like she's looking for a soulmate here, some perfect happily-ever-after. She's been a good girl for years, and she'll be a good girl again, starting tomorrow. Tonight, just for a little while, it's got to be okay to be bad. Because for years now, she's done everything that she was supposed to, through college and law school and internships and a long-term relationship with a sweet, uncomplicated guy. But she barely made any time for real fun - for decadent, luxurious, naughty fun - and this guy looks like he can give her a crash course in that without much trouble.
She is also eternally grateful that he offered up his place because she can't imagine anything more embarrassing than having to sleep with him on the futon in Troy and Abed's living room, with Inspector Spacetime posters and Scooby-Doo figurines keeping watch - which means she probably would have wound up sweaty and half-naked in the backseat of his car, which is slightly more sleazy that she wants to go with this encounter.
Instead, he takes her up to the top floor of a fancy building, with marble tile in the lobby and a doorman to push the elevator button. His apartment is just as impressive, even if it's a little too minimalist and modern for her tastes. He probably thinks that she's the kind of girl who's impressed by these kinds of surroundings, though. She probably should be, considering that she's an adult, with a new career and enough student-loan debt to rival the gross national product of some small island nations. He's probably in finance, running a shady, morally questionable hedge fund, or maybe a surgeon who sculpts new noses and breasts - but it hardly matters.
He is gorgeous and really knows how to kiss (and, she suspects, a whole lot more) and she is dying to see what he looks like out of his designer suit.
But there is no reason to be reckless, so while he pours her a drink, she discreetly sends Troy and Abed a text with the building's address and a half-joking message that if she's dead in the morning, this is the last place she was. Then she turns her ringer off because she knows the guys. They'll send no less than 25 texts demanding to know why she's there and who she's with and what they're doing - and that would seriously kill the mood.
Still, she is nervous enough that she empties the glass he hands her in one deep gulp, even though it's scotch and she doesn't particularly like the taste. It's been nearly five years since anyone other than Vaughn touched her, and there weren't exactly a lot of guys before that, so even though she wants to ride this guy like a bucking bronco more than she's wanted anything in a long time, there is plenty of anxiety to the whole thing.
But then he slides the empty glass from her fingers, sets it on his coffee table, and turns back to her, moving in slowly, like he understands that she's nervous and is giving her every opportunity to back out. He skims his fingers along her jaw and she presses up on her toes because she needs a little extra height even in her heels to reach him.
When his mouth closes over hers now, he tastes rich and smoky, like no one she's ever kissed before, and something about that makes her frantic, as if she can feel every minute she's ever wasted in her life raining down on her. She grabs fistfuls of his jacket, shoving it to the floor, and he starts walking backwards into the dark of the apartment, pulling her with him. They stumble a little, because neither of them is willing to break the kiss, and the next thing she knows, he's spinning her around and she's falling onto his bed, bouncing on the mattress as he crawls over her. She can barely catch her breath, but she claws at his shirt, trying to pull it off him without undoing the buttons. He pushes her jacket out of the way and slides a hand under her tank top, his fingertips brushing over the lace of her bra - and she isn't really prepared for how good it feels and she cries out, scratching at his back in desperation.
He lifts his head from the curve of her shoulder and smiles, brushing the hair away from her cheek. There is something strangely tender about the gesture, and she shivers.
"I don't usually do things like this," she finds herself whispering, and soon as the words leave her mouth, she realizes how ridiculous they make her sound, like a little girl who doesn't know anything about the way the world works.
He holds himself over her, balancing his weight on his forearms, and she curls her fingers around his biceps. She tries to remember his name - he told her earlier and she's pretty sure that it starts with a J, like Jason or Jeremy - but she can't seem to remember much at the moment because her head is spinning and her blood is humming and there's a fever burning just beneath her skin.
"Oh, yeah," he says. "Me neither."
She knows immediately that he's lying, because his grin is a little too wry and his eyes are a little too bright, but she finds that she doesn't really care. She wants him, and not just because he's gorgeous - with blue eyes that could cut a diamond and a body that looks like it was sculpted from marble - but also because there's this unmistakable confidence in everything that he does, from holding a pool cue to paying their tab to sliding his hand along her thigh. And she shouldn't be thinking of Vaughn right now, because it's not fair to anyone involved, but he was always so eager to please, so desperate for approval; at some point, she just got tired of working so hard to make other people feel good about themselves.
This guy - Jeff, she recalls in a rush of adrenaline. His name is Jeff! - presses a kiss to the side of her neck, and it's like he knows exactly how she's going to react, so when she slides her fingers through his hair and rocks her hips against him, he doesn't falter at all.
"I start a new job tomorrow," she tells him, for no good reason. "That's why I'm so stressed and I think I just need to -"
"Hey, hey," he whispers. "You don't need to explain yourself to me."
It's silly, but somehow, that's exactly what she needs to hear, at the exact moment that she needs to hear it. He rubs his thumb against her nipple, and she whines low in her throat, nodding against the mattress in a daze.
Later, when she has her legs wrapped around his waist and he's driving into her like he might never stop, he slides his hand under her ass to tilt her hips up at just the right angle so that the stars that burst behind her eyes are white-hot, and she doesn't have to think and she doesn't have to worry and she doesn't have to obsess.
She only has to feel.
-x-
The bed shaking is what wakes him.
His alarm isn't set to go off until 6:30, so he can cram in at least a half-hour at the gym before he heads to the office, and it's still too dark outside his bedroom window for it be anywhere near dawn. He squints into the darkness and can just barely make out the woman who bought him a drink at the bar, standing beside his bed in her underwear as she hurriedly tries to throw her clothes back on.
She is as eager to get out of his apartment as he usually is to flee some unsuspecting woman's place.
So his new friend may just be the perfect woman - she's beautiful, smart, just the right combination of uninhibited and eager in bed, and she doesn't have a problem just walking away in the cool light of day.
It's amazing.
He reaches over to flick on the lamp on his nightstand and she freezes like she's been caught in the middle of emptying a cash register or cracking a safe. In the soft light of his bedroom, with her makeup rubbed off and her dark hair a mess of waves, he realizes that she's probably a little younger than he thought last night - early 20s, 25 at most. Sure, that's probably too young for him, but he can't really feel bad about it - even if it does make him panic momentarily that he's going through a midlife crisis, messing around with girls young enough to, technically, be his daughter. She's the one that sent him the drink after all.
"You going?" he asks.
She slips into her blazer, avoiding his eyes as she pulls her hair out from beneath the collar. "Yeah. I'm starting a new job tomorrow … or I guess, it's today now, isn't it? So I need to get home."
He nods. "Right. The new job."
She bends to fish one of her shoes out from beneath the bed, and he shifts to the edge of the mattress, so when she straightens, he can reach for her hand. She makes a sound that's half nervous laugh, half wistful sigh and ducks her head, tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear, and he seriously wishes that they'd met on a Friday or Saturday night so there'd be time for another round before they go their separate ways.
"I had fun," he tells her, on a whim, and her cheeks go a little red, which amuses him. "We should do it again sometime."
She lifts her shoulders stiffly. "Yeah, but um… I just got out of a relationship actually. So I'm not really looking for…" She shrugs again, looking apologetic. "And I've got this new job, so really that's what I'm going to be focusing on. You know, work. My career. I'm not really going to have time for anything else."
He nods, as casually as he can manage, because it's not a big deal. It isn't as if he wants an actual relationship with this woman, however hot and good in bed she may be, so it's not like it matters if she'd rather push papers around on a desk than fool around with him again.
But the thing is, he's said the same thing to plenty of women over the years, painted himself as some sort of dedicated workaholic, so committed to the demands of his job that he just can't make room in his life for much knows that it's nothing more than a convenient line, a way to let them down gently.
Because maybe he's committed to becoming a senior partner, to getting that fifth floor corner office with the built-in bar cabinet and view of the mountains that's been vacant since Jim Galvin retired six months ago, to seeing his salary go from 'doing well for himself' to 'filthy, disgustingly rich', but with the least amount of work possible to get it done.
Still, this chick is really hot - and her body is kind of ridiculous, so much so that he'll be fantasizing about this night in the shower for the foreseeable future.
"Hey," he says, conjuring up a charming grin. "I get that. Better than most, believe me. But everyone needs a break once in a while…"
She still looks reluctant, like she wants to get out of here as quickly as possible - he recognizes that look from years of experience too. He frowns, straightening the sheets across his lap uselessly.
"Okay, fine." He watches her nod briskly, smoothing her skirt into place, before he reaches toward the nightstand for his phone. "Let me call you a cab."
She doesn't argue, but as soon as he hangs up with the dispatcher, she's hurrying out of his bedroom, apparently preferring to wait downstairs with Eugene, the night time doorman, than with him. It's becoming increasingly difficult not to take all this personally.
"It was fun," she tells him, as they say good- bye at the door - and she smiles in a way that suggests she isn't really lying.
"Yeah, well, if you change your mind," he says. "I'm at L Street pretty regularly."
"I really don't think I'm going to get out much." She sighs, looking uncomfortably contrite. "But I'll keep it in mind."
It annoys him, how she's acting like she's throwing him some kind of bone, sparing his delicate feelings, so he lets her go after that, closing the door behind her without so much as a wave. Back in the bedroom, he checks the time on his phone - he still has more than three and a half hours before he has to get up, so he slides back under the sheets.
He tells himself he dodged a serious bullet. This woman already knows where he lives and he stupidly let her know where he hangs out - information that he usually tries to keep from women, that he's always purposefully vague about. It's a good thing that she didn't rise to the bait, that she couldn't possibly care less about seeing him again. Who wants to deal with some clingy chick, showing up at all hours, following him to the bar, completely cramping his style?
That would be a total fucking nightmare.
He shuts off the light, flips his pillow over, and lies back down. It only takes an hour or so for him to fall asleep.