The thing with Schmidt, was that he was an idiot. It was pretty universally recognized that the guy was an idiot. A big, softhearted, lovable lunk of an idiot, maybe, but still...an idiot.
Except for the times when he wasn't. Because Schmidt could also see things with an unexpected clarity sometimes, and it would just jump out at you and catch you on the jaw like a left hook, and daze you for a few seconds.
But it wasn't always easy to tell the difference between the idiot moments, and the idiot savant moments...and therein lay the problem.
For instance, after Schmidt assured Nick that having "those kinds" of thoughts about their female roommate was not just normal, but to be expected, Nick had really wanted to believe that that was true. Had really wanted to believe that he was just being a regular guy, and that he was not, in fact, a pathetic pervy perv.
And had really REALLY wanted to believe that he wasn't actually starting to fall for the girl.
Because that was a fear that was gaining momentum with each passing day.
And that would be unacceptable.
So Nick liked to tell himself that surely it was far more likely that the slightly light-headed and loopy way he'd been feeling lately when she walked into the room was simply the natural physiological reaction that occurred when you put normally occurring hormones and pheromones into a test tube, applied extreme heat and pressure, and then bottled them all up tightly, with no release valve in sight.
Because that sure was how the loft had been feeling lately. And Nick had struggled a lot with feeling guilty about his own reactions and...er...coping mechanisms. But adopting Schmidt's outlook would absolve him of a lot of that.
Of course, Schmidt wasn't the best possible barometer of morals and ethics at any point, much less within the sexual realm, so Nick still had his moments of doubt. But hey, since even WINSTON had admitted to being affected by her in that way, surely it wasn't that bad.
That's what Nick told himself.
And so, his libido having gratefully latched onto the proferred excuse for it's recent misbehavior, he consequently found himself feeling less and less inhibited in imagining exactly what it would be like to have sex with her.
With Jess. The completely maddening, exasperating, frustrating, aggravating, awkward, dorky, fascinating, endearing, adorable, irresistible, beautiful girl who lived right across the hall from him, and had been making his life really complicated of late.
Because she was a pest and an annoyance, but as it turned out, she was also a really great friend.
And a damn SIREN. The most dangerous kind, in that she was completely unaware of the seduction of her own song. Or maybe it was just that weird things worked for him, and where other men were unable to resist the fire and ice beauty of the Cece's of the world, Nick was much more attracted to warmth and humor and coziness and comfort, and maybe just a little bit of crazy. At any rate, there were times when he felt like it was inevitable that he would end up succumbing to Jess's oblivious siren song, even if it just meant crashing magnificently on the jagged rocks of impossibility in the end.
And as an inevitability, it began to hold an irresistible allure for his curiosity. Sex. With Jess. As the very notion of it began to sit more comfortably upon him, his fantasies had became less tormented "Letters-to-Playboy" style, and more honest speculation. What would it be like?
Passion was a given. It was JESS. She lived every minute of her life with passion and enthusiasm.
Beyond that, what could a man expect?
Experience? Definitely not. But the willingness to experiment? Almost guaranteed.
He was sure that she would be shy in the beginning, painfully, beautifully awkward and shy. But that that wouldn't last long. And that bashfulness would give way to brazenness, as she gained confidence in her partner.
And since Jess basically talked non-stop in real life, it was also a pretty sure bet that that trait would continue in the bedroom as well. And although Nick reflected that there would almost certainly be moments when he'd have to shut her up by kissing her soundly...he also wondered what form her creative verbosity might take when her eyelashes were fluttering helplessly and she was gasping for breath.
So yes, as a matter of fact, sometimes he would stand back to let her enter the elevator ahead of him, ostensibly being a gentleman, but really just enjoying the view. And then he would spend the whole silent ride down thinking very very GUYISH thoughts about exactly what it would be like to tap that sweet little piece of ass.
He was pretty sure that it would be the greatest adventure of his life.
And he was also pretty sure that that pathetic little weasel Paul hadn't beaten him there, yet.
Yes, these were the kinds of fantasies that Nick knew Schmidt would definitely pronounce "normal", and put his stamp of approval on.
However, having resolved that, more concerning were the subtler, sneakier thoughts that he had felt taking over his wayward mind lately.
Because as annoying as he found it, he would also find himself unable to look away when Jess met Paul at the door with a happy hug, a shy kiss, and a giggle of promise-all because he felt a sudden keen interest in what it might be like to be her boyfriend.
They'd be on another emergency toilet paper run to the drugstore, and Nick's usual impatience when she lost herself, yet again, amongst the plethora of hair styling products, would be tempered by the distracting fact that he was discovering that the urge to just reach out and grab her hand at such times was not only tempting, but so organically intuitive that it had begun to take all his concentration not to.
He'd taken to wondering what it would be like to just slide his arm across the back of the couch and gently pull her head over on to his shoulder, so that he could softly kiss her forehead before just snuggling down and watching the rest of her movie with her.
Hell, there was one whole hellish night at work when the only way he managed not to punch someone in the face was by continually reminding himself that he'd promised Jess to help her wash her car the next day.
This is what he was reduced to. Auto detailing fantasies. All because a certain someone would be there too, doubtless making up a song about it, the lyrics of which would link their names together, and probably include some horrible puns about "coming clean" because "grime doesn't pay".
Yep, these kinds of thoughts and impulses were growing in strength and number lately, and would almost definitely NOT be Schmidt-approved, Nick knew. But he was finding more and more that he just didn't care. Because much-preferable to Schmidt's voice in his head was the incredibly sweet task of imagining kissing Jess for the first time...imagining it in every time and place that it was possible to imagine.
But the way...the way he kissed her...that never varied in his fantasies. Because no matter when, no matter where, in his mind their first kiss was always infinitely soft and full of wonder, with plenty of taking time to relish the ridiculous softness of her lips, and the way that she looked up at him, with round, round eyes, just before he made them close by gathering her even closer, slanting his head, and lazily letting his tongue caress hers with all of the unspoken words it had been holding back lately.
And as it turned out, those silent words out-shouted Schmidt in his head, any old day.