A portrait of Ronald Reagan. Liz blinked, tried to focus her vision. Blurry as it was, yepp, that was certainly Reagan on the wall. She lifted her head up and the room swam in rapid circles around her. Okay, too soon for that. She rested her head on the pillow again, took a few deep breaths. Maybe it would help calm her stomach which felt like it was going to lurch out of her mouth. But only maybe.

Sweet Jesus, how much had she drank the night before? She couldn't remember. The party had started at Kenneth's, boring as usual, and then once Grizz and Dotcom had arrived, it picked up. Jenna got there, swung from the chandelier, and then got drunk. In that order. Somehow, Tracy had insulted Kenneth's new parrot, so he'd made everybody leave. Jack had offered to continue the party at his place. That's where Liz's memory left off.

Jack. Reagan. The names were pretty much synonymous. Who but Jack would have a portrait of the old Gipper in his bedroom?

Slowly, she turned her head. Sure enough, there was Jack next to her, snoring, his thick hair standing on end.

If she were to write about this, which she couldn't, ever, not ever, it would go something like "That awkward moment when you wake up in bed next to your boss." Oh blerg. Blerg to the tenth power.

Had they...oh...okay, okay, one way to find out quickly. She lifted up the soft sheets which probably had a higher thread-count than she knew existed. She was wearing jeans and a baggy t-shirt that said 'Nana's Favorite.' Who the hell's Nana had given her that? Didn't matter. Not now. She was clothed. Clothes equaled no sex. Except, well in her life, not really. Much of the sexual activity she'd done in her life had been done fully clothed. She gulped. Looked at Jack. He was wearing royal blue silk pajamas, little bit of chest hair showing at the top. He looked good, she had to admit. All peaceful and sweet and -

"Good God, Lemon!" His voice in her head. "You're infatuated with me, aren't you?"

She'd never forgotten the sting of that comment, even though it'd been years ago. How that skinny, bird-boned, ho-bag ex-girlfriend of his had almost married him, then tried to turn him against her. She couldn't even remember her name now. Just how much she hated her, and how much she'd loved the look on her face when the girl found out that Mizz Liz Lemon was Jack's emergency contact, and not the bird-boned bitch. Aha! But yeah, he'd accused her of being infatuated with him then and it hurt. Mostly because it was half-true. But only half. Infatuation seemed such an unworthy term. Something that belonged to teenagers and or '80s Rod Stewart song titles.

She respected Jack. She looked up to him. And yeah, he was pretty frickin handsome. But infatuated? No, no, that wasn't the right word.

But if laying in his bed wasn't the most awkward time to come to terms with her feelings for Jack, she didn't know what was.

He stirred next to her, cleared his throat. She watched his face. No movement.

"It's not polite to stare, Lemon," he said.

"How did you know I was looking at you?"

His eyes opened. A little bloodshot, but still so blue. "I just know these things."

He sat up, rubbed his eyes, and let out a yawn. "How do you feel?"

"Like my head is a fun house and there's a kangaroo in my stomach."

"I suspected as much. I'll give you my hangover cureall."

"Should I be afraid to ask what that is?"

"It's an ancient Irish remedy." He pointed to a brandy canter across the room. "Hair of the dog, Lemon."

"Oh Jack, I don't know. I don't think that's a good idea."

"It is. How do you think I can drink all day?" He got up from the bed, his back to her. A flash from the night before came to her. His butt. So nice. Something she'd noticed long ago but never said, even though Jenna had brought it up to her now and then. "Don't you think Jack has a great butt?" and she'd just kind of shrug it off like she'd never paid attention to it. Like hell she hadn't. And the night before...oh God, yeah, it was all coming back to her now.

He was bent over in front of the punch bowl, picking up a stray Dorito. "Nice ass, Jack."

He'd stood and did a double-take at her. "Lemon, I'm surprised at your bluntness."

She'd shaken the wine glass in her hand. "The wine's doing the talking tonight."

"So that's what it takes to loosen you up." A wink. "And thanks for the compliment." And then he walked away and she watched.

"Liz Lemon, do you want to be in my new movie, Bitchslapped by a Donkey? I still need someone to play my mother," Tracy said, pulling her gaze from Jack.

"Oh huh? What?" She turned to Tracy, realizing what he'd said. Sort of. "Tracy, we're the same age and I'm white. How am I supposed to play your mother?"

"If you're from Africa, why are you white?"

"I'm from Pennsylvania, who told you I was from Africa?"

Jack snapped his fingers in front of her face. Back in his bedroom. With a brandy canter in hand. Back to the present.

"Are you there?" he said. "You look so out of it."

"Yeah, sorry, I was just...Jack, what happened last night? I'm starting to remember things, but - "

"No."

"No what?"

"You were going to ask me if we had sex. No. We didn't."

She sighed. Whether it was a sigh of relief or regret, she wasn't sure. Why were feelings so confusing? Especially when you couldn't think straight, anyway. "Okay, yeah. So why am I in your bed?"

"I wouldn't let you drive home like that, so I told you that you could stay here. I was going to make the couch up for you, then I found you here in my bed, already asleep." He paused. "It is my bed, I wasn't going to forfeit it for the night, even if you were in it."

Pure Jack. She smirked. "Do you have to make it sound like I'm so repulsive?"

"I didn't say that."

"I know, but it isn't really the best time for one of your little digs, you know. One wrong word and I could puke all over your Egyptian sheets."

"It wasn't a dig, Lemon. You take everything the wrong way. I just meant I wasn't going to give up my bed, even if you, or anybody for that matter, was in it."

"So say it was Tracy?"

"Same thing."

"Kenneth?"

"More or less."

"Kathy Geiss?"

"Don't push it."

She laughed, started to feel a little better. "So what did happen last night? Before I passed out here. And starting with this." She tugged at her Nana's Favorite shirt.

"Oh that. Kenneth gave it to you when you got cheese on your other one."

Cheese. Nachos. Ah yes. "Okay, what else happened?"

"What's the last thing you remember?"

She thought of saying "That time I told you I liked your ass," then thought better of it. How the hell could she word it without being awkward? "Um, it was here, at your house, you were um, picking up stuff and - "

"You admired my assets?"

She nodded. "Yeah. That."

"You found me in the kitchen a little bit later. Nobody was in there but us."

And suddenly, Liz's memory touched on that and she remembered.

His collar had been undone, his jacket off, and he finally, for once, looked relaxed. Like a man unwinding, instead of a suited up boss. He was drinking wine, and she could've sworn she saw a little twinkle in his eye when she walked in the room.

"Lemon," he said. "Great party, isn't it?"

She waggled her empty wine glass. "I'll say so."

Their eyes went to the door at the same time. Checking. No, no one was coming through. No one was there but them. And Jack approached her, slipped an arm around her, and kissed her. Just like that. His mouth was warm, silky, and he tasted like the wine she'd been drinking, except better somehow. He ran his hand up and down her side, settled it on her hip. Rubbed it gently. It felt so good. Something she'd almost thought about but wouldn't allow for so long. Right here.

He pulled away and they looked at each other a moment, neither of them saying anything.

What the what?

This was Jack. Handsome, yes, the ultimate ladies man, yes, drunk yes, but her boss. It just...no matter how good it felt, it would just be too -

He touched her chin. "This doesn't leave this room, and I doubt you'll even remember it tomorrow."

But she did. Now she did.

"Yeah okay," she said, snapping back to the present, to the endearing Jack before her, trying to fix her hangover with his godawful morning brandy. "I remember now."

He held a finger to his pursed lips. "Shh, Lemon. It's our secret." He offered the brandy to her. "Try it. You'll feel better."

"No. And wasn't I drinking wine anyway?"

"You were, which is why the wine is all gone, so you're stuck with this."

The thought of slurping it down made her feel sick, and her head was spinning for various reasons. The booze from the night before, partly. But the kiss with Jack and how it made her feel, then and now, mostly. It was nice. It was wrong. It turned her on. It was wrong. A whirl of thoughts. She stood from the bed and bolted from his room.

"Lemon?"

"I'm gonna be sick."

And she was.