Thirty minutes later, the game finally ended when Pam, who couldn't think of any celebrity names, let alone one that started with "F," simply blurted out a loud "That's what she said!" on her turn. The others looked confused, but Jim burst out laughing and couldn't seem to stop. This led to a lengthy, hilarity-filled explanation to the rest of the group about Michael Scott and his bizarre influence on the lives of Jim and Pam.

The game was over, but the damage was done. Pam's head was spinning in a very pleasant way, and she noticed that she no longer could distinguish which song exactly was playing from the jukebox...she could only feel the beat in her chest, and the rest was just a buzzing in her ears. She felt very happy, though.

"It's weird, isn't it?" she asked Jim, leaning in so he could hear her.

"What's weird?" he smiled back.

"Being here without the others. The people we work with, I mean. This whole other group...they have no idea."

"Yep, just you and me, Beesly! Nobody else understands our pain."

The two of them grinned and looked at the others, who had paired off into their own little worlds: Steve with Christi, Troy with Billie, and Allan, who excused himself to the parking lot so he could call his girlfriend.

"We should do another shot," Jim said, signaling to the waitress.

Pam giggled.

"Are you trying to get me drunk, Halpert?"

Only the alcohol could have given her the courage to ask such a daring question.

"Maybe. Or maybe you're trying to get me drunk, did you ever think of that?"

"What?" she laughed "That makes no sense. You're the one ordering more alcohol."

"Don't confuse me with facts, Pam," Jim said before he turned to the server to order two more shots. Pam let out another peal of laughter.

This felt so good. She felt so good. Laughing and joking around with Jim was the best feeling in the world. She had missed it, missed him, so much.

They did another shot, and Pam finally worked up the nerve to ask.

"Where's Karen tonight?"

Jim shrugged.

"New York City. Girlfriends. Whole weekend."

"Ah, I see."

"Where's Roy?"

Pam shrugged in turn.

"Beer. Poker. Don't know. Don't care."

Jim just grinned.

"So I've got you all to myself tonight, then?"

"Yes, and I've got you."

Pam wasn't sure if it was the alcohol or her own boldness that was making her cheeks burn so hot, but she knew she needed a distraction from the look in Jim's eyes.

"Let's do another shot!" she exclaimed.


The rest of the night became nothing but a blur of disconnected moments.

A game of darts.

More alcohol.

Several trips to the ladies' room, where at least two girls were crying, although Pam couldn't remember later if it was two girls together or two separate girls on two separate trips.

Billie trying to convince Pam to leave with her, and Pam refusing. She was having way too much fun, and she wanted to stay with Jim. Jim promising to see her home safely.

Something about Billie and her car keys.

Still more alcohol.

Talk and laughter and touching. Somehow her hand was always on Jim's leg, or his arm was around her seat back. They leaned in close to speak to each other, his breath was warm in her ear.

At some point, the server let them know it was last call, and Jim and Pam realized they were the only two left from their group. That made them laugh. Everything that night was making them laugh.

Then Jim was leading her out into the cool air and the quiet of the parking lot, his arm around her shoulders. They climbed into the back of a taxi, and Pam couldn't remember her address. More laughter.

"So you'll just come to my place, then," Jim said.

"Okay," Pam agreed.

And then his mouth was on hers, and her hands were in his hair. She kissed him back fervently, not knowing nor caring if any of this was real or how long it would last. It was hot and wet and desperate. They clung to each other the whole way home.

Later, she would have only vague memories of the stumble out of the cab and the short, quick walk to Jim's apartment. The moment the door closed behind them she was back in his arms again, and they left a trail of clothes along the floor as they fumbled their way into his bedroom, not bothering with the lights.

Deliciously cool sheets. Skin on skin. Tongues and warmth and friction and happiness and Jim and oh!

And then darkness.