Britta couldn't help falling asleep in the passenger seat on the drive to Denver as she and Jeff headed to his mother's wedding at the end of September. They'd made an early start and as Jeff snuck occasional glances over to watch her dozing, with her head on her shoulder and mouth slightly open, he only wished he'd thought to bring a little blanket for her.

She looked so innocent sleeping. It was almost hard to reconcile this Britta with the Britta who came with him to the charity dinner his law firm bought a table to the previous week. One of his colleagues kept referring to her as "sweetie," and as punishment, Britta dug her nails into Jeff's leg under the table, and to dig in her point, briefly tortured him, moving her hand up even further up his thigh under the tablecloth. "If you're ever let them call me sweetie or sugar again in front of you," she whispered seductively in his ear, "I will crash your car."

Lesson learned; next time he'd correct anyone referring to her as anything other than Britta or Ms. Perry immediately. He wasn't going to disappoint her further and let her know that the firm only bought the table as a tax write-off, not to support Cystic Fibrosis research. Britta was already a little confused and disappointed in some of his new lawyer friends for leaving after the dinner before the live auction started. Jeff lied and told her it was because they had to be in court early the next morning. He wondered if it would make her feel good if he invited her to the next dinner, supporting diabetes something or other, or terrible, because she was sure to find out his colleagues were only going for the purpose of bidding on some golf packages.

It wasn't a large firm, and though Jeff was only working there two (long) days a week, he was getting to know everyone there. At the dinner, his colleague Andy, who Jeff thought had seemed fairly down-to-earth, commented that Britta was a "nice upgrade!"

"What do you mean?" Jeff asked him.

"Second wife?" Andy asked, while implying he knew the answer.

"Britta? No, we're just friends. Good friends." Jeff knew Andy wasn't an idiot, and would get they were friends with benefits; but for Britta's sake, he didn't want to overstate their relationship. He and Andy got into a conversation about Andy's impending third marriage; Andy was shocked Jeff was almost 40 and still a bachelor. The men from the firm, most of whom were on second and third wives (even fourth!), didn't know whether to admire Jeff or what. Jeff, for himself, was surprised. He'd thought of all people, divorce lawyers would be extolling the virtues of not settling down. But ever since that night, he'd started to feel like the odd man out instead of the lucky single guy.


Jeff pulled into the parking lot of the hotel and nudged Britta awake. She begrudgingly grabbed her backpack and as soon as they made it into the room, she threw her bag on the king-size bed and sought out the coffeemaker. It was a nice one, with little pods and disposable to-go cups. She plugged it in and stood by Jeff in the bathroom, where he was inspecting the free soap, to get filler water. They'd decided earlier to dressed and ready at the hotel, so Britta had packed her dress and make-up. She felt much more awake after the coffee, and even though she was somewhat grossed out by the milk-substitute packets, there was something fun and comforting about hotel room coffeemakers. It reminded her of being on the road after leaving home; of being independent for the first time, because she was finally free of her family.

Jeff hadn't been saying much about the wedding, and Britta wasn't pushing him. They hadn't even gotten to see each other that much since school had started. Between work and classes, they knew without saying it their schedules were packed. Plus, Annie had decided to run for the School Board, and any spare time was spent in the Study Room working on her campaign. Britta was proud of her; there was minimal glitter involved- it was all very adult! Jeff got approved for the new apartment; they'd have to get up early (again) the next day because the study group was helping him move.

Britta commandeered the bathroom to get ready; she just needed help with part of the zipper of her dress that ended and needed to be clasped in a weird place between her shoulder blades. "Hey," she called out to Jeff, as she stepped out into the bedroom area, "can you help me with this?"

Jeff was all ready to go, watching a Broncos game in a slate gray suit and dark purple skinny tie she'd never seen before. He sat there and looked at her for a minute before nodding his head and coming over to her. "What do I need to do?"

"Just this zipper."

"This is a great dress."

It was a short, dark purple lace dress with a cap sleeve. With her blonde hair pulled back into a low bun, Britta looked elegant, and Jeff was pretty sure she wasn't wearing a bra. As he went to adjust her zipper, he confirmed it, and it made him love the dress even more. Leave it to Britta to make the day slightly more bearable.

"Look, pockets!" she demonstrated, happily.

Jeff undid the zipper he had just pulled up and reached inside to cup her breast. "You know, we can find a little time…"

"Geez- careful! I have to return this thing." He zipped her back up. Britta turned around to face him. "Tonight...when I don't care if I mess up my hair. You have no idea how many bobby pins are in here. I don't know how or why some people do their hair like this every day."

Jeff smiled. "You know I'll be looking for the earliest chance to sneak away. We might as well head up and get it over with?"

Britta grabbed her purse and headed after Jeff, as he opened the door. He paused. "Thank you. Not everyone would be on board for this."

"Are you kidding? I've got your back," she said as she squeezed his hand, and they walked to meet Jeff's Mom and Mark in their suite.


It was only noon, so Britta and Jeff weren't prepared for the scene they found when they entered the Winger-Powell suite. It was full of people drinking and laughing, and Jeff's underage stepsister-to-be immediately pressed plastic tumblers of fireball whiskey into their hands when they walked in. Britta shrugged and chugged, while Jeff skeptically held onto his cup.

Mark spotted Jeff before his mother did. "Hey, Jeff, good to see you again! How was your trip? It was too bad you couldn't make it last night."

"What's going on? I thought we were just going to have lunch and you were going to get married by a justice of the peace?" Jeff asked.

"Yeah, we are. Your Mom wants to get her nails done, so why don't you stay up here while I finish getting ready, and Britta can go with her?" Clearly Mark and his mother had planned this…

Jeff offered for him and Britta to come back later; he didn't want to leave Britta stuck with his Mom and some strangers doing their nails for an hour- so awkward. And what the hell would he do while this weird old man got dressed. He should have invited Pierce instead of Britta- him and Mark could have talked to each other while Jeff played games on his phone. Lucky it was fully charged! Maybe he could still do that!

"Yeah, that sounds nice," Britta said, as she studied her nails. She'd filed them and tried to paint them clear so you couldn't tell they were kinda messed up, but an actual manicure wouldn't hurt. Jeff looked lost. She stood on her tiptoes and kissed him on the cheek. "Cheer up," she whispered. "There's free booze, you get to move to an awesome new place tomorrow, we have a hotel room tonight. May I remind you there's an emergency bread shortage in Syria?" He managed a little smile as he waved her goodbye.

"There's a game on," Mark said, looking for the remote, after the ladies had left. "You a Broncos fan?"

"Yeah, I guess," Jeff admitted. "You don't mind if we watch? You don't have to get ready?"

"I'm a guy; I'm ready," Mark laughed, turning on the television to the football game. He pulled a square jewelry box tied a ribbon off the table and presented it to Jeff. "Really, though, thought we should have a couple minutes to talk. And this is for you. To thank you for being a witness."

The box was heavy and Jeff recognized the name on it as a nice jeweler in town. "You don't have to do that. It's not a big deal, but thank you." He lifted the lid and found a high-end steel Tag Heuer watch. It wasn't what he was expecting at all, and Jeff was blown away. The watch perfectly matched his style, and was maybe even a little too extravagant. He had no idea how someone he'd met twice could find such a great gift for him, or why he'd spend so much money on it?

"I know you're a grown man," Mark started, "and you don't want a stepfather or someone in your business, I respect that, we're both adults. You know, my kids even call me Mark sometimes- I hate when they do it though." Mark shook his head, distracted. "I just want you to feel like if you ever need anything, you can give me a call." Mark clasped Jeff's shoulder. "I'd be very proud to have you as a son, and I'm very happy we're about to be family." He grabbed the bottle of fireball whiskey. "Can you handle one more before the ceremony?"

Jeff nodded, strangely overwhelmed. "Let's do it."


Britta showed off her "Thigh High" deep red nail color as she and Jeff drank at their table. Everyone else but them was up and drunk moving to "Just Dance," occasionally gesturing to them to get up and join them. It wasn't a huge wedding, and they were having a good time. So many people around made Jeff a little less self-conscious. Besides Mark's extended family, it was his colleagues and some of Doreen's old neighbors and friends from the hospital. Jeff was surprised she knew so many people; he joked to Britta that he should have looked at the registry instead of getting them a gift certificate; they would have been tipped off to the guest list.

"Your Mom wouldn't let me pay for this; she was being all Mom-like. Is that okay?" Britta asked him.

"Yeah, why? She's happy; let her." Jeff sipped his Scotch and ran his fork through the remnants of his cake. "Mark was pretty okay today...I guess he's growing on me."

"Yeah?" Britta smiled and arched her eyebrow. "Good, I'm glad. He seems nice, like he really likes you."

Jeff shook his head, still puzzled, and it didn't help that he and Britta had been drinking all day. "Why am I mad then?"

Britta licked buttercream off her spoon and turned to him.

"My Mom always made me feel guilty for not wanting to be around more, my real Dad doesn't want to be in my life, and this guy who barely knows me gives me this really thoughtful gift and suddenly makes me feel like I'm missing out on something. I'm fine, I don't feel bad, just mad all of sudden." Jeff finished his Scotch and stared into the glass.

"Come on, get up," Britta encouraged him. "We're the only ones not dancing." She led him to the small dance floor and made him smile with her made up dance moves. Doreen and Mark saw them and waved.

"This is really corny," Jeff complained.

"I know. But no one's gonna find out, " Britta said, persuading him to join her. "Feeling better?"

"A little," he admitted. Not long after they found themselves moving more slowly, on account of the alcohol and the music. The whiskey had hit them and Jeff pulled Britta into his arms for a slow dance, which was more of a sway to the music as they leaned on each other.

"You should call your Dad. That's why you're mad," she murmured into his chest.

"What? Forget I told you that," Jeff said.

"I'm not going to forget about it. Just...think about it. Don't get upset." She didn't know how to bring it up without him getting mad at her; she didn't think it was fair. Suddenly, she got excited. Was he deflecting his anger at his father towards her? Did she just have a psychological insight? She felt sobered up. Britta looked up at Jeff and tripped backwards. Nope, the sobering moment was gone. She laughed.

"What's funny?" he asked.

"I don't remember!" she admitted. He loosened his tie, and she leaned up and kissed him. Jeff leaned in to kiss her back and held her back more closely as they continued to gently sway to the music, subconsciously. She could smell his cologne and was surprised she liked it. It had an earthy, woodsy smell. They both noticed the music. Ella Fitzgerald "Sunday Kind of Love."

"That was a nice wedding," she decided.

"Yeah, it was," Jeff admitted.

"You realize we've almost been married, like, four times?" Britta asked.

"You left me at the altar," he accused her.

"You left me at the altar." She leaned her head against his chest.

After a minute, she heard, "You left me." Britta just shook her head. "We should duck out," Jeff suggested, when the song ended.

"Yeah, totally," she agreed.


They had a slightly harder time walking than dancing up to their room, and Jeff carefully helped her out of the dress that had to be Fabreeze'd and taken back to the mall the next day.

Jeff called the front desk for a wake-up call while Britta got ready for bed. She slid under the sheets to join him, as he yawned, and felt for her hip to hold onto while they talked. It was their first time in bed together in almost a month.

"Would you be mad if I came late to the moving party tomorrow?" she asked him. "So I can catch up on some stuff at home?"

"Just because our friends are helping me with something doesn't mean you have to. Are you doubting my ability to cover for you?"

"No, though now that you bring it up, I don't want it to be weird that I'm not there?" she wondered. "It will be strange not to see your old apartment again."

"Yeah, I didn't think about that. We did christen every room in that place." Now that Jeff realized that, he thought he might actually miss it. "Well, you know my new apartment has a study, so there's one more room to experiment in."

Britta pinched his rib. "If you're lucky."

"Mmm-hmm. Come over more. My bed misses you." It was such a sophomoric thing to say.

"We'll see."

"After work tomorrow?" he invited.

"That's still 2 am, Jeff. I almost fell asleep in class a couple times this month. If I'm up even later...I don't know." She was clearly torn.

"What about lunch?" he suddenly thought.

"No, no more Greendale janitor's closets or in your car...I'm too old for that. It was fun before, but now it's embarrassing." Britta was firm.

"No, dummy, off-campus. At my place, or yours. We don't have to eat at school. We can skip the hot dogs and tacos and, wow, there are a lot of foods that are kind-of metaphors for sex, because I was gonna say meatballs-"

Britta laughed, "You're even more buzzed than I am!"

"Whatever, our school serves cheap meat, and you don't even like it, so let's skip it once in awhile and…"

Britta held her hand against his chest and kissed him. "I could get on board with that." She yawned. "Oh, gawd. Sleep?"

"Sleep."


Jeff and Britta woke up the next morning with major hangovers. Britta reluctantly rose first, and cursing herself for not hydrating before they went to sleep, grabbed Advils from her bag for her and Jeff. She sat on the side of the bed with a water while she made him take them and drink the whole bottle.

On the ride home, Jeff even broke his no food in the car rule so they could try to keep down some egg sandwiches and coffee. He told the group, when they arrived to help him move, that Britta woke up sick and couldn't help, and didn't feel bad about looking Shirley in the eye to say it, because it was true.

With six people (Ian got roped in), the move only took a few hours. Jeff took everyone out for Mexican to thank them, and got a text from Britta. 'Changed my mind. Up late? Tonight ok?' He tried to discretely hide the screen from Troy, sitting next to him, while he replied enthusiastically.

"Who's that? Everything ok?" Troy asked.

"Yeah, just the landlord. Wanted to make sure the move went well." Jeff lied.


Britta knocked lightly on Jeff's door. It was late, so she was trying to be discrete. Her phone had died. She forgot to charge it when she got home from Denver. Jeff buzzed her up, so she didn't know why he wasn't right at the door? She knocked a little harder. A door opened next to the one she was knocking on. Shit- did she have the wrong apartment?!

"Britta? What are you doing here so late?" the Dean grilled her, though he looked perfectly happy to see her.

Britta was stunned. Luckily (or not), Jeff finally opened the door. "Do you live here?" Britta asked.

"Yes, of course," Craig answered.

Jeff pulled Britta inside. "We will be talking about this...in the morning."

"That was embarrassing," Britta admitted.

"What the hell is he doing in my building? In my hallway?" Jeff questioned. "He has to be reading my emails again."

"It could be a coincidence. He lost his apartment- this is a new building…" though Britta admitted it was a long shot coincidence. "That kind-of killed the booty call vibe, didn't it?"

"Sorry!" Jeff apologized. "I'm glad you came. I'm sort-of unpacked. You want a drink?"

"I'm good, thanks. Great view." Britta admired the huge windows in the living room and small balcony. Jeff showed her around the place. It wasn't much bigger than his old apartment, though the closets were huge, but there was something great about a place that hadn't been lived-in yet. "Okay, I know this question's weird," Britta started, "but do you think he can hear us if we, you know…because we're not totally quiet."

"Yeah, you're loud."

She looked offended. "You're loud."

"You're really loud. It's okay. It's a compliment." He smirked, as she mockingly punched him.

"Well, whatever. The point is this," Britta gestured between the two of them, "this is not something we want broadcast and he saw something we didn't want him to, so we shouldn't give him more to go on."

"Very quiet sex?" Jeff suggested.

"Well, yeah, and we should talk to him so he keeps this under wraps."

Jeff rolled his eyes. "Of all the things I don't want to talk to him about, our sex life is pretty much at the top of the list. Pretty much number one...I'll talk to him."

"And that door's locked?" Britta half-joked.

Jeff smiled, and walked behind her to turn the deadbolt. "What's the dirtiest quiet sex you can think of?"


That Tuesday, when Jeff was at his desk at work between clients, he took a deep breath and dialed his father's number. It would be so much easier to send an email or a text, but of course he didn't have that info. Figures William Winger had to make everything more difficult, he thought. And then he didn't even pick-up. Jeff hung up, not knowing what to say. But he called back and left a message on the old school answering machine.

Thursday, when he came into the office, there was a voicemail waiting for him from his father, asking to meet him for a drink.