A/N: As always, thank you to everyone who's reading along. And just so you can all get a better sense of the pacing, we're just about at the halfway point. I know, I know - that means there's still a lot left to come, but I've got most of it written so I should be able to update regularly.
He's used to being the center of attention – when you look the way he does, have the impeccable sense of style that he does, and possess the sheer animal magnetism that he does, it only stands to reason that people are going to take notice – but usually it's not for such a lame reason.
Lame as it may be, though, the larger population of Greendale can't seem to make sense of the fact that he, as a faculty member, eats lunch every day with a group of students.
He doesn't get what the big deal is – none of them are actually his students, and he's been friends with them for years – but that doesn't stop random passersby from staring at their booth like they're animals in a zoo or Chang from making snide comments about how he's fraternizing with the enemy.
It's easy to ignore, though, because, let's face it, he's used to being special and it's just such a relief that Annie's gotten her paranoia about their friends finding out about them under control that he can put up with almost anything.
After their little chat the other night about her relaxing just a bit, she's now able to sit across a table from him and make polite conversation even with the rest of the group clustered around them. She doesn't even flinch when he reaches onto her tray to grab a packet of pepper for his baked sweet potato or grins at her announcement that she's thinking of taking a yoga class, which seems like significant progress.
Britta is just about to launch into a story about how she studied transcendental meditation one summer when she was traveling through India when Abed strides up to the table purposefully and slides into the booth beside Annie. Jeff is pretty grateful that he's saved them from one of Britta's inevitably rambling, pointless tales, but the determined look on his face is a little scary.
"I need to conduct a focus group," he announces. "You'll be a small sampling, but I figure I can always ask the cafeteria ladies if your feedback isn't helpful enough."
"What feedback?" Jeff makes the mistake of asking.
"I need each of you to tell me what your favorite movie love scene is."
Shirley makes a gasping sound, looking scandalized.
"What?" says Britta. "Why?"
"For my final project in my film class, I'm working on a romantic thriller and it needs at least one memorable love scene to really sell the main pairing. I need to know what tropes I should hit on to really make it work, and I'm not the best judge. Usually in a love scene, I'm too distracted by the cheesy music and gauzy lighting to really evaluate whether it's working or not." He throws open his marble notebook and readies his pencil. "Okay, Annie, what would you say is your favorite?"
He looks at her expectantly, and she cocks her head like she's thinking very carefully about her answer.
"And don't say 'The Notebook,'" Abed tells her. "I've already analyzed that one enough."
Her face falls a bit, so she looks a little pout-y. It's a surprisingly sexy look for her, and Jeff pushes his fork through the remains of his potato to distract himself.
"I guess I've always liked the one in 'Dirty Dancing,'" she finally says, and Abed starts scribbling down notes. "You know, because they're just dancing one minute and then he's taking off her shirt and dipping her and …" Her voice has a husky, wistful sound as she trails off and absently traces her fingers down her neck. "It's very sexy."
Her eyes find his across the table then, almost like she can't control herself, and he can't help smiling. She looks away almost instantly, trying to smooth out the crumpled napkin on her tray like it's her life's work.
"Okay, good," Abed says. "Who's next?"
"Oooh," Troy declares, nearly bouncing in his seat. "What about that movie about the ballerinas where Mila Kunis gets it on with Natalie Portman? That's seriously hot. Or when Jason Statham bangs that chick in public in 'Crank?'"
"Troy!" Shirley chides.
"What? It's for research, Shirley!"
She shakes her head, clucking her tongue disapprovingly.
"Well, I'm a good Christian woman who will not answer such a filthy question." She bobs her head self-righteously. "Besides, everybody knows the food scene in '9 ½ Weeks' is more than enough to give even the most pious women impure thoughts."
Abed nods, writing frantically in his notebook.
"Britta?" he prods.
She shrugs non-committally.
"'Mr. and Mrs. Smith', maybe?" she says. "I mean, Brad and Angelina hooked up for real afterward, so you know it had to be pretty good, right? And it's not the usual sexist garbage where the woman swoons for some big, strong man. She's a kick-ass assassin in her own right and you know he values her as an equal and not just a sex object so it's a more-"
She's cut off by a chorus of resounding groans that prompt her to throw a wadded up napkin in Troy's general vicinity. Abed jots down a few more notes, and Jeff glances over at Annie, who's toying with the tab of her soda can absently. There's some color in her cheeks and she keeps wetting her lips, so he suspects that she's nearly as uncomfortable with the conversation as Shirley – though for entirely different reasons. But she's pretty cute when she's paranoid and she's looking back at him with pretty avid interest so he finds himself smiling instead of worrying.
Until someone clears a throat in a prolonged, theatrical way, and he realizes that it's not just Annie watching him intently – the entire table is looking at him expectantly.
"Your turn, Jeff," Abed declares.
He lifts his shoulders tiredly, hoping he looks disinterested and not guilty.
"I don't really have a favorite, Abed. I have my own sex life, so I don't need to live vicariously through characters in a movie."
There's another round of groans, and Britta lobs a ketchup packet his way that he's able to duck. Beneath the table, though, Annie kicks him right in the shin – with enough force that he wouldn't be surprised if it left a mark – and glares at him in a way that is both impassive and insistent.
"Come on, Jeff," Abed cajoles. "I need a larger male demographic to pull from if I'm going to get this right."
"This is so stupid," he says under his breath, and he can feel Annie glaring at him even though he's not looking at her. "Fine. I don't know… 'Bull Durham' maybe. When Kevin Costner and Susan Sarandon finally do it. It's pretty hot."
Abed jots this down, and Jeff looks over at Annie again, whose expression he can't exactly read.
"I've never seen that," she says - as breezily as she can manage so he assumes that she's trying to sell nothing but casual interest in the subject matter.
"You probably wouldn't like it," he tells her. "It's a baseball movie."
She frowns, but once again, the look is dangerously close to a pout.
"I like baseball," she protests.
"Yeah?" He smirks in amusement. "Name on player on the Rockies then."
She sits up a little straighter in the both, holding her head up proudly.
"Troy Tulowitski," she announces triumphantly.
He shakes his head.
"Everybody knows Tulo. Name another."
She squints, like she's just knows that the information that she needs is lurking somewhere in her brain if she can just ferret it out. But then he catches her trying to discreetly look Troy's way in the hopes that he'll help her out, so Jeff shakes his head disapprovingly.
"No cheating," he admonishes.
She scowls at him, because being accused of cheating is as big an insult as you can level at Annie Edison. But then her entire expression morphs, lighting up with the pleasure of besting him.
"The old guy," she says happily. "The one who's retiring at the end of the year! I saw a thing about him on the news the other day."
"Annie," he sighs. "Have some respect. Todd Helton has played his entire career for the Rockies, holds pretty much every club record, and you don't even know his name? And you say you like baseball…"
He shakes his head in disappointment, and Troy mimics him.
"Dude hit 49 home runs one year. He's no joke."
"I pretty much knew who he was," Annie says defensively. "I bet Britta and Shirley can't even name a single player on the Rockies…"
From there, lunch dissolves into a half-hearted shouting match, with Britta accusing Annie of being sexist and reluctantly admitting that she didn't even know the Rockies were a baseball team ("I thought they played basketball … don't you call a basketball the rock?"), Abed trying convince the group to join him this weekend for a showing of 'Gigli' and 'Showgirls' so he can take notes on how not to stage a love scene, and Troy bemoaning the fact that the cafeteria never serves corn dogs, his favorite stadium food, even though he's left plenty of notes about it in the suggestion box.
Annie manages to escape the insanity by claiming she's got a meeting with her academic adviser. Jeff isn't as lucky – he's forced to mediate a vigorous disagreement between Britta and Troy regarding the nutritional value of the hot dog versus the ethical questions behind its manufacture. He's only able to get away by mentioning that his office hours were supposed to start 15 minutes ago, which is a lie but the lily white kind so he doesn't feel particularly bad about it.
In the privacy of his office, he makes an effort to skim through the chapter for his afternoon class, but he has a hard time concentrating. He glances at his phone, sitting innocently on the corner of his desk, and his fingers start to feel a little itchy. Before he can stop himself, he's opening up the YouTube app and typing 'Dirty Dancing' into the search box – because, you know, he's probably seen the movie once or twice, but it's been years and his memory's a little foggy.
And yeah, it's official – he's a totally fucking pussy.
But he hits play on the scene that put that hot, little blush on Annie's cheeks anyway and tries not to laugh at Swayze's hair.
It's just getting to the good part – and he's just, sort of, admitting to himself that it's kind of hot. Well, at least, he can imagine that a woman would find it sexy anyway – when the door to his office bangs open and Ian Duncan stumbles in, looking as rumpled and disheveled as ever.
As surprised as he is, Jeff manages to pause the video on his phone – the last thing that he needs is news spreading around campus that he's watching chick flicks alone in his office.
"I had to see it with my own eyes," Duncan declares. "They told me you'd joined our illustrious faculty, but I simply could not believe it."
"I have trouble with it most days myself," Jeff says dryly.
"And you've been here for more than a month! Why didn't you come to me? I could have served as your guide to the dark and twisted fraternity that is life as a Greendale faculty member."
Duncan heaves himself into the rickety wooden chair on the other side of Jeff's desk, props his feet up on the edge, and rests his hands comfortably behind his head.
"Somehow I've managed to muddle through without your help, buddy."
"Well, at the very least, you must allow me to take you out to celebrate," Duncan says, hesitating. "Perhaps celebrate is not the right word. Allow me to take you out to commiserate."
"That's really not—"
"I know this lovely, little pub just down the road where I haven't worn out my welcome with the busty, redheaded barmaid yet. I've been tipping at nearly 40 percent to stay in her good graces, but trust me, it's well worth it."
Jeff laughs.
"Yeah. I bet."
"Oh, and the good news is there's a brunette with a very alluring tattoo just above the waistband of her knickers who usually works with my redhead – she can be all yours." Duncan takes his phone out of his pocket, scrolling through something. "And if my record keeping is accurate, they should both be on tonight so…"
He looks at Jeff expectantly.
"I'm gonna have to take a rain check."
Duncan sits up, his brows raised to a ridiculous degree.
"Big plans?"
Jeff shakes his head.
"No. I just have some stuff to take care of around here. Grading and all-"
"Bullocks," Duncan chuckles. "You expect me to believe that you don't have time to tie one on because of your teaching responsibilities? This is Greendale, Jeffrey."
Jeff shrugs.
"Fine, so I was trying to be a pal and not admit that watching you drunkenly paw and make unwanted advances on some poor bartender for half the night is not exactly my idea of fun. In fact, sitting in this office all night grading papers might actually be more enjoyable."
Duncan shakes his head, eyeing Jeff shrewdly.
"No, that's not it either." He wags his finger at him. "No, it's something else. Something…"
He cocks his head, studying him carefully, but Jeff's only response is to smirk.
Until Duncan snaps his fingers and grins.
"I get it now," he announces. "It's a woman. You've got some hottie stashed somewhere and you want to keep her all to yourself in the event that she finds a British accent devastatingly charming and seductive."
Jeff gets a good laugh out of that one – he's pretty sure that Annie's only feelings for Duncan, despite his accent, are repulsion and derision.
"You're way off—"
"Is it Britta again?" Duncan asks. "Because I've detected more than a little heat between the two of us lately, and I'd hate to think I might be stepping on your toes."
"Britta and I are just friends," Jeff assures him. "And I actually wish you luck on that front because the idea of the two of you together is pure comedy gold."
Duncan bobs his head, seeming unoffended.
"Okay, well, if it's not Britta, who then? The only other women I see you with on the regular are Shirley and –"
"It's no one you know," Jeff insists.
"But there *is* someone," Duncan says, tenting his fingers like a James Bond villain.
"There isn't any *one.* You know me, I'm not a one-woman kind of guy."
"You just said it's no one I know. So clearly there's someone that you're thinking of." Duncan bobs his head emphatically, looking very pleased with himself. "The question is… how long have you been shacking up with this mystery woman?"
Jeff realizes then that Duncan's not going to let this go unless he gives him a little something, so he tries to figure out the best way to downplay all of it.
"Just a couple of months," Jeff sighs. "And it's not even really a thing. It's just, you know, someone I spend time with. Sometimes. When I don't have anything better to do."
Duncan smiles knowingly.
"The lady doth protest too much."
"Excuse me?"
"I'm a psychologist, Jeffrey. I am well-acquainted with rationalization and denial, and you, my friend, are showing big signs of both."
Jeff crosses his arms over his chest, feeling more than a little defensive.
"I already have a therapist and she's a little more familiar with my issues than you are, so excuse me if I don't put much stock in your analysis."
The Englishman perks up.
"Oooh! Is that who it is? Are you shagging your therapist?"
Jeff doesn't actually throw Duncan out of his office – he just strongly encourages the guy to leave, and after a few minutes of hemming and hawing, Duncan agrees, mentioning that Britta is usually in the clinical research lab room by this time of the afternoon and he might pop by to say hello.
The run-in with Duncan leaves him riled up enough to decide that it's a good idea to take a walk before his class and blow off some steam. As fate would have it, though, he doesn't make too far when he spots Annie at the far end of a deserted hallway just on the other side of his office. She's standing in front of a bulletin board, jotting down something from a flier on a notepad, and she's so focused on the task at hand that she doesn't notice him sneaking up behind her.
Until he plants his hands on the bulletin board around her to cage her in place.
"Nobody puts Baby in the corner," he whispers, trying hard not to laugh.
She whirls around in surprise, nearly dropping her pad to the floor.
"Jeff! Someone could see."
"Does that do it for you?" he teases.
She flushes slightly, and her mouth curves up in the smallest hint of a smile.
"That depends," she says. "Can you dance?"
"I don't know how to merengue, but I think I remember parts of the Macarena. Is that hot enough for you?"
She laughs, shaking her head.
"You're an idiot," she says warmly.
And he is - she kind of turns him into an idiot. It's pathetic and embarrassing, but there it is. – but she lets him kiss her anyway. She presses a hand to his chest after a minute, though, to push him away so she can look both ways down the hallway to make sure that they're still alone.
"We should watch 'Bull Durham,'" she tells him, tapping her finger against one of the buttons on his shirt. "You've got me curious."
He grins.
"I own a copy. Let's do it tonight."
She nods and steps a little closer to him again.
"What's so sexy about it?" she asks, her voice barely above a whisper.
"There's this thing with Susan Sarandon's garters, but it's kind of hard to describe without explaining a whole earlier part of the movie. And then they do it in a tub, which is pretty hot."
Annie tilts her head, pondering this.
"I don't think you'd fit in our tub," she says sadly. "And you only have a shower."
"Well, they also get down on the kitchen table… oh, and he paints her toes at one point."
She furrows her brow, looking confused.
"That sounds kind of sweet," she says. "But it doesn't strike me as something you'd find all that sexy."
He shrugs, fighting off a smirk.
"She's tied to the bed while he does it."
Annie blushes, but she lets out a little sigh, just before biting her lip.
"Oh, well. That's interesting."
"Interesting?" he prods. "See, that's one of the things I like best about you. You're so open-minded."
She smiles.
"You're just a bad influence."
"We must have different definitions of 'bad,'" he says, leaning in to kiss her again.
When she finally pushes him away, all of her lip gloss is long gone and her mouth has a soft, smudged look that he loves.
"I'll come over after Troy and Abed leave for bowling," she says. "Maybe around 7?"
He nods and she starts to step away from him, her notepad clutched almost protectively against her chest.
"What color are you thinking?" he asks, just as she's about to turn the corner.
She looks back in confusion.
"For the nail polish," he clarifies. "My vote is for red, but we can do a girly pink if you prefer."
Annie blushes slightly, but she still shoots him a smart, little grin.
"I think I'll surprise you."
And she does – he definitely doesn't see the glittery cobalt blue coming, but as he's painting it across her toes and she's trying her damnedest not to squirm against his sheets, he has to admit that it really works with her pale vanilla skin.