When my alarm goes off at 4:30 AM on the morning of the Day of Play, I have to use all of my willpower not to hit the snooze button. I groan while rolling out of bed, instantly reminded of all the things I have to do today. The winter sun isn't even close to rising, and I have to be up and out at the Community Center before 5:30 to help set up and oversee decorations.

My team of volunteers, organized by Delly, would be meeting me at 6 at the center. Usually it would be Delly's job to manage the individual volunteers, but she's been especially difficult and hell-bent on making my life a living hell in the past week. I could manage when she "accidentally" forgot to pick up the Mellark 2014 pins I ordered, but I drew the line when she told the volunteers 7 AM instead of 6. From that point, I accepted that I would have to do everything myself.

As I wait for the hotel elevator, I scan through my emails, breathing a sigh of relief when I see responses to the mass email I sent to all the donors last night. Between our announcements on the radio, ads on TV, and flyers around the neighborhood, we are expecting over a hundred fifty families and a handful of major donors. I get a small rush of pride thinking about it – my first job on this campaign, and I've managed not to mess anything up.

I shiver in my coat while I wait for my old jeep to heat up, scolding myself for not remembering to take gloves. I take that moment as an opportunity to check my texts, my heart freezing when I see one from Peeta.

Thank you so much for all your work today. Hope everything goes off smoothly [Delivered 5:08 A.M.]

The text brings a smile to my face, along with a warmth that I can soon feel all the way in my fingertips.

No problem, anything for you [Sent 5:11 A.M.]

I only realize how suggestive that sounds after my thumb presses send, my pre-coffee brain slowly processing my actions. I frantically type out another response:

I mean, anything for the campaign [Sent 5:12 A.M.]

My phone quickly buzzes.

Gotcha. See you later :) [Delivered 5:12 A.M.]

I exhale, resting my head on the steering wheel. What are you doing Katniss? I ask myself, trying to remind myself of my objectives. I came to Philadelphia with the intentions of working on a political campaign, making some money, and getting some name recognition in the political world. Nowhere in my plan was developing any sort of friendship with my boss, let alone one that could become a scandal. I try pushing those thoughts out of my head - today was not the day for boy drama. I fiddle with the radio, turning on 94.5 and pulling out of the hotel parking lot to the sound of Iggy Azalea's "Fancy."

After stopping by a dunkin donuts for coffee, I pull into the community center parking lot where, to my relief, two delivery trucks were waiting for me. I step out into the cold, hurrying to shake the hands of the the three people waiting for me.

"Thank you so much for meeting me here this early," I say graciously. I turn to the two delivery men. "I don't want to keep you guys waiting, so you can just take in all the tables and chairs and decorations and put them in the ballroom."

They gave me silent nods, heading back to their respective trucks where their employees were waiting to start. I turned my attention back to the woman standing in front of me, who had wrinkles at the corner of her eyes.

"Cecelia Engram, I think we spoke on the phone. I'm the head of everything here at Old Pines, and I think what you're doing for this campaign is absolutely wonderful. You know, I've been a fan of you democrats since Carter." I follow her as she moves to unlock the main doors, her greying hair reminding me of my mother.

"Well, I'm sorry to have to drag you out of bed this morning but I can't thank you enough." I respond in an attempt to turn on the charm I save for moments like this.

She turns on the lights as we walk around the center. Just past a receptionists desk, the large foyer is sectioned off into three rooms; one a gym, another an ice skating rink and the last a ballroom. While the delivery men file in behind us, Cecelia starts to give me more information about the center. "Ever since we opened doors almost 30 years ago, we have been dedicated to serving our community. We offer afterschool programs for children, the gymnasium is host to many evening basketball games, and the ballroom is a favorite for conferences. The indoor ice skating rink is a new addition, after the Flyers have a good season a lot of parents look for a cheaper alternative to lessons at Wells Fargo."

I keep nodding politely, finishing off my large coffee by the time we end up back in the foyer. I glance at the large clock hanging on the wall, turning to face Cecelia. "My volunteers should be here about now, so I'm gonna head outside to meet them and give them directions. Once again, thank you for allowing us to host this event here."

"Don't let me keep you from anything dear, you are very welcome." With those words she turns to retreat into her back office, and I turn my attention to the slowly growing group of volunteers.

"Alright guys, we have a lot of things to do. If you can't remember the planned set up, you can refer to the diagram in the email I sent. Chairs and tables are in the ballroom, the boys and girls locker rooms need to be cleaned up and chefs should be here in about an hour." I check my watch again. "We open at 9 - which means we have about three hours to put everything together. So everybody, let's get to work."

All the volunteers and interns scramble to get to work, and I have to keep from rolling my eyes when Delly saunters in, 15 minutes late with a starbucks in her hand. "I'm glad that you decided to grace us with your presence."

"Calm down Everdeen, there was traffic on the Ben Franklin," she says as she breezes past me, her demeanor as cold as the air outside. I take a deep breath, trying to quell my annoyance. Today was going to be a long day.

Effie and Haymitch arrive at 7:30 and Peeta at 7:45, but he's whisked away to hair and makeup and interview prep before I can even say hello. At 8:30 I'm running back and forth between the rooms, making sure the chefs have prepared the right items on the brunch menu, that there are enough basketballs, and that the ice in the rink is hard and fresh.

Delly is being surprisingly helpful, turning on the sweet, cheerful and motivating voice she appears to use with everyone except for me to direct the volunteers. Everything is a big frenzy, and I find myself about to collapse with exhaustion by the time we are all standing outside the center, listening as Peeta gives his opening speech to the TV station cameras and the awaiting crowd.

"As an aspiring politician, I believe that young minds are the future. However, that bright future may possibly be plagued by obesity, a growing problem in society today. Obesity is usually accompanied by diseases like high blood pressure and diabetes, which lead to serious health complications later in life. Doctors recommend that children get at least 60 minutes of exercise a day, but in the winter months that can be hard." My eyes are fixed on him as he speaks, the conviction in his voice effectively charming the crowd and myself. "That is why my campaign thought of the idea of a day of play, to give kids a chance to be active for a day, while also giving adults a chance to get to know me better. I want to make this neighborhood as great as it possibly can, and I hope you enjoy our efforts. Thank you." He flashes the camera a big smile, and the crowd lets out loud claps and cheers.

I clap until my palms sting, feeling a swell of pride as the doors are opened and all the families start flowing in. As everything goes off smoothly, 30 minutes in I find myself nearly falling asleep while standing in the corner of the ballroom in what I think if a perfect hiding spot, until I feel a tap on my shoulder.

"Rough morning?" I hear, my eyes meeting with Peeta's blue ones. I scold myself for admitting that his forest green sweater and white grid patterned button down was one of my favorite outfits I've seen him wear. In his hands is a cup of coffee, which he holds out to me.

I smile, hoping it lets him know how thankful I am for it. "This is my third cup of the day, thank you so much," I thank after taking a big sip.

He leans forward on his toes, swatting the air like it's no big deal. "I should be the one thanking you, for putting this whole thing on."

I roll my eyes in an attempt to hide the big smile that appears on my face. "It's my job, Peeta," I say in an attempt to stay modest, my eyes scanning the room over his broad shoulder. "Which reminds me, have you talked to Seneca Crane? He has donated so much money to this campaign."

"Yes Effie," he says mockingly. "You need to relax Katniss, everything is going smoothly, I'm going to talk to everyone." I roll my eyes, and he smiles. "Here, your pin is crooked, let me fix it." His hand is on the Mellark 2014 pin on my chest before I even get a chance to process his words, my heart beat instantly speeding up. My hand instinctively flies up to touch the pin, our hands colliding. Peeta lets out an awkward chuckle, and I can feel the pink tint spreading across my cheeks.

"We're really bad at this staying professional thing, aren't we," I say with a slight smirk as Peeta rubs the back of his neck the way he does whenever he's nervous.

"I do have to admit morning commutes have been rough without you, I'm forced to read the paper myself," he jokes, but I can tell the first part of his sentence is sincere.

I let a loud laugh, slightly relieved to hear that he feels similarly. "I know, I'm making myself even more broke than I already am driving my old shit car around."

"Can we be friends?" He asks, his voice lowered. "I promise I'll stop calling you beautiful, and I'll even start making your pay for your own coffee." I try to scowl, but it quickly changes into a lip biting smile.

I see Effie from across the room, causing me to take a step back from Peeta. Whenever we talk, I always feel myself gravitating closer to him, attracted to the vanilla smell he always carries. "Yes to the name calling, and no to the coffee. Now if you excuse me, I have to go make sure Delly gave the volunteers the right break schedule." I wiggle past him, throwing an uncharacteristic wink over my shoulder.

Before I disappear into the crowd, I see him in the corner sporting the big goofy smile I've grown accustomed to, and I feel my heart flutter. And for the first time, I don't will it to stop.

Two days later, despite the Day of Play, polls show that voters are still leaning towards Enobaria. I'm still crunching numbers from the Day of Play, trying to figure out who gave how much money we made and where to send thank you cards to. I work late into the night at my desk in my hotel room, my eyes glassy when I look at the clock on the bedside table. The red LED lights flash 11:38, and I feel my blinks getting longer and longer until I hear a knock at the door.

I'm suddenly alert, confused to who would be knocking at my door this late at night. I wipe a bit of drool off of my cheek and tie my hair up in a ponytail as I walk towards the door, slightly disoriented. My eyes widen as I open the door and Peeta Mellark is there, clearly in distress. I open my mouth to ask him what he's doing here, but he cuts me off.

"I'm so sorry to bother you this late but I really need your help." I can tell he's apologetic for bothering me, but I'm more concerned with his loose tie, ruffled hair, and pleading look on his face.

I secretly wish I had chosen more attractive sleepwear than a worn Georgetown t-shirt and black soffe shorts, but I push that thought out of my mind. "With what? Are you ok?"

His eyes open as if he suddenly realizes this probably doesn't count as appropriate, and he tries to take back his words. "Wow, I'm so sorry for bothering you, I'm only now realizing how dumb I probably look. I just, I needed help trying to figure out how to appeal to the people more, and I thought you would be able to help me with your political science background. But if I'm keeping you out of bed, it's totally fine if you don't want to."

As much as I hate losing out on sleep, Haymitch did give all of us tomorrow off so it's not like I have to be up for work tomorrow. I run a hand through my hair and sigh. "No, no, it's totally fine," I say coolly in an attempt to not appear too eager. "I'd love to help."

The two of us walk down the hall to his room, and I'm glad that it's late enough that nobody is out to see me walking around in my pajamas. He explains that he's been going over the campaigns of previous candidates who represented the district in the House of Representatives, but I'm still surprised when I walk in and see the hundreds of pieces of paper spread out in the room.

I give him an incredulous look, and he returns with a sheepish smile. "What can I say, I like to be thorough."

"Thorough is an understatement," I murmur under my breath as I pick of a piece of paper relating to Beetee Morrison's 1998 election. "I mean, I don't know how much help I'll be but I'll definitely give it a shot."

"Thank you so much, you're a life saver." He says thankfully while loosening his tie and taking off the top buttons of his shirt. When he catches me staring, he smirks confidently, which causes me to scowl. "What? I just want to get comfortable. This is going to be a long night."

And he's not wrong - we find ourselves pouring over graphs, voter registration statistics, polls, and more, trying to think of ways to get more votes. 2 am hits, and over my packet of voter trends I see Peeta put his pen and notepad down and let out a large sigh. He looks at me. "This is hopeless, I'm sorry for dragging you out of bed."

I wave him off before a big yawn escapes my mouth. "No, no, don't worry about it. And don't say that, look how much progress we made." I gesture to all of the papers spread around us, now covered in high-lites and post-it notes.

"I'm just so stressed about all of this, you know?" Peeta looks into my eyes as if he was asking if I'm ok with him telling me this. I nod, urging him to continue. "And this is going to sound really childish, but I'm a real bad sore loser." He chuckles at himself, running a hand through his hair.

"I really understand where you're coming from, I get the same way about certain things," I say in an attempt to sympathize. "And you feel kind of selfish sometimes, because you want it so badly and you don't want anyone else to have it."

"Exactly!" Peeta exclaims from his sitting position across the room. "God, I can't even remember the last time someone got me like that."

I rub my temple before I open my mouth. "You want a drink?" I ask, and his face lights up. "Because I need a drink, and I think you need a drink. Let's get you a drink."

Peeta eagerly gets up to grab a bottle from the fridge and glasses from the small kitchen while I attempt to organize the papers around us. I give up when I hear the sound of the cork popping, and get up to meet him in the kitchen. My brain is beyond tired, but being in such close proximity to Peeta keeps me right awake.

"Cheers?" He asks, handing me a glass.

"Cheers," I respond soundly.

One glass of wine turns into 3 glasses of wine, and I soon begin to regret skipping breakfast and lunch. I get that light headed airy feeling too soon, and judging from the way he can't speak a full sentence without messing up, Peeta feels it too. We end up getting through a bottle and a half before I almost drop the bottle and decide to leave it on the counter.

I find myself sprawled out on his king sized bed, holding my sides because I'm laughing too hard. He's sitting next to me, and his impressions of Effie and Delly and some local politicians threaten to get the best of me. I love the way his face lights up when he talks about all the good he can do for other people, drunkenly reciting a mashup of speeches from the last month.

When I sit up and find myself staring at his lips, I have a sinking feeling in my chest when I realize how wrong this is. "I should probably leave," I stutter in the middle of his story about the time he caught Councilman Howard jacking off in the men's bathroom.

Peeta gives me a boyish pout, and I feel like I'm back in freshman year, admiring him from across the cafeteria. "No, stay please," he pleads, reaching his hands out to grab mine and keep me in place.

I shake my head no, not trusting my brain to say the word out loud. Our eyes lock and I feel myself leaning into his touch, yet I'm still surprised when I feel his lips on mine. In reflex I feel my arm wrapping around his neck, pulling me closer to him. His lips are every bit as soft as I imagined, and as I feel his tongue ask permission to enter my mouth I taste the bitter red wine that got us to this place.

When his cold hand moves from the bed to my side, I have a moment of clarity in my drunkenness. I pull back abruptly, slightly panting. "No, no, no, no, this can't happen," I say, frantically pushing him away. "You're my boss!" I slur, throwing my hands in the air.

Peeta looks shocked, a pink tint lining his cheeks. "You can't deny it Katniss, you've felt it too. I don't think I've gotten along with anybody as well as you since I met Finnick in college." I give him a helpless look, my rational side arguing with my heart. "You don't look at Finnick the way you look at me, and he's a fucking greek god. I really want this, and you, so please, let me kiss you."

I'm swayed more by the rise and fall of his broad chest than I am with his speech, but this time when he leans in to kiss me, I don't pull away. He pulls me into his lap, keeping one hand firmly on my ass while another one makes its way up my shirt. My right hand quickly gets tangled in his hair, while my other wraps itself around his neck.

Peeta's lips detach from mine, leaving a trail of fire as he leaves wet kisses on my neck. I whimper slightly as a shudder goes through my body, suddenly realizing the immense need I have for his hands on my body. I peel off my shirt, smiling to myself as he looks at me in awe. "I swear to god you're going to be the death of me," he murmurs in my ear as my hands fumble with the buttons to his shirt.

I stop to laugh, and I feel his hands leave my body to help me with the buttons. It's my turn to look at Peeta's body in awe when it's fully off, his stress exercising clearly paying off. "God help me if you don't kiss me right now," I playfully demand, slightly grinding myself into what I feel is his growing erection.

He lets out a hiss, rolling us over so that he's on top. He supports himself over me with one arm, his lips meeting mine while his other palms my breast. I feel my heart yearning for more as he sucks, nips and kisses with experience that makes me wonder where he learned it from. The train of thought is interrupted by the feel of his fingers on the waistband of my shorts, and I can't help but pull away laughing.

"That tickles!" I exclaim, pushing him off of me. He turns on his side to face me, and I silently study the freckles on his face before rolling over to turn the lights off. "I'm sleepy, let's sleep," I declare before I kiss him on the nose one last time.

"Ok," he agrees and I come closer to him, missing his warmth. I tuck my head under his chin and inhale his scent, and I slowly find myself falling asleep to the sound of his heartbeat.

I wake up three hours later confused as to why there's a shirtless Peeta Mellark in bed with me, certain I'm still a little drunk. I sit up, careful not to wake the sleeping blonde next to me. He shifts when I squirm out of his tight grasp, but stays asleep. I quickly spot my t-shirt on the ground, along with the forgotten papers of the night before.

I feel guilty leaving his bed in the middle of the night, but my need to get back to my room before people can see me outweighs the guilt. I plant a kiss on his cheek before turning on my heel, and quietly closing the door behind me.

bam! hope you guys enjoy this chapter, don't forget to leave a review!