Before

God bless whoever approved the open bar request for the Christmas Eve party.

There's a reason why champagne is considered a celebratory beverage. It's bubbly, elegant, and a flute fits so nicely in your hands that you can't help but feel ecstatic drinking it. What number is she on again? Elsa stopped counting after the third glass, which means she should probably slow down.

Her cheeks are flushed, and she's so giddy. Far too giddy for a company's party. And she keeps getting lost in the myriad of blues in Jackson Overland's penetrating eyes. He's one of the coders from the fourteenth floor. Elsa's crossed paths with him before: in a conference room when they both attended the same Agile seminar, in the lobby in the morning, snatching a pick-me-up from the coffee bar, but tonight is the first time they've properly talked.

He's a funny guy. Charming. A little boisterous. A perfect balance between self-deprecating and confident. The hours fly by as they get to know each other. And so does the alcohol. God bless whoever approved the open bar…

Inhibitions loosened, she doesn't feel as embarrassed when she touches his arm in the heat of the conversation. Doesn't admonish herself from laughing with her mouth open when he tries a cheesy pick-up line on her. Isn't bothered in the slightest by his obfuscating presence in her personal space.

Another waiter passes by. And like magic, the empty flute between her fingers is replaced with a full one. Oh no.

She takes a look around the ballroom. The first wave of 'I only came for the free grub' folks have already bailed. Big boring speeches were made. The bosses thanked everyone for another year of great accomplishments, throwing overused terms like 'hitting it out of the park' and 'we're all one big family here'. The winner of the holiday big prize—a paid trip to Hawaii was drawn, the band is now taking requests and clumsily improvises covers of obscure rock songs. The party is dwindling. She gives another hour, two tops for it to turn into a sad resentment and loneliness parade.

As if reading her mind, Jack leans over to conspire, "Wanna ditch this place?"

And because she can't come up with a strong enough reason not to, she simply replies with a "Lead the way."

Wandering around on the cold winter night, they stop at a convenience store. The slushie machine is not operating, which is a travesty. They end up sharing a bag of Skittles instead.

"I never had these growing up," she admits as she chews on a lemony disc of sugar.

He snorts. "Why?"

"Because they're bad for you?"

Jack stares at her, his expression blank and somehow judgemental at the same time.

"Refined sugar is the same thing as poison," she feels the urge to point out.

"At least it's better than white glue."

It's Elsa's turn to look stunned. "Why would anyone eat white glue?"

"It smelled like strawberries, what was I supposed to do?"

"Probably not eat it." She manages to maintain a serious tone despite the poorly contained smile that hurts her cheeks.

"Oh well." Jack shrugs, the epitome of nonchalance. "What's life without a bit of thrill?"

"If that's your definition of thrill, then I'd wager long and sans as many ER trips for stomach pumps."

"Yawn," he teases. "So I'm guessing you've never played the Skittles game when you were a kid?"

"I don't think I have."

"It's easy. You close your eyes, I give you one candy and you try to guess which flavor it is. And we take turns to see who guesses right more times. In the first round, you have one skittle. In the second, you have two at the same time. Third, three and the game gets progressively harder as it goes."

"Sounds pretty straightforward."

"Yep." He raises one eyebrow. Smirks. "Wanna make a bet?"

Not one to back down from a challenge, Elsa crosses her arms across her chest. "Name your terms."

"If I win, you have to make a picture of me your office computer's wallpaper for a week."

"That feels like an HR scandal in the making..."

He grins, the white of his teeth glistening in the dark, puffs of air condensing between them. "If you win, I'll make your picture mine."

Her eyebrows furrow. "There are only punishments from where I'm standing."

"Alright, what's your suggestion then?"

She thinks for a moment, and then an idea strikes. A smirk adorns the corner of her lips. "If I win, you can't use the elevators for a week."

Life vacates his eyes for a moment. He forgets to close his mouth. "I'm on the fourteenth floor."

She's unfazed. "Most correct answers win the round. First to score three rounds win the game."

He laughs, a fiery roar ignited by the sparks of competition, and the look in his eyes is reflected on her own. "Ladies first."

Her first skittle is a peach one, but she has to say, the industrialized flavor is rather disappointing. Still, she identifies it correctly with ease. Jack nails his too. The second round gets a little trickier, but things really heat up on the fifth round, when she takes the lead.

The plastic wrapper crumples in Jack's hand. "Am I really supposed to believe you've never put a Skittle in your mouth before?"

"Artificial fruit flavors are all the same."

Jack gasps. "You take that back, you damn heretic."

She chuckles, giving him a stern look. "Next round, please."

"Eyes closed," he orders.

His bossiness makes her want to shut him up even more. And the best way to do so, Elsa figures, is by winning his silly game. Holding back the comeback on the tip of her tongue, Elsa does as she is told. And, when she opens her mouth, predictably, but also catching her by surprise, instead of another Skittle, she feels his lips on hers.

He tastes like sugar, and he kisses her with certainty, slowly, like he's got all the time in the world. Her skin tingles. Her head spins. She feels the rightness of that kiss in every nerve ending. Or maybe it's the champagne talking. And when he cradles the back of her head to deepen the kiss, she can't help the content moan that slips her throat.

She's short of breath when she pulls back. Hair is mussed, cheeks flushed, lips swollen. She looks at him through her lashes. "I have a feeling this is not how the game is supposed to go."

His laugh is a heavy exhale. Eyes lock together. He gently tilts her chin with a finger. His thumb strokes her jaw. She feels goosebumps on her flesh.

"It is now."