Jeff Winger wasn't sure whether it was a cruel or clumsy twist of fate that he should see her again in the last place he could've imagined without the slightest warning to prepare him. Walking down some busy street in Denver, Annie Edison strutted back into his life.
Jeff's heart stuttered and stopped before his mind regained control, forcing him to pull over before he crashed into someone. He yielded to the instruction and watched her enter an office building, attempting to fight against his own demand to follow her inside. It was through sheer willpower that he resisted against his curiosity, that and the knowledge that he had no change for the meter (a notion he only realized after exiting the car.)
He argued with himself whether or not he should leave. Jeff had a hundred questions, some more than three years old, and no answers to satisfy him.
It seemed beyond harsh of Britta to not tell him that Annie was back, though it wouldn't have been the first time. He had more than half a mind to chase her down and he would've, if not for the next class he had starting in 45 minutes.
He tried to reassure himself. After all, what were the chances that she would come back only for a day and leave without a word … again?
Jeff Winger steeled his resolve, determined to not be made a mess by Annie Edison, not again, so he pulled back onto the road and drove to Greendale without a single look behind him.
Every student was Annie. Every question and answer by a raised hand was another one of her know-it-all attempts to show off. He couldn't shake her from his thoughts no matter how hard he tried. It made him thankful that Thursdays were his shortest day.
It was a quarter after 3:00 when he walked into The Vatican. Britta tended bar, congenially chatting with some old geezers that he could easily identify as some of her favorite regulars.
"Jeff." She called distractedly, mid-laugh. He sat on an isolated barstool. "It's been a long time since I've seen you come in mid-day." She said while pouring his favorite scotch.
"What can I say?" He took a drink. "Old habits die hard."
"Uh-oh. Something trigger it?"
He watched her closely and baited. "Why? Do you have a theory?" If there was one thing Jeff was sure about, it was his ability to interpret any of Britta's tells. She could give herself up in ten different ways before even opening her mouth.
She thought for a second and he could see that the ignorance in her eyes was genuine. "Oh, no. Did you and Cheryl break up?"
Jeff blinked brightly, clearing the dullness from his eyes. Right, Cheryl. "No. I actually had a nice lunch with her today."
"Senor Kevin's?"
"No." He huffed a soft laugh. "I met up with her in Denver during her lunch break." He watched the blonde again closely as she nodded.
"Ooh, commuting for your lady. Who says chivalry is dead?"
"Usually you, followed by a hearty, 'Good Riddance!"
She playfully scowled. "I meant it as a compliment."
"Excuse my misinterpretation of comments dripping in sarcasm."
She rolled her eyes. "How long are you hanging out?"
"Well, with such scintillating conversation as incentive, probably a while."
"Seriously."
"Just for this one."
"Well can you make it last for about …" She looked at the clock on the wall behind her. "40 minutes?"
"Depends. Why?"
"I need a ride home." His inquisitive look was quickly answered. "My car is in the shop."
"Sounds about right."
"Shut up."
"What a nice way to ask for a favor."
"Have you met me?" She smiled.
He responded with a half-smirk. "Fine."
"Thanks."
The 40 minutes passed by painfully slow, though Jeff maintained a snarky smile to himself the whole time. He couldn't help but feel smug as he watched Britta attempt to tuck her now jaw-length hair behind her ear. He had warned her that the significantly shorter style would only bug her. The well-intended warning seemed to only spur her antagonistic, knee-jerk decision to chop it off.
Jeff loved being right as he watched the frustration build on her face yet again as she tried so desperately, with no avail, to tame another tendril. "I'd offer you a scrunchie." She looked up from a cocktail she was crafting. "But I'm fresh out."
She shrugged. "That doesn't surprise me. You hardly have enough hair for a bobby pin." He glared back. "Don't worry, that problem will be a long-forgotten memory in a few years."
He waited until her back was turned before taking inventory of his thankfully undiminished hairline. "I wouldn't be so sure. You saw William Winger. I look set to have a full head of hair for the foreseeable future." She nodded sarcastically in mocking reassurance. He scoffed. "You almost done?"
"Yep." She tapped the bar. "I'm going to go let Billy know I'm off." She started to walk away. "Make sure these long-winded geezers cough up the cash." She grinned, walking to the back office.
"Apparently, I'm the muscle." Jeff looked at the older men with a confused smirk.
The nearly bald man sitting closest to Jeff laughed. "Eh, no need. The gal earned it today."
"What do you mean?" Jeff scooted a little closer.
The man nudged his white-haired friend. "Chip here, 'Britta-Bingoed' the hell out of her today."
"Should I even ask?" He looked over at Chip.
The other man continued. "We play this little game. Whenever Britta works, we tell little 'back in my day' anecdotes." He laughed. "We start off small taking turns back and forth building our awful stories until she breaks."
"Oh, that's so mean." He chided. "You should show me an example." He smirked, sadistically delighted at the prospect.
Chip finally spoke. "Joe, sit this one out and let the champion work his magic."
Joe shook his head. "He only wins because he lies."
Chip grinned. "The point of the game is to drive her crazy, not to tell the truth to the best of our recollection."
Joe shook his head. "He flat out lies."
"Shh." Chip chided as Britta gracelessly strutted back to the bar. "See, back in my day-"
"Nuh-uh." Britta wagged her head and finger for good measure. "I am off the clock and therefore, not obligated to listen to another one of your no-doubt horrific stories. Save the memoirs for Billy; he'll be out in a minute."
"Eh," Joe shrugged, wearing a subtle smirk that hinted at his self-satisfaction. "Tale for another day." Britta's face contorted at the notion.
Both men handed her generous cash tips. "Need me to cash you fellas out?"
Chip jostled his friend. "No, we'll wait. 'Sides Joe owes me a victory beer."
She shook her head with a smile. "I don't want to know. Chip. Joe." She said with resounding pats to their backs. "C'mon Jeff." She headed for the door.
He shook their hands. "Chip. Joe. Nice to meet you."
"You too, kid." Joe nodded.
"I like those guys." Jeff said nonchalantly as they got in his car.
"Well, of course you would; seeing as they're the only guys you know with crappy enough eyesight to call you 'kid'." She said as they drove away.
He bit his tongue, tempted to remind her that she was just around the corner from 40.
"Boy, those guys can talk." She stretched.
"Why do you let them go on if it drives you crazy?"
"Because, Mr. Apathy, we live in a society that doesn't truly value its senior citizens, maybe there is no one to listen to them at home. Besides, I like the guys, they are sweet. I think they feel like they're burdening me when they go on like that."
"Why do you think that?"
"Because whenever they go off on tangents they always tip too much."
"More like a pity consolation prize." He mumbled under his breath.
"What?"
"Nothing." He assured, internally baffled by the notion that Britta could have both puzzle pieces and not see where they connect.
He shrugged off the topic. "Why didn't you call your boyfriend for a ride?"
She groaned. "Ugh. He is not my boyfriend. We've only gone on 3 dates."
Jeff smirked. Her immediate defensiveness made it obvious that she really liked him. "The inquiry still stands."
"Oh, yeah." She rolled her eyes. "Can't you just see me asking Duncan for a ride?" She snorted. "Which would of course be met with some crass response that insures there won't be a 4th date in the near future."
He teased. "And you're that desperate to keep this thing going?"
Britta was getting slightly frustrated, and Jeff could guess that she would try to play it off as the explanation for her slight flushed appearance. He knew better though. He let slip a light, breathy chuckle. "What?" She growled.
"I'm sorry." He said with sincerity, his arms rose in mock-surrender. "It's just hard to picture. I mean, I knew he was into you our first year. I guess I just never expected it to actually happen."
That point seemed to distract Britta. "Me either." She grinned. "I mean, I've seen him at rock bottom. Our entire second year he was a lecherous drunk." She shrugged. "I think that had more to do with depression. He hardly even has a drink when we go out; I never knew that when sober, he's actually smart and funny. We can talk for hours."
He gave her a sideways glance. "Are you gushing?"
She scoffed. "No, I just can't remember the last time I dated a guy with so many similar interests as me." Of course, they were both atheists who studied psychology, but there was something more that Britta was still too embarrassed to admit. Ian Duncan didn't treat her like the butt of some titular joke. He treated her like an equal; they talked as colleagues. It wasn't often that Britta dated a guy that spoke to her like she was an academic. She appreciated being more than 'the worst', though she was too afraid to say as much if it meant being pitied.
"Okay, fine. Just one serious question."
She gave him a wary glance. "What?"
"Can I be your maid of honor?" He quipped.
"You are such a child!"
He laughed at her irritation until she smacked his arm. "Hey, no hitting the driver!"
A moment too late she jeered with a pointed grin. "Don't you mean matron of honor?"
But Jeff couldn't appreciate her jab at his age, not when he could see Annie Edison sitting on Britta's stoop, drenched in stunning sunset.