All day, she alternates between two thoughts.

Jeff has finally admitted that he loves her and is willing to do something about it and they're going to have sex tonight.

As she bounces back and forth between those two ideas – while taking notes in class, answering the Dean's phone, scanning more documents – she goes through an entire range of feeling: giddiness, nervousness, excitement, fear, anticipation.

It's kind of dizzying.

By some unspoken agreement, they decide not to see one another until tonight so she eats lunch at her desk, trying to decide what to wear and how she should do her hair. She refuses to plan anything beyond those insignificant details because she wants it to happen naturally - she wants to live in the moment with him.

So after work, she hurries home, making sure that she has enough time to shower and shave and spritz her pulse points with expensive perfume. She chooses a simple navy dress that she always feels pretty in and leaves her hair down even though it's gone a little wavy in the heat. She also throws a handful of condoms in her purse before she heads out the door because even though she's sure that Jeff will have them, she's an independent, self-sufficient woman who can look out for herself and doesn't take anything for granted.

When Jeff opens his door, he's wearing a dark blue button-down tucked into gray trousers and she loves the fact that he's dressed up just to stay home in his apartment and have sex with her.

"We match," she says as she steps past him, pointing between his shirt and her dress.

He grins.

"Great minds, right?"

For a moment, they stand there just in front of his door in silence. Unlike her and Abed's apartment where there always seem to be cars honking in the street below, kids shrieking at the playground on the corner, or deafening arguments from the couple upstairs about who's cheating on who, she is struck by how quiet Jeff's place. The only sound that she hears is the low, steady hum of the central air conditioning and her own heartbeat.

She wants to project an air of unwavering confidence, so he can't have any second thoughts. She doesn't have any herself, but this is something that she's wanted and thought about for years and it's impossible not to be nervous. She almost wishes that they'd just done it this morning when they woke up together in her bed – there wouldn't have been time to overthink it then.

As it is, she can count all of the guys that she's slept with on one hand and still have a finger left over. But maybe that doesn't really matter anyway because this is wholly different from any time in the past since she's never slept with anyone who she felt like this about before, and that means she wants the first time to be perfect – which is obviously ridiculous and unrealistic. She knows that it takes time to really know someone sexually – hell, she's only just come to understand what she really likes and wants herself – so if the earth doesn't move the first time, it doesn't mean that it won't sometime down the road.

She can take comfort in that to, she tells herself – the fact that she knows this isn't just a one-time thing, that Jeff isn't going to cut and run once it happens. It's not going to take the hottest sex ever to sell him on their relationship.

But her hands are shaking all the same.

The only thing that calms her at all is the fact that he seems pretty nervous too. He's a whole lot twitchier than usual and he's studying the floor like he's convinced that he might find the answers to all of life's mysteries there. When he finally looks at her, smiling a little wryly, she forces herself to keep her nerve up.

"How about some scotch?" she asks, hoping that she sounds casual.

If he's surprised or caught off guard by the request, he doesn't show it. She sits on the sofa, smoothing her dress over her lap, while he pours them each a drink. Their fingers touch as he hands over her glass, and somehow, that quick brush of skin on skin is all it takes for her desire to trump her nervousness in a big way. She wants his hands on every inch of her body right now, so she takes a sip of the scotch, letting it warm her blood just a little bit more, and scoots toward where he sits on the other end of the sofa. He watches her intently, with just a hint of smirk playing at his lips when she takes the glass out of his hand and sets it on the coffee table.

The first two times they kissed, a million years ago when they barely knew one another, she initiated it, so there's nothing strange about sliding her fingers along his jaw and angling his face toward hers so she can seal her mouth over his. His hand winds up in her hair as he deepens the kiss, and then at her hip so he can drag her into his lap, and God, why was she ever worried – there isn't any time to think; there's barely enough time to feel all of it.

So when he starts to kiss his way across her throat, she undoes the buttons on his shirt blindly, frantic to get at his skin. His hand finds its way to the zipper at the back of her dress and he tugs it down a couple of inches, his fingertips slipping inside the gap and sliding over her shoulder blades – and it's only the faintest of caresses, but she moans low in her throat because he's never touched her there before, not without clothing in the way, and there's something thrilling about the newness of it. She feels him smile against her jaw, and his teeth toy with her earlobe just enough to make her squirm.

"Bedroom," he whispers, his breath hot on her already feverish skin, and she can only nod absently.

The heels of her sandals catch on his throw rug when he pushes her off his lap so they can stand, and she stumbles a little. She kicks off her shoes, not caring when they land – which makes it harder for her to reach him, but he bends and she stretches on her bare toes and they manage to kiss their way to his bedroom. He pulls her zipper all the way down to the base of her spine, so the dress gapes around her and she shrugs it off her shoulders, letting it drop to the floor without tearing her mouth from his. His hands slide down her rib cage, over her waist, to her hips, and when he feels her bare skin, he pulls back to take a shaky breath.

There, at the foot of his bed, he looks down at her in her lacy navy bra and panties with the kind of longing that he usually reserves for the latest Ovadia & Sons latest collection, and she shivers even though she feels hot all over.

"So this is really going to happen," he says, and the smirk that's tugging at the corners of his mouth is so delicious that she just has to take a minute to kiss it away.

"It better," she tells him.

He laughs, a low, rumbly chuckle that vibrates straight from his body to hers, but he watches passively as she pulls his shirt out of pants and finishes unbuttoning it, not doing anything more than tracing his fingers down her arms. When she pushes the shift off, though, he bends and presses his mouth to the side of her neck, the curve of her shoulder, the top of her breasts just above the scalloped edge of bra, and the fever under skin burns even hotter. Somehow, it doesn't distract her from undoing his belt and sliding it out of the loops on his pants so fast that it makes a resounding slapping sound as it hits the hardwood floor. She feels him smile against her collarbone.

"You don't mess around, do you?"

She doesn't bother to answer, busying herself with the button and zipper on his trousers. He slides the straps of her bra down slowly and carefully, almost like he's gauging her reaction to determine how slow to take things. She stills her hands and straightens, her posture nearly perfect, which is all the encouragement he needs to reach behind her and undo her bra. She doesn't move, waiting for him to reach out and peel away the satin and lace – and even then, she stays still for a long moment, letting him look as much as he wants.

And what she loves about the expression on his face, hungry and a little awed, is how sexy it makes her feel, how confident and powerful.

She doesn't want to waste any more time, so she shoves his pants down and he helps her, stepping out of them, tugging off his socks, and kicking the entire pile of clothing away to a dark corner of the room. Somehow, he seems even bigger out of his clothes - because standing there in just his dark boxer briefs, he's nothing but firm muscle and tan skin. He is beautiful and she wants to climb him like a damn tree, but he lifts her off her feet before she can make any real progress and then he's easing her back onto the bed with a gentleness that seems so uncharacteristic of him.

She doesn't really want him to be careful with her, though. She doesn't want him to treat her like some fragile China doll. So she lets her nails bite into his shoulder when she tugs him against her and she moans when his teeth tease the curve of her breast so he'll get the message. He slides his hand inside her underwear and like some kind of magic trick, he finds the perfect spot without much searching and she hikes her leg up over his hip, opening herself to him even more – and when he curls a couple of fingers inside her, she can't stop herself from crying out and clawing at his back.

He's laughing a little when he leans in to kiss her and she should be annoyed at how smug he is, but she can't be bothered when it feels as if he's managed to rouse every single nerve ending in her body at once. It's still not enough, though, so she reaches between them to shove his briefs out of the way, distracted momentarily by how hot and hard he feels in her hand.

And she gets her own chance to feel smug because he lets out a choked sob against her cheek as she strokes him a couple of times and he actually grabs her wrist to still her hand after a minute, the muscles in his back stretched tight with the strain of holding back.

"Too much," he grits out.

Then he's tugging off her panties and tearing into a condom that seems to appear out of nowhere, before she even has a chance to remember that she's brought her own in the purse out in his living room. She bends her knees to make room for him and he slides inside her so hard and fast that she whimpers almost despite herself and her eyes slip shut and she digs her fingers into his biceps hard enough to leave a bruise.

There is nothing gentle about the way he moves, which she loves, but when she finally opens her eyes, he's watching her with an expression that is startlingly tender and she loves that too.

And maybe the earth doesn't move exactly, but it starts spinning faster and in a completely different direction than it always has.

She isn't as modest afterward as he was expecting.

The sheets are tangled at her waist while she tries to catch her breath, so he's treated to a view of her breasts, still damp with sweat, that seems like it might be able to shave a good five minutes off his recovery time.

He doesn't really know how to categorize his feelings at the moment – because it's not just that he wants to fuck her again (He totally does, of course. He's thinking at least three times a day, like breakfast, lunch, and dinner, with maybe a few extra snacks and dessert thrown in on weekends). He also just wants to lie here and look at her, in all her messy-haired, flushed glory, because he's pretty sure that he's never seen her look more beautiful.

He wonders if she'd mind if he put a mirror on the ceiling over his bed so he can cover all the angles next time. At the very least, maybe he can convince her to let him tilt the full length mirror next to his closet a little.

On a whim, he leans over and presses a kiss to her throat, right where her pulse still pounds a little wildly. Her fingers scratch through the hair at the back of his neck, holding him to her – which isn't really necessary because he isn't going anywhere.

She laughs suddenly, shaking her head against the pillow.

"What's so funny?" he asks, amused.

"Look how pale I am next to you."

She holds her arm out next to his, though it's really not necessary because there's enough bare skin in the bed to make the point without any real effort – and yeah, next to his seriously flawless spray tan, she looks like she's made of porcelain.

"I'm going to have to start faux tanning," she says. "So I don't look all sickly."

He shakes his head emphatically.

"Nope. Don't change a thing."

She narrows her eyes, looking a little skeptical.

"Seriously," he says. "You're beautiful."

She giggles in a bashful way that's totally at odds with her nakedness. Her fingers play with his hair again, but she doesn't seem entirely convinced. He presses a kiss to the inside of her arm where the skin is the palest.

"I mean it."

She smiles, color high in her cheeks.

"I know," she tells him, as confident as ever. "I can always tell when you're being sincere and when you're just spewing sweet talk to get what you want."

"Oh, yeah?"

She nods.

"And we both know you don't need to say anything to get what you want right now…"

Her hand trails down his chest and over his stomach to where's he's already half hard again.

True to her word, he doesn't have to say a thing.

The morning after, he walks her to her car in a rumpled t-shirt, track pants, and flips flops, and she thinks that his being seen in public like this, even if it's only his building's parking lot at dawn, is as much a profession of love as his actually saying the words.

"We should do something tonight," he says, leaning in her open driver's side window.

"Like a date?" she laughs.

"Yeah. Like a date. What's so funny about that?"

"We've known each other for years, Jeff. And we've probably already done every possible social activity in existence with the group. I kind of think we're beyond dating." She shrugs. "Besides, we've been pretend-dating for over a month now with Duncan and Delilah, so what's the point?"

"Those were double dates," he points out. "And more importantly, *pretend*."

She tilts her head, smiling up at him coyly.

"Wasn't last night a date?"

He grins right back at her.

"I don't think it really counts. I didn't even feed you."

She arches a brow, the double-entendre right on the tip of her tongue. But he can read her mind, apparently, because he feigns a scandalized look.

"Who knew you had such a dirty mind? If I weren't already in love..."

"So what we would do?" she asks. "On this date?"

"We'll keep it low-key. You come over and we'll watch a movie. You'll have to get my Netflix password out of Abed, but …"

She sighs, pretending to consider the offer.

"Throw in take out from the Thai place on Spring Street and you've got a deal."

He leans into the car a little further to kiss her and make it official.

All day at work, she feels energized, despite her lack of sleep. She manages to make a big dent in the scanning project and is even able to fix the Dean's computer after he downloads a questionable video that comes complete with its own virus. She and Jeff meet for lunch - they don't talk about what happened last night (and this morning, right around five-thirty when she tried to wake him for a quick goodbye) but the entire meal is full of knowing smiles and long, lustful looks. When she gets up to head back to the Dean's office, he tugs on the hem of her blouse playfully and the gesture probably looks completely innocent to anyone watching but she shivers with the thrill of it and what it hints at.

Later, as their take-out goes cold on his coffee table and 'Silence of the Lambs' plays soundlessly on his TV, he makes good on the promise - he's got her beneath him on the couch, kissing her like he's been waiting much longer than just twelve hours to do so. She runs her foot up the back of his leg, slips a hand under the waistband at the back of his jeans, and he groans against her ear, sounding completely winded.

"Hey," he pants. "Just because we had sex last night, it doesn't mean I expect it every time I see you."

His expression, though a little pained, is entirely sincere and she grins up at him.

"I do," she tells him. "Actually, I should probably warn you – you're really in for it."

He laughs, letting his fingers slide under her shirt and over the thin lace of her bra.

"Thanks for the warning."

They never do make it to his bedroom.

It's his idea to take the easy way out when it comes to letting people know.

Annie's initial plan is to sit all of their friends down under the guise of a party or some other social gathering and announce the news. He refuses, though, because 1) it would be the kind of uncomfortable hassle that he avoids at all costs, and 2) it makes it seem like they're asking for everyone's blessing or permission and they're adults who can do whatever the hell they want with each no matter what their friends might think.

Eventually, Annie agrees.

But while a big, public declaration is out, he does think that they're probably better off if everyone knows before classes start again in the fall so they're not forced to announce it on the spot in an unplanned, awkward moment.

So it becomes clear that it's best to spread the news without doing any of the hard work themselves - which means telling Abed and letting him do all the heavy lifting.

There's barely a month left until classes start, which seems like plenty of time for him to go down the list. It's really just Britta, who won't be caught off-guard by the news after Jeff's visit to the bar, and Shirley that require delicate handling – and while Abed isn't really good at subtlety, he is capable of the next best thing: dropping the bomb simply and plainly, like it's not a big deal in the least.

They wind up crossing the Dean off the list of people who need to know themselves, though.

Three days after they sleep together for the first time, he catches them kissing up against the filing cabinet just outside his office. He clears his throat dramatically, and for a minute, Jeff has a flashback to being on the ratty sofa in Mandy Coscetta's basement junior year, both of their shirts long gone and her father charging down the stairs. He and Annie drift apart, trying to smooth the wrinkles from their clothing casually.

"I guess I don't have to ask what's going on here," the Dean says, sounding a little testy.

"Jeff was just leaving for his class," she explains. "So I was saying goodbye."

The Dean frowns.

"Next time, can you try saying it without quite so much tongue?"

Annie blushes and fidgets with her hair. Jeff just shrugs – he's not about to make any promises.

Even after two weeks, she can't seem to stop smiling.

She feels calmer in a lot of ways, like maybe she doesn't have quite as much to prove, and yet, there's also this new sense of excitement, as if her life might have hundreds of possibilities that she hadn't ever considered before.

That doesn't mean that it's all easy.

She's at work in the Dean's office in the middle of the afternoon, humming along to Beyoncé on her computer's speakers as she goes through another box of files for the scanner when Britta knocks at the open office door and steps inside.

They haven't seen one another or really talked since Shirley's barbecue, which might be awkward enough under the best of circumstances, but now, considering that she and Jeff are she and Jeff, it seems almost unbearable.

She knows that Jeff has already spoken to Britta about the whole thing, but that was before they'd actually gotten together. Abed saw her last week, though, when he took a crew to her bar to shoot a scene for the movie he's working on. He told Britta then, and Annie has spent most of the days since wondering if she should call, text, or email her about it.

Ultimately, she decided that it should be Britta's call as to when and how they would talk so she left it alone.

And now, here Britta is, standing right in front of her with what appears to be a genuine smile, and Annie wishes that she'd sent a damn email.

"I was on my way to work, but I figured you'd be here," Britta says. "So I thought I'd stop in. You know, touch base."

Annie tries not to cringe, tries to act like this is a normal, comfortable conversation between friends.

"I'm glad you did. How's the rest of your summer been?"

Britta plays with the tape dispenser on the edge of the desk, pulling a piece of tape off and curling it around her finger.

"Really good. I've made enough money for the trip to Argentina I told you about. I leave this weekend, actually."

"Oh, wow. That's great. How long will you be gone?"

"Just ten days. But I think that'll be enough time to recharge my batteries before the fall semester starts. I feel like this summer just flew by."

Annie nods, though she doesn't really feel that way. This summer has felt long and protracted, with so many twists and turns, but she isn't quite ready for it to be over either.

"So…" Britta flicks her finger through the air, trying to free the piece of tape that's stuck to it. She looks up, eyes wide. "You and Jeff…"

In an instant, Annie's stomach tightens and she looks at the worn carpeting to avoid Britta's gaze. She doesn't want to feel guilty - she's happy and Jeff's happy and that means something because neither of them are people who can usually hang onto that feeling for long – but she can't help it. She knows how she felt when she heard about Jeff and Britta's secret affair years ago, when they announced their engagement just a few months back, and she doesn't want to be responsible for making Britta feel even a tiny bit of that.

In the end, she decides to go with honesty.

"I really don't know what to say."

"You don't have to say anything," Britta tells her. "I mean, I'm not gonna lie. I feel a little weird about the whole thing… but I'll get over it."

She doesn't sound entirely convincing, like maybe she's trying get herself to believe it just as much Annie.

"You don't have to say that just to make me feel better. Because I remember what happened with Vaughn and that was years ago when we hadn't even known each other for an entire year. Now, we've been friends for so long and I don't want to ruin it just because …"

She trails off, not sure how to finish the thought – Britta actually does it for her.

"Just because you love Jeff," she says. "And he loves you." She lifts a shoulder tiredly. "It's not like you stole him from me, Annie. I mean, not that he was ever mine in the first place. You know, because people don't belong to each other."

Annie nods again, just because she doesn't know what else to do. She doesn't want to make this into a bigger deal than it is – because she really doesn't think that Britta's harboring any deep, meaningful feelings for Jeff or that her heart is broken over him moving on with someone else – but she doesn't want to minimize Britta's feelings either.

It's just such a fine line to walk.

"And what are you supposed to do anyway?" Britta throws her hands up. "Not be happy because it might be kind of weird for me for a while?"

That's really the thing – it's not like Annie could honestly walk away from Jeff at this point, so she's not entirely sure what exactly she could do even if Britta decided that she had a major problem with the whole thing.

"I don't know," she sighs. "I just want to be a good friend."

"Sometimes, these things just happen, Annie. And it's not about anybody but the people involved. I mean, it's not like Troy and I went to Jeff and asked him if he was okay with us hooking up."

"That didn't come right on the heels of you and Jeff getting engaged, though."

Britta shakes her head dismissively

"It wasn't a real engagement," she insists. "You knew that from the start, right? I'm not a jilted bride or something." She sinks down in the nearly broken office chair behind Annie's desk and leans back. "And you know, if I put my therapist's hat on for just a minute, it was a really big step for Jeff to tell you how he feels, to really try at something that matters to him. If you were to back out on him now, he might be broken forever. You don't want that on your conscience, do you? I know I don't."

Annie knows what Britta's doing – letting her off the hook once and for all – and the fact that she's working so hard to convince Annie that the whole thing is okay has to mean that everything will eventually be fine, even if it's a little awkward for the time being.

"But just so you know," Britta declares, smirking proudly. "When we have one of our ladies' nights and get trashed and start badmouthing all the guys in our pasts, you're just gonna have to grin and bear it."

Annie laughs, nodding.

"I guess that's only—"

The office door on the other side of the counter opens then, and Jeff strolls in, holding a cardboard tray with a couple of iced coffees. He doesn't seem to see Britta right away.

"So you lucked out," he announces. "The barista at Starbucks didn't hear me when I asked for a non-fat iced caffe latte so you get the reject."

He is lying through his teeth, but she won't call him on it. For some reason, whenever he does something even mildly thoughtful or considerate, he pretends that it's all just a mistake or happy coincidence so he doesn't have to own up to it – and she always plays along. It isn't until he's setting the drinks down on the desk that he notices Britta sitting behind it, and though he recovers pretty quickly, it's obvious that he's caught off-guard for a minute.

"Hey," he says, smiling tightly. "What's up?"

"Nothing much," Britta drawls. "Just talking about you behind you back."

He smirks, seeming a little more at ease.

"I figured as much. I am the only topic worthy of discussion around here."

Annie swats at his arm, but she's can't help smiling.

"Britta's leaving for Argentina this weekend. We were talking about that too."

He nods.

"Cool. Have a good time."

Britta smiles, pushing the chair away from the desk and standing.

"When I get back, we'll hang out," she says. "So I can show off my pictures."

"It better not be like that summer you went to Thailand," Jeff says. "You only had like 12 photos, but it took two hours to get through all of them because you just wouldn't shut up."

Britta shoots him the evil eye.

"Excuse me for wanting to share a little of the world with you guys."

"There just better be booze involved this time. That's all I'm saying."

"Abed's been wanting to go back to that bar with the indoor mini golf course," Annie says.

Britta and Jeff groan in unison.

"We almost got kicked out last time," Jeff says. "You know, when Duncan puked in the windmill on the ninth hole. I don't think we're going to be welcome there. Or maybe it's more that I don't want to show my face around there after last time."

Annie shrugs.

"Well, Duncan's kind of cleaned up his act since he met Delilah. So he'll probably be on his best behavior this time around."

Jeff shakes his head skeptically.

"Mini golf just brings out the worst in some people."

"I'm going to let you guys figure this one out," Britta says. "You've got two weeks to pick a place." She heads for the door, but stops after a second and turns back to grab one of the café lattes from the desk. "And I'm taking one of these as a parting gift. Later, gators."

After she's disappeared into the hallway, Jeff and Annie look at one another and sigh.

"Could've been worse," he says. "I think."

Annie leans back against her desk, lifting the remaining iced coffee from the tray to take a sip.

"It'll probably be a little strange for a while."

He mimics her stance and she passes him the cup.

"Yeah, well," he says. "There's always something a little strange going on with this group."

She smiles because he's kind of right.

"So I shouldn't worry. That's what you're saying, right?"

He grins around the straw, his eyes bright.

"Like I could ever stop you from worrying."

He's kind of right about that too.

Just like before they started sleeping together, they fight over some really stupid stuff sometimes.

One morning, they have it out over how hot Annie likes her showers ("I feel like a lobster, being boiled alive." "Oh, don't be so dramatic!" "And it's not good for my skin – look how dry it's getting."), and they have a heated disagreement one day at lunch over whether corn should really count as a vegetable ("If you eat it fresh, it's a vegetable. That's a scientific fact." "It has also the equivalent of almost two cubes of sugar in it. Tell me that's healthy.") They spend nearly a half hour arguing about whether a purple triceratops really makes sense as the Rockies' mascot ("They found a ton of fossils when they were building Coors Field, so Dinger is totally on point." "But how many people outside of Colorado know that? They're probably wondering why Barney is the Rockies' mascot. I just think they could have chosen something a little more obvious." "The Phillies' mascot is furry green phantatic – that's not even a real thing!") and another fifteen minutes disagreeing over whether 'Deadly Women' or 'Nightmare Next Door' on ID is a better show ("'Deadly Women' is always the same. Some woman kills her significant other or kids. With 'Nightmare Next Door' at least there's some variety." "But the reenactments on Deadly Women are so much more entertaining. Those actresses really know how to bring the crazy.").

Occasionally, they start arguing over something dumb and it morphs into something a little more serious. Like when they make the mistake of watching an episode of 'Divorce Court' and the unhappy couple keeps fighting over which of them checked out of the marriage first – which prompts a joke-y conversation between he and Annie about which of them is more likely to dump the other.

"Obviously you," she says, without hesitation. "You go through women like other people go through tissues."

She's just teasing, not giving him a hard time or expressing any real doubts, but it still annoys him a little.

"I used to," he agrees. "But look at how well I've taken to commitment and monogamy. I should be giving lectures or leading workshops or something."

Annie laughs and he doesn't really take offense, but maybe she honestly doesn't get that this whole thing has felt a whole lot easier and better than he ever imagined it would. He's kicking himself for waiting so long to man up.

"It's barely been a month, Jeff," she says. "Don't get ahead of yourself."

"I'm just sayin'." He shrugs. "And really, this proves how little you think of me so you'd be much more likely to pull the plug."

She shakes her head, her eyes glued to the TV.

"Not unless you gave me good reason."

"Oh, yeah? How about this?" he asks. "Because you love me in a way that's pretty much selfless and I love you as selfishly as it gets."

She squints at him from the other end of the couch.

"I don't know what the means."

"It means if you suddenly announced that you were marrying Abed or the Dean or whoever, I wouldn't be at all okay with it. I would do everything humanly possible to stop it. I'd go all Dustin Hoffman in 'The Graduate' on your ass." He pauses and frowns. "Fuck. Have you even seen that movie?"

"I haven't, actually," she admits with a smile. "But I've seen enough spoofs of it to understand the reference." She scoots closer and rubs his arm. "And it's a good thing that you wouldn't let me go through it. Because no matter how happy I might claim to be, getting engaged to Abed or the Dean would be a pretty big cry for help."

He rolls his eyes.

"You know what I mean."

"I don't, really. You've done plenty of things for me over the years just because you knew they were what I wanted. Because you thought they would make me happy. Isn't that being selfless?"

"That's because you being happy kind of makes me happy. So still totally selfish."

Annie laughs again and crawls into his lap to straddle hips. She's wearing a sundress, which rides up her thighs just enough so he can make out the floral print on her panties.

"I'm pretty sure that's how everyone feels when they care about someone," she says, and she leans in to press a kiss to his jaw, just below his ear. "Like last week when I sat through all of 'Slap Shot' because you said it was one of your favorite movies. You were happy so I was happy."

He slides his hand over her thigh, just under the hem of her dress.

"I was pretty grateful afterward too," he reminds her.

He winds a hand through her hair, tugging her down to his mouth, and he nips at her lower lip until she groans a little.

"I guess you really are as selfish as I am, huh?" he teases.

She straightens a little, towering over him, and shrugs.

"If we each get what we want half the time," she muses. "I think we'll both be pretty happy."

It's hard to argue with that kind of flawless logic, particularly when she slips her hands under his t-shirt and starts trailing them up his chest, so he kisses her again instead.

Sometimes, he is a terrible influence on her.

Like on the Tuesday afternoon of the last week of the summer session when Jeff's cancelled his class to give his students time to work on their final papers and he convinces her to pretend that she's sick so she can leave work early.

He does it with that crooked, little smile that never fails to send heat spiraling through her body and a low, confident voice that hints at all the naughty ways that they'll spend their unexpected free time together.

But she still feels incredibly guilty as she stands in front of the Dean's desk and tells him that she's coming down with a migraine and the only thing that she can do to get rid of it is to lie down in a dark, quiet room.

An hour later, when she's tangled up in Jeff's sheets in his cool, dim bedroom, she tells herself that at least there was a grain of truth in what she told the Dean she was going to do.

"See?" Jeff says, pressing his mouth to her shoulder. "Aren't you glad you decided to play hooky?"

She laughs as he trails his lips a little lower, ghosting over the curve of her breast.

"I haven't faked being sick in forever. I think the last time was ninth grade when I needed to get out of a Trig test. I never really missed school so my mother didn't doubt it for a second when I told her I'd thrown up. I missed the test on Friday, had all weekend to study, and aced the makeup on Monday."

"Why weren't you ready for it in the first place?" His lips tickle at the valley between her breasts. "I mean, that doesn't sound like the super responsible, super prepared Annie Edison we all know and love."

She fidgets uncomfortably against his expensive striped sheets, threading her hands through his hair as he moves to the other breast.

"That was the week my dad moved out."

She does a little shoulder shrug against the mattress, and Jeff lifts his head, looking strangely solemn even with his hair sticking up in at least a half dozen different directions.

"My mom let me stay home for almost a whole week when my dad cut out on us," he says quietly. "She took me to Chuck E. Cheese and the Denver Zoo and I think we saw "E.T." one day too."

She smiles sadly, running her fingers softly over the back of his neck.

"Sometimes, it's okay to play hooky."

He smirks, and just like that, it's like his somber mood has evaporated.

"It's always okay to play hooky," he insists. "When you need a break, you need a break."

"Don't get used to this," she warns. "When I'm back to a full class load, I'm not going to drop everything just to go running off to have sex in the middle of the afternoon."

He grins and scrapes his tongue across the tip of her breast.

"That's what you say now…"

She can't hold back the low moan, but she tries for a stern look all the same.

"I mean it, Jeff."

"Fine," he huffs, sounding properly put-upon. "I can deal with not being priority one, but I better at least come in second."

She pulls him up and kisses him.

"How about 1A?"

He rolls them over so she's on top of him. His smile would probably take a lesser woman out at the knees.

"Even better."

The fact that Annie's dress is a bright raspberry color that sets off her eyes and skin pretty spectacularly and offers a more than generous view of her cleavage has him feeling pretty magnanimous, which is why he waits until she's drank half of her gin and tonic before he says anything.

"I don't want you to think I'm whining," he starts. "Because I'm not whining in the least. I don't ever whine actually. But really, even you've got to admit, this isn't fair."

She sets her glass back on the table, her brow creased.

"What isn't?"

He holds his hand out, sweeping over the table, the people around them, the entire restaurant.

"This, all of this," he declares. "You got me to do a lot of crap before. *A lot*. But now it's like I'm totally powerless. So… like I said, it's not fair."

He takes a sip of his scotch, delighting in her outraged pout.

"I've never *made* you do anything," she insists. "If you've had an attack of conscience or guilt that lead you to do the right thing as a result of something I've said, that's all on you."

He smirks at her.

"Oh, really? So when you tilt your head and flutter your lashes like this…" He does an exaggerated impression of her trademark eyes, and she laughs, smacking at his arm. "It's not to get me to do something? Because I've got news for you, if you think it's my conscience that's got me sitting here at this table tonight and not your promise of a fashion show of all those tiny scraps of lace and satin in the Victoria's Secret bag on your dresser, you're really not as smart as I thought."

She nudges his leg with the tip of her shoe under the table in a half-hearted kick.

"I never said that was contingent on you coming here tonight."

He gapes at her in disbelief.

"It was totally implied!"

She lifts an indifferent shoulder, looking way too pleased with herself.

"I would never coerce you into doing something with sex, Jeff. That's just sleazy."

He shakes his head.

"Well, just so you know, my morals aren't quite as firm. So if you want the ride of your life, you'll make sure we're out of here right after the first course. No after dinner drinks or dessert, okay?"

She giggles, her cheeks flushed beautifully in the dim light, but she elbows him softly in the ribs anyway.

"You're the—"

"What's so funny?"

Duncan stands on the other side of the table, with Delilah at his side. They're both smiling as he pulls out one of the chairs for her, so Jeff just shrugs casually.

"Annie knows an obscene amount of dirty jokes. This one was about a guy who walks into a bar with a hooker and a-"

"Jerk!" Annie half laughs, half gasps in outrage. She smacks at his arm too, but he's too amused to care. "Ignore him. He's just in a bad mood because the semester's started and he actually has to work full time again. Or at least what passes for full time work with him."

"Not me," Duncan chirps happily, settling himself in his chair. "My experiment on personal delusions is shaping up to be very interesting indeed. Now, there may be one or two ethical issues along the way, considering that it will necessitate engaging in … I believe the colloquialism is 'catfishing' … but it has the potential to be groundbreaking."

"You're going to trick poor unsuspecting people into falling in love with you online?" Delilah asks. "That's awful, Ian."

He nods solemnly, but Jeff can tell that he's fighting off a gleeful smile.

"It's for science, though, pet."

"That's not a very good excuse," she protests.

"Well, you see, it's just that …"

Jeff figures that this is as good a time as any to try to sneak his cellphone out of his pocket for a quick peek. He hides it under the table, angling himself slightly so even Annie won't be able to catch him. He glances up occasionally to make it seem like he's honestly following the conversation.

"I just think you could find a different way to go about it," Delilah is saying. "Because aren't you running the risk of inflicting real psychological damage even if you manage to prove some theory?"

"You could always do a study on people with unhealthy dependence on technology," Annie says tartly, and she nudges Jeff's arm with her elbow so he nearly drops his phone to let him know that he's busted. "I've got the perfect test subject right here."

"I'm just checking the score of the Rockies game," he explains. "It's better I do that so I don't spend our entire meal preoccupied. They're only a game and a half out of the last Wild Card spot, you know."

"Big deal." She flicks her hair over her shoulder haughtily. "There's still like a month left in the season. Anything could happen."

He eyes her with amusement.

"Oh, so now you're a baseball expert?"

"I'd kind of be an idiot if I wasn't. You have the MLB network on 24/7."

"Hey, I apologized for the other night like a hundred times. I think it's probably time to let that go."

"How about this?" she says, smirking prettily. "I'll let it go when you stop whining about how I made you watch 'Cosmos?', okay?"

"It was like 10 hours long, Annie! That's just crazy."

She huffs, crossing her arms over her chest.

"You admitted that parts of it were interesting."

"Yes. *Parts.* Like maybe a half hour. An hour, if I'm being generous."

"You just don't—"

"You know," Duncan interrupts, with a laugh. "You two may have been more convincing as a couple when you were faking it."

Delilah shakes her head.

"I still can't believe you guys were pretending that whole time. You seemed like the real deal to me."

Jeff sneaks a sideways glance at Annie, who's blushing a little and fiddling with her glass.

"That's because the only people they were really fooling was themselves," Duncan declares. He pauses for a moment, head tilted thoughtfully. "So, really, when you think about it, I deserve all the credit for you two idiots finally getting together."

Delilah smiles at him, patting his hand affectionately – she must really like him based on how she's reacted to the news of his little deception. Maybe there is a little crazy lurking beneath her normal exterior that Jeff missed in his initial appraisal.

Annie doesn't say anything about the whole thing until Delilah heads to the bar to take a business call and Duncan takes a trip to the bathroom. The waiter is clearing away their salad plates when she leans in, her hand sliding teasingly across his thigh.

"Do you think we were more convincing when we were pretending?" she asks, and her voice has a low, sultry tone that makes her seem more flirty than genuinely curious.

"That thing you did in the car before we came in here? I can't speak for anyone else, but that definitely convinced me."

"I'm serious," she giggles, squeezing his knee.

"So am I."

She cocks her head, smiling at him expectantly. Her hair's doing that soft, wavy thing that he likes and her dress fits her like a glove and everything about her at the moment radiates a kind of contentment that he doesn't usually associate with her.

"Yeah," he says. "I'm pretty convinced."

Her grin widens.

"Yeah?" She lets out a breathy sigh. "Me too."

She leans in even closer, transferring most of her weight to the hand on his thigh, and kisses him, sweet and soft and slow, like maybe he's never been kissed before.

"Though, you know," he drawls as they pull apart. "If you really want to make sure I'm convinced, we could go to the bathroom and—"

"Shut up," she laughs, smacking his knee.

She kisses him again, so he doesn't really have a choice.