a.

She's drunk.

She's really drunk. And she's pretty sure that he's drunk too, but she's drunk to be sure.

Because otherwise, she doesn't really know what other reason there could be for his hand being on her ass.

Or his body pressing her against the wall.

In fact, she's pretty sure he must be drunk because there is no way his lips would be pressed against hers, or his tongue would be invading her mouth if he was sober.

Because she's not his type, and he's not her type.

So, she's drunk and he's drunk, and they are kissing.

The only thing that she can clearly think is that this cannot be a good idea. It feels like a good idea, because now his fingers are pressing into her hip, and he's holding himself right against her, and that feels good. Really good.

But this cannot be a good idea.

She pulls back and says his name but he ignores her, instead one of his hands leaves her hip and runs up her side.

His lips are pressed against her neck as she repeats his name, and then she's moaning and can't really think much at all.

His lips return to hers, and then he breaks the kiss with a groan, resting his forehead against hers.

"I know" he says, a palm cupping the back of her neck, and his thumb stroking against her jaw.

And she's far too drunk to hear the regret.

b.

Being surrounded by a jeering crowd sends her back to the time she spent on stage in college. She involuntarily takes a step back at the memory, which just makes them increase the volume of their shouts.

"Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!"

She really hates the teamsters right now. She feels likes she's on one of those game shows, and she's the girl whose about to get rejected in public.

"Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!"

She's not drunk. And he's not drunk. Well, he might have had a whiskey but its only 3pm so she's pretty sure that he's not drunk, and therefore there is no way that he'll kiss her. And anyway, not in front of a room of people.

She reaches up, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear as she shakes her head.

But then her vision of the crowd is blocked. In place of Tracy, Jenna, Kenneth, Pete, and the rest of the Teamsters, is a jacket and tie. She raises her eyes to look up into his face, and she gulps.

Because even though they've kissed before they've never mentioned the drunken encounter. The next day they had just acted like nothing had happened, but now looking into each other's eyes the memories flood back.

She blushes.

Jack smirks.

And then he's leaning down and his lips are brushing hers. It only lasts a second, before he's pulling away.

"Happy Christmas Lemon", is whispered, his breath brushing across her skin, and then he's gone.

And she's stood looking at his retreating back whilst the crowd jeers.

c.

When Jack invites her to be his date for a New Years Eve party she's pretty sure that she should say no.

She says yes.

She reasons that the awesome food that's usually on offer will be worth the boredom of not knowing anyone except Jack, and also be worth enduring the weird tension that's been between her and Jack for the last few weeks since their christmas kiss.

The food is definitely worth it.

By eleven o'clock she's on the balcony, alone with a tray of food. She's had enough of trying to make small talk with strangers, especially since Jack abandoned her ten minutes after they arrived. Sitting outside, she looks across the city, glad that she doesn't get vertigo, because they are really high up.

She's also glad that as midnight approaches she's alone outside, because she doesn't want to be stuck inside with 200 couples making out. Or worse still, get cornered by some pervy old man feeling sorry for her. Then he'd give her a kiss and feel her up, and that has occurred far too many times in her life to risk a repeat.

Every time she takes her sip of her champagne she screws her face up, because seriously, the stuff tastes crap. Who really likes it?

Fireworks explode in the sky, and she wonders why she even agreed to come.

"What are you smiling about Lemon?"

She looks up at Jack, "Just thinking about your salute to fireworks."

"Do I have to remind you that it was your fault because you missed the meeting?"

"Fine, let's forget I said anything."

"I usually just ignore you." He smiled, leaning against the balcony railing.

"Thanks." She replied, rolling her eyes. "Shouldn't you be with whatever supermodel you've spent your evening with? It's nearly midnight."

"Actually I've spent the night talking with Geiss. Business before beauty Lemon."

Her eyes were still fixed on the skyline as she nodded. "You better get going then, you should be able to chat up a woman in..." she looked at her watch, "...3 minutes, and convince her to allow you to kiss her at midnight."

"OK." He pushed off the railing and walked over to her. He plucked the champagne flute from her hand and the food tray and placed them on the bench next to her.

"Hey!"

He ignored her, grabbing her hands, and pulling her to her feet.

"Oh, no! I am not going in there, you go. You get the woman, and I'll get the fireworks. Win win."

"I think I'll stay here and get the fireworks... with you." He said.

And then he was reaching for her once more and pulling her towards him. His hand cupped her cheek, and his lips brushed against hers.

She wasn't drunk. He wasn't drunk.

And there wasn't a crowd.

So this time, she didn't pull away and neither did he. Instead she let him wrap an arm around her, and she opened her mouth inviting him to deepen the kiss.

When they broke apart, she was glad for the darkness as she was sure her cheeks were bright red.

"I think this is going to be our year Lemon." He grinned, not giving her time to respond as he leant back in.