Title: Ordinary World Series #1 - Coffee, coffee everywhere, but not a drop to drink

Author: Suzy K

Rating: PG

Category: Fluff/Humor

Characters: Josh/Donna

Follows: “On the Day Before” - Season 3 (before Cliff and Amy)

Summary:  Josh makes coffee - I think the title pretty much tells you what ensues.

Disclaimers: The West Wing and its characters don’t belong to me, never will.  Aaron Sorkin, Warner Bros, NBC and Co. thought of them first. I just like to play with them and see what happens. I do this out of a love for the show and no infringement is intended.

Author’s Note: Okay, so this is ALL my beta Joell’s fault.  I was bitching about having to make coffee for a meeting at work and so she challenged me to have fun with it and write a little vignette about Josh making coffee. What started out as a drabble/vignette became, well, this one shot fluff piece.  This story is radically different than my other pieces, no angst, no novel length story, no smut, no murderous ex-boyfriends, no natural disasters, no serial killers and no epilogues. It’s written in first person and is all fluff which I’ve never done before. What can I say, I’m trying to grow as a writer. I hope you all like it.

**********

Josh’s POV:

Now...right off the bat, I’d like to say this wasn’t my fault. The ruined shoes, the stained suit, the smell of coffee hanging around me like a cloud of cheap cologne, the kissing, none of it was my doing. Okay, so the kissing may have been a little bit my fault, but really, it was all a bizarre set of circumstances that stemmed from the fact that Donna won’t get me coffee.

It all started innocently enough right after staff this morning...

******

I walk into the bullpen and as usual, the first thing I do is check and see where Donna is.

Some people would read something into this, but really it’s just a matter of habit.

What? It is.

She’s my assistant and in case something arises that I need her help with, I need to know where she is. That’s the one and only reason I look.

Yeah, even I don’t buy that story and it’s mine.

The truth is she is also my barometer.  If she’s sitting at her desk and looks pretty calm and like there’s nothing to be concerned about, I assume that the world is properly rotating on its axis.  If she’s having a nutty about something, I know I’m about to be REALLY amused or the roof’s about to fall in on my head.

No, I don’t mean literally...okay, so from past experience there’s always that possibility too, but you know what I mean.

This morning, I’m mildly relieved to see that she is indeed at her desk and is deep in concentration on whatever she’s typing. I take this as a good omen. I just hope it’s the report I asked her to type for my meeting on the Hill this afternoon.

Walking into my office, I blink at all the work on my desk. The piles must have spawned while I was in staff. Letting out a sigh, I rub my tired, gritty eyes for what feels like the tenth time that morning. The fact that I didn’t sleep much last night is catching up with me. And for a change the not sleeping isn’t even my fault.

The President decided that it’s been too long since we had one of our ‘chats.’ The kind of chats where he sits in one chair and I sit in the other and he spends hours talking about the subject of his choice.  Things like national parks, the finer points of Latin, the economics of developing Third World countries, and trivia that rivals anything Donna ever threw at me on subjects like fruits, vegetables, punctuation, grammar, chess, imports and exports of South American nations, and the breeding cycles of the California fruit fly.

I’m still wondering if I committed some infraction that I’m unaware of to merit the chat, or if he was just bored, but either way, he was clearly in the mood to torture me.

I also can’t figure out why he always tortures ME?  Why can’t he torture Sam or Toby or CJ?  Okay, so Sam would probably like it, Toby would just smoke a cigar and be reciting the Gettysburg address in his head, and CJ...well, I suspect he doesn’t torture CJ because she’s in charge of making him look good so he has to keep her happy and well rested.

Okay, I think my lack of sleep is making me a little loopy. I’m going to have to shake that off before my meeting with Congressman Bilbray, the Republican wonder putz, this afternoon. I’m going on the warpath, because once again, these guys think they can push us around and the President wants me to knock some heads together. 

As if I don’t already want to knock their heads together for just breathing.

Okay, okay, I’m drifting again. I know just the thing to get me back on track.

A cup of coffee. 

Actually a third cup of coffee. I downed the first one before I left the apartment and the second during staff. One more should put me over the top and get me ready for my meeting.

I suppose it’s too much to ask for Donna to take pity on me and bring me a cup.  I’m not sure where she got the idea that bringing me a cup of coffee was somehow going to demean her as a woman and insult her whole gender, but she’s definitely got it in her head that she shouldn’t bring me any.

But right now I’m tired enough to press my luck and ask her to do it just this once.

“DONNA?!”

Okay, so given the fact that I’m standing just inside my office and she’s sitting at her desk, that might have been a little too loud. 

“WHAT?!”

I have to admire Donna. She gives as good as she gets.  Not only is her response louder than my initial call, she doesn’t even look up from her computer and her fingers don’t even slow as she continues to type.

“I NEED COFFEE!”

Moving to my doorway, I watch her reaction. This is purely for the entertainment value, of course.  I mean, it’s not like I stand here and watch her on a regular basis.

What? I don’t!

Okay, so maybe I do. But it’s not like I can help it. I’m only human. Anyone who sees my gorgeous, blonde, funny, smarter-than-me-most-of-the-time assistant would agree. 

“WHY ARE YOU TELLING ME?” she yells back, still not looking up from her computer.

If I had any sense, I’d just leave her alone since she is, after all, working on a report for me, but, well...I AM tired and not thinking all that clearly.

“SO YOU CAN...”

Suddenly, my brain wakes up and I realize that I’ve reached a danger point. Even if my brain didn’t have a clue, the look on her face as she glances up from the computer is a dead giveaway that I’m about to cross a line.  “Dead” being the operative word here.

“So I can...what?” she says quietly with narrowed eyes and just a hint of a threat in her voice.

See the thing you need to realize about Donna, is that it’s not when she starts yelling that you need to worry.  It’s when she gets very quiet. That’s the time to think about running.

“So you can continue to work on the report that I need for my meeting on the Hill, while I walk myself to the coffee pot and get my own?”

I say this in a voice that I’ve taken down a notch and I hope sounds vaguely meek and apologetic while saving me from actually apologizing.

“Good answer!” she calls back apparently accepting my ‘non-apology’ apology as she goes back to her typing.

Well, it’s evident to me that if I want coffee I’m going to have to get it myself, so I start walking through the bullpen toward the coffee maker.

You’d think that just this once she could get me a cup without putting me through the wringer...

“WHAT was that?!” she suddenly yells at me.

Ooops, apparently, I mumbled that last part as I shuffled past her desk.

I glanced back at her and I was secretly relieved to see she was still typing away, so I decided to play dumb...er, innocent.

“Nothing! Keep typing!” I yell back as I start walking again and try not to do any more mumbling during the rest of the trip to the coffee maker.

Reaching my destination, I see the coffee maker and feel sweet relief finally within my reach.  Snatching up a paper cup, I grab the coffee pot and pour.

Crap, except for one dried pool in the bottom, it’s empty.  I don’t know why I expected anything else.

Damn, I really need some coffee.

“DONNA?!”

Her fingers continue to fly across the keyboard. “WHAT?!”

“The coffee pot’s empty!”

“Then make some more!”

What? Does she think I look like the coffee guy? I’ve got important work to do. The work of the nation.  I advise the President and verbally pummel Republicans and reluctant Democrats. The only time I make coffee is at home...for me. Plus, the truth is, I don’t know how this contraption works.

“I can’t! I don’t know how this thing works!”

“You were a Fulbright scholar and you graduated from Harvard, Josh...you can figure it out!”

Clearly, I’m not going to get any help from Donna.

My first thought is to shove the coffee making duties off on some hapless, unpaid, lackey intern or a lower level wage slave. Of course when I look around for one, they are all busy or conspicuously absent.

Okay so as I see it, I now have four options open to me.

Option one, I could figure out some way to talk Donna into making more coffee.

Well, that option has the best chance of getting me sent to the hospital, so I discard it.

Option two, I could go down to the mess and have some of their coffee.

The problem with option two is that the mess has the worse coffee ever. I’d rather run hot water in my shoe and drink it before I drink the coffee from the mess.

Option three, I can haul myself to the nearest Starbucks or neighborhood coffee house and buy a cup of coffee.

All right, I refuse to entertain option three. The price that Starbucks charges for coffee is obscene. And that’s just for regular coffee. Not even a latte or espresso or a Frappo-whatever.  Just coffee.  It’s ridiculous. The way I see it, why go there when I should be able to have a free cup of coffee right here?

And then there’s option four.  I could make the coffee myself.

Donna’s right, I’m a smart guy. There’s no way I’m going to let this stupid coffee machine get the best of me.

Option four, it is.

Now that I’ve made a decision, I get right down to work. Pulling the plastic filter basket out, I dump the used filter and the old coffee grounds into the trash.

Of course, some of the grounds miss the trash can and are now spread all over the floor. But hey, the way I look at it, that’s why we have cleaning people, right? 

Now all I need are the new filters and some fresh ground coffee.  I search around, but I don’t see any more. I hope we’re not out of them.

Not one to admit defeat, I try one last thing.

“DONNA?!”

“WHAT?”

“Where are the coffee filters?”

“One shelf down on the left!”

It’s freaky to me how she always knows this kind of thing. Sure enough, I look down one shelf and find the filters right where she said they were.

After dropping a clean filter in the basket, I find the coffee with no trouble...well, no trouble that is until I realize that I don’t know how much coffee to use.

I’ve made coffee at home of course, but at home I only use a certain brand of coffee. I’ve used it forever and I know just how much to use for my coffee maker.  But the kind we’ve got here-not so much. And when you’re making coffee for more than yourself you have to be sure you make it right.  Otherwise, you get a reputation as the guy who screwed up the coffee.

And I don’t want to be that guy.

So I make the extraordinary effort of actually reading the coffee can to see how much to use.  Of course, whoever wrote up the directions must have spoken ancient Sanskrit in a former life, because it makes no sense whatsoever.

“DONNA!  How much coffee should I use?!”

“Two scoops! And don’t yell again unless something bad happens.  If you do, you know what will happen to you?”

It isn’t hard to imagine that right about now she’s picturing 100 ways to kill or maim me using nothing but a piece of paper.

“Something Bad?”

Okay, my voice may have gotten a little high and squeaky when I said that. 

“You got it!”

From the tone in her voice I know she means it, so I wisely remain silent as I add two scoops to the filter and slide the basket into place.

I start to put the pot back on the burner when I realize that it still has the small pool of dried coffee in the bottom. In fact, when I look a little closer, the whole pot looks a little scummy. My first thought is I don’t care because there is no way I’m going to wash the pot out.  I’m already doing my duty by making the coffee, I’m not going to do clean up too.

But then, in what I’m sure is a sign of divine providence, I see another coffee pot. 

An empty, sparkling CLEAN coffee pot.

The only thing marring my exciting discovery is the yellow Post-it note taped to the top lip of the pot.  It reads simply:

DO NOT USE

Hmmm...that’s all it says.  No other description...no other instructions...no other comments.

It is, however, clearly...and I use the term loosely...written in Donna’s self-described ‘distinctive’ handwriting. Given Donna’s atrocious penmanship, I count myself lucky that I can read the note at all.

I admit, with Donna’s excessive uncooperativeness this morning, I’m not feeling all that inclined to listen to her or follow any of her directions. I also don’t want to come right out and ask her about the note, since she all but threatened me when I asked her about how much coffee to use.

I do wonder why she put a note like this on a coffee pot, I’m guessing that she probably wants to save the clean pot to make her own pot of coffee or she needs an extra pot for a meeting later on.

Since I don’t care about either of those things and I want a clean pot to make the coffee in, I pull the Post-it off, crumple it up and throw it in the trash...or at least I aim for the trash.  Actually, it misses the can and comes to rest on the floor in the middle of the wayward used coffee grounds that missed the trash earlier.

Setting the dirty pot aside, I slide the clean one on the burner.

Luckily, I already know that this coffee maker has its own water supply so I won’t have to run around and get pots of water to pour into it.  In my mind, this is a very cool feature.

The last piece of the puzzle is the button that will start the whole thing going.  Luckily, I find it pretty quickly and press it. Oddly enough, it’s a button marked “brew”.

A few seconds later, I see water, now mixed with rich dark coffee, start pouring out of the filter basket and down into the pot.

By now, I’m feeling pretty good. I can all but taste the energy-giving elixir I have created with my own two hands and I am king of all I survey. It’s tough, but I manage to resist the urge to do a victory dance through the bullpen. Somehow I doubt Donna would appreciate it.

It’s also hard to wait until the whole pot finishes brewing. The siren’s call of that fresh brewed coffee has turned its attention to me and I am sorely tempted to pull the partially filled pot off the burner and pour myself a new, fresh cup, but again, I resist.

Actually it’s not that hard for me to wait since it doesn’t take long for the pot to brew. Feeling triumphant, I grab a cup and pull the full pot off the burner.

And I promptly find myself covered in glass and hot coffee from about mid-chest down when the glass part of the pot shatters.

“ACK!” Did that sound just come out of me?

Well, this was predictable, wasn’t it?

In hindsight, I should have expected something like this to happen. Things had been going too well.

So I’m standing here feeling hot and cold, not to mention embarrassed and furious all at the same time. To make things worse, all those busy beavers who couldn’t help with the coffee before have stopped what they are doing and are staring at me with frozen expressions of shock, horror and amusement.  None of them make a move to help me, either.

None of them that is, but Donna, who I see flying through the bullpen toward me like some avenging angel.

“I think something bad happened.”  I can’t help but tell her.

“What did you do?”

“What did I do?!” I ask her in annoyance. “I was just making coffee like you told me to!”

I feel pretty stupid holding what remains of the handle and the upper part of the pot so I throw it in the trash.  Is it weird that I’m ridiculously relieved that I managed to get it IN the can this time?

“Where’s the other coffee pot that was sitting next to the machine?” she asks me next.

Now there’s a stupid question. I have to say, I’m also a little annoyed because she’s not even trying to help me clean up. In fact, she seems to be standing at arm’s length from me as if she doesn’t want to get any of my coffee cooties on her.

“I just threw what was left of it in the trash.” I say, feeling like I’m stating the obvious.

“Josh, why did you use that one?” 

“Because it was clean and the other one was dirty!”

Now’s she’s frowning deeply...that’s never a good sign.

“Didn’t you see my note?”

All right, I have a decision to make here. I can confess and tell her I saw the note or I can play dumb.

“What note?”

“The yellow note I taped to it.  I put it there this morning...”

The instant Donna sees the crumpled up Post-it on the floor by the trash, I know that playing dumb might not have been the best idea. Her whole expression goes from being slightly guilty to definitely murderous. Bending down, she picks up the note and unfolds it.  I try not to notice how coffee is dripping off of it as she holds it up.

“Does this look familiar?” she asks with an expression that dares me to deny it.

I know it will only be worse if I continue to lie.

“Oh, that Post-it.”

“Did you even read it?”

I feel myself swallow really hard. “I may have.”

“Then why did you use the pot?” she says stamping her foot.

Why does Donna have to be so cute when she’s getting ready to kill me?

I cover the fact that I think she’s cute when she’s mad-with what I hope sounds like anger.  “Because it was clean!”

“Of course it was clean! I washed it so I could give it to the coffee service guy when he comes by this afternoon because it was cracked up along the neck!”

Okay, so now I just feel stupid and anyone that knows me, knows I don’t handle feeling stupid very well.

“Donna, do we have to stand here arguing about this?” I snap at her. “I’m covered in coffee here!”

She still looks like she’s ready to kill me, but when she opens her mouth to say something, it’s not what I expect.

“Hey, you!” she says to a young woman standing frozen nearby. I’m pretty sure she’s one of the unpaid interns, but I have no earthy idea what her name is. “Clean up this mess. If you have any problems, call maintenance. The rest of you GET BACK TO WORK!”

Wow, Donna goes from cute to hot when she’s ordering people around. I mean, I already know how hot she is when she’s ordering me around on a regular basis...but I never quite appreciated that she is even hotter when she is ordering other people around.

The next thing I know she’s grabbing my arm and is dragging me toward my office. “Come with me,” she orders in a voice that dares me to contradict her.

As I’m being dragged forward, I look back and sure enough, not only is the intern quickly moving to clean up the mess I made, but everyone else in the bullpen is falling all over themselves to get back to work.

You have to love a woman who can make people jump when she yells.

Not that I love Donna, mind you.

Okay, okay, so maybe I do.

Trouble is I keep running into the pesky boss-assistant thing. Plus, I’m pretty sure she just thinks of me as a friend and even if I’m wrong on that, Leo, CJ and Toby would probably kill me if anything happened between us.

That thought is cut off when Donna pulls me in my office and without preamble, closes all the doors and locks them.

“Take off your clothes,” she orders.

Okay, so I’ve temporarily lost the ability to speak. Having Donna tell me to take off my clothes is just a little too close to something out of my fantasies. I’m pretty sure that the only reason my pants aren’t suddenly a bit too tight is that they’re cold and soaking wet from the coffee.

But I can’t let her know how much she’s affecting me, so like the true political animal I am, I manage to recover in the nick of time.

“Well, Donna, if this is some weird romantic invitation on your part, I’m flattered but...”

“I want to check for burns,” she replies, apparently unimpressed by my attempt at humor.

Although it’s wrong of me, I’m disappointed that her response is all business.

“Oh, is that what they’re calling it now?” I say with a smirk.

“Off!” she demands.

“Donna!”

Okay, the impact of my outrage might be spoiled by the fact that my voice is all squeaky again.

“You can take them off yourself or I’ll do it for you.”

“You wouldn’t dare!” I sputter.

“Wanna bet? I need to make sure that you didn’t get burned by all that hot coffee or cut by the glass.”

I see how serious she is when she starts to undo my tie. “Donna!” I protest, batting her hands away.

Rather than arguing with me, Donna apparently gets an idea because she suddenly gets this rather smug look on her face and she crosses her arms over her chest. I have the distinct feeling that I’m not going to like what’s coming.

“Fine,” she tells me. “If you won’t do it and you won’t let me do it, then I’ll just call Mrs. Bartlet. I’m sure she’ll find someway to get your clothes off.”

Sometimes I forget that Donna can play dirty with the best of them.  Undoubtedly, she learned this from me.

I know for damn sure I’m not letting the First Lady see me without my clothes on.  I mean, I like Mrs. Bartlet and I respect her medical knowledge, but, well...talk about me needing therapy afterward.

“Fine!” I snap.  “But could you at least turn around while I do?”

“I’ll do better than that,” she tells me with a triumphant grin. “I’ll go get you a towel to dry off and your clean set of clothes so you can change after we get done.”

With that, she turns around and walks into the small alcove off my office where I keep my extra clothes. Or should I say where DONNA keeps my extra clothes.

“Here’s a towel,” she says tossing me one. I lay it on my desk for later.

After the bachelor party incident where I was reduced to wearing my dirty t-shirt and Sam’s foul weather gear to meet Joey Lucas, Donna always makes sure that I have a towel and a complete set of clean clothes in the office.

I love the fact that she takes such good care of me. Someday, I’m going to have to tell her that.

“You’ll have to wear the same shoes,” she calls back to me as she collects everything from wherever she had them hidden.  “I’ve got dry socks for you, but shoes aren’t something I picked up a spare pair of.”

“Fine, whatever.” I reply as I drop my coffee soaked dress shirt into the growing pile on the floor and strip off my half-soaked t-shirt.

About the time I start to remove my pants, she emerges from the alcove, but she doesn’t seem to be paying any attention to me as she walks over to hang my spare suit on the back of the door and lays my other things on my desk.

Once I’m down to my boxers, I pick up the towel and give myself a once over.  It’s not as good as a shower and I still smell like coffee, but at least I’m now dry.

“Okay, let me see,” she says once I’m done.

Now, I’m perfectly aware of the fact that I’m a forty-something guy who’s been shot in the chest, gets too little exercise and is stuck in an office way too much, but does she have to examine me like I’m as exciting as a cardboard cut out? Especially given the fact that I’m standing here feeling embarrassed and self-conscious. Can’t she at least blush or something?

I know if it was me looking at her wearing nothing but her underwear, I would do a whole lot more than blush.

When she touches a couple areas on my thigh, I have to grit my teeth and run through the current roster of the Mets to keep from really embarrassing myself.

“Well, you have a few red patches, but I don’t see any blisters,” she says almost clinically. “When you change your boxers be sure to check that area. Now sit down so I can take your socks off and check your feet.”

“You don’t need to check my feet,” I tell, her hoping that she will get the hint and leave so I can get this embarrassing and somewhat emasculating episode over with.

“Nonsense, I want to be thorough. Sit down,” she says cheerfully.

Knowing I have little choice, I drop down in my desk chair. She kneels down next to me and pulls off my socks. It occurs to me that her head is way too close to my groin. On top of that image, my feet are a little cold from the coffee that soaked its way into my shoes, but her hands are warm and I suddenly find myself in an unexpectedly erotic moment.

It’s not that I have a foot fetish or anything, it’s just that Donna touching me just about anywhere is the stuff of fantasies for me. I can already feel my body reacting and I know I have to stop this before it becomes obvious.

“That’s enough, Donna,” I say, pulling my foot away from her.

“What’s with you?” she says with a frown.

“Nothing.”

“Then give me your foot.”

“No. I’m fine,” I tell her.

“I’ll be the judge of that. Now give it here,” she orders me.

“No.”

“Why are you acting like this?” she asks, clearly confused.

“Because...” I really can’t think of what else to say, so I end up blurting out the truth. “...because I’m sitting here in my boxer shorts and I feel self conscious, okay!”

“Josh,” she chides.  “I’ve seen you in your boxers before.”

I know she’s right.  She saw me in my boxers any number of times the summer she stayed with me after Rosslyn. But I was injured and it was more of a nurse-patient thing and her seeing me in my boxers then was the least of my problems. This is a very different story.

“I know. I just want this to be over,” I say jumping up out of my chair. “I don’t get this thorough an examination when I go to the doctor.”

She is still kneeling by my chair when she answers. “I’m just trying to help, Josh.” There’s an odd tone in her voice I don’t recognize.

“Okay, well, you’ve done your duty.”

Apparently, that’s the wrong thing to say, because Donna looks like I’d just slapped her.

“My duty?” she says quietly.

It isn’t like the quiet, scary voice she’d used in the bull pen earlier. This time I’m surprised to hear a note of hurt in her voice.

Slowly, she stands up. “You think I’m doing this out of some DUTY to you?”

Oh, no. Now she sounds angry and I don’t know how to deal with it. “Well, yes! What else would it be?”

She throws up her hands. “Oh, I don’t know.  Could it possibly be because I care a lot about you and want to make sure you’re okay?!”

This time I’m not just surprised, I’m stunned. Suddenly, the elephant in the corner of our relationship has trotted out and is making itself known.  My response is, of course, smooth and polished.

“I...no, I didn’t...I mean, I’m sorry, I hadn’t thought...”

With intelligent answers like mine, it’s a wonder that the President lets me in the building, much less listens to me.

Donna is quiet for a moment and then it looks like she’s come to some kind of decision. “God, Josh, you’re really not that blind, are you?”

A weird buzzing fills my ears as I begin to let myself hope she might be saying what I think she’s saying.

“No...I guess...what do you mean...”

Leave it to Donna to take the bull by the horns, because the next thing I know, her lips are on mine and she is kissing me like her life depends on it.

Wow, kissing her blows anything I have ever imagined out of the water.

WAY too soon, her mouth is gone and I feel like something has been ripped out of me. I’m having a little trouble breathing right now.  As I open my eyes, I see her watching me with just a hint of fear in her eyes.  Could she be scared that she just crossed some line and I’m going to do something stupid?

Instead of doing something stupid, I do something that is quite possibly the smartest and best thing I’ve ever done in my life.

I pull her into my arms and kiss her back.

It’s as if everything in our relationship has been leading up to this moment and suddenly it all falls into place.

I’m not one to normally think of things in girly romance novel terms, but kissing Donna makes me weak in the knees and desire, unlike anything I’ve ever known goes through my body.

Deciding we’d better sit down before we simply sink to the floor, I pull Donna with me as I stumble back to my desk chair. I drop into it, dragging her down with me, and settling her in my lap.

I have no concept of how long we sit there kissing.  Everything but the feeling of Donna’s lips on mine and her body pressing against me, is inconsequential.

Eventually Donna’s the one who pulls back first. We’re both breathing hard and I can see it takes her a moment to compose herself.

“Josh...we can’t do this here.”

I’m still trying to catch my breath. “I think we already did.”

“Josh,” she chides. “You’re practically naked.  If someone comes in here, there’ll be hell to pay.”

“I don’t care,” I reply stealing another kiss. “Besides you locked the doors.”

Donna pulls back with a grin. “You have a point, but you know as well as I do that even a locked door isn’t fool proof in this place. And if we do get caught, you will care when you’re in Leo’s office and he’s screaming at you.”

“I guess you’re right,” I reluctantly agree with a sigh. Then I look at her hopefully. “But we can do this...other places, right?”

With a chuckle, she leans her forehead against mine. “I’d like that.”

I run my hand over her arm. “Why the hell did we wait so long to do this?”

Donna pulls back and takes my face in her hands. “Because I was scared and you were stubborn and we were both stupid.”

Then she’s kissing me again and I forget about everything else.

**********

Well, that’s the story. Once we finished kissing for the second time, Donna went out to finish the report so I could get dressed and we wouldn’t be tempted to do more than kiss. For now anyway...

I’ve had a little time to think about what’s happening between us and I know beyond a shadow of a doubt, that Leo, CJ, Toby, the Secret Service and the FBI can all kill me, but I’m going to do everything I can to keep kissing Donna at regular intervals. And when I say kissing, I mean kissing with the hopes it will lead to more, of course.

So you see, while none of this coffee episode was my fault...that’s not to say I’m not damn glad it happened.

Especially the kissing...kissing Donna is now going to be my favorite past time, even more fun than yelling at Republicans. I may even give up coffee if she’ll just keep kissing me like she did this morning. I don’t know where we’ll go from here, but I can’t wait to find out.

I know one thing for damn sure.

If Donna’s willing, and I’m sure she is, we’re going to be together tonight and, short of nuclear holocaust, we’ll be spending every second of it doing anything and everything but working.

**********

Donna’s POV:

You know, it’s funny the way life turns out. So often nothing happens the way you expect it to. And as usual, I have Josh to thank for it...or blame for it, depending on your point of view.  The spot on my pants, the smudge of coffee I just found on my forehead, the kissing, the mess in the bullpen. Okay, so the kissing might have been my fault, but it was the only way I could think of to stop him from babbling like a lunatic. All I know is that the rest of it all stems from the fact that while he is one of the brightest men I know, Josh still can’t manage to get himself a cup of coffee without leaving behind a scene that looks like something that requires a call to FEMA.

It all started this morning. I was minding my own business, typing the report Josh had given me...

**********

In spite of the fact that Josh apparently has no ability to plan ahead and he threw this stupid report at me as he was going off to staff, I’m glad to see that I’ve made substantial progress.  Now all I need is for staff to run long so he’ll stay out of my hair so I can keep it up.

I hear his footsteps before I see him and I know that my wish about staff is a pipe dream.

Part of me is always listening for his footsteps.  I call it my “Josh-dar.”  Although some people might say there’s something wrong about me being so tuned into him, I really just look at it like I’m acting in self-defense.

No really.

You can tell a lot by his footsteps.  Are they quick like he’s rushing or agitated? Are they regular and even like everything is fine? Are they slower and shuffling like when he’s tired or deep in thought about something?

Sometimes the Josh-dar can be a little deceiving, but for the most part it’s a really good judge of Josh’s mood and lets me know if I should worry or not.

This morning his steps are regular...with maybe just the hint of a shuffle. In Josh-dar language that means that things are going well, but he’s a little tired.  I assume that the tiredness stems from the fact that the President had Josh cornered in the Oval long after I left last night. After those marathon chats, Josh tends to look like he’s been run over once or twice by the Presidential motorcade.

I force myself not to frown.  I know the President enjoys tormenting Josh a little – and hey, who doesn’t? Even I like to do it once in a while - but I wish the President wouldn’t include sleep deprivation in the tormenting. Josh sleeps little enough as it is and it makes me worry. Maybe I can think of a way to get Josh to go home early tonight. I don’t think the situation is at a point where I need to talk to Leo, but I think I probably need to do something before Josh falls on his face from exhaustion.

As I continue to type, I mentally hold my breath as I wait to see if he stops at my desk or keeps walking.  If he wants this report done in time for his meeting this afternoon, it had better be the latter.

I’m both relieved and disappointed when he keeps on walking and goes into his office without saying a word to me. Relieved because now I can concentrate on the report and disappointed because, well, let’s face it, I like talking to Josh. 

On occasion, I’ve had discussions with him that were head and shoulders above dates I’ve had.

Not that I’m comparing Josh to my boyfriends or anything.

What?  I’m not.

“DONNA?!”

His sudden yell startles me, but there’s no way I’m going to let him know that. He knows how much I hate it when he yells for me like that. It makes me feel like I’m his slave girl or something. I can’t understand why he won’t speak to me like a normal human being or at least use the intercom when he wants something. Well, there’s no way I can let him get away with it.

“WHAT?!” I yell back, making sure to make my yell louder than his. 

“I NEED COFFEE!”

Somebody tell me he’s not trying to ask me to bring him coffee. I know he’s tired, but even under the best of circumstances I don’t get him coffee.  And with me being in the middle of typing this stupid report, now is NOT the time to be asking me to do  something so minor.

Okay, now I hear him take a couple of steps and I can feel his eyes on me. I have a sneaking suspicion that he’s hoping to get a rise out of me over the coffee thing, so I keep typing and make an effort to not let him think he’s having any kind of an affect on me.

“WHY ARE YOU TELLING ME?”

Ha!  Let’s see what he has to say to that.

“SO YOU CAN....”

This time I don’t even let him finish.  If he completes that sentence, I really might have to hurt him. My fingers stop typing and my hands rest on the keyboard in case I need to grab it and use it to smack him in the head. Slowly, I turn to glare at him.

“So I can...what?” I say, hoping I’ve put just the right amount of quiet outrage in my voice.

From the look on his face, Josh clearly realizes his mistake and I can see I’m scaring him a little. Well, good.  If he was a little more scared of me on a regular basis, things would go a lot smoother.

“So you can continue to work on the report that I need for my meeting on the Hill, while I walk myself to the coffee pot and get my own?”

Wow, he even manages to put a note of apology in his voice. As apologizing isn’t really Josh’s strong suit, I know he would never actually come right out and say he was sorry, but I decide to let him off the hook anyway.

“Good answer!” I yell as I go back to typing.

My Josh-dar is telling me that he’s more tired than I thought because as he moves from his office toward the coffee machine, his steps have taken on a distinct shuffle. I can’t help but frown a little as I type. Maybe I’ve been too hard on him.  He’s obviously very tired, I suppose I could have...

“You’d think that just this once she could get me a cup without putting me through the wringer...” I hear him mumble as he shuffles past my desk.

So much for me being sympathetic.

“WHAT was that?!” I yell without looking up from the report.

“Nothing! Keep typing!” he screeches back.  His voice sounds so funny, I have to force myself not to laugh. That will teach him to mumble at me.

Hoping that Josh will occupy himself with his quest for coffee for a while, I start typing again.

“DONNA?!”

Okay, so hitting him in the head with my keyboard is sounding like a better and better idea.  Although I’ve started to type the same paragraph three times, I refuse to give him the satisfaction of seeing how much he’s distracting me.

“WHAT?!”

“The coffee pot’s empty!”

I’m sure that I’m stating the obvious when I answer him. “Then make some more!”

“I can’t! I don’t know how this thing works!”

I should have known it wasn’t going to be that easy.

Sometimes I just don’t understand Josh. He’s a brilliant man. He can think up amazing strategies, talk people into and out of things, juggle a hundred things in his head at once, advise the President, and perform any number of other impressive feats.  And yet there are times when he is, quite simply, helpless.

“You were a Fulbright scholar and you graduated from Harvard, Josh...you can figure it out!” I yell.

Hee, hee...that’s a good answer if I do say so myself. Of course, I’m also under no illusions about this being the end of it.

“DONNA?!”

See what I mean?

“WHAT?”

“Where are the coffee filters?”

Okay, I can see why he might not be able to find those. Someone kept putting them by the pot and they were getting soaked with coffee so I put them down out of the way.

“One shelf down on the left!”

I mentally start counting. I figure I shouldn’t be able to get much higher than ten before he hits me with the next question.

As it turns out, I get to nine.

“DONNA!  How much coffee should I use?!”

What, is he kidding?  Can’t he just read the can like any normal, average person?!

All right, enough is enough. If I have any hope of finishing this report, I’ve got to get him to deal with the coffee problem on his own.

“Two scoops! And don’t yell again unless something bad happens.  If you do, you know what will happen to you?”

Maybe throwing the fear of God back into him would do the trick.

“Something Bad?” he guesses in that high squeaky voice again.

I have to hand it to Josh, even tired, he can tell when he’s pissing me off.

“You got it!” I call back.

I mentally start counting again and figure this time I might make it to fifteen.

When I reach twenty, I’m surprised to find that I still haven’t heard from Josh, so I steal a glance toward the coffee machine.

He’s standing in front of it and he’s seems busy with whatever he’s doing, so I take the opportunity to renew my efforts and finish this report.

With Josh being quiet, I’m making excellent progress and I begin to think that I might actually have a chance of finishing in time.

The only problem is...now I’m getting this weird feeling. I’d almost call it a...premonition. 

Like a mental trickle of sweat beginning to run down my brain, I’m starting to wonder if things aren’t just a little too quiet.  I hope having Josh take care of things on his own doesn’t turn out to be a recipe for disaster.

This worry is ruining my concentration. You know, Josh is the only person I know that can bug me even when he’s not doing anything.

It’s quite a talent. 

Okay, so it’s clear I have to at least check on him if I’m ever going to get done with this report, but I can’t let him know I’m checking up on him or I know he’ll take it as some opening to start harassing me again.

So...continuing to type what I’m sure will be a nonsensical paragraph that I’ll have to fix in a minute, I sneak another glance his way.

I can’t believe it.

He is SMIRKING at the coffee machine.

I have to restrain myself from rolling my eyes.  Come to think of it, Josh is the only one I know that can pull off smirking at an inanimate object.

I swear, he looks like he’s about ready to break into his victory-is-mine-bring-me-the-finest-muffins-and-bagels-in-all-the-land speech. All I can say is he better restrain himself or I really might have to use my keyboard on the back of his skull.

When I see him reach for the finished pot, I know he’s fine and I’m grateful he’s going to spare us all the speech so I go back to typing...or more accurately, erasing the paragraph of gibberish that I just typed.

I nearly jump a foot in my chair when I hear a loud pop and the sound of exploding glass and Josh makes an odd noise that I think sounds something like “ACK!”

For a second, I have no idea what’s actually happened.  Then I notice that everyone else in the bullpen looks like they are almost as startled as I am. Not only are they frozen in place, but they’re all looking in one direction.

Right at Josh.

As for Josh, he’s also standing there frozen, with what is best described as a look of intense disbelief and growing discomfort on his face.

The coffee pot. A sinking feeling takes up residence in the pit of my stomach. He didn’t do what I think he did...did he?

I’m out of my chair and moving toward Josh before I even realize it. In my haste, I nearly skid to a stop as I clear the corner of the glass cubical and reach the spot where he’s standing.

The sight that greets me is one that will live in my memory for a long time.  I’m sure if I wasn’t so concerned, I’d be laughing hysterically.

There is coffee everywhere.

The bottom half of his shirt and jacket are dripping with it, his pants are soaked in it, and his shoes, which are also sprinkled with bits of broken glass, are turning mottled shades of brown as it begins to soak into the leather.

Coffee has sprayed all over the coffee maker and the books and papers to the left of it and on the bookshelf under it. The glass wall of the cubical behind the coffee maker is splattered with it and it’s running down the glass in small rivulets.

And last but not least there’s the rather large and slowly spreading puddle of coffee and broken glass bits he’s standing in as he grips what’s left of the broken coffee pot in his hand.

Huh...who knew one pot could hold so much coffee?

“I think something bad happened.”  Josh deadpans with his usual brilliance.

“What did you do?” I demand.  How the hell could this happen?

“What did I do?!” he yells back at me, clearly annoyed and I suppose with good reason. “I was just making coffee like you told me to!”

I start looking around for the pot...the one I marked with a Post-it, but as I watch him throw the broken one in the trash I’m not seeing it.  The fact that it’s missing only deepens the sinking feeling in my stomach.

“Where’s the other coffee pot that was sitting next to the machine?”  I ask, even though I’m pretty sure I know exactly where it is.

“I just threw what was left of it in the trash.”

Yep, that’s what I thought. My heart starts to beat a little faster. Is this my fault?  I KNOW I taped a note to the cracked coffee pot...didn’t I?

Great, now I’m doubting myself. God, please tell me I taped a note to it.

“Josh, why did you use that one?”  I ask carefully trying not to give away my doubts.

“Because it was clean and the other one was dirty!”

Okay, that is a valid point, especially if there was no note on the pot.

“Didn’t you see my note?”

“What note?” he asks innocently, but there’s something in his voice.

And that something makes me suspicious and I feel the knot in my stomach ease just a bit.

“The yellow note I taped to it,” I explain. “I put it there this morning...”

And then I see it.  A sad, little crumpled yellow ball on the floor by the trashcan.  I suppose I shouldn’t just jump to the conclusion that Josh was the one who crumpled it up, but let’s face it, I know he’s the one who did it.

Trying to control my temper, I slowly bend over and reach for it. It’s soaked with coffee and as I pick up it up a little stream of coffee pours off of it. With it being so wet I have to use some care as I uncrumple it.

“Does this look familiar?” I say holding it up for him.

Even before he speaks, the look on his face tells me everything I need to know.

“Oh, that note,” he says not even trying to lie this time.

Now I wish that I’d brought my keyboard with me, because he definitely deserves to be smacked in the head.  And to think I was feeling guilty...

“Did you even read it?” I challenge him.

He swallows hard and I’m guessing he’s trying to choose his words carefully.

“I may have.”

How’s that for a no-answer answer?

The knot in my stomach is replaced by quickly budding anger. 

“Then why did you use the pot?” I ask stamping my foot and sending up a little spray of coffee, as if I’m puddle jumping in the rain.

“Because it was clean!” he tells me defensively.

Of all the lame-ass, stupid...

“Of course it was clean! I washed it so I could give it to the coffee service guy when he comes by this afternoon because it was cracked up along the neck!”

He looks like he doesn’t quite know what to say to that, but in true Josh fashion it doesn’t take him long to recover.

“Donna, do we have to stand here arguing about this?” he snaps at me. “I’m covered in coffee here!”

Thanks for stating the obvious, Josh.

All right, as much as I’d like to just stand here and scream at Josh it’s probably not the best idea.  With everyone staring at us, it wouldn’t look good. And no matter how stupid Josh has been, I’d never undermine his position with the staff. I’m also a little worried that he might have been burnt or cut by the exploding pot and I need to get him alone so I can check him out.

Err, I mean...check and make sure he’s not injured.

And yet, I’m feeling the need to take out my immediate anger on someone.

“Hey, you!” I yell at a young woman standing frozen nearby. I think she’s an intern named Karen but right now I could care less who she is. “Clean up this mess. If you have any problems, call maintenance. The rest of you GET BACK TO WORK!”

Without waiting for a reply from her or any kind of input from Josh, I grab his arm and start dragging him toward his office. “Come with me.”

If he dares to fight me, I swear I WILL crack him in the head with my keyboard, but he remains docile all the way to his office.  In fact, I think he’s back to being a little scared of me again.

Pulling him into his office, I leave him standing in the middle of the room while I go close and lock all the doors.

“Take off your clothes,” I order him, trying to sound authoritative.

“Well, Donna, if this is some weird romantic invitation on your part, I’m flattered but...”

Apparently he’s decided to stop being docile and is going for misdirection to try and deter my efforts to take care of him.

Yeah, like that’s going to work...

“I want to check for burns.” I tell him.

“Oh, is that what they’re calling it now?”

I can’t BELIEVE he’s smirking! Sometimes he really can be infuriating. “Off!” I snap.

Now he looks a little worried that I’m serious. “Donna!”

“You can take them off yourself or I’ll do it for you.”

“You wouldn’t dare!” he sputters.

He’s throwing down a challenge and I have no problem picking it up.

“Wanna bet?” I throw back. “I need to make sure that you didn’t get burned by all that hot coffee or cut by the glass.” When he stands there not moving, but not arguing any more either, I decide to show him I mean business by undoing his tie.

“Donna!” he protests in that squeaky voice as he bats my hands away.

I see now that he’s going to be uncooperative. Hmmm...how can I convince him? Or bully him as the case may be? Then inspiration hits.

With what I’m sure is a self satisfied smirk on my face, I cross my arms confidently.

“Fine,” I tell him. “If you won’t do it and you won’t let me do it, then I’ll just call Mrs. Bartlet. I’m sure she’ll find someway to get your clothes off.”

Ha!  Take that, Josh! He pales a little bit and I file away the fact that he’s a little bit scared of Mrs. Bartlet for future reference.

“Fine!” he suddenly snaps at me.  “But could you at least turn around while I do?”

Yes! Victory is mine! Hey, I wonder if this means I can make some intern bring me the finest bagels and muffins in the land?

“I’ll do better than that,” I tell him. “I’ll go get you a towel to dry off and your clean set of clothes so you can change after we get done.”

Moving to the small alcove in his office, I open the drawer in the cabinet where I keep my ‘Josh-stash’ as I call it. The ‘Josh-stash’ came into being after the bachelor party-Joey Lucas incident.  As much as I enjoyed and still tease Josh about smelling like a dumpster and having to wear Sam’s foul weather gear, I know it’s important for him to look his best. Plus there’s no way to know when there might be some crisis and he’ll have to pull an all-nighter at the White House and need fresh clothes. Consequently, I’ve maintained ‘emergency’ clothes of both the professional and casual kind at the office ever since.

“Here’s a towel,” I say tossing him a large one.

Stepping back into the shadows of the alcove, I find myself staring at Josh long after I should be as he starts to undress. He’s taking his time, so it’s not like I see that much, but I still find it hard to look away.  Suddenly, I’m not angry or annoyed with him anymore. Even in his half coffee stained, unbuttoned dress shirt he makes my breath just a little quicker and I feel a slight blush creep across my cheeks.

When he turns and almost catches me staring, I busy myself with pulling together the rest of his outfit.

“You’ll have to wear the same shoes,” I call back to him, hoping that my voice doesn’t betray the affect he’s having on me. “I’ve got dry socks for you, but shoes aren’t something I picked up a spare pair of.”

“Fine, whatever,” he grumbles.

Carrying all the items I’ve collected in my arms, I go back into the main part of his office where he’s changing. Bustling around, I hang up his suit and set everything else on his desk, all while trying not to notice that he’s taking off his t-shirt.

Unfortunately, not noticing is nearly impossible. It still amazes me that someone who gets little substantive exercise, eats garbage unless I force him to do otherwise and sits in his office way too much, can still have the body Josh does. His arms are especially good, but aside from his skin being a little too pale from lack of sun, his whole upper body is quite...breathtaking.

Josh doesn’t seem to notice me sneaking glances at him as he...Oh, God...takes off his pants. 

Breathe Donna, breathe.

I can do this...I can keep things businesslike.  Staring at a point on Josh’s desk while he picks up the towel and dries off, I manage to calm my blood pressure. As painful as it is, I try to remember what it was like when I was taking care of Josh after he was shot and things were more like nurse and patient.

Well, that sobering thought pretty much strips away any lust that I was having over Josh.

“Okay, let me see,” I say when I see him put the towel down.

Trying to hold onto my resolve to be more clinical I start to study the areas on his legs, chest and stomach that were covered with coffee. I’m relieved to see no cuts and no apparent burns.

“Well, you have a few red patches, but I don’t see any blisters,” I tell him.

There’s no way that I’m going to try and make him take his boxers off so I can check that area. There is not enough clinical feeling in the world for me to do that. If I somehow got him to take them off, I’d surely embarrass both of us by throwing him down on his desk and doing the things I’ve always fantasized about doing to him.

“When you change your boxers be sure to check that area,” I say casually. “Now sit down so I can take your socks off and check your feet.”

Yes, I think his feet are a much safer area.

“You don’t need to check my feet,” he tells me.

“Nonsense, I want to be thorough. Sit down,” I insist, wanting to get this over with so he can get dressed.

He sits down begrudgingly and I peel off his largely soaked socks. Adding them to the pile of dirty clothes and I take first one and then the other of his feet in my hands. Aside from the fact that they seem a little cold from being wet, I don’t see anything to be concerned about.

Of course, before I can do a thorough examination, Josh suddenly gets weird on me and pulls his foot away.

“That’s enough, Donna,” he says with an odd tone in his voice.

I feel myself frowning in confusion. “What’s with you?”

“Nothing.”

“Then give me your foot.”

“No. I’m fine,” he tells me.

“I’ll be the judge of that. Now give it here.”

“No,” he says still fighting me.

There are times, like now, when Josh quite simply baffles me.

“Why are you acting like this?” I ask him.

Josh is clearly agitated about something.  I just wish I knew what.

“Because...because I’m sitting here in my boxer shorts and I feel self conscious, okay!”

“Josh, I’ve seen you in your boxers before,” I remind him quietly.

That moment hangs between us for a moment and I can see he hasn’t forgotten that time in our relationship.

“I know. I just want this to be over,” he says jumping up out of the chair. “I don’t get this thorough an examination when I go to the doctor.”

Still kneeling by his chair, I start to feel just a little bit hurt at the dismissive tone in his voice.  “I’m just trying to help, Josh.”

“Okay, well, you’ve done your duty,” he snaps back at me.

Now I stop breathing for a whole new reason. Pain and hurt flash through me. I can’t believe he just said that.

“My duty?” I say quietly as I slowly stand up. “You think I’m doing this out of some DUTY to you?”

Josh, being his usual clueless self, drags a hand through his hair. “Well, yes! What else would it be?”

Anger joins my hurt. Is that really how he feels? Does he really not know?  I’m apparently better at hiding things than I realize.

Feeling like I want to give up, I throw up my hands in surrender. “Oh, I don’t know.  Could it possibly be because I care a lot about you and want to make sure you’re okay?!”

Despite the fact that I’m hurt and angry, the look on his face is almost...comical.  I’m not sure he could look more surprised if I HAD hit him in the head with my keyboard.

“I...no, I didn’t...I mean, I’m sorry, I hadn’t thought...” He stammers.

“God, Josh, you’re really not that blind, are you?” I ask him quietly.

“No...I guess...what do you mean...”

Hearing him stumble, I begin to really wonder what’s behind it.  Is it possible that there’s something more going on here?  Something I hadn’t considered? Could Josh actually like that I worry about him? Could he like me touching him more than he’s been willing to admit?

Maybe it’s time I found out. He could fire me for what I’m about to do. If I’m wrong, I’m hoping our friendship will save me if nothing else. But even if he does fire me, I don’t care, I’m tired of not knowing the truth.

Without another word, I step forward, put his face between my hands and put everything I have into kissing him.

I can tell he’s surprised at first in the way he stiffens ever so slightly.  Then I feel his body relax under my hands and his mouth begins to respond to mine.

Suddenly, I can’t remember why I kissed him, just that it’s the most amazing feeling I’ve ever had.

Unfortunately, it doesn’t take long for my fear and common sense to reassert themselves.  What if I’ve gone too far? Having him fire me would be one thing, but destroying our friendship would be far more devastating to me. Maybe I could turn it into a joke or something.

Dropping my hands, I step back and look at Josh for his reaction.  His eyes are closed and his mouth is still pursed and swollen ever so slightly from our kiss.

God, he looks hot.

A second later his eyes open and he’s staring at me with this look in his eyes...a look I’ve never seen him give me before. A look that makes my insides do a crazy flip-flop.

Then I feel his arms go around me and his mouth crashes against mine.  The kiss starts out hard and hungry and then his mouth slows on mine until it’s like he’s savoring every part of my mouth.

My knees go weak and I cling to him to keep from melting into a puddle. Dimly, I feel him pull me backward, then he falls away from me a little and I realize that he sat down in his chair. No sooner than that thought goes through my lust flooded brain, he’s tugging me down with him and I’m sitting in his lap. One of my top five Josh fantasies just came true.

Wow, he’s really talented. Not once during this whole time did his mouth leave mine.

We sit there for the longest time just kissing and...absorbing each other. I can feel some of the coffee on his boxers soaking into my dark gray pants, but I don’t care. His hands are in my hair and what I really care about is the feel of his body hardening under mine and the taste of his kisses.

Right now, doing that report for his meeting is the furthest thing from my mind.

Doing HIM seems like a much more attractive idea.

Wait a minute...we’re sitting in Josh’s office.  While I don’t want to stop, there’s definitely a case to be made for this being a bad idea. If someone caught us...well, maybe that possibility is better left unexplored.  Needless to say we need to keep things professional at the office.

I pull back and it takes me a second to find my voice. “Josh...we can’t do this here.”

He’s clearly trying to catch his breath too. “I think we already did,” he manages with a little smirk.

I have to keep myself from giggling. “Josh, you’re practically naked.  If someone comes in here, there will be hell to pay.”

“I don’t care,” he says in typical Josh fashion as he leans in to steal another kiss. “Besides you locked the doors.”

Reluctantly pulling back, I can’t help but grin. “You have a point, but you know as well as I do that even a locked door isn’t fool proof in this place. And if we do get caught, you will care when you’re in Leo’s office and he’s screaming at you.”

“I guess you’re right,” he finally agrees. “But we can do this...other places, right?”

The look on his face is something like a kid begging for a new bike. With a chuckle, I lean my forehead against his. “I’d like that.”

Okay, so that’s the understatement of the century.

He runs his hand over my arm and it raises goose bumps on my skin. “Why the hell did we wait so long to do this?” he asks me.

I pull back to look at him and I take his face in my hands. “Because I was scared and you were stubborn and we were both stupid.”

Then I kiss him again and everything else just fades away.

**********

And that’s just what happened.

Once we finished kissing the second time, I forced myself out of Josh’s lap so we weren’t tempted to do more...at least not right then and there in the office. I also wanted to give Josh a few minutes to get changed and get himself together. There was also the small matter of the report I still needed to finish for his meeting on the Hill.

As I went back to typing, it occurred to me that Josh and I didn’t talk about where this is going or what it means. Not beyond wanting to do more of the kissing outside the office, that is. I suppose that should worry me, but you know, it doesn’t.

I know that Josh and I both don’t have the best histories when it comes to relationships. But I think there’s a case to be made for the fact that maybe the problem for both of us has been that those failed relationships weren’t with each other.

What I do know is that I want to follow what’s happening between us and see where it goes.

And as for getting Josh to go home early tonight, I don’t think that’s going to be a problem.  And he better not even think about spending it working, or I will have to think of some creative new ways to punish him.

But if he thinks us being together means I’m going to bring him coffee, he’s got another thing coming.