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(Don't) Picture Me & You

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"What is it this time, Lemon?"

He speaks without so much as a backwards glance at the doorway, and seriously, how the hell does he do that? She should get him to teach her one day, because she never made so much as a sound, and he knew immediately.

"I was aware it was you coming in because I know you. You have a particular... heaviness to your step that becomes more pronounced the more worked up you are." He steps away from the window, stopping in front of her and perching on the edge of his desk, smug smile adorning his stupid smug face. "It's just something about you I've become rather attuned to, what with all your millions of neuroses."

Wow. That's... something. "Yeah, but it's for a reason this time! Did you see what they wrote about us in the New York Post?"

Before she can react, he snatches the newspaper off her with one hand, retrieving his ridiculously dorky glasses with the other.

Yeah. She'd be lucky to do even one of those things with a hint of coordination, let alone two. She's starting to wonder if he's some sort of ninja or something. A smug, rich, ambidextrous ninja with grandpa glasses.

There's probably a sketch in that somewhere.

She moves to sit next to him to get a better look at the paper. "See? Look at the caption - Jack Donaghy, GE's Vice President of East Coast Television and Microwave Oven Programming, enjoys an intimate dinner with TGS and Dealbreakers writer Liz Lemon, his newest lover."

"Thank you, I am able to read." He shifts his gaze to her, a smile playing at his lips. "You've had a good year, Lemon. Your profile is now officially high enough to be recognised as yourself instead of Megan Mullally or Ms Sarah Palin, even if it's only in something as lowly as the Post."

"Hey, they thought I was Sally Field last time!" Although, now that he mentions it, she kinda can see the resemblance to both those ladies, and--

Oh, no, he is not going to distract her. She staying on topic. "The article's just so... wrong! An intimate dinner? It makes it sound like we were just waiting to rip each other's clothes off or something. And lovers? Seriously? Did they have to use that word?" Jack's getting that look, that faintly bemused expression that forms whenever she gets carried away about the latest Top Chef episode and she knows it's time to bust out the big guns.

"I know what you're going to say," she says, and Donaghy impersonation, here she comes. "Oh, Lemon, you should be flattered at being seen as worthy of date someone as perfect as me."

It sounds a little like what she'd imagine a dude in a porny film would sound. She's really not sure whether that's a good thing or not.

"Well, it's true," Jack continues, completely unperturbed by her frankly masterful impression of him. "You should be proud, Lemon. It shows how far you've come under my guidance. Two years ago, they probably would've mistaken you for my great aunt Agnes."

"Okay, fine. Let's just say I'm honoured to be considered 'good enough' for you. It still doesn't change the fact that whole thing's a lie!"

"Why does that shock you? Ninety percent of the articles in the press are made up, it's how the industry works."

"I know that! It's just... I never thought it would happen to me, that's all." She sighs. "This'll be all over TGS by now."

"Nonsense. I can assure you that, with the exception of Toofer, none of your staff are likely to read the paper."

"I hope you're right, Jack. They'll have a field day if they see this. I'm freaked out enough by it as it is, I really don't need them rubbing my face in it all week. Stuff happening on Monday is the worst!"

He frowns, managing to look equal parts perturbed and offended. "Lemon, if you're really that upset at being seen with an incredibly handsome, rich, wonderfully successful man who is extremely talented in bed," oh, god why, "then I'll take care of it for you."

For a moment she's speechless (he just had to go and mention the sex stuff and scar her for life, didn't he?), before she finally processes the rest of what he said. "Wait, what do you mean, you'll 'take care of it'? It's already been released!"

"Let's just say I have some... connections, so to speak." Oh, ew, she does not want to know what that means. Really. "And if that doesn't work out, I'm sure I'll find a way. I'm a very resourceful person."

Yeah, that's definitely a sex thing, So. Gross. "Why isn't this whole thing bothering you more?"

In truth, it's been something that's completely surprised her - she expected him to call a press conference emphasising the fact that he'd never, ever be even the slightest bit interested in doing her. Instead, he's been totally calm about it. Scarily calm.

"Why would it bother me?"

"Jack, in case you hadn't realised, I'm not exactly Beyonce or Megan Fox, am I?" Her tone's exasperated because really? She needs to explain this to him?

"I consider that a blessing," he says gravely, eyes closing with what looks like relief. "Never become involved with someone who's phobia is hearing people breathe. There's no way it can end well."

Yeah... she's not sure she wants to know. (She once asked Jack why he and Beyonce broke up. He told her that if she listened to Single Ladies, she'd understand).

"Okay, maybe they weren't the best examples, but--"

"I'm well aware of your point, Lemon." He smiles at her in that vaguely affectionate way (friendly affection, obviously), before rising from the table and heading over to his drinks table. "I'm willing to take the decrease in reputation such rumours will cause in order to see yours rise up out of the gutter."

She finds herself smiling back without even really meaning to, because it's one of those comments he's so very good at, the type that she used to find offensive. But now? Now, they're just sweet, because she knows how important his reputation is, and for him to risk it for her is...

It's just nice. "Jack... Thank you."

"It's just one article, Lemon. This'll all blow over in no time. Just you wait."


It turns out that for once, Jack's wrong about not one, but two things.

Mistake 1: It's no longer just one article any more (today's exposé featured an article, as well as 3 pictures).

Mistake 2: Apparently, everyone reads the Post. It's either that, or the paper's whole readership works for TGS. (Either explanation is possible, really.)

She thought the day Jack Donaghy got something wrong would be magical. A thing of celebration, with food and fireworks and finery, but now the day's finally come, and she's definitely not celebrating.

Pete's bald head catches the light and she's oddly relieved. Today's been disastrous, mainly because no one will stop asking her about her and Jack and their non-existent relationship, and thank god she's found a friendly face. Surely he won't have read the article, and even if he has, he definitely won't believe any of it.

"Hey Pete! What's going on? Tracy hasn't done anything crazy I need to know about, has he?"

"Unless you call taking up Extreme Underwater Ironing and actually plugging in said iron, while in said water, crazy," Pete replies.

"Blerg. He's okay to do the show, right?"

"Yeah, he's fine. Kenneth copped the brunt of it. Tracy decided that he should be the one to demonstrate it, since Tracy hadn't previously seen an iron. He stood in the bath, plugged it in and zap!" She cringes, but can't help but feel slightly relieved that it wasn't Tracy in that bath. Does that make her a terrible person?

"Aside from that, it's all fine. There was one interesting thing, though..." He holds up the paper to her and oh, man, not this again. "When were you planning to tell me about you and Jack?"

She's about to reply when she sees something in the corner of her eye that makes her stop dead in her tracks. "Frank! Hey, idiot!" Frank's head whips around, and seriously, that better not be what she thinks it is. "Why does your hat say that?"

"What? You mean Jiz? I thought you'd like it! It's a celebration of the freakiness that is you and Donaghy."


Since you guys are together now, you need one of those couple names, like TomCat, or Skate."


"You know, Sawyer and Kate on Lost?

"No! No no no no no no!"

"I thought you liked that show."

"What? You think that's what this is about? First, couple names in general are the worst! And B, and this is where I want you to really pay attention: there is no 'Jiz', okay?"

"Oh, Liz, did you scare him off already?" Pete asks with a hint of a smile, and yeah, trust him to think this is funny. "What is that, 2 days? That's impressive, even for you."

"No! Just listen to me for once in your pathetic, miserable lives. There is no Jack and I. There never was, and there never will be. He's my boss - he's all of our boss - and he's my friend, but that's it."

"If that's how handsy you let your friends be, then count me in."

"He wasn't being 'handsy'! We just went out for lunch, and he was just leading me. Gentlemen do that type of thing, Frank. Not that you would know anything about that, with your big, stupid... head!"

"If he's just being, and I quote, 'gentlemanly', then why is his hand on your butt?" Pete still has that smug, faintly amused look, and that's it. Next time he calls for help when one of his kids is beating him up, she's going to be conveniently busy. Yeah, that'll show him.

"I don't know, Pete. Maybe because it wasn't?"

"That's not what it looks like in the picture." Frank moves the paper closer to his face, a smile forming. "Oh, that's totally raunchy! Go Donaghy!"

"Gimme that!" She snatches the paper back, peering closer and oh, no no. She'd have noticed that, surely. She'd have realised and slapped him into next week, because that's just gross, and Jack's not like that with her, and--

Oh god, what if he did it and somehow she didn't even notice it? What if he's been touching her butt for weeks, months even, and she hasn't realised because she's just so comfortable in his company?

No. No way. Not possible. (Yeah, it's totally possible.)

"It's a set-up. Come on you guys, why would Jack Donaghy want to do... that to me? You've seen what they can do with technology these days! There's that computer program, Photostore--"

"You mean Photoshop?"

"Right! Photoshop! They can use that to change the picture into whatever they want, which is obviously what they've done here, because there is no way in hell that Jack Donaghy is doing... that."

Even the distinct note of desperation colouring her tone fails to lift their scepticism, and really, this is all such a disaster.

When Pete sings the opening bars of 'Love is in the Air' and Frank attempts to harmonize, she takes it as her cue to leave. Fast.


Naturally, it doesn't end there. Yesterday's picture, thankfully, wasn't as bad as the others (as if Jack would stare at her boobs, day 3), but today is a new day, and a whole new set of pictures. She's already downed 3 doughnuts and half a meatball sub, merely in anticipation of what new hell today will bring.

She lasts 3 painful, mocking-filled hours before she does the only sane thing - she barricades herself in her office and refuses to come out until everyone's well and truly gone.

It's no big deal, really. She can fit whatever scripts she needs under the door, can watch any rehearsals from here, and has stocked up on enough doughnuts and pop tarts to last through a nuclear war. (Well, it's more like a few days, but the point's still valid.) As well as that, Jack's on some stupid business thing until tomorrow, so she doesn't even have to explain anything to him, and for the first time in what feels like years, she's getting some peace.

Her revisions of the script for tomorrow's show are done in record time, and she's just innocently spamming her chief tormentor Cindy Adams' articles with scathing comments, when there's a knock on the door that's followed by something that definitely sounds like screaming. And okay, the whole not being able to see part of her plan isn't the greatest, but nothing's perfect, right?

"Miss Lemon!" No guessing as to who that is. Ugh. "Miss Lemon, it's Kenneth Parcell, from the NBC page program!"

"Aren't you supposed to be in hospital, Kenneth?"

"I discharged myself because I was worried about Mr Jordan's iguana, Sheikh Prince Michael III." There's a pause, and something that sounds like someone being kicked. "But enough about Tracy. It's Miss Maroney I'm worried about, now!"

God, she's only been gone for 2 freaking hours, and those idiots have already done something stupid. "Oh brother. What's she done now?"

"There was an accident on set. Miss Maroney hit her head trying that new dance move those kids were doing on the show last week, and now she won't wake up!"

Oh of course. They finally get real breakdancers on the show, it goes perfectly, and Jenna gets jealous. She specifically told her not to copy them, so of course she goes and tries to slide on her head.

Wait. What if she's dead? This could be bad. Show-ending, career-destroying, broke-making bad. She might have to go back to Chicago and end up as some sort of crazy cat lady, and--

Liz shakes her head. Wow. Talk about having Jenna moment. (Also, those things might happen if it was Tracy who got hurt. Jenna? Not so much.)

The guilt she feels over her initial lack of concern for her so-called friend is enough to make her move to the door. As soon as she turns the doorknob, she's flying back and crapballs, she's fallen for it again!

"Really, Jenna? You went with the dancing-induced fake death?"

Jenna leans against the door, looking even more pleased with herself than usual. If that's even possible. "Well, it worked, didn't it?"

Oh, this is so not happening. Not now that she's finally got some peace. Someone is gonna pay for this. "Kenneth, I swear, I will hunt you down, if it's the last thing I do, you Appalachian nerf herder!"

She thinks she hears Kenneth praying, but whether it's for protection from her wrath or for forgiveness for lying in the first place, she's not sure.

"What do you want, Jenna? Have you come to laugh at me about Jack, because I've about had enough of that, thanks."

"Of course not, Liz! I would never, ever laugh at you at a time like this!"

"How about when we got back from that creepy bar and I realised my fly was undone the whole time?"

"That was different. Besides, I'm far more mature and rounded as a person now."

"Jenna, that was last Wednesday!"

"A lot can change in a week, Liz."

Wow. Jenna's actually come up with something sensible. Wonders will never cease.

"I'm here about TGS. We've got a show tomorrow, and I need you to tell Frank that there's no way I'm not going wear that Princess Leyla bikini!"

"It's Leia, not Leyla, and I told him to cut that!"

"It's chaos out there Liz. The writers have gone rogue. They won't listen to anyone!"

"Where's Pete?"

Jenna's smile confirms her worst fears. "Didn't you hear? Tracy went missing when he went shopping with Grizz and Dot Com, so Pete went to help look for him. Rumour has it he's been kidnapped by the Russian Mafia."

Well sure, that Sarkozy sketch got a little out of control, but kidnapping? That's a bit extreme, right?

"Nice try, Jenna, but it's not gonna work. I'm not going out there."

Jenna sits up a little straighter, and oh, blerg. She's got that crazy look, the one she gets whenever she insists on colour-coding the pills she takes with her outfit.

"What's going on with you, Liz? Yes, you've been in the paper every day this week and everyone thinks that you're sleeping with your boss for a promotion. So what? I wasn't even this upset when I wasn't accused of being one of Tiger Woods' mistresses!"

As ridiculous as Jenna is about... well, everything, in this case, she's also right. "I don't know what's wrong with me! It's so frustrating! Everyone's seen the pictures - Jack's mom called to congratulate me and ask when the wedding is. We're not even together in the first place!"

"But what about those pictures? What was with the hand-holding?"

"We were going to dinner, and as I was getting out of the car I almost fell because of those stupid heels he made me wear, so I grabbed his hand to steady myself, and yeah, maybe I didn't let go straight away, but it was just to stay upright!"

Typically, she ignores the important stuff and jumps on the smallest detail possible. "Going out to dinner, huh?"

"Yes, dinner. It's the meal after lunch. I know it's been a while since you've actually eaten them."

"There's no need to be cruel!"

"I'm sorry... It's not your fault."

"I know, Liz. It's never my fault." She smiles brightly, all teeth, and Liz really wants to smack her. "Don't worry. You can make it up to me another day."

"Thank you."

"So do you and Jack have dinner together a lot?"

"I don't know... Maybe a once or twice a week?"


She knows that tone and seriously, why won't this week end? "We're just friends, Jenna! Friends can have dinner with each other without it being a big deal! Do you remember how embarrassing it was last time you suggested Jack and I were dating?"

Jenna frowns. Well, she seems like she should be frowning. Her face just isn't moving very much. "Yes, but that was like 3 years ago! I hadn't even had my IE done."

"What? Since when did you have eye surgery?"

"No, silly! IE, as in Intuition Enhancement. It's the next big thing in the world of highly experimental surgeries. Dr Spaceman did mine. Trust me, Liz, it's amazing. Without it, I wouldn't be able to tell that you and Jack are already dating."

"Augh! How many times do I have to say it before someone actually believes me? We're just good friends who share food at dinner and know the sounds of each other's walk and finish each other's sentences and—"

Oh, nerds.


Mark down day 5 in history as the day ol' Liz Lemon grows a pair (in the figurative sense, obviously) and makes a triumphant return to TGS.

Okay, so maybe it had something to do with the miraculous absence of a 'Jiz' feature in today's Post, but mostly it's down to her sheer will power and—

Yeah. It's because of the photo thing.

Still, she manages to get the writers back in line with few well-constructed insults, and Pete eventually turns up with Tracy in tow (turns out he tried to go home but got lost crossing the road) so yeah. The show's going to run just fine.

Another point of note? Jack's finally back from his trip. Not that she's been counting down or anything. Although she should probably go and visit him. Just to say a friendly hi.

Jonathan's not at his desk when she arrives on the 52nd floor, so she moves through, knocking on his door this time. (Ha! Can't accuse her of stomping now, can he?)

He looks up immediately, and the flutter she feels in her stomach upon seeing him is purely due to that doughnut she ate earlier that may or may not have fallen on the floor. (What? She was running critically low on food supplies, and Subhas had just vacuumed a couple of days ago, so. Yeah. Not gross at all.) It's definitely not because he's been gone since Wednesday, and she kinda-sorta-maybe missed him. In a platonic, friend-like manner.

"Hey, Jack! Welcome back, buddy! How was your trip?"

"Productive. Any day now, Lemon, MILF Island 3: Cradlesnatcher's Cove will be announced."

"That's great news, Jack!"

His eyes follow her as she moves into the room. "I've heard talk that you enacted some sort of self-imposed exile while I was gone. I'm glad they were just rumours."

"Yeah, well, maybe they weren't completely wrong." She figures she might as well tell him the truth, because that's what buddies do. "I may have refused to leave my office for a while yesterday. But not today, no sir! Today we've got a show, so... No time to freak out."

"Of course. TGS. I'm sure it had nothing to do with the conspicuous absence of a 'Jiz' article in today's Post."

"Don't say that word!"

"I said many words."

"You know the one I mean. That evil name-smash thing."

"I assume you're referring to 'Jiz', a term I think you'll find is called a portmanteau."

Yeah, trust him to have some stupid, fancy, rich-guy word for it. "Whatever. That doesn't change the fact that I hate it."

"Do you hate 'Jiz' more or less than the word 'lovers'?"

That's a one-two punch and god, is he trying to kill her? "Equally, Jack. I despise them equally."

"No wonder you hid in your office. The only other words those articles used more were 'great' and 'hair'." Jack's eyes sweep over her, she can just tell he is loving this. "I'm sure you can guess who they were referring to."

Being the mature adult she is, she makes a face at him.

"That Cindy Adams sure did her research. Banks chose very wisely."

Huh? Banks? Is she missing something here, or what? "Banks as in Devon Banks? What does he have to do with this?"

He rises from his chair and starts walking over. "Tell me, for what reason did you think this journalist's suddenly taken such interest in your personal life?"

"I don't know... Maybe she liked my book."

He laughs, leaning slightly on the desk in front of her. "We're talking about Cindy Adams, respected gossip columnist. She's been in the business for more than 40 years. I sincerely doubt she's read Dealbreakers, no matter how popular it was with moderately overweight middle-class single women over seventy."

"Are you going to tell me what the hell's going on, or haven't you finished making fun of my book yet?" She knows that he's not actually trying to insult her, but she's been mocked all week, and, really, she's had enough.

"Lemon," he begins, rather seriously, and it's lecture time. "The key to solving any problem is to simply break it down into manageable steps. Step 1, locate the cause. Step 2, identify the cause. Step 3--"

"Set the cause up with a lesbian?" Oh, snap! Classic Liz Lemon, that is. She's totally giving herself a mental high-five for that effort. (If she ever sees Gretchen again, she should probably give her a high-five too. Since it was, you know, her joke and all.)

The confused look Jack's giving her just makes it all so much sweeter. "That tends to be the normal step, but due to Cindy Adams' abstinence since the death of her husband, I had to try something... different."

Oh no. No no no. She knows that tone, and it's never good. "Oh, god, Jack. You didn't..."

His expression remains blank until it clicks. "Of course not, Lemon! She's 89 years old! What type of person do you think I am?"

"Hey, you were gonna do Kathy Geiss before I saved you, remember? You're hardly innocent!"

"Yes, but Kathy wasn't old enough to be my grandmother."

"Alright, fine. I'm sorry. Are you happy now?"


She sighs, because really, why is she friends with him? "So if you didn't do... that, what did you do?"

"Once I figured out that Banks was the one bribing Cindy, I knew I could stop it. Negotiation, Lemon. Devon never stood a chance."

"What was the deal?"

"I may have lied earlier when I said Jonathan was on leave."

"Jack, what did you make him do?"

"When I saw him attempting to behead that doll with your picture on it, everything fell into place. Jonathan is, for the next 3 months, taking up the position of Senior Supervisor of both Juicy and Jazzy Adams."

"Please tell me those aren't Cindy's grandkids."

"Dogs, Lemon. They're her dogs."

"Oh, boy." She's not sure if that's better or worse. "How'd Jonathan take that?"

His face contorts to a grimace, eyes closing as if he's reliving every second of it. "About as well as to be expected."

No elaboration? Fine. She's thinking tears, lots of tears. Maybe some Celine Dion - My Heart Will Go On, probably. "You know, if he hadn't spent the last week fantasising about killing me, I might almost feel sorry for him."

"He'll be back, Lemon. So will Devon." He says, rather ominously. "I suppose they're to be commended for their persistence."

"Well, whatever you did, it worked. You totally destroyed Devon's evil plan."

"On the contrary, Lemon. You may not have missed it due to your self-imposed quarantine, but it seems that Banks' plan backfired well before I got anywhere near it."

"What do you mean?"

"It seems that we've, over the course of the week, developed some sort of cult status."

"Charles what-now?"

"We broke into the top 100 Twitter trending topics. Our picture on Tumblr had 2676 notes. Us Weekly has labelled Ji-- sorry, us, the 3rd wexiest couple of the month, behind Miley Cyrus and that kangaroo-riding Aussie. All in the space of a week."

"Woah, back up a second. Did you just say 'wexiest'?"

He looks confused for a moment before letting out a short bark of laughter. "Of course. How silly of me to think you might have some kind of knowledge of anything young and fashionable. Wexy is a linguistic blend of 'weird' and 'sexy'."

This is almost too much, because it's happening to her. Liz Lemon. The same Liz Lemon who can recite Star Wars word-for-word (well, the original ones, anyway - don't get her started on those other atrocities) and recently broke her own record for the most number of different food items found in her hair in one day. Liz Lemon is not star material.

"But why? I mean, I'm just a writer for a sketch comedy show, and no offence, Jack, but you're just a suit."

"To be honest, Lemon, I'm not entirely sure. Though I've featured many times in the media, never have I managed it with someone as low-profile as you. For some inexplicable reason, the public love us. We've been labelled, and I quote, 'squee-worthy', whatever that means, as well as 'adorably strange.' I'm choosing to take that last one as a compliment. 'Jiz' caught on, and the whole thing just took off. Honestly, it's a shame I had to force them to stop the articles."

"Yeah... people are gonna be super-bummed when they realise that we weren't even together in the first place." People will be. Not her, though. She doesn't mind at all, because they're pals.

Jack's just gazing at her and it's kinda freaking her out, but mainly because of what's just occurred to her. "Why did you stop the articles if you knew it was going so well for us?"

"Why? Because they were upsetting you." It falls so easily, as if it's the most obvious thing in the world, and god, there's that fluttering feeling again, because he did everything, all of this, just for her. "I couldn't have you hiding in your office for the rest of your life. The show needs you, Lemon. We all need you."

He's still staring at her with that look, the one she's seen quite a bit lately, but has never been able to interpret, and she can't understand why she's suddenly noticing the fact that he's actually kinda handsome, especially with shorter hair and that his eyes, though maybe not bubble-worthy, are still super blue.

What is happening to her?

"Jenna thinks I hated the articles so much not just because they were all lies, but because I wanted them to be true."

Jack's face immediately registers surprise, and god, why does she just blurt this stuff out? He steps closer, eyes boring into hers, and crap, she just wants him to say something.

He stays quiet, basically stunned into silence, and she knows now. Knows she's misread the entire thing. "This is Jenna we're talking about, though, so... She's probably not the best person to take advice from."

"I think you'll find she's been remarkably accurate since her IE surgery."

"Yeah, how come I'm only just finding out about that? I'm the head writer, Jack. I should be told—"

His fingers on her lips do an efficient job of silencing her, and she finds herself a little nervous about meeting his eyes. "Never mind about Jenna, Lemon. I want to know what you think."

His hand drops from her lips to rest on her hip, even closer to her than before and wow, this is really, truly, actually happening. "I don't know... maybe Jenna was right about... stuff."

"I have to say... I too wouldn't have been averse to there being truth to what was written."

"Really?" she asks, surprise genuine, because wow, this is... something. Never did she ever think that Jack Donaghy, GE Vice President of East Coast Television and Microwave Oven Programming would ever have the hots for her.

"Really." He's leaning in now, but it's so soon and she can't—

"Jack, wait!" He stops almost immediately, face merely inches from hers. "Is this a good idea?"

The hand resting on her hip dips under her shirt, coming into direct contact with her skin and that's gonna make focusing pretty damn hard. "Why wouldn't it be? I know everything there is to know about you. I know what you like, what you don't like, I know your bad habits, I know all your moods, and what food you like to eat during them. I think you know the same about me."

"Exactly! You're my best friend. If this doesn't work out, then what will I have?"

"Lemon, you trust me, don't you?"

She rolls her eyes, hands finally rising to rest on his shoulders. "Of course I do."

"Then believe me when I say that this will work."

She barely hesitates before making her decision. "Fine. But if it all goes wrong, Jack, I reserve the right to blame you."

"Lemon?" He asks, voice husky as his hands travel up and down her waist. "May I kiss you now?"

It's so forward and so him and yeah, this is pretty weird. "Yeah. I think that'd be okay."

As his lips finally brush against hers, she supposes weird can actually be good sometimes. And yeah...this is definitely one of those times.

(She should probably send Devon a thank you note, too, maybe even some flowers. He's sure to appreciate that.)