"Liz," Frank says, pushing open her door, "Oh my God."
"Oh my God," she echoes, from the edge of her desk, bare thighs wrapped around Pete's hips.
Pete stills. "Oh my God," he murmurs, without turning around, and she clutches his shoulders, holds him in place.
"I'll just-" Frank motions back behind him - is still staring - and Liz lets go of Pete with one hand to wave him out.
"Go," she hisses - then shouts, at the now-closed door, "And learn how to knock, Frank. Didn't your mother teach you any manners-"
"Leave my mother out of this, Liz," he replies, though the door.
"Oh my God," Pete repeats, and she closes her eyes.
After a pause, "We're not going to - finish, are we?" Pete asks, and she shoves at his shoulder.
Pete raises his voice, "I thought you left hours ago," he says, buttoning his shirt.
"No kidding," Liz whispers pointedly, and he shrugs, apologetic.
"I fell asleep watching the Rocky marathon," Frank says, and his voice is still close.
"Frank, move away from the door," Liz says, exasperated.
"There was a Rocky marathon on tonight?" Pete asks, "Why didn't you tell me?"
"Pete," she protests, "Come on."
"Sorry," he says, immediately, and she shakes her head slightly. "Although ... this is kind of your fault."
"My fault?" she asks.
"You shouldn't wear dresses," he says indignantly.
She smoothes down her skirt. "You're irrational," she says, and it's matter-of-fact.
"So's your face."
She rolls her eyes, and Frank pipes up again, "Pete's right, Liz. You look - kind of hot. I'd do you-"
"Can I get a meatball sandwich," she says, without looking up from her menu, "then-"
"That's your appetizer?" Pete interrupts, stunned, and she makes a face at him.
"I want ribs too," she says, like that it explains it, and he shrugs, handing the waitress his menu.
She reaches across the table and touches his hand. "So," she says, mock-seductively, "I was thinking..."
He plays along, leaning towards her, "Yeah?"
"Later tonight ... we could go back to my place..." her tongue touches her top lip and he grabs her hand, "and - you know."
He's breathless, mock-hopeful. "Watch Top Chef?"
She winks at him, exaggeratedly, her mouth open, "How 'bout it?"
He clutches at his chest. "You know what I like."
"Oh, yeah," she deadpans, and he grins back at her.
Something behind her catches his eye. "Don't turn around," he murmurs, "Tracy just walked in."
"Tracy?" she echoes, twisting in her seat over his groan. "What's he doing at Friday's?"
Pete shrugs, then dives under their table. She takes a sip of water.
"What are you doing?" she asks, conversationally.
His head pops up for a second. "Hiding." He disappears again, and she sighs.
"Pete - no. Cut it out," and reluctantly, he climbs back up onto his chair. "Tracy won't care," she points out. "Just - be normalsauce."
"Liz Lemon!" Tracy's hand lands on her shoulder, and she knocks over her water turning around to face him.
"I've got it," Pete says, grabbing a napkin; he raises an eyebrow slightly at her, and she mouths Sorry.
Tracy glances at Pete, then back at her - frowns a little. "What are you-"
"Business," Liz blurts out, voice rising, and Pete nods furiously.
"Business?" Tracy repeats, confused. "You're ordering business?"
Pete drops his head into his hands, then, and Liz nods slowly. "Yes. Yes, we are." Then, a little desperately, "What are you even doing here?"
"I am reconnecting with the common man," he announces, loudly.
As Pete slides down a little lower in his seat, she half-asks, "That's still going on?"
"This isn't what it looks like, Kenneth," she says, quickly, as Pete yanks his hand out of her top.
"It isn't?" he's dubious, but hopeful, and Pete nods at her encouragingly.
"Pete was helping me-"
"Look for-" is all Pete offers in the pause, and she looks at him, exasperated.
"My - earring," she finishes, with a grimace, and Kenneth brightens.
"Oh! I can help. I'm real good at finding things. Miss Maroney gets me to search under her furniture for pills she's lost all the time."
Pete squints in confusion at her, and she shrugs.
"What does it look like?" Kenneth asks, checking her ears - then, slowly, "Miss Lemon, you're not wearing an earring."
Liz clicks, points at him. "That's why we couldn't find it."
Pete slaps his forehead. "Of course."
"I wasn't wearing earrings-" she says.
"You lost both-" Pete's voice overlaps, "You weren't wearing earrings," he corrects, quickly.
"Thanks, Kenneth," Liz says, then offers her hand to Pete, who shakes it dutifully. "Thank you, Pete."
"Anytime, Liz," he replies, and they're still shaking hands; she drops it, quickly.
"I should-" she points to the stage.
"Of course. I should-" he points in the opposite direction.
"Good talk," he adds, and she makes a face at him.
"Liz, what were you thinking?" Jenna asks, breathlessly, catching up with her in the corridor.
Liz grimaces. "Oh, God. I just-"
"Are you having a midlife crisis," it's rhetorical and wary, and she knows Jenna's already plotting something more dramatic.
"No," she says, firmly, and Jenna sighs, relieved.
"Thank God," off Liz's gaze, Jenna adds, "I worry about you, Liz."
"I'm sure," she says, dryly. "Pete's a good guy, you know?" Jenna just raises an eyebrow, so Liz continues, "And it's not like I'm getting any younger."
"That's true," Jenna agrees.
"Jenna," she protests, "I don't know. I could do worse, right?" Jenna's still looking at her oddly, so she adds, a little defensively, "What?"
"I was talking about your turtleneck," Jenna says slowly.
They're watching rehearsal - or, were, until Jenna called time out and tried to swap places with Danny - when Liz asks Pete, casually, "You want to come over for dinner tonight?"
"Sure," he says, making a note on the script in front of him - then, his head snapping up, "You're not cooking, are you?"
"Ha - no," and she laughs a little at his mock-relief. "But I was thinking we could eat at the table tonight. You know. Off real plates and everything."
"With cutlery?" he gasps, and when she nods, he narrows his eyes. "What's the occasion?"
She laughs again, rests her forearms on the desk in front of them. "No occasion."
"OK," he says slowly, tucking his pencil back behind his ear, and she grins back at him, until his gaze shifts to something behind her. "Jack."
She turns slightly. "Hey Jack."
"Pete. Lemon," he joins them at the desk.
"What are you doing down here?" she half-kids, and Jack's gaze lingers on the stage.
"Making sure Danny's fitting in," he says, and she nods.
"He was a good choice," she admits.
"I know," Jack replies, and she snorts.
"Hey. Pencil," she says, grabbing the pencil behind Pete's ear; she leans over the desk to write on the script - misses the long look Jack gives Pete over her head.
"I'll leave you to it," Jack says, after a pause.
"Thanks, Jack," she says, distractedly.
Pete watches him leave. "That was close," he stage-whispers, when Jack's out of ear-shot.
"I know," she hisses.
"I think we covered pretty well," he replies.
"Nice work, Hornberger," she agrees, admiringly, and bumps his fist with hers.