In retrospect, Nick probably shouldn't have traded his shirt for magic beans. Like, if he had been sober, there would've been a 60-40 chance of him not trading his shirt for beans. But he wasn't sober; he was really drunk. Like, so drunk. You would not believe how drunk he was. And they were magic beans. Plus, he got them from a really old guy, and everyone knows that really old guys are awesome. Actually, those are three great reasons pro-trading his shirt for magic beans, so he's going to stand firm on this decision.
They're magic beans. Has he mentioned that? He's going to mention it again. MAGIC BEANS.
Nick slams open the door of the apartment. "Look what I have!"
"Why...aren't you wearing a shirt?" Jess asks, staring at his chest, her glasses slipping lower on the bridge of her nose.
"Because, I got magic beans, Jessica!" Nick thrusts out his palm, cupped around the beans for her to see.
She looks down at his hand and back at his face. She does it again. This time she squints. "Guys," she calls, without looking away from him. "Nick traded his shirt for beans!"
Winston emerges from the bathroom, a toothbrush in his mouth. "Nnngh?" he asks through a mouthful of toothpaste.
"Yeah, beans. He traded his shirt for beans," Jess says. Her voice is full of Jess judgement. That should be her new nickname. Judgy Jessica.
"MAGIC beans," Nick says, because she left the most important part out.
Schmidt approaches, his expression blank. He's dunking a tea bag in a mug, slowly, lifting his hand up and down. It's mesmerizing. "You bought magic beans," he says flatly.
"No, I traded -- "
"Are you drinking my tea?" Jess interrupts.
"No. This is special. I got it from my Chinese herbalist." Schmidt waves at the steam coming out of the mug, wafting the smell over to Nick. It smells like -- ginger, and something heavier, and there's a muskiness that Nick isn't sure about. "I've been very constipated this week. My herbalist says my qi is stagnant."
"That's disgusting," Nick slurs. "You're gross, Schmidt. My beans agree."
"Your magic beans?"
"Yeah! My magic beans!"
Jess holds out her hand. "Give me the beans, Nick. I'll help you to bed."
He twists himself from her grasp. Like he's going to give up his beans so easily. "No! They're mine!"
"I know they're yours, Nick. I'm just going to put them in a jar in the fridge."
He moves again, evading her. He's stealthy like a ninja. "No! You can't have them! Go get your own!"
"Just give the beans to Jess, Nick!" Winston yells from the bathroom.
She makes a grab for the beans. Her little Jess hand is really fast, much faster than Nick can process. He makes another jerking move to the side, but he drops a bean in the process and Jess snatches it up before he can dive for it. When he gapes at her, she looks back, her face all mean and concentrated and bring-it-on. She only looks like that when she's fighting him for the remote, or sometimes in really heated games of True American. It's her I-mean-business look.
So Nick has to keep the beans safe. And really, this was the point at which later he regretted his decision, but honestly was there a safer place than his mouth?
Nick stuffs the handful of beans into his mouth, bulging out his cheeks like a squirrel.
Jess's eyes go wide. "Nick! You don't know where those have been!"
He isn't going to eat them. Really. But then they're in his mouth, gathering saliva, and he needs to either swallow or spit and so he bites down, still staring at Jess. The beans fall apart between his teeth. They taste like -- well, they don't taste good. They taste like what Nick imagines the bar floor would taste like, dirty and a little sour and musty. Don't even get him started on the texture.
When he swallows the mouthful of beans, there's a lingering aftertaste on his tongue. For some reason it tastes like bacon. He swallows again.
"Oh my god," Schmit says, sounding dumbfounded. He's stopped dunking the tea bag.
"Are you happy now?" Nick yells, throwing his arms wide. "You made me eat my magic beans!"
"I was just trying to put them away for you!" Jess protests, the fingers of her right hand curled around the remaining bean. "I didn't make you eat anything!"
Nick points to her hand. "Give me my bean."
"I don't think you deserve this bean." Jess's voice hardens.
"It's my bean."
"You ate your beans."
"Goddammit, Jess, I want to eat my last bean!"
She glares. "No," and she opens her mouth wide, placing the bean on her tongue. Nick and Schmidt watch, with matching expressions of horror, as Jess closes her mouth and swallows, her throat bobbing with the movement.
"You ate my bean," Nick finally says, his voice gone all hoarse.
"You left me no choice."
Schmidt grabs Nick's arm. "Come on, man, you need to go to bed."
"But she ate my bean."
"I know, Nick. She ate your bean. Come on."
The last thing Nick sees before Schmidt shoves him into his room is Jess's face, unrepentant, glowing with bean-eating triumph.
The alarm clock wakes him up early the next morning. Too early, and the sound is shrill. He reaches out a hand with his eyes still closed, trying to find the clock. The sound is crawling into his head, banging and loud. He finally manages to turn it off, and the room seems to echo faintly with the ring. Nick turns onto his back, dragging the covers over his head.
His eyes snap open.
He doesn't have an alarm clock. When did he get an alarm clock? Yeah, he used to have one, an old clock radio that had a damaged display and some wires poking out the back that Nick affixed in place with duct tape. But now he just uses his phone like all normal people.
Nick turns his head to the side, slow, taking in his unfamiliar surroundings. His heart's hammering away in his throat; he can hear it pounding in his ears.
It's Jess's room. He's in Jess's bed. He is alone, lying under Jess's sheets, drooling on Jess's pillows.
Nick sits up too quickly and momentarily whites out his vision. He cradles his head between his hands, groaning a little.
He freezes again.
That -- he thinks faintly as panic seizes him -- is not his voice. That voice is too high and feminine to be his voice. Shaking, he brings his hands in front of his face. They're smaller, the fingers slender. The nails are painted a bright red, the same color that Jess had painted her nails three days ago at the table, while the other three complained about the smell of the polish. Nick remembers the color because Jess was wearing a dress that day that matched, and her eyes looked bluer than ever, and it was -- so fucking stupid.
The point is -- this is not his room, or his voice, or his hands. And, he realizes as he frantically touches his head and face, this isn't his either.
Nick throws off the covers and shakily gets to his feet. He takes a deep breath there, staring down at his toes (painted in the same shade of red). He tries to calm himself as he takes in the soft cotton pajamas he's wearing (bunnies), and how his calves are smooth. Nick walks himself over to Jess's full-length mirror, braces himself, and looks up.
Right into the face of Jessica Day.
Well, of course he screams.
What do you expect? He's turned into a girl. And not just any girl.
He's turned into Jess.
Winston is the first one in. He's wielding a kitchen knife, looking around for possible danger. In spite of the situation Nick's kind of touched that Winston would defend him. Not nearly as chickenshit as Nick would have thought.
"Jess, what the fuck's going on?" Winston asks, slowly letting down the knife.
Schmidt piles into the room, tie slung around his neck. His hair is only half-gelled. "Did you think you had a Peeping Tom again, Jess? For the last time, no one can get up here to look through your window."
"Guys, I'm not Jess!" Nick says, voice shaking. It sounds different than normal Jess, a little deeper. Maybe because it's echoing in his head.
"Oh my god," Winston breathes, taking a step closer. "I knew this would happen. Are you -- are you a parasitic alien that's taken over the body of our human friend?"
"Winston, seriously?! No one has been taken over by aliens!" Schmidt exclaims. "What are you talking about, Jess?"
"I'm not Jess," Nick says again, more firmly. "I'm...Nick."
Winston and Schmidt stare at him, all confused. They start laughing, a little bit uncertain.
"Yeah, okay. Sure, you're Nick," Schmit says.
"I'm not joking, you guys. I'm Nick. I just -- woke up and I'm in Jess's body but, I swear, I'm Nick!"
It must be something in his expression because both of them shut up immediately. There's a kind of terrified realization dawning in both their faces. Nick can see it in their eyes, the enormity of the situation settling in on them.
"How...do we know you're Nick?" Winston asks.
Yeah, that's fair. Nick scratches the back of his neck, screwing up his eyes. Everything's a little blurry. He keeps blinking to try to reduce it, but it's not going away and, oh, of course. He reaches across Jess's nightstand to pick up her hipster glasses. He almost jabs himself in the eye sliding them on.
"Why the hell does she have these glasses?" he says, fidgeting with them. "They have such thick frames. It's so stupid. Ugh, I hate these. This!" He punctuates the word by jamming the glasses onto his nose a little too hard. "This is why hipsters are ruining everything."
Schmidt snaps his fingers. "You're Nick. Oh my god, you're Nick. Winston, it's Nick."
"So, if you're Nick...where's Jess?" Winston asks slowly.
They all turn their gazes out of Jess's open bedroom door, across the hall to Nick's room. The door's still closed and there's no sound.
"Let's knock," Nick says, strained.
Schmidt raps his knuckles sharply against the door a few times. Still nothing. He bangs with his fist. "Jess? Are you in there? JESS!"
There's a long silence, and then Nick hears some shuffling. He holds his breath as the doorknob turns. Through the crack, his own face pops out at him. It's one of the fucking weirdest things he's ever seen. He's unshaven and half-asleep, his hair flattened on one side from sleeping. He yawns -- and does something Nick would never do -- and covers it with one hand.
"...Jess?" Winston says.
Jess-as-Nick nods. "Yeah?" she answers, and both her hands fly almost immediately up to her mouth. "What the fuck," she breathes. She glances around, looking from Schmidt to Winston, and then her eyes land on Nick.
"No," she says. "No no no no no."
"Surprise?" Nick offers.
Jess screams too. No surprise there. Nick's just never known that his voice could go that high.
"It's the beans," Jess says at the table, face buried in her arms. She's thrown on Nick's ratty bathrobe over the wrinkled t-shirt boxers combo that Nick went to sleep in. "It's got to be the fucking beans."
It must be bad because Jess has said "fuck" twice in fifteen minutes. Nick gets up to fix her a cup of tea. She looks terrible, maybe hungover from last night; her face is a sickly color. Nick can't get used to looking at her and seeing himself.
"Goddammit Nick!" Schmit yells, slamming his hand down on the table. It makes everyone jump. "This is why you should never buy magic beans from an unlicensed bean distributor!"
"For the last time, I didn't buy them; I traded my shirt for them!" Nick yells back, rifling through Jess's tea cabinet. He finds a bag of, something, and plops it into a mug.
Winston rubs his temples. "So how long until you guys switch back?"
"Why do you think I would know that?" Nick practically howls. "Do you think this happens to me a lot? AM I SOME KIND OF MAGIC BEAN BODYSWAP EXPERT??"
"I don't know, dude!" Winston hollers back. "This is a stressful situation!"
Nick puts the mug of steaming tea in front of Jess, slopping liquid over the tabletop. She starts, turning. It's weird when she looks at Nick. It's like -- he can kind of see her Jess-ness behind his eyes, peeking out, and the way she's sitting -- he'd never sit like that. She darts her gaze away. He gets it, he does. This whole thing is insane.
She takes a few sips of the tea. "Thanks, Nick." His voice, does it always sound like that?
He sits down. This whole body feels wrong somehow. "Uh, yeah. No problem."
"Oh shit," Jess says suddenly. "Shit."
Nick's stomach sinks. "What?"
"I promised Cece I'd go shopping with her today. It's the only time she can go for the next week. Oh god, shit."
"I can take her. I'd love to take her," Schmit says immediately.
"No," everyone else says in unison.
Something falls into Nick's face. It's fucking hair, long strands of it. Jess's hair. The same hair he wants to touch sometimes when he's blurry drunk, curl around his fingers. He told her once, a while ago, and she had laughed and leaned over to let him touch it. He tries to blow it out of his eyes and manages to spray spit all over the surface of table. Schmidt stares at him with open disgust. Nick pulls the cuff of Jess's pajama shirt over his hand and drags it across the spit.
"What? It's clean now," he says to Schmidt's expression.
"...you can't go out in public," Winston says.
"You have to!" Jess urges. "We'll just have to both go."
Nick looks from her back to the others. "No, Jess, come on. Just tell Cece you'll go with her another time."
"She can't go another time -- it has to be today!"
"Jess, look at me -- I can't go shopping with her!"
"It's fine, Nick. I'll go with you. She won't even notice a thing."
And Jess -- well Nick's -- face is so earnest and pleading that Nick can't help but give into it, feeling his insides twist up in the nicest way possible. It's a bad idea, his brain says, but from somewhere else a little voice tells his brain to shut the fuck up.
"I have to get dressed," he says finally, watching for Jess's blooming smile. She doesn't disappoint.
"Don't contort Nick's face like that," Schmidt snaps. "It looks weird."
It turns out that Jess has a lot of clothes. Which Nick knew in theory, but when he's actually rifling through her closet, pushing past dress after dress...well. He takes one out that has polka dots and another that's yellow with a lace collar and, no, none of these. How can it that one person owns this many clothes? And yet have nothing to wear? Nick swears he's owned about seven shirts total since the eleventh grade, but he never has trouble picking out something.
He finds a little black one, kind of short. It's the kind of things girls would wear out, he thinks, so that's probably okay. Nick starts undoing the pajama top, fumbling for a second before remembering the buttons are on the opposite side. He has to use both hands. As he slides the second button from the hole, the gap in the shirt collar widens, and Nick suddenly realizes, fuck, boobs. Jess's boobs. He is in possession of Jess's boobs.
Nick sits down on Jess's bed instead. She has really soft sheets, and they smell like flowers and springtime and happiness, which is what her laundry detergent advertises, so good job that. Nick decides to lie facedown. Maybe she'll forget about the whole thing and he can just stay in the pajamas.
Jess pushes open the door. "Are you ready?"
"Almost," he says, scrambling up.
She eyes him from the doorway, the sleeves rolled up on one of Nick's favorite plaid shirts, a dark blue tee peeking out from underneath. She's done something to his hair because it looks better than usual, all contained and neat. Maybe she stole something from Schmidt's army of hair products. She's still avoiding his eyes too, though, that's understandable.
"Why are you still in pajamas?"
"It's... I can't find...anything to wear?"
Jess glances at the dress spread out on the bed. "Oh my god, Nick, you can't wear that."
"Why can't I wear that? I picked it out! I want to wear that!"
"It's not appropriate! Look at how short it is!"
"I found it in your closet! Why would you own it if it's not appropriate?"
She looks at the ceiling instead of his face. Okay, now that's going too far. "I bought it a long time ago! I was feeling really slutty!"
"WELL, LOOK AT ME WHEN YOU'RE TELLING ME ABOUT YOUR SLUTTY DRESS PURCHASES!" he bellows, unintentionally loud.
"I SAW YOUR -- PENIS!" she yells back, and flushes a deep red, the color spreading to cover her (his?) neck and ears. She only hesitates for a fraction of a second before saying 'penis', so improvement there, Nick supposes. "I saw your..." she repeats, trailing off, gesturing to Nick's genital region.
"YOU'VE ALREADY SEEN IT!" Nick shouts at her. "JUST SAY THE WORD 'PENIS'!"
Jess shakes her head in tight, furious little movements. "I, um, I...touched it." She says the last part really, really fast, blurring the words together. "Itouchedyour...penis."
"...You touched my penis."
She keeps her eyes locked on the ground. "Yeah. By accident! It was in a really weird position! I had to move it, so I touched it, and I'm really, really sorry!"
Nick would be lying if he said he hasn't thought about it. A lot. But seriously, this was never the way he thought Jess would touch his penis. If that would ever happen anyway.
He struggles to come up with a response. "Well...FINE THEN. I will...TOUCH YOUR BOOBS."
It's not that he wants to, really (well, he does, but only when he can appreciate them from the other side), but now that he's said it aloud, he can't back down. Plus, Jess turns so red that she now resembles Nick with a serious sunburn. She sputters a few times, opening and closing her mouth.
"DO. NOT. TOUCH. MY. BOOBS. NICHOLAS," she says at a volume that shakes the whole room.
"THEY'RE MY BOOBS NOW!" And as if to prove his point, Nick grabs one with each hand. It's weird. This morning is actually rewriting his definition of weird. He moves his fingers a tiny bit, to make it less awkward, but he realizes he's just fondling them now. Definitely more awkward.
Jess looks at his chest for a long minute. It drags on long enough that Nick feels sweat beading on his forehead. "Fine," she says, her voice eerily steady. "I'm going to touch your...penis. Again."
"Fine. Touch it."
She moves her hands to her belt buckle, hooks the thumbs beneath the belt. She stops, biting her lower lip. Nick immediately wants her to never do that again because his face plus lip-biting equals no. No. Never. Ugh, that is so many levels of wrong.
"You can't do it, can you?"
She glares, and her hands move quickly, unbuckling the belt, loosening the jeans. Jess lowers the zipper, and slides one of her hands slowly into the open fly. Nick can feel himself gritting his teeth, trying to keep his expression neutral, and Jess is cringing openly.
"WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON?! WHY ARE YOU BOTH TOUCHING YOURSELVES?!"
Right. The open door. Which Nick forgot about. Winston's standing there, his hands covering his face. He's -- is he cowering? He's cowering, as if Jess and Nick are mobsters about to beat the shit out of him.
Jess snatches her hand away, tucks it behind her back as she spins around. "We, uh."
"We're...exploring," Nick finishes for her, dropping his hands too.
"Will you close the fucking door next time?!"
"Yeah," Nick and Jess chorus.
They wait until Winston's stalked away into the kitchen, muttering about public masturbation and how they should get some boundaries in this apartment. Jess zips her jeans back up, and Nick starts going through the closet again. He pulls out a red dress with a pattern of...squirrels on it, with a black sash around the waist. He thinks she's worn it before.
"Is this okay?" he asks, holding it out for Jess to examine.
She gives him a curt nod. He motions for her to turn around.
"Believe me, I've seen everything," she says, her voice dry. "Joanna Rochford pinched me there in 7th grade and told me to lose some weight." She points to Nick's side, right above the waist.
"Just, do it."
Jess rolls her eyes and turns around. Nick strips off the pajama top and tries not to look as he pulls off the bottoms as well, leaving them puddled on the floor by the bed. He shimmies into the dress instead, thinking about the time he put one on in college on a dare, and Schmidt had laughed and laughed. They both had, until their stomachs hurt, and Nick's stomach hurts a little thinking about it. The fabric of the dress is soft against his skin, settling just above his knees, and he tries to do up the buttons on the front, but they just slip out of his fingers.
"Here, let me," Jess says.
He isn't sure how long she's been watching him, but he drops his hands, letting her approach. She's so close he can smell her, which smells like him, the cheap deodorant he got at the dollar store that burns a little when he puts it on, and Schmidt's expensive hair product, and a spiciness from his shirt that he's never noticed before. Jess's hands are shaking a little when she does up the first button, and the next one. Her thumb brushes his breastbone and he shudders, full-bodied, the feeling of it skittering up his spine. It lodges in his throat.
"Are you, um," Jess mumbles, her voice all thick and low, "are you not going to wear a bra?"
"...bra? Uh." He clears his throat. "Should I?"
She's blushing again. "Yeah. Let me just." Nick has to take a deep breath when Jess is turned around, digging in the top drawer of her wardrobe. He can still feel his skin tingling from where Jess touched him. "Here, put this one on. I think it's only clean one I have left."
Nick takes it, turning it over in his hands. Putting it on seems to go against everything he's ever wanted in life. He runs a finger over the cotton, along the bottom, against the underwire. Well. Okay. He has to pull the dress off his shoulders. The bra's polka-dotted, pink and white, and he slips his arms through the straps and tries to reach around back to close the clasp. He fumbles it, not really knowing what to do. It's so much easier taking them off women.
He hears Jess moving behind him, and her hands on his skin, warm. He shifts his weight from one foot to the other, letting Jess hook the bra, thinking about her hands.
They finish dressing Nick in silence, Jess doing up the front buttons, Nick trying not to look at her face, trying not to breathe too hard. He stares at her jaw instead. There's scruff all around there. Maybe he should tell her to shave. Jess puts a hand along his waist and he jumps.
"The sash," she says, and she ties it for him. Nick can feel the heat coming off her skin, all along his hip. Fuck.
He wets his lips. "I guess I'm ready to go."
"Wait." She leans in a little, tucks a piece of hair behind his ear. "Okay. You're ready." She puts on the British accent she does, and she sounds exactly like Jess, even though she's not. "Spit spot!"
Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck.
The whole way to the mall Nick thinks about sex. Mostly because he can't help it, and also because he's a little turned on, a dull ache between his legs. He has to keep his hands steady on the wheel though, at ten and two, and he stares at the road. The air-conditioning in his car is broken because everything is broken and even with the windows rolled down it's too hot. Jess fans herself with a piece of cardboard she found on the floor of the passenger side.
Nick thinks about how he shouldn't be turned on by Jess, not when she's in his body, and that's crazy weird and also gross, and he's pretty sure that once he watched this exact sci-fi porno in high school. He's not even sure he's allowed to be turned on right now, but he is, and it feels not-quite-right in a good way, that sticky pulse, thrumming beneath the surface of his skin. There's a part of him that wants to slide a hand down there, see what it feels like.
He pulls the car into a spot and throws it in park. Jess grabs his wrist before they get out.
"We can't tell Cece," she says.
"Because she'll freak out, Nick! Because my best friend is going to lose her shit if she finds out we switched bodies!"
"You want me to lie to her?
"Yes. Please. Lie to her."
"Jess, you're awful liar. I'm an awful liar. This isn't gonna work."
"Nick, come on, just do this one thing for me. This one thing. Please?"
He makes a noise, half between a sigh and a groan, and it comes out hissy because he's clenching his teeth. "I want you to know that I don't like this," he says.
Jess grabs his arm all the way into the mall, and she says, "Thank you, thank you, thank you", her breath damp against the shell of his ear.
Cece raises both her eyebrows when she sees them together, but she doesn't ask any questions, and Nick mumbles something about Jess's car breaking down and needing a ride. He follows Cece and Jess through an endless number of stores that all look exactly the same because Cece wants a dress, and Nick's supposed to tell her which one to buy. He's definitely regretting not letting Schmidt come. Schmidt would actually be able to tell the difference between them. Instead he has to rely on Jess standing behind Cece's shoulder, giving him either a thumbs-up or a thumbs-down Roman emperor style.
"Kill him," he says, squinting to see Jess's hand. "I mean -- no! Don't buy it."
It's not the most pleasant few hours Nick's ever had.
"Why did you bring Nick?" Cece asks when Jess wanders off into another section of the store. Nick isn't even sure which one they're in now.
"Um," he says, and grabs something random off a rack, trying to buy time until Jess returns. "I want to try this on."
"You wouldn't wear that," Cece says, and puts the sweater back. "What's going on with you guys? Did you finally have sex?"
Nick chokes on air. "What?" he wheezes.
"You're acting really weird. Are you feeling okay?" She presses the back of her hand against his forehead. "You feel a little clammy."
"I'm fine. I'm not -- having sex with Nick," he manages to get out.
Cece shrugs. "Yeah, I guess there wouldn't be this much sexual tension if you guys did it. But he's into you."
"Yeah," Nick says automatically, without thinking about it. "I mean, no!"
Jess comes back, holding an armful of dresses. "Hey, uh, Jess, I thought you could try these on."
Cece gives Nick what seems like a Meaningful Look as she disappears behind a rack of skirts. Nick plucks one of the dresses out of Jess's pile, holds it up to himself. His palms are sweating a little.
"Definitely that one," Jess says. "I look really good in it. Hey, what were you and Cece talking about?"
"Nothing." Nick gives the dress back. "Let's go pay for this stuff. I'm getting a headache. The music in here is too loud, and it smells weird, and this bra is really uncomfortable."
"I told you, boob jail. Underwire was invented by Satan. And the patriarchy," Jess says, and gleefully takes the dresses up to the register.
Winston and Schmidt are both out when they get back, and Nick remembers just in time that he has his shift at the bar, so he makes Jess call in sick. She makes a series of unconvincing sick noises into the phone before he motions for her to hang up. She keeps reaching up to push her hair back before realizing she doesn't have to and there's something about the way that her hand stills at her temple that makes Nick hurt, an ache spreading in his chest. He remembers her reading the paper at breakfast a few mornings ago, her hair spilling over and covering the headline, her voice all scratchy with sleep.
He wanted to kiss her then, push her down in her chair and kiss the fuck out of her. He still wants to kiss her, he thinks, even when she's not her because, in some way, she still is. That doesn't even make sense in his head. This is so fucked up. Nick watches as she makes herself a cup of tea, reaching into the cabinet for her little box, getting the mug out, putting the water on to boil. He leans against the dining table.
"This is kind of nice. Being taller," she says, and smiles at him. It's all genuine and happy. It's one-hundred percent Jess Day.
"Jess," he says.
"Do you want some tea?" She holds up the box and shakes it. "I can make you a cup."
"No. Jess," he says again. "Come here."
She walks over to him, the box of tea still in her hand.
"Jess, what the hell do we do?"
She looks down at the tea, plays with the lid of the box. She shrugs, her hunched shoulders rolling beneath Nick's flannel. "I don't know," she says quietly. "I just -- I keep hoping we'll change back."
"I'm really sorry," he says, and he means it. He really is sorry.
"No, Nick, it's not your fault."
"But it is my fault."
"No, it's not."
"Yes, it is," he insists, his voice growing a little louder.
"No, it's not," she says back, her voice rising to match his.
"Yes, it FUCKING IS!"
"NO, IT'S NOT!"
"IT'S MY FUCKING FAULT! I GOT THOSE BEANS! IT'S MY FUCKING FAULT! IT'S MY FAULT!" Nick roars at her, feeling the anger tear through him, rough and familiar and almost heady.
"SHUT UP, NICK, SHUT UP!" Jess yells back, dropping the box of tea on the floor. "FUCK, OKAY, YES. IT'S YOUR FAULT. IT'S YOUR FAULT, NICK! WHAT DO YOU WANT ME TO SAY? YEAH, IT'S YOUR FAULT! YOU BOUGHT THOSE BEANS; IT'S YOUR FAULT!"
Nick doesn't have anything to say. He can't do anything because he wants to do too much -- he wants to cry and scream from the roof and punch something, all at the same time, and it's overwhelming him. He stares at Jess, her shoulders heaving, and -- fuck it -- he rushes forward, throwing his arms around her neck and kissing her. He's kissing her so hard, pulling her down to meet him, pushing into it with everything he's got, everything he has in him rising up into this kiss. Jess puts her hands on his waist, bracketing his body, the palms huge and heavy on his hipbones, and when she opens her mouth, Nick makes this noise, like it's being dragged from him, because Jess's tongue is in his mouth and he's trying to lick into hers, and fuck, fuck, it's good. It's really, really good. He feels small, kissing her like this, but it doesn't make it any less amazing.
"This is okay?" he asks, pulling away to breathe. "This is fine?"
"Uh-huh," Jess says, kissing him again, her teeth pulling on his bottom lip.
She walks Nick backwards, and he feels his back hitting one of the wood pillars, and then Jess's mouth, fuck, her mouth is at his pulse point, sucking so hard it hurts, but the best kind of hurt, this sweet pleasure-pain that goes straight to his core. He drags her face back up to his and kisses her so hard their teeth knock together. It's sloppy, how he's mouthing at her, and how he swipes his tongue against hers, and Jess's hand is against Nick's neck, and her fingers are in his hair, pulling, and Nick thinks he sees something burst on the inside of his eyelids.
"Shit, do that again," he gasps into her mouth.
Jess does, harder, and Nick whines, high and needy. The sound is almost embarrassing if Jess didn't groan his name at the same time, her voice shaking just as much. Nick licks a stripe up her neck, and bites down on the underside of her chin. She grinds her hips against his, and Nick feels unfamiliar hardness against his thigh. Fuck, he thinks, fuck. That's her cock, and it feels fucking weird, but he arches his hips towards Jess anyway, the dull ache from earlier now throbbing and urgent, which is how his whole body feels, and maybe it'll feel better if he can just, if he can --
"Oh, shit," he whimpers.
Jess has one of her hands slipped up the skirt, her fingers skimming the top of Nick's panties. Nick screws his eyes shut and breathes hard, through his nose, because Jess is suddenly pushing her hand between his legs, grinding the heel of her palm firmly against him, and a shock rolls through him, all the way up, and shit shit shit, is this how girls feel? If this is how girls feel, it's fucking fantastic, and he still has a layer of cotton between him and Jess's fingers. She moves her hand and presses again, and it's even more intense this time. Nick grabs at the front of Jess's shirt, his hands scrabbling.
Nick opens his eyes, and all he can see is his face, staring back, his own eyes intense and dark, the pupils blown wide.
It's like diving into ice water. He wakes up.
"Stop," he says. His voice is funny, and he's out of breath. He clamps his hand down over Jess's wrist. "Jess, stop."
She does, pulling away. Nick pushes the skirt back into place. Jess takes a step back. Her mouth is all swollen, a bruise blooming purple on the underside of her jaw, and her hair is pushed up at the sides from where Nick's hands were.
"This is too weird," Nick says, apologetic. "I can't -- you're me."
Jess's chest rises and falls as her breathing evens out and slows, and she wipes at her mouth, as if she were wearing lipstick. "But I'm not."
"Yeah, you are," he says, rubbing his face with his hands. His cheeks feel raw from where Jess's scruff scraped his skin. "Fuck, we can't do this. I'm sorry, Jess. I'm really sorry. I can't."
The kettle starts going off on the stove, making its usual rattling noise. Jess doesn't move for a second, and then she goes to get it, her steps slow and uneven. Nick takes another breath, still leaning against the pillar. His underwear feels damp.
"I'm going to, um, change," he says to Jess's back.
When she doesn't respond, he flees.
Nick wakes up slow the next morning, coming up from vivid dreams that he forgets almost as soon as he opens his eyes. His body tingles though, like there's muscle memory from dreaming, and he wiggles his fingers and knows he's still in Jess's body before he even checks. Yeah, still Jess's hands. He rolls over. Still Jess's bed. Fuck. He lies on his back and stares at the ceiling, morning light coming in through the windows. He misses being himself. Not that it was phenomenal or anything. Not that his life is anything great. But that doesn't matter. He misses being in the right body, not feeling itchy.
He gets up to brush his teeth, wrapping himself in Jess's terrycloth robe. In the bathroom Schmidt's flossing and he gives Nick a questioning look in the mirror. Nick nods, taking Jess's toothbrush.
"I hope you learned your lesson," Schmidt says, rubbing his index finger across his front teeth until it squeaks. Nick hates it when he does that. "No more magic beans."
"I know, I know," Nick says. He feels tired even though he just woke up. "No more magic beans. Ever again."
Schmidt pours himself a cap of mouthwash. "So," he says, swilling the cap around, "what's it like?"
"Being Jess?" Nick says through a mouthful of foaming toothpaste. "Weird. What do you expect?" He spits. "I'm shorter. Bras are super uncomfortable. I have to shave...parts. It sucks."
"But," Schmidt lowers his voice. "What about the breasts?" When Nick doesn't respond, he barrels on. "What are they like? Are they tender? Supple? How do they feel when you squeeze? Have you flicked the nipples?" He makes a flicking motion with his index finger and thumb. "Flick, flick? What about pinching? Are Jess's nipples more sensitive than your man nipples?"
Nick's got his arms up in front of his chest like he's protecting Jess's boobs from Schmidt. "No -- I don't know! I haven't... Stop it, Schmidt!"
"Can I touch them? Just once, Nick. Please."
"Just for science. I need to know, Nicholas."
"No! You -- back up, Schmidt!"
Schmidt sighs. "This is a once in a lifetime opportunity, Nick. How many more times are you going to switch bodies with a woman?"
Nick splashes water on his face, staring at his reflection in the mirror. "Schmidt, seriously, shut the fuck up." He pulls Jess's hair back with one hand, twisting it around his fingers.
"Okay, you don't have to talk. How about I ask you questions and you blink if the answer's yes? Okay, so, on a scale of 1 to 10, how pink are Jess's nipples, 1 being not pink at all and 10 being very pink? I'll count down and you blink when I get to the right number -- 10, 9, 8..."
Nick turns around, stares at him.
"...7, 6 -- is that a blink? Are you blinking, Nick? Are Jess's nipples a 6 on the pink scale?"
"I'm going to get dressed," Nick says slowly, backing out of the bathroom. "I'll see you later."
"Was that intentional blinking? Nick? NICK?"
For the second day in a row, Nick is standing in front of Jess's closet, going through her clothes. Seriously, girls do this every day? He pulls out a dress he's seen her in before, striped with a collar, and throws it on the bed. He has to say that he doesn't really mind the dress thing -- it's nice, not having to think about pants, just putting one thing on. He unbuttons Jess's pajama shirt, thinking about Schmidt's words. Would it really be so bad if he just...looked? Schmidt's right, he should look. If this is the only chance he's going to have at being a woman, he should at least take a peek.
He gets in front of Jess's mirror, staring at the reflection as he pulls the top off all the way, dropping it onto the floor. He looks for long minutes, his breaths coming heavy, watching a flush spread down his neck and across his shoulders -- Jess's shoulders -- and his skin pinks. He's always liked seeing her blush.
He reaches a hesitant hand up and lightly touches the curve of Jess's breast, cupping it. It looks weird in the mirror, but he brushes his thumb across the nipple and it hardens beneath his touch. He makes a face at himself, catching it in his reflection, and he actually laughs -- really laughs -- because it looks so much like Jess that he's almost thrown. He pinches, gently, and the shiver it induces goes right through him. Nick drops his hand. His heart is pounding.
That's it. No more touching. That is it.
Five minutes later and he's lying on his back, on top of Jess' unmade bed, the sheets all mussed from where he rolled off earlier. He tosses the pajama bottoms over the side and scoots forward, holding his breath and shutting his eyes. If he doesn't think about how wrong this is, it'll be okay. He licks his lips and runs a palm down his side, across the curve of his hipbone. Nick inches his hand beneath his underwear. It's damp and warm and he shifts his legs, spreading his knees wider. He thinks about the time he was sick and Jess came in to bring him Tylenol and he could smell her hair when she bent over him, sweet and fresh. He arches his hips up, presses his index and middle fingers down, grinding slowly for friction. He can't get it right -- it doesn't feel like it did yesterday, with Jess, and he tries moving his hand --
"Hey, Nick, I -- HOLY SHIT!"
Nick yelps, his eyes snapping open. "Oh my god!" he yells, his voice cracking.
Jess is staring at him, all of him, her mouth fallen slightly open. She's making a faint wheezing noise, and Nick doesn't know what that means, if she's going to punch him in the stomach or something. She's looking at where his hand has disappeared between his legs, and he snatches it back, trying to wipe it on the sheets.
"It's not what it looks like," he says.
She takes a step closer. "Okay..."
"It was, um. I was fixing the fabric. It was...bunching. I hate it when fabric does that."
She sits on the edge of the bed. He feels the mattress dip a little. "You're really bad at lying, Nick." Fuck, he still can't tell anything. Her expression is still too surprised, her voice quiet.
"I'm not lying," he lies. He feels exposed. He wants to grab the pillow next to him and cover himself. "Go ask Winston. Bunched fabrics. I talk about it all the time."
"I have never heard you talk about hating bunched fabric."
"Okay, fine, Jess -- "
"Do it again," she says, sounding a little strangled. "Put your hand back."
He can hear his heartbeat. "What?"
Jess leans in the tiniest bit. "Put your hand back, Nick," she repeats. "I want to see it."
Fuck, fuck, he can feel himself getting wet. There's something feverish about Jess's tone, and the way she's looking at him, intense and focused and piercing.
"You want to see it," Nick says, hoarse. His fingers twitch.
She reaches over and picks his hand up, moves it down until it's back between his legs. She lets go, and he slips his hand beneath the cotton again. He lets a moment pass before he starts moving his fingers again, shifting his hips, unable to stop looking at Jess and her expression.
It's still weird, he thinks, this is still weird, and in fact this is weirder, but. This is also kind of hot. And, if this is his only chance.
"You're doing it wrong," Jess says, and he stops.
She hooks a finger into the waistline of the panties, drags it down over Nick's thighs and down to his ankles. He kicks them off. He's pretty sure he's blushing all over again.
"I want to show you," Jess says, low and gravelly, and wow, Nick's got a great sex voice. He silently congratulates himself. He sounds hot.
Jess moves herself between Nick's spread legs, looking down as if she's fascinated. Nick bites back a groan. He wants to remember that look forever, dredge it up when he's alone in his room or in the shower, jerking himself off. She touches the inside of his thigh, runs her fingers inward.
"It's like this," she says, rumbling, and then her finger is on his clit and he bucks up into her with a gasp. Jess lets out this breath in a whoosh, and her gaze flicks up to him. "Good?"
"Y-yeah," he replies, shaky.
"Here," she says, grinning a little, like she's enjoying it. "I like this."
Nick feels something spreading him, Jess's fingers, sinking into him, filling him, and shit -- it feels fucking incredible. She does something with her wrist, twisting the fingers, crooking them, and he jerks involuntarily on the bed, choking something out that maybe is Jess's name, maybe something completely incomprehensible -- he doesn't even know because this is amazing. Why did he stop them yesterday before they got to the amazing part?
"You're so wet." he hears Jess say, all surprised and interested. Yeah, that's a turn on. "And tight. It's so...different."
Nick groans, shuddering. "Harder," he says, his eyes closed.
He feels her settling in beside him, the side of his body pressed up against hers. "I know," she says, her breath coming hot against his cheek. Nick thinks he whimpers.
She fucks into him slow and deep with her hand, stretching him around her fingers, and Nick can hear how wet he is, the slick noises sounding so loud in the room. He thinks about all the girls he's fingered -- Caroline and Julia and Nora from his high school math class, in the basement of her parents' house the very first time he was allowed to touch her there. And then Jess thrusts back into him and his thoughts splinter. He's squeezing his eyes shut so tight that it almost hurts.
"I wanna," Jess says, sounding nervous for the first time. "I wanna... Can I...?"
For fuck's sake. "Just say it, Jess," he grits out, his voice hitching when she rubs his clit.
"I wanna go down on you," she says in a rush.
Oh shit, yes. "Yeah, okay, yeah," he says, suddenly frantic to feel what that's like.
Jess is down there in a flash, pushing Nick's legs further apart with her hands, and Nick can feel the stubble scraping against his thigh, which is hotter than it sounds. Wow, seriously, that's a weirdly hot thing he didn't think he'd be into. He wonders how long Jess has wanted to do this, and he's dying to ask her, but she leans in and licks over him, a long stripe, and he almost arches off the fucking bed. She laves the flat of her tongue over his clit, again and again, and Nick feels something building, getting closer every time he pushes his hips back towards Jess. She slides her tongue into him, licking up, and Nick feels his body shake and he lets out this embarrassing, loud moan and everything in him is tensed and ready and he just needs a little bit more. He's breathing hard through his nose, he can hear it, and Jess's tongue against him, and he's so keyed up, he needs to fucking come.
Jess presses her thumb against his clit, her tongue still inside him, and suddenly he's shaking, coming apart, the waves of it making his body arch upwards. Jess keeps rubbing at him, letting him ride it out, and when he's finally just trembling, she pulls herself away. She wipes her mouth with the sleeve of Nick's shirt, making weird faces to stretch out her cramped jaw.
"Fuck, Jess," Nick says. His legs feel weird, rubbery. He's not sure if he can move.
She's got her face turned into the same pillow Nick's lying against. "Sex goddess, right here," she says, giggling, self-congratulatory. It tickles Nick's ear. "I am super good at sex." She puts on her old-timey dame voice. "Jessica Day -- for all your sexy needs!"
"Yeah," he says faintly. He'd be more against the old-timey dame voice if he had the energy. Besides, it's sort of less annoying when it sounds like him. "You were good."
Jess props her head up. "Just good?"
"What do you want? An award?"
"Yeah, I do. I want an award. I want a certificate of Amazing Sex-ing from Nick Miller."
Nick laughs, still feeling boneless. "Yeah, sure. I'll get right on that."
"Like you can do better."
"Actually, Jess, I think I can do better."
She snorts. "Uh-huh. Okay."
"What are you talking about, 'okay'? I can definitely do better, Jess! I don't think you understand the amount of time I've put into perfecting my handjob!"
Jess starts laughing, like stupid drunk laughing. Nick laughs too.
"What?" he asks. "What's funny?"
"Your perfect handjob, Nick. That's what's funny."
"You're laughing at my handjob? You don't believe me? Fine, I'll show you! It's the best handjob anywhere!"
He leans in and kisses her, cutting her off mid-laugh. She makes a noise against his lips, and then her hand is in his hair, twisting, tugging, and he thinks he could basically kiss her forever if she keeps doing that. He can feel her nails against his scalp, short and blunt. Nick presses her back into the pillow, her mouth wet and hot, and he can taste him -- Jess -- on her tongue. God, that's weird. He breaks away, pushing at her shirt, the same fucking flannel he's had for six years. Jess pulls it off, and Nick helps her take off the t-shirt underneath, and okay, yeah, this is different, this is. He kisses her again to distract himself from thinking about it too much, reaching down to unbutton her jeans. He slides his hand in through the opening, lightly brushes her erection with his fingertips. He can feel the heat coming off her even through the fabric of the boxers, and her breath hitches at his touch.
"Off, Jess, take them off," he says, sucking at a spot right beneath her left ear.
She makes this amazing noise, like he knew she would, and pulls at her pants, kicking, pushing, until they're on a heap at the end of the bed.
"Boxers, Jess," Nick says, trying not to sound impatient, but oh my god, come on.
"Right, right," she gasps, and Nick fucking doesn't want to wait, so he does it for her, throwing the boxers across the room so they land on Jess's desk. "That's gross, Nick," she says, but in this way that he knows she doesn't actually care, because he curls his fingers around her cock and she buries her face in his neck and he can feel the vibrations of her moan everywhere.
"Where's your lube?" he asks.
Jess sounds fucking drugged. "What?"
"Your lube, Jessica, I need some lube!"
"Oh my god, why are you getting so fancy on me?!" she yells back at him. "You're Nick Miller! Just use some spit!"
Jesus Christ, she's right, so he spits in his hand and wraps it around her, thinking about all the times he's done this to himself, the countless number of times, and he didn't think he would ever be doing it from this angle. He moves, slow at first, working into a rhythm, and he can't stop looking at Jess's face, her half-open mouth, and the raw redness of it as she pants each time he strokes his thumb across the head. Holy shit, Nick is not gay, but, yeah, okay. Maybe he's a little gay.
"Oh god, oh god, oh god, oh god," Jess says, all strange and high and thready. Nick feels something twist in the pit of his stomach, arousal pooling between his legs, urgent again.
He doesn't stop to overthink it. He just drops down her body, his palm wet and shiny, and runs his tongue up the underside of her erection. It's salty, and he mouths at the head, taking it into his mouth and sucking, hollowing his cheeks out just a little, guessing at the pressure. Jess whimpers, she actually whimpers his name, and her hand is pulling at his hair again. Nick can hear the rush of blood in his ears and the sound of his lips around Jess's cock, and he sucks a little harder, all messy with spit and pre-come, wanting to fucking touch himself, because he swears to god he is so turned on, he's dripping onto the bed.
"Nick, fuck, Nick -- " Jess says, all out of breath.
He drags his mouth off, wiping it with the back of his hand. "What?"
"Please," she whispers, "please" and his heart thumps loud in his chest.
He bites beneath her hipbone, leaving a little mark there. She yelps. "Condoms."
"Nightstand." She points, not missing a beat.
The box is all the way in the back of the drawer. Nick finds a packet of half-used hair elastics, two headbands, an old Samsung flip phone, a roll of GREAT WORK! stickers, and a small vibrator before he gets to the condoms. He grabs a foil packet, tearing it open with his teeth.
"I'll do it," Jess says, struggling into a half-sitting position. Her cock is red and hard, slick with saliva. Nick swallows.
"No, I'll do it," he says, and clambers back, feeling ungainly in his haste.
"Wow, you are super bossy when you're turned on," she says. Her eyes are very, very bright, and she's smiling. "I'm going to remember that."
Nick feels this rush of something wash over him, leaving him warm. "Okay," he mumbles, and rolls the condom down.
"I -- " Jess starts. "Do you want me to...?"
He lies back, uncertain suddenly, but he nods and spreads his legs, tilting his head back as Jess kisses him. She squeezes a nipple, quick, and he can feel her grin when he whines into her mouth. She settles between his thighs, reaching down to guide herself in, feeling him all slick and open. Nick arches his back when he feels her, nudging into him. She's got her face screwed up in concentration, her brow furrowed, and he tilts his hips towards her to help her along. It's making him impatient, the pressure and the achiness and how good she feels, full and heavy. Jess closes her eyes, mutters something that sounds like "shit". Nick is dizzy, his head swimming. He wants her to move, fuck, he can feel himself trembling.
"I still think," Jess pants, "that I did did a better job than you." Her voice breaks, which gives the statement much less weight.
"Move, please. Jess, move," is all he can get out.
She does, and it takes forever, but Nick could cry from how good it is. They set up a rough rhythm, Jess thrusting into him, and Nick pushing back, their breathing harsh and loud, and Jess's bedframe knocking into the wall. Nick's hot all over, sweaty and overwhelmed, and Jess changes her angle a little bit, scooting Nick back, and right there, right there, Nick digs his nails into Jess's side. She kisses him and it lands on his chin, but shit, if this isn't some of the best sex he's ever had. Jess starts going faster, and she's making this whining noise in the back of her throat. Nick adds it to his mental list of things-that-shouldn't-be-hot-but-are-anyway.
"Nick," she says, "Nick."
"Jess," he manages.
Her hips are jerking as she's fucking into him, and Nick knows she's about to come, her eyes flying open and her saying his name, and she slams into him, shuddering.
"Oh my god," she says, hoarse, after a long minute. Nick winds his arms around her back, his pulse still racing, his body still all worked up and tense.
Jess works a hand between them, rubbing all slow and lazy around his clit. Her eyes are hooded when she leans in and bites his earlobe, and he comes, harder than anything, even harder than last time, each wave rolling through him.
She pulls out when he's recovering from the aftershocks, his breathing slowing. He watches as she awkwardly knots the condom, making a grossed out face when she gets off the bed to throw it away. She gets back in next to him, curling her body around his, her arm heavy and good across his waist. Nick is loose-limbed and sleepy, fucked open. Jess's bed is so much more comfortable than his, and he thinks about how he should wash his sheets more often.
"What if we never switch back?" Jess asks. It's so soft Nick momentarily thinks he imagines it.
He turns his head. Jess looks back at him.
"It's gonna be okay," he says, and puts his hand over hers, lacing their fingers together. "I promise." He moves to face her, tucking himself up beneath her chin. He brushes his lips over her collarbone. "Hey. I like you," he says, feeling the weight of the words around him.
She hugs him close. "Yeah. I like you too, Nick."
He drifts off like that, Jess holding him, listening to her breathe. He really hopes it's going to be okay.
Someone's shaking him. "Nick, wake up! Wake up, Nick!"
He buries his face further in the pillow, swatting out blindly. "Stop," he says, scratchy. His mouth is dry, and he licks his lips, the taste on his tongue all sour.
"Nick," and he knows it's Jess because her voice is so persistent, "we've switched back."
He sits up, nearly knocking their heads together. They're still in Jess's room, but it's true, he's in the right body again. It's his hands and his chest and his legs and his face. He touches himself all over, trying to make sure that it's true, relieved and exhausted. He's even got the mark on the inside of his hip, from where he bit Jess earlier. It's purpling, and he runs a finger across it. He feels wrung-out even though he was just asleep.
Jess is beaming at him, cheeks flushed, dark hair tumbling over her shoulders. She looks amazing, like she's glowing. He swears she's glowing.
"You're naked," he says to her, because he doesn't know what else to say. He's grinning. He can't stop it.
"Well, you're naked too," she says, jabbing him in the sternum with her index finger.
Nick shrugs. "You've seen it all. You've been in it."
"Yeah," she says "That's really weird. Good though. I think?"
Jess looks around the room, clothes strewn everywhere, the dress Nick had picked out lying on the floor. "So...I guess we should go tell Winston and Schmidt."
"Okay, yeah. Just let me." Nick pulls his shirt from on top of a lamp. He has to walk across the room for his boxers. He's never been so happy to put on underwear before. The buttons on his shirt are on the right side, and the fabric feels familiar and worn. He rolls up his sleeves, turns around to watch Jess.
She's pulled on pajamas, soft flannel ones with pink stripes, and she's brushing her hair. He likes it, likes being able to see it, instead of the one doing it. When she tilts her head, he can see a line of bruises running down her neck, and he's momentarily dizzy remembering the feeling of her teeth scraping against his skin.
"Why are you looking at me like that?" Jess asks, putting her brush down. "Do I have something on my face?"
"You -- you got a little something," and he gestures to his neck.
She runs over to the mirror and pulls down the collar of her shirt, turning her head different ways to see everything. "Crap."
"It's not a big deal, Jess. No one will even notice."
"Um, yeah, they're totally going to notice that there's like a hickey convention on my neck." She spins around. "You've got them too. Don't pretend you're innocent." She crosses to him, lightly touches a spot right at his pulse. Her fingers look tiny, but he shivers anyway. It's so stupid, but he's missed her like this. All Jess-like, and looking like herself. The huge glasses and her matching pajama sets and her eyes. "This one is enormous."
He reaches up and circles his fingers around her wrist. "Jess."
She stills, her eyelashes fluttering. "Nick?"
He bends his head and kisses her, really soft, lips barely touching. Jess doesn't move at all.
"I just wanted to make sure," he says, feeling his voice bubble nervously, "I just wanted -- "
She puts a hand on his chest and he can feel it all warm through his shirts. "I know, Nick," she says. She leans up and kisses him again, a little harder, but still gentle. "Come on, soldier," she says, using that old-timey dame voice again, and it's so annoying that Nick laughs. He gives it like five minutes before he wants to strangle her for using it though.
"I'm still sorry about the beans," Nick says.
"Shut up about it already!"
He opens the door, takes her hand. "Okay, sorry, let's go."
"You better make me that certificate," Jess says.
"My Sex Goddess certificate."
"I'm serious. I want it signed and sealed and everything. Amazing Sex-ing. I'll put it in a frame."
"Not a cheap frame, Nick. Like, a really nice frame. I'm going to make it. I'll make the frame."
Schmidt says he knew they were magic sex beans all along, he was totally right. Nick says no, because magic sex beans aren't a thing.
Winston thinks they could be a thing. Probably.
Jess makes herself a cup of tea.