-Approximately 24-hours earlier-

"Somehow, I imagined this going a little differently in my head," Nick said, more to himself than to anyone else, as he carefully helped Jess out of her now-soiled dress.

"You imagined undressing me in your head?" Jess drunkenly mused, her eyes glassy with inebriation.

Even half-unconscious, Jess still had the ability to catch him off guard. "Yes . . . I mean . . . no . . . I mean . . . let's just get you ready for bed, Jess," Nick responded, deftly evading his roommate's question, as the piece of fabric once draped over her body fell to the floor.

He was trying to be gentlemanly . . . really, he was! But the sight of Jess standing before him in her bra and panties captivated him in ways he hadn't quite expected. He'd seen her naked before, of course. But the circumstances surrounding that bout of nakedness had been quite different. For one thing, he was with another woman at the time. For another, well, whether or not he was ready to admit it to himself yet, his feelings for her had changed since then.

Nick felt an all-too-familiar stirring beneath his belt. This prompted him to launch into the mantra, which had been designed specifically for times like these, when his lower half was behaving in ways his top half didn't approve. "Dead puppies . . . Grandma Miller in a bathrobe . . . Roseanne Barr, Schmidt in a blonde wig and high heels . . .," he recited to himself from memory.

It never failed. Within moments, he was ready to tackle the next step in Operation Get Drunk Jess to Bed, Without Taking Advantage of her Situation. "OK, raise your arms over your head," Nick insisted, as he held up an old sweatshirt from his law school days for her to slip into.

Jess stood stock still.

"I said . . . raise your arms," Nick instructed, louder this time.

Jess shook her head vigorously.

"Jess . . ." groaned Nick, exasperated.

"You didn't say Simon Says," slurred Jess, a dopey grin forming at the corners of her mouth.

Nick couldn't help but laugh. The whole situation was just THAT ridiculous. "Fine . . . Simon Says, lift your arms above your head," Nick relented.

"Say please," Jess prompted, in her best school teacher voice.

Nick rolled his eyes, and tossed the shirt onto Jess' head, causing her to stumble and fall forward, right into Nick's chest. Smirking, he pulled the neck hole over her head, causing her long hair to stick up at all sorts of ridiculous angles, thanks to the wonders of static cling. They locked eyes with one another again, as they had been doing all night, and gradually the laughter evaporated into a silence that was oddly sensuous and carnal.

Nick raised his hand and ran it through Jess' hair . . . right before giving her the noogie to end all noogies.

"Owwww, oww, enough! Mercy! I said MERCY!" Jess giggled, spinning away from Nick, as she finally worked her arms through the sweatshirt, which smelled distinctly of his cologne.

Then suddenly, she lurched, raising her hand o her mouth, a look of abject horror on her face. "Ummm . . . Nick?"

"Yeah, Jess."

"I'm feeling a little twirly . . . and not the good kind of twirly, either."

"OK . . . hold on . . . just hold it in," Nick instructed, frantically racing his roommate toward the bathroom.

They made it just in time. But the ordeal reminded Nick just how much he needed to get out of his own soiled clothes. (And burn them, if possible.) "SCHMIDT!" Nick yelled, poking his head out of the bathroom door.

"Hey Nick," replied Schmidt jovially, as he approached his roommate's disembodied head.

"What hell happened to your face?" Nick inquired.

Schmidt self-consciously raised his hand to his mouth, "I don't want to talk about it," he muttered.

"Is Winston around?" Nick asked.

"Yeah, he's in his room, Skyping with one of his buddies from Latvia. Anything I can help you with?"

"Umm . . ." Nick fumbled, not quite sure he could trust Schmidt with this.

"Niiiiiick," Schmidt sing-songed, "Don't be shy! Tell your good pal Schmidty what you need!"

"Fine," Nick relented. "Ahhh . . . Jess . . . isn't feeling well. And I have to run downstairs for like two minutes to take out some VERY toxic trash. So, if you could just keep an eye on her, while I'm gone . . ."

"What do you mean, 'keep an eye on her?'" Schmidt questioned, not liking where this was going at all.

As if on cue, Jess' slurry voice rang out from the bathroom. "Nick? I think the toilet bowl is talking to me."

"I don't think that's possible, Jess," Nick called back calmly, before returning his attention back to Schmidt. "Just . . . I don't know . . . make sure she doesn't pass out, drown in the toilet, or run onto the roof naked and start doing the Funky Chicken Dance. Please? I'll be right back. I promise!"

Schmidt considered this for a moment. "So, when you say, 'not feeling well,' you mean she's puking her guts out, right?"

Nick sighed. "Yeah, Schmidt. That's exactly what I mean."

"Ummm . . . I'm afraid that's going to be a problem for me," replied Schmidt, as he nervously pulled at the collar of his button-down shirt. "You see, I have a real sensitive gag reflex. I've had it since I was a child. And, as a result of this serious medical condition . . . well . . . my body just doesn't tolerate vomit real well."

"You're kidding me, right?" Nick asked incredulously. "Tell me something, Schmidt. Do you think JESS tolerated vomit real well, after a certain someone's 29thbirthday, during which she held that certain someone's hair back, while he puked up all his birthday cake, despite the fact that an hour prior, that certain someone tried to RAPE HER FACE WITH HIS TONGUE?"

Schmidt blushed. "Hmmm . . . you know what? I'll make an exception for Jess," he said, grinning benevolently.

Nick rolled his eyes. "I thought you would. Listen, I'll be right back. Just try not to do anything stupid, while I'm gone," he called over his shoulder, before dashing back to his room to get out of his own fetid clothes, and add them to the small trash bag currently carrying Jess's dress. (Under the circumstances, he assumed she wouldn't be too torn up over the loss.)

Exactly two minutes and thirty seconds later, Nick was already on his way back from his journey to the garbage disposal. He could hear the loud mechanical whirring noise coming from his apartment, all the way down the hall. Unfortunately, he knew exactly what it was. "I'm going to KILL HIM," Nick growled, racing into the apartment toward the bathroom.

The sight that greeted him upon his return would probably have been funny, under any other circumstances, but now it just made him furious. There was Schmidt, a hospital mask covering his face, running an extra large commercial floor wax machine over the bathroom floor . . . while Jess was LYING NEXT TO THE TOILET, just inches away."

"Nick . . . why is there a monster truck rally going on in our apartment?" Jess mumbled exhaustedly, her head still lodged inside the toilet.

Nick said nothing. He simply yanked the plug for the waxing machine out of the wall and stomped out of the bathroom. Five seconds later, he returned with The Douchebag Jar. Schmidt groaned. "I was disinfecting!" He insisted, not bothering to remove the mask from his face, before he spoke. "She'll thank me for it, tomorrow."

Nick just shook his head and pointed angrily at the jar. Schmidt sighed, as he pulled a newly minted 5 dollar bill from his money clip, and tossed it into the already nearly-full money receptacle.

"Five dollars? Really?" Nick inquired pointedly.

Schmidt ended up adding another ten dollars to the jar, before Nick finally agreed to take it away. "NOW GET OUT! AND TAKE THAT RIDICULOUS MACHINE WITH YOU!" Nick yelled.

Schmidt gratefully complied . . . happy to have escaped the bathroom with a little dignity and enough money to buy lunch for tomorrow. Moments later, Nick slipped on the newly-over-waxed floor, and fell flat on his ass. That was just the kind of evening he was having . . .

"Nick?" Jess rasped tearfully, finally managing to lift her head from the bowl. "I'm sorry I ruined your night."

Seeing Jess look so utterly miserable softened Nick's usually hard heart. And in seconds, all his anger at Schmidt, and the literal pain in his ass, just melted away. "Are you kidding?" Nick said with a smile. "This was the best threesome I ever had!"

That got a laugh out of Jess. It also inspired, in Nick's opinion, anyway, a rather random request. "Nick?" She began again.

"Yeah Jess?"

"I think I'm feeling OK enough to take a shower."

"Are you sure?" Nick faltered, his brow furrowed with concern. "Because I don't think . . ."

"Yeah, I'll be fine. If you want, you can even sit on the edge of the tub to make sure I don't go down the drain."

Nick snorted. "Well, since you put it that way . . ."

Looking back on the night, Nick would admit that Jess seemed more than a bit unsteady on her feet. But she did manage to walk from the toilet to the shower all by herself, which, at the time, he interpreted as progress. Nick settled calmly onto the edge of the tub, as Jess daintily closed the curtain. Moments, later, she neatly laid her bra and panties, on the edge of the tub opposite where Nick was sitting.

When Jess turned on the water in the shower, Nick let out a tiny sight of relief. And then he heard the crash . . .

Nick wasn't sure whether Jess had hit her head against the wall, or just lost her balance. All he knew was a small bottle of shampoo was now on the floor of the shower, and Jess' body was about to follow after it.

With a speed and agility he wasn't aware he possessed, Nick dove over the shower ledge and managed to catch Jess, before she fell to the ground. What he didn't plan on, however, was that she would pull him in with her.

"Man overboard," mumbled Jess.

Nick's second outfit of the day was now entirely soaked with water. He shook his head. "Eh, what the heck? I needed a shower, anyway. Do me a favor and face the wall, OK? I'm coming in."

"You're already in."

"You know what I mean," Nick muttered shyly.

"Nick, I've already seen you naked," Jess said matter-of-factly.

"Yeah . . . and you laughed . . . hard. So, turn around, please."

Jess did as she was told, while Nick stripped out of his wet clothes, before stepping back into the shower. "Can I turn around yet?" Jess asked.

"No . . just . . . I don't know . . . count sheep or something. I'm a dude. We shower fast. I'll be done in a minute, tops."

"Guys, if you are taking a shower, please don't use my mango chut-en-ey body wash," Schmidt called out, from outside the door.

Nick narrowed his eyes in the direction of the disembodied voice. It always pissed Nick off to no end that his roommate constantly insisted on adding an extra syllable to the word "chutney." Out of spite, he grabbed Schmidt's body wash, and began to apply it liberally all over himself, while trying desperately not to ogle Jess' backside. It wasn't easy. And by the time he was finished washing, he felt mentally and emotionally exhausted.

"OK, I'm getting out. Think you could handle finishing up your shower without killing yourself, now . . . Jess?"

The poor girl was sound asleep, with her head resting against the shower wall. Nick sighed, as he poured the remainder of the mango CHUTNEY body wash over Jess' shoulders, and watched it cascade down her body. He then angled the shower head toward her, so it could rinse her off. The job wasn't probably up to Jess' standards of cleanliness, but it was better than nothing.

Nick was about to turn off the shower, when he noticed that Jess' hair was still sporting telltale signs of her earlier . . . illness. He cursed under his breath. "I'm in porno hell!" He exclaimed.

"Dead puppies . . . Grandma Miller in a Bathrobe . . . Roseanne Barr," he began chanting, as he poured strawberry scented shampoo into his hand, and began to work it into the sleeping Jess' hair. Having helped his ex girlfriend become a bottle blonde on multiple occasions, Nick had more experience washing women's hair than he cared to admit. What he wasn't counting on was Jess' response to the sensation of his thinly muscled fingers expertly massaging her scalp, neck, forehead, and, particularly, behind her ears.

"Oh Nick," Jess purred amorously, her eyes fluttering in ecstasy, as his fingers ran through her ebony hair. "Soooo good."

Instinctively, Jess allowed her head to fall backward onto Nick's shoulder, as she pressed her back against his chest. Nick froze, closing his eyes, as he felt his entire body tense up in response to the close contact. His mouth instantly went dry, and he felt the heat rising in his cheeks. "Dead Puppies, Grandma Miller, Roseanne . . ." he began again . . .

But it was no use. The damage had already been done. The best he could hope for was that Jess would be too drunk or blissed out to notice what had happened.

"Nick? Is that Mango Chutney, or are you just happy to see me?" Jess asked in an inebriated version of her old-timey newspaperman voice.

Nick shook his head, as he turned off the shower. So much for discretion!

"AND DON'T USE MY TOWEL!" Schmidt called out, the second the water shut off.

"Which one is yours?" Nick asked innocently.

"The one that now says 'SCHMIDT'S TOWEL' in big black letters."

Nick smirked, as he gleefully wrapped Schmidt's towel around his waist. He then led a more-or- less dry Jess back to her bedroom, where she promptly collapsed on her bed, face first, and began to snore lightly. He grabbed a spare blanket from the closet and covered her body with it.

Relieved that he had somehow managed to make it through the entire night, without killing Jess, or taking advantage of her situation, Nick patted himself on the back, literally, as he headed for the door. Then, Winston appeared in the doorway. "Hey, is that Jess?" He whispered.

"No, it's just some random chick I brought home and put in her bed. Of course, it's Jess," Nick grumbled in response.

"Well, um . . . you might want to make sure she sleeps on her side tonight," Winston replied nervously.

"Why?"
"Because if she sleeps on her stomach or her back, she might choke on her own vomit and die."

"You're kidding."

"No, I'm not," Winston insists. "You're a bartender. Shouldn't you know this stuff?"

That really pissed Nick off. "Winston, I work in a BAR, not a Bed and Breakfast for people who like to choke on their own VOMIT."

Winston raised his hands in a placatory gesture. "Hey, just trying to be helpful!" He argued, before escaping to his bedroom.

Nick crawled onto the bed, and tried to coax Jess onto her side . . . first gently, then, not-so-gently . . . He tried using pillows. He even tried using books. But finally, he was too exhausted to try anything else. "Screw it," he said, as he crawled into bed next to Jess, pulling her body close to his, so she couldn't flop back on her tummy, in the middle of the night.

Jess wriggled in closer to him, wrapping her arm around his. She was smiling. So was he. He definitely didn't hate it. In fact, it felt kind of perfect . . .

"So, we never . . .?" Jess inquired, tilting her head upward toward Nick.

"Nope!" Nick replied, with a smile that Jess thought looked ever-so-slightly sad.

"And that was the whole story?"

"That was the WHOLE story," Nick replied, as he gently brushed a lock of hair from her face.

And it was . . . almost . . .

What Nick didn't tell Jess was that at some point during the night, she had leaned over and whispered in his ear, "I think I'm falling in love with you, Nick Miller."

It was a feeling with which he could definitely relate . . .

Nick thought he caught Jess looking slightly disappointed, but she hid it quickly. "Thank you for taking such good care of me," she said, cupping his face, with her hand.

"You're welcome," he said, not able to pull his eyes from hers.

"So, your breaking up with Julia . . . I guess that wasn't my fault, after all," Jess mused.

Nick grinned shyly, and Jess noticed that he was blushing ever so slightly. "Actually, that kind of was your fault . . . well, I guess more my fault, but you were definitely a part of it."

"How so?" Jess inquired, as she absent-mindedly ran her fingers through Nick's hair.

"Well, when I was with Caroline, I learned what it was like to be the one in the relationship who cared more, and was loved less. When she dumped me, I vowed I would never do that to another human being. And lately, when I've been Julia, I've found that there's always something else I'd rather be doing."

"What would you rather be doing?" Jess whispered.

"This," said Nick, as he grabbed Jess impulsively, and met his lips with hers.

She responded instantly, pulling his body ever closer to her, as their mouths and hands explored one another, greedily, eagerly, and hungrily. By the time they separated from one another, they were both a little breathless, and more than a bit lightheaded. Jess even found herself feeling a little drunk, again. "Wow . . . just . . . wow," she exclaimed.

"I know," Nick replied.

"So, does this mean . . . are we really going to do this?" Jess asked nervously.

"I think we already are," Nick said huskily, as he twined his fingers with hers.

"OH YEAH, Jess is dating the Nick . . . Jess is dating Nick," Jess sang, as she did a little impromptu dance around the bedroom.

Nick laughed, and threw a pillow at Jess, which hit her square in the face.

"Hey!" She exclaimed, tossing it back at him.

Nick ducked, so the pillow hit the wall behind him. "So, girlfriend, want to help me get back at Schmidt and Winston for what they did to you with that phony wedding photo?"

Jess climbed back into the bed, straddling Nick. "In a bit . . . there's something I want to do first."

Nick smiled, placing both his hands on Jess' shoulders, "Oh yeah," he said cheekily. "What's that?"

"I wanna have a twosome with you," Jess said, using that old-timey newspaper man voice again.

"A twosome . . . well . . . I think that can be arranged," replied Nick, as he pulled Jess closer to him again.

Sitting at the kitchen table, Cece, Winston, and Schmidt could no longer ignore the loud sex sounds coming from Nick's room. "Well, this is exciting," Cece said sarcastically.

"How come they get to have all the fun?" Schmidt asked, with a pout. "What the heck are we supposed to do now?"

"I think I'm going to bounce, now that I've done my job as matchmaker for the day," Cece remarked, rising from her seat.

"Wait . . . don 't leave yet," Winston exclaimed. "I know something we can do."

Cece paused, and turned in Winston's direction, only mildly curious.

"Someone left this case of wine on our doorstep this morning," Winston said excitedly, carrying the case from his room to the kitchen table.

"Any idea where it's from?" Cece asked.

"Who cares? It's free booze," Winston replied.

Cece eyed the multitude of shady, unmarked bottles, hesitating.

"Come on, Cece. Live a little bit. Dip your toe in the pool of possibility," Schmidt said, leaning back in his chair, with his hands behind his head.

"Awww, what the hell. I'll pour," said Cece.

The END.