Egged Sleeves and Linty Cookies, a New Girl one-shot

I do not own New Girl. Feedback and prompts are always accepted.

Oh his god. If he rubs his eyes, will this all go away?

He can rub his eyes raw, but this is no illusion. She's wearing his hoodie again. Maybe if he covers his eyes it won't affect him.

Crap, it's ingrained in his memory now. "Nick, what are you doing?"

He uncovers his eyes. There is no normal way to explain this. He wishes there was, because he wants things back to normal. No, he wants things to be better than normal, with kissing and touching, and meaningless conversations that go on for hours because he needs to hear her voice.

He wishes that Schmidt hadn't opened that door. There was nothing stopping them, short of the box of fish sticks on the ground. One false step and he would have tripped, face planting straight into her chest. If things weren't awkward yet, they sure would have been then.

Is it possible to cop a feel with your face?

This is not helping the fact that she's still staring at him, waiting for an answer.

"It's really bright in here," he says, picking up his coffee cup. Now to sip at his coffee until it runs dry. That way he can't say anything that he's going to regret later. He can't tell her that he's been up all night, silently planning the 'accidental' death of his roommate, for kissing her and interrupting what would have been their second kiss. Even if they're better off having not.

Well, most of him is better off. His mouth is still itching for round two. And three. And four thousand seventy nine.

Why can't he taste the coffee anymore?

"I haven't even turned the light on. You've been sitting in the dark." Great. Now he's been caught in a lie, and he's run out of coffee. He can sip at an empty cup, but she is going to catch on.

"You just light up a room Jess," he says somewhat sarcastically. Please say that there's more coffee in the pot.

She pours the rest of it in her cup. He wants to snatch it out of her hand, but there's this thing called body contact, and if he gets any of it, he's going to want more.

A whole lot more, with as much of his skin on hers as possible.

Once the cup gets set down, that is. No need to be dangerous. There's enough danger making a move, let alone having a shatter cup on the ground. Not to mention the scalding coffee dripping down the front of his sweatshirt. The one that, let him stress again, she is wearing, for reasons he has yet to discover.

"I hope you don't mind, but I slept in your hoodie." She takes a long drink.

Better put on more coffee. "I don't mind. Why would I mind?"

For not caring, his heart is beating pretty fast. Must be the coffee at work. There's no way it could be because she dropped the cereal box, and when she bends down to get it, he can see that she's wearing that invisible shirt she was talking about.

She moves her lips, like she is going to respond, but Schmidt comes into the kitchen.

"Why are you two in the dark?" He flips the light on, and Nick winces. That light is bright. "And why is Jess wearing your sweatshirt, Nicholas?"

"Why don't you ask her?" They both turn to look at her. She never did explain why she slept in his hoodie.

The zipper gets yanked up to her chin. "I was...cold."

"Cold?" Schmidt asks tersely.

"Yes. I was cold," she says, with more conviction than last time.

"So rather than wear one of your own sweaters, or borrow one from me or Winston, you decided to wear his sweatshirt?"

Taking out a spoon, she plunks it in her bowl. If he reacted this way to her wearing his sweatshirt, how would he feel knowing she still has the red one too? The one from when she had made Melon Nick. It's hanging in the back of her closet.

Give her a minute to mull this over. She needs to come up with some excuse that has nothing to do with how she wanted to kiss him last night and that wearing his sweatshirt was the closest thing she had. There is no way she is breaking that no nail oath of theirs. Mainly because there is no way that Schmidt is going to get seconds.

If anyone is getting seconds, it is going to be Nick.

Wait, did she say that out loud? They're staring at her. No, it's because she hasn't replied. That's a relief.

"It was the first one I found. And it'd be rude if I woke you or Winston." Of course it was the first one she found. She had been clinging to it like a baby to a blanket.

"What was his-"

"Who wants coffee?" Nick interrupts. They do not need to continue this conversation.

There are a lot of things they don't need to do. There are a lot of things they shouldn't do too. Except he wants to do the things he shouldn't, unlike the things he need not do.

He gets first dibs on the coffee.

(the page breaks here)

The next morning she strolls out, wearing his red sweatshirt. This is an unexpected turn of events.

"How many of my sweatshirts do you have?" he asks, setting his cup on the counter.

"Only two," she replies nonchalantly. Clearly she has no idea what she is doing to him, or those two sweatshirts would be back in his closet, stuck in the far back, where her smell would be overtaken by Eau de Miller, and he could wear them without worrying about smelling like a girl.

Without smelling her and remember that sweet face of hers.

Without wearing it and having to take a cold shower in the middle of February.

Today he's glad to see she is wearing a shirt. It's her jamboree shirt, which is riding up, exposing her stomach. Picking the coffee cup back up, he holds it in front of him. If he doesn't see that sliver of skin, he won't think about it.

Right, because that worked so well yesterday.

It's not working today either.

"So you just steal my hoodies?"

"I wouldn't say steal. More like eternally borrowing, without plans to return them."

This will probably do more harm than good, but he needs to know. "Why?"

Apparently she has been caught of guard. He can see it in her face, even hidden behind her freshly poured cup of coffee. Those eyes are too big to hide behind any cup.

"They're comfortable." It's like being wrapped in a portable Nick Miller hug. Minus the second pair of arms.

Words he should be saying: I'll take you to the store so you can buy one for yourself, and I can get mine back.

Words that actually come out of his mouth: "Oh, okay."

He stuffs a piece of burnt toast, extra butter, in his mouth. If he's chewing, he can't talk and say anything that'll screw him even further. Something along the lines of: In that case, please torture me by wearing them every day. There is nothing hotter than a girl in my sweatshirt.

"You're not even going to try and get them back?" She had thought that he would. If she were him, she would have ripped her sweatshirt off of him, taking it back for her own closet. It might have to visit her bedroom floor first.

Though if she was him, and he were her, he wouldn't fit in her sweatshirt. It'd be like a shrug. And if he was wearing his invisible shirt like she had, they'd be in major trouble.

"Nope." He smiles behind his coffee cup. He'll never admit it, but he likes the idea of her in his hoodies, even if it means he has to take a cold shower every day for the rest of his life. It'd be worth it.

She sighs, almost as if she wants him to argue with her. Not that she'd give up his hoodie.

Eggs. She will make eggs and distract herself from the thoughts that she is not supposed to be having. Then she won't face him, and she won't see his eyes tracing every curve hidden beneath that oversized sweatshirt of his.

Drat, she got egg on his sleeve. Now she'll have to wash it, and it will no longer smell like him.

Good thing his room is right across the hall.

(the page breaks here)

She is a dirty filthy liar and he is okay with that.

"I thought you said that you only had two of my hoodies."

"I did, but I got one dirty and had to put it in the wash." She rolls the sleeves up. This time she's not going to get egg on his sweatshirt.

He nods. "And you just decided to steal another one of my hoodies?"

"I told you, it's borrowing." Her hand gestures get a bit too wild, and the frying pan flies from her hand. He ducks, and it lands with a thud.

She covers her mouth with a hand. That was not supposed to happen.

Neither was the kiss, but that was the best fifteen seconds of her life.

"Jess!" he shouts.

"I am so sorry Nick."

"What is going on out here?" Schmidt asks, eyes landing on the frying pan. The wheels turn in his head. "Jess, did you try to knock Nick unconscious with a frying pan? I've told you, Tangled is just a movie."

Bending down, her low cut tank top falling dangerously low, she picks the pan up. "I was not going to hurt him. I was just explaining the difference between stealing and borrowing, and it slipped out of my hand."

She better stick to cereal this morning.

(the page breaks here)

He's made a decision.

"I want my hoodies back."

"Huh?" She bites into a cookie. It's a bit linty, from having been in his pocket, where there are now crumbs.

"I can't take it anymore." He tugs at the zipper, but it won't budge.

Setting her cookie down, she sits up. He's straddling her, playing with her zipper. If Schmidt walks in, they're going to be in deep trouble. There is nothing innocent looking about him pulling at her clothes, her lips wet.

She knew she shouldn't have licked the crumbs off her lips.

"Nick." He stops.

"I want my hoodie." This time he's calmer than last. It's more of a request than a demand.

Her hand meets his, moving it off the zipper. "Nick."

"I want my hoodie." His voice is quiet, a desperate plea.

"You can have your hoodies," she promises. A reassuring smile lets him know that she's telling the truth.

He doesn't want her to tell the truth. He wants her to tell him too bad, she's keeping the hoodie forever because she loves him. He wants her to love him.

Her eyes look bigger. He realizes that it's because her face has gotten closer.

Like, a lot closer.

The cookie ends up smashed beneath the weight of their bodies.

That's okay. He's already entertaining her sweet tooth, amongst other things. He can help her pick the crumbs out of her hair later.

Right now, she's just going to keep on kissing him.

He never gets his hoodies back.