He hates her for breaking through his protective glass.
He had it carefully arranged, see. Put up in a way that showcased him in all of his delectable glory but completely inpenetrable when it came to feeling. Sex, yes. But sex never particularily meant anything except that he'd have to gently let down the girl the next day to set her straight and remind her that it was just one night.
And that was it. That was Tristan DuGrey's life. Hookups, occasional short-winded girlfriend and like he said, lots of sex. It worked for him.
Then she appeared, as if from nowhere. Conservative and painstakingly virginal with unusual blue eyes that far outclassed his own. She paid no attention to him: it's what initially drew him in. The thought that she held no apparent interest in him unsettled him. Everyone was interested in him at one point or another. Except for her.
It was a game at first. Then it turned into a fascination. And slowly, without meaning to, she broke through his seemingly indescructible layers.
When he kissed her, it's was a kiss he felt. Not an empty one, accompanied by rough hands and probing tongue and eventually tossing in the sheets together. It didn't even allude to that. It was just a kiss with promise for more that felt every bit as good as this one.
His layers were gone: she had exposed him.
And then a short while after, she turned it around and crawled back to her snivelling boyfriend while he watched idly in the corner.
And that, he realized with disgust, hurt.
She chipped through and then broke away, just like that. Like it was so easy. Like it was all up to her.
Rory Gilmore. Hates her. Rather, hates that he can't hate her. And now he's like every pathetic adolescent male he's ever read about in stupid books he had been forced into picking up.
Up the layers went again. And this time, when another Rory Gilmore came along, he'd know better than to court her. Just let her fade into oblivious existance and never allow feelings to surface.
She'd be the first - and last - to ever get the best of him.