AN- yes, yes, I know-another new story? This one is going to be short-only a 3 parter most likely, and I just couldn't resist. My sincere hope is to have both the final chapter and epilogue of LAWKI out by Saturday as that is the 1 year anniversary of the day I started it and I just think that would be really cool. In the meantime, I hope you enjoy this new piece.

"You coming with us tonight, Gilmore?" Shelly asked. Shelly was another one of the reporters riding the Barack Bus, as we affectionately (or sometimes not so affectionately) called it—a group of reporters from newspapers across the country following Barack Obama on his campaign to become the democratic nominee for the 2008 presidential election. Shelly was also my designated roommate wherever we may happen to crash each night.

This particular night we were in a run-down motel with TV's that still had bunny ears for reception and beds that accepted quarters—not much different from the usual crap hole we crashed in, except for the rusty slot machines lining the walls of the lobby. We were in Las Vegas, after all. Tomorrow, Obama would be holding a rally at UNLV.

"I don't know," I said hesitantly. "We have to work tomorrow." I sat cross-legged on the bed in front of my suitcase, shifting through it carefully, looking for my pajamas and refolding each article of clothing I encountered in the mean time.

"Not until noon," Shelly reminded me, shoving aside a pile of neatly stacked and perfectly pressed blouses and flopping down on the bed next to me. What else could you expect in Vegas—a college campus in Vegas to be more exact, asking such a population to show up anywhere before midday on a Saturday was practically blasphemous. Not that I minded a chance to sleep in—even if it was on sheets that would probably glow under a black light despite even the best efforts of Kim Woodburn and Aggie MacKenzie.

"I'm just not in the mood tonight," I replied, vaguely but honestly.

"You're never in the mood," Shelly whined. It wasn't exactly true. I did go out with the group from time to time; I just wasn't the party animal like Shelly. I preferred to spend the night with either a favorite book or a classic movie. Tonight, Turner Classic Movies happened to be airing a mini Hepburn marathon—if the hunk of metal sitting in front of me was even capable of getting that channel.

"Oh come on," Shelly pleaded, bouncing slightly on the bed and looking at me with big, green eyes. "We're in Vegas, hun, it's the city that never sleeps!'

"That's New York, Shell," I corrected her, grabbing one of the shirts she had so carelessly discarded and folding it up again.

"Oh, well then, the city of lights," she tried again.

"Paris," I replied.

"Umm…the eternal city?

"Rome."

"Err…"

"Sin City," I said after a minute, finally putting my friend out of her misery. "Las Vegas is Sin City."

"Even better!" Shelly smiled eagerly, her eyes lighting up with glee—and just a hint of trouble. "This city's so much fun, it's a sin! How can you say 'no' to that?"

"Umm, by having morals?" I answered, putting the last of my clothes back in the suitcase and shutting the top. I had always been the kind of person to unpack completely at a hotel, but when you were moving to a new place nearly every night, the habit died quickly and you really did start living out of a suitcase.

"Oh please," she scoffed. "I know there's a rebel somewhere in there beneath that goody-goody façade."

If only she knew. Growing up, I really had been as good as all that—the perfect daughter, the perfect granddaughter, the perfect student, and even the perfect town princess. I never let anyone down, except maybe myself.

Then I met Logan. Yep, he's an ex., the ex, really. I mean, I had always been the serious relationship kind of girl; even when Logan and I were in our 'no strings' phase, I hadn't seen anyone else except that one date with his friend that I used to make him jealous. So all of my exes were a big deal, but Logan was the biggest. We dated for almost three years, living together for a while, and even weathering the ups and downs of a long distance relationship. Logan changed me. I did a lot of things when I was with him that I was ashamed of—like stealing a yacht, and dropping out of Yale- but even though I'm ashamed of my actions during that time of my life, I don't regret it. For once in my life, I wasn't perfect, and it was liberating. Oh, don't get me wrong, I was miserable without the structure of school, but when I went back, I knew without a doubt it was because I wanted to be there. As for Logan, he stood by me through it all, encouraging me to find out who I really was and stop being the person everyone else expected me to be.

Logan had almost been 'the one.'

But the day my Yale career ended, so did our relationship. That had been six months ago, and I still couldn't seem to get him off my mind. In fact, he was really the main reason I didn't want to go out with the group that particular night. I kept thinking about this time, when he ran off to Vegas with his two best friends, Colin and Finn. It was just after this big business deal of his fell through. He had been so excited about the deal. His father-slash-boss had wanted nothing to do with it, so Logan had invested his own time, money, heart, and soul into finding the backing, making the deal happen, and proving his father wrong. When he wound up proving his dear old Dad right instead, he kind of spiraled into this dark place.

He didn't tell me about the deal for weeks, and when he finally confessed, he then proceeded to tell me that he was flying off to Vegas to 'let off some steam.' I was angry. I was angry that he was acting like a child instead of a man, I was angry that he was running away from his problems, but mostly I was angry that it wasn't me he was running to. The only trouble was, when he finally was ready to run to me, I wasn't there—literally. I had gone of to North Carolina for an old friend's wedding without a word. He tracked me down and flew out there to tell me he was sorry, that he knew he'd screwed up, and that he'd decided to quit his father's company. He was finally going to stand up and be a man; his own man, succeeding in the world on his own terms. I was so proud of him. Little did I know that that moment might have been the beginning of the end for us. I usually avoided thinking about that. I generally tried to not think about him at all, but sometimes I just couldn't help it.

"Not tonight, there isn't," I responded to Shelly's statement.

"I'm not taking 'no' for an answer, Ror. You're stuck with me for the next year, assuming Obama kick's Clinton's butt in the primary—honestly, the woman already got to run the country for eight years, it's time she gave someone else a chance—and if you don't come out with us tonight, I will not let you live it down."

And she really wouldn't, the girl was an elephant and not only did she not forget, she never let you forget either. She was still bugging Cecil about that time he drank her Mountain Dew out of the cooler on the bus, and that was three months ago.

"I hate you."

"That maybe so, but it's not getting you out of going out with us tonight. Now, we're going to be hitting up all the really big hot spots. We'll abuse our press passes if we have to, so make sure you dress hot." I narrowed my eyes and scowled at her, before flopping back on the bed with a sigh.

"I'll wear what I please," I told her, knowing very well that she would be dressing me up like a Barbie the second I stepped out of the shower. I really needed to get a back bone.

Two hours, eight tops, four pairs of pants, and three skirts later, I had finally gotten the Shelly Starsky seal of approval and she was dragging me out the door. I was wearing a denim mini skirt, a green, strapless baby doll shirt and a pair of white peep-toe pumps that would ensure I drank plenty of alcohol, if only as a form of pain relief. There were six of us total, so we hailed a couple of cabs and sped off towards the strip.

"It's so totally obvious," Shelly slurred to me, pointing her finger towards the dance floor in the club and moving it back and forth as her finger tried to follow the subjects of our conversation (or, more accurately, her ramble) as the room spun in a circle around her. "They've been sharing a room with one queen sized bed for the last three weeks. Do they really think they're fooling anyone with that; let alone a bus full or reporters?" Apparently, Harold, of the Huntingdon Herald, was in the midst of a torrid love affair with Tara from the Tampa Bay Tribune, who was nearly ten years his senior.

"I think they're a cute couple," I told her honestly.

"It's icky. A woman that old should not have a better sex life than me, not that Harold is some great catch or anything, but that's beside the point." She shuddered, and knocked back another red-headed slut; it was her signature drink as she felt that the name described her to a 't'—her words, not mine.

"It's not icky, it's…" I trailed off, staring into the crowd.

"What?" Shelly asked, although whether it was in reference to what I was about to say, or why I stopped, I don't know.

Nothing," I replied with a shake of my head, coming out of my daze. It really was nothing, I was sure of it. It wouldn't be the first time I thought I saw him in a crowd, especially when he was already on my mind.

Shelly looked at me skeptically for a moment, but then shrugged her shoulders. "What was I saying?" she asked me.

Now fully back to my senses after my imagination had run away with me, I looked carefully at the flush-faced, flailing armed girl in front of me. "You were saying you were going to switch over to water," I told her. Now Shelly's a smart girl when she's focused, but she can also be a little…absent minded. Still, even a completely trashed Shelly wasn't gullible enough to fall for that one.

"Yeah right," she scoffed. It looked like I was in for another night of holding her hair back while she hurled, and making sure she didn't pass out on her back. What a thrilling life I led.

Then I saw it again, just a glimpse. It was clearly another figment of my imagination. Like that cute, little, pink and purple Disney dragon- only it was taller, blonder, and a species that actually exists. My eyes scanned the room anyway, trying to provide support to my conclusion that I was simply going crazy. Logan was in San Francisco, becoming the next Mark Zuckerburg, not here in Vegas getting drunk. He wasn't in that club and he wasn't in my life—thanks to my very own stupidity. I needed to get over this.

I finished my once over of the crowd not seeing any signs of the blond haired, brown eyed, ex that I was still head-over-heels in love with. I was just about to turn my attention back to Shelly when something did catch my attention, and made the whole world around me go a little hazy. It was one thing to imagine that blond haired, brown eyed, ex, but it was something else entirely to imagine his tall, lanky, green eyed, Australian best friend. This couldn't be real—could it?

"Nice," I heard Shelly voice through the buzzing in my ears. I turned around to see her nodding her head in approval, though I wasn't sure of what—unless… "You should totally go talk to him." I followed her gaze to see that she was staring that the same thing I had been staring at just a moment before—Finn.

"That's a very bad idea," I said, attempting to make myself invisible behind her, which was nearly impossible, seeing as she had the approximate dimensions of 'Reporter Barbie.'

"Oh come on," she goaded, too drunk to take note of my suddenly strange behavior. I was quickly coming to the realization that this was not just some incredibly realistic nightmare. "You were totally just checking him out. He's a hottie. If you won't go talk to him, maybe I will."

"But he…I…" I stumbled. "I was not checking him out," I finally declared. This was bad. This was very, very bad.

"I saw you staring at him, Ror. You don't need to deny it. It's about time you started paying attention to guys, I was starting to wonder if maybe you were a lesbian. Now personally, I'd be totally cool if that were the case, but I think that hottie over there is a much better choice."

Shelly was stubborn. I might have already mentioned that. When she had her mind set on something, it was nearly impossible to talk her out of it, and apparently she now had her mind set on Finn—for at least one of us. I couldn't let that happen. Sure, there was always the chance that Finn would be so drunk (to tell you he was a bit of a lush would be a massive understatement) that he'd forget running into me and Logan would never know, but there was also that chance that he'd see me, give me a major tongue lashing for breaking his best friend's heart, and then disappear into the crowd to pass the information on to his blond companion. I didn't even want to think about how Logan would react to the news that I was in the same room as him.

No, we definitely couldn't go talk to Finn, in fact, there was really only one thing to do. Run. It was my tried and true method when things got tough, and I was more than ready to embrace the old habit once again.

Now how to convince Shelly? I could tell her that I really was a lesbian. Of course that might get me out of flirting with Finn, but it wouldn't get me out of the club. Shelly would just probably start pointing out all the hot women in the club, and by tomorrow the entire bus would be talking. I could just tell her I wasn't feeling well, but somehow I suspected she wouldn't fall for that. In fact, I could think of only one thing that might convince her—the truth, severely limited of course.

"Fine," I admitted. "I may have been staring, but I wasn't 'checking'. Checking out Finn would be wrong on so many levels you do not comprehend."

She started to open her mouth to respond but stopped short as she caught on to something I said. She leaned her head to the side and narrowed her eyes in question. "Finn?"

"Finn," I sighed, jabbing my thumb across the room towards the man in question.

"You know him?"

"I know him," I confirmed.

"Like, you know him, or you know him."

"Shelly!" I replied, feeling the blush creep up into my cheeks.

"What? It's a legitimate question," she defended with a smirk. "Besides, I need to know if he's fair game."

"No, I never slept with Finn. Although I have seen him naked—granted Colin and Robert were naked as well and they all had their underwear on their head while they danced around in circles. It's something I try to avoid thinking about."

Shelly took another look over my shoulder to check him out. "Well Finn could dance naked for me any day," she sighed.

"Can we please just leave?" I groaned.

"If you've never slept with him, I don't see what the problem is. There's got to be some sort of history there to have you so wound up." Why did reporters have to be so damned perceptive even when they were drunk?

"It's just complicated."

"Well then, explain it to me, and maybe I'll let us leave."

I sighed. "I have a better idea. I'll just get my own taxi back to the motel and you can stay here and do as you please."

"Fine, you leave, I'll go have a little chat with this Finn character. I'll tell him I'm a friend of Rory Gilmore's and she highly recommended that I see him naked." Shelly grinned evilly.

I gave her my best withering stare. "You wouldn't."

"Wanna bet?" she asked with raised eyebrows. She pushed herself off the bar and went to move in the direction of Finn but stopped short, looking around. I turned around myself only to notice that the Aussie in question was no longer in the same spot he had been a moment ago. I should have been relieved that Shelly couldn't follow through on her threat, at least for the moment, but something just didn't feel right. It was only a moment before I figured out why.

"If you could just set me up with a bit of my good fried Jack, I'd be forever grateful," I heard a very familiar, accented voice say. My first thought was to freeze, like prey avoiding a predator, hoping that if I didn't move, he couldn't see me. "And by a bit, I mean you can just give me the bottle. Oh, and don't forget a refill for the gorgeous lady and her friend," he instructed the bartender, clapping a hand on my shoulder. Busted.

I slowly turned around to face the speaker. "Hi," I said meekly, giving him a timid smile. Finn narrowed his eyes and looked at me curiously.

"I'm sorry, do I know you?" If I didn't know any better, I might actually think he really was just hitting on me without recognizing me. Unfortunately, I did know better.

"We may have met once or twice." Finn seemed to contemplate this for a minute before a big grin spread over his face.

"Ah yes, I remember now. You're that Reporter Girl who broke my best mate's heart into a billion tiny little pieces and left him as a shell of the man he used to be." He winked at me to let me know that he was only (half?) joking. "Good to see you again, love."

I didn't know what to say, I just stood there, staring like an idiot.

"Aren't you going to introduce me to your friend?" He nodded his head towards the red-head behind me.

"Oh…right…uh, Finn, this is Shelly. Shelly, this is Finn." I stumbled through the perfunctory introductions.

"Hello, love," Finn smiled, taking her hand and kissing the back of it.

"Hi," Shelly giggled and I rolled my eyes. "You're even cuter up close."

"Ahh, yes I thought I saw you two staring. I understand; it's hard to resist ogling the Finnster."

"Now," he said, turning his attention back to me. I was a bit disconcerted by the fact that Finn was paying attention to me when there was a gorgeous redhead so close. "How about a hug for an old friend?" He smiled at me. A real genuine smile and I almost felt a little better for a moment as he pulled me into an embrace—but only for a moment. "Don't worry, love. I'm fairly certain he hasn't spotted you yet," he whispered in my ear. Well, not a whisper exactly, considering the blaring music and roar of the crowd around us. "He's been too busy sulking."

"Sulking?" I asked, pulling away. "Why is he sulking, is everything OK?" I couldn't help it. I knew it wasn't my place to worry about him anymore, but I didn't really seem to have a say in the matter. I still loved him, and worrying just came with the territory.

Finn chuckled almost sardonically. "No, love. He isn't OK. In case you've forgotten, just a few short months ago, he publicly declared his undying love for the woman of his dreams and she stomped all over his poor, exposed heart."

"Who stomped on whose heart?" I vaguely heard Shelly ask from behind us

"Hey! I didn't stomp," I huffed. "In case you've forgotten, he broke up with me." Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed that the bartender and switched my empty glass for a full one per Finn's request. I quickly scooped it up and downed the liquid within. The two drinks I'd had throughout the course of the evening were not going to be nearly enough for me to deal with this.

"Who broke up with you?"

"Well what did you expect, Love? That you'd turn down his marriage proposal and everything would just continue on as though nothing had happened? It doesn't really work that way."

"Marriage proposal?" Shelly shrieked.

"Can we not have this discussion, Finn?" I asked. "Can't we just talk about anything else?"

"Oh, no," Shelly insisted, shoving herself in front of me. "I want to hear this. You've been holding out on me, Gilmore."

"Please," I said to Shelly, my eyes pleading with her to just let this go. "Not here. Not now. I swear, I'll tell you, I just…" I tailed off, choking on my words. Why did this have to be so damn hard?

"He's here," Shelly's eyes went wide. "'Mr. 'Almost Fiancé' is here."

I nodded my head slowly.

"Where? I wanna see!"

Finn pointed a finger to a table near the corner. I followed his direction and when my eyes finally landed on him I swear I felt my heart stop beating. Was this what a heart attack felt like? If so, I was sure to swear off French fries for the rest of my existence. The two glances I'd had of him before, I didn't really think it was him, but now, there was no denying it. He was there, not more than a hundred feet away, with his friend Seth, nursing a drink that was surely his signature scotch.

Some Lindsay-Lohan-wannabe and her friend made their way over and started flirting. I gritted my teeth and motioned for a refill. If he could make nice with a brunette slut, I could make nice with a red-headed one. I downed the drink in one gulp. I was too irrational to consider the fact that he was clearly more interested in his scotch than he was in her.

"You know, Love, Colin finally bit the bullet and committed to Steph," Finn said, changing the topic to the other one of the three musketeers and his long time on again off again girlfriend. "The ultimate commitment, actually, they're getting married next week." He smiled genuinely but it quickly morphed into a smirk. "We're here for the bachelor party. Steph made him promise no strip clubs, but Robert was determined to get him a lap dance anyway. I wonder if he has been successful."

This conversation wasn't any easier. Why did Colin and Steph get their happy ending? Oh yeah, because Steph wasn't an enormous idiot who chose the freedom to pick from a million different job offers over the chance to spend a lifetime with the man she loved. I tried to force a smile. "That's great. Give them my congratulations."

"I will," Finn agreed. "You know, it's great when two people who love each other can overcome all the problems and the circumstances and make a life for themselves; don't you think?"

I glared at his not-so-subtle hints. Some problems were just impossible to overcome, no matter how much we wished otherwise.

"Well," Finn said in a chipper tone, "Time to go make sure the man of honor is trashed." I watched as he slipped the bartender a hundred dollar bill. "Give the ladies another round on me," he instructed.

We said our goodbyes and I watched as Finn slipped back into the crowd. My eyes immediately wandered back over to the table where Logan was sitting. The brunette was still there and I couldn't help but wonder if she'd get to share a bed with him that night, or if there had been a different brunette in his bed the night before. Maybe there was one brunette who spent consecutive nights with him. Maybe he even had a cute little pet name for her, like the way he always used to call me 'Ace' on account of my reporter status.

"So," Shelly started. "I'm guessing he's the reason you're always staring out the window of the bus, looking like you're about to burst into tears, and the reason that Manhattan-Times-Phil hasn't been able to get so much as a flirtatious smile out of you, no matter how much charm he lays out there."

I sighed, forcing my eyes away from the painful view before me. "Can we go now, please?" I begged.

Shelly looked at me appraisingly. "One more shot, and then we'll go find the others to let them know we're leaving," she promised, instructing the bartender to fill our glasses one more time.

We finished our drinks, and headed through the crowd on the dance floor in search of someone from our group to alert to our early departure.

I ducked between two lewdly grinding couples and walked straight into something or someone very tall. I took a step back and looked at the person in front of me with a scowl.

"Well, fancy running into you again. Didn't see you there, Love." From the smirk on Finn's face it was obvious that he had in fact seen me there. I moved my glare away from his face to see the man standing beside him. "Although I'm glad I get to see you girls again, I was hoping to have a dance with the lovely Shelly. You don't mind, do you?" he asked me. He grabbed Shelly's hand before I'd even had a chance to respond, handed me his bottle of Jack Daniels, pulled her away into the crowd, and left me standing there, face to face, with a very unhappy looking blond.

Finn was going to die. It wasn't going to be a quick death, either. No, it was going to be slow and unpleasant. I would start by locking him up and depriving him of both redheads and alcohol. I would taunt him with images of his favorite things until he went mad with desire. It would all end with a tragic cough syrup overdose.

First, I had to deal with more pressing matters—like the angry ex standing in front of me. I took a swig of the whiskey in an attempt to calm my nerves. "Um, hi," I squeaked.

Logan sent me a look of pure, unadulterated hatred before pivoting on the heel of his Armani loafer and shoving his way through the mess of people swarming around us.

I stood there for a moment, frozen in shock, until suddenly, an image flashed through my mind.

Logan grabbed the blue velvet box from my outstretched hands, the pain in his eyes obvious to anyone who could see. "Good bye, Rory." He shoved the ring in his pocket, turned, and walked out of my life.

This was it, my second chance, and I wasn't about to let it go to waste. He wouldn't walk away from me again—not without a fight.

"Logan," I yelled, weaving my way through the path of parted people that he'd left in his wake, though it was already starting to close in on me. "Logan, wait, please!" I finally caught up to him, my small size apparently having helped me maneuver my way through the partiers. I laid a hand on his shoulder and even this slightest of touches sent a surge through my body, reminding me of what I'd been missing the past several months.

He spun around angrily. "I thought my storming off was a pretty clear indication that I didn't want to talk to you, but apparently not. What do you want?"

The sudden surge of adrenaline that had seemingly suffused my being mere moments before must have worn off, leaving me wide-eyed, shaky, and unable to form coherent strings of syllables better known as words, phrases, and sentences. I frantically tried to come up with something to say. What did you say to the man whose heart you broke? What did you say to the man who broke your heart—and left all the pieces still aching for him?

"Umm, how are you?" I'm not sure what part of my brain came up with that brilliant opener, but I was certain all the other parts of my brain would mock it once they had gotten over the utter humiliation.

"How am I?" he repeated, looking at me like I was as crazy as I felt. "How am I, let's see…" he said, bringing his hand up to his chin in a 'thinking' gesture, and tapping his foot on the floor. "Well, let's refresh our memories, shall we. In the last year I invested nearly everything I had in a business venture that went belly up, causing me to quit my job, lose my apartment, and basically be disowned from my family. Now, you've met my parents, so really, you're probably thinking that's no great loss, and for the most part you'd be right, except that as much as I loathe them, they are still the only parents I have. But I figured, hey it's OK, it'll be fine, so long as I've got Rory to support me. So I went about trying to find a new job, and low and behold, as luck would have it, I get this great job offer to be a partner in this really awesome internet company. Well, things finally seem to be looking up. I've got this great new life that I made for myself starting right in front of my eyes and the only thing I can think of that would make it better is getting to share it all with the woman I love. So of course, I put my heart out there, ask her to marry me, and guess what she says? Oh, that's right, she tells me that she can't, because she's got all of these 'doors' open to her and marrying me might close them. Can you imagine that, Rory? The one person who opened the whole word to me, thought that I closed it for her. So I got on a plane, and flew across the country completely and utterly alone," he finished his rant. "So why don't you go ahead and tell me how you think I am?"

I stared at him, my mouth agape. It was official, I was a horrible person. I had really done all that. I had abandoned the man I loved when he needed me the most. I had put my own selfish desires first. I deserved to rot.

"That's what I thought," he said after a moment of my silence. He went to turn away again and suddenly something inside of me snapped. My self-loathing was replaced with anger. How dare he put all of this on me? I didn't abandon him! I simply said I wasn't ready to get married. He's the one who said 'all or nothing,' he's the one that chose to end it.

I raced around him, until I was standing in front of him, blocking his escape route. "Don't you dare," I spat out. "This is not all my fault. You made the decision, not me. I loved you, and I wanted to be with you, but that wasn't enough for you. I'm sorry I couldn't give you what you wanted, but you didn't even try to understand. My saying 'no' had nothing to do with not wanting to be with you, with not wanting to spend my life with you— marriage is a big deal. I was twenty-two, Logan. I was just graduating college and I had no idea what I was doing with my life. My whole life I was Lorelai's daughter, Emily and Richard's granddaughter, Star's Hollow's princess, Chilton's star pupil…and I never even had the chance to be just me, until you came along. You're the one who showed me how to stop living for everyone else and start living for myself. Well, I finally had the chance. I had the chance to go out into the world with no expectations except for the ones I made for myself. I had a chance to decide what I wanted out of life and to be the person I wanted to be. And just when I was getting the chance to be just 'Rory Gilmore,' you went and asked me to be 'Rory Huntzberger.' If I had known how you'd have reacted to my answer beforehand, maybe I'd have given you a different one, but it would have been wrong. It would have been me doing one more thing just to please someone I loved, despite what I wanted. You couldn't have just given me a little more time? That's all I wanted. Just some time to figure out the true extent of my identity before I went and forever tied it to someone else's. I would have married you, Logan. I wanted to marry you; just not so soon. So don't you dare try and make me out to be the bad guy here."

That extra swig of Finn's Jack must have kicked in at the moment, erasing the last semblance of sobriety from my body. He stood there staring at me without a word and I suddenly felt light-headed and there was an unnerving churning feeling in the pit of my stomach.

Then, without warning, his arm reached out, grabbed me by the waist, and pulled me close. Before I had a chance to even process, his lips were on mine and the whole world seemed to fade away.

I groaned as my mind registered the light that somehow permeated my shut eyelids. Drinking was bad and I promised myself at that moment that I would never do it again. I flipped over onto my stomach, and buried my face into the soft, fluffy pillow and pulled the down comforter closer around me…since when did the crappy motels we stayed at have down comforters? I opened my eyes, but all I saw was pillow case. Where was I? Oh god, I had done something monumentally stupid, hadn't I? The last thing I could remember was Logan grabbing me and kissing me. For a moment I held on to the hope that Logan and I had parted ways at some point shortly thereafter and I'd found some stranger to take me back to his room and help me forget the pain of my broken heart. Somehow, that thought was less scary than dealing with the awkward morning after of having a one-night stand with the ex I once thought I was going to spend the rest of my life with.

I forced myself to turn over and face my surroundings. Over in the corner of the room, thrown haphazardly on the chair that was situated there, was a familiar, grey jacket with fraying edges. There was no mistaking it. He'd had it the entire time we were together, and it was one of my favorite articles of clothing on him.

I groaned, dreading the morning I had in store for me. Maybe I could sneak out while he was still showering. But of course, the moment I considered that option, I heard the sound of running water coming from the bathroom, stop. I let out a sigh, and flopped back onto the bed. It was a stupid idea to begin with.

A moment later, the bathroom door opened, and Logan walked out; a tiny hotel towel tied around his waist and his bare-naked torso, tanned and toned glittering with a few beads of moisture that had likely dripped down from his hair. He smiled brightly at me and I resisted the urge to borrow deep under the covers and hide in shame.

"How you feeling?" he asked.

"Been better," I mumbled.

"Yeah, well that's what you get for drinking Jack Daniels straight," he chided. "Hold on." He disappeared into the bathroom again and emerged a moment later. "I called room service a little while ago, but they absolutely refused to send up a mashed potato, Mac and cheese, biscuit, gravy boat," he smirked at me and I tried to control the flip-flopping of my heart. So what if his smirk was adorable, and he was half naked, and he remembered exactly what I ate to curb my hangover on the morning we officially became a couple. That didn't make this situation any less awkward. And why exactly did it not seem to be at all awkward for him?

He bent down to open up the mini-fridge and I found myself helplessly staring at his ass. God, how was I supposed to concentrate on the matter at hand here? "But I did manage to convince the concierge to locate a taco place that would be willing to deliver at 10AM, so your hangover burritos should be arriving soon."

He stood up with a bottle of water in hand and walked over to the bed. "Here," he said, opening my hand and dropping the two Aspirins out of his right hand into my palm. He pushed the bottle of water he'd gotten out of the mini-fridge into my other hand. As I grasped the bottle, my fingers brushed against his and my heart stopped as I felt something smooth and hard and warmer that the water, but cooler than his hand. My eyes shot open wide and I stared at the platinum ring resting on the fourth finger of his left hand.

Oh Shit!

Ooh, a cliffhanger. I bet you hate cliffhangers. You should leave me a review and tell me just how much you dislike them. :P