Author's Note: So,
here's the next, technically first, chapter. I have about eleven
chapters planned out right now... then I get stuck. Oh, for those who
don't understand the prologue thing... it fits into the story at a
later date–I guess I should have called it prelude. So, to clarify,
THIS is actually where the story begins...
Disclaimer: I do not
own, I don't pretend to. The chapter's quote and title is from a
wonderful poet, e. e. cummings.
Enjoy.
Chapter 1
The Boys I Mean Are Not Refined
"...They speak whatever's on their mind--they do whatever's in their pants. The boys I mean are not refined..."- e.e. cummings
The light from the flames lapped up against his stoic, worried face as he sat on a log across from the dangerous bonfire. The air from the night was cool, despite his current tropical location–somewhere off the coast of Fiji. He buried his feet under the flaky sand as his brain whirred from the possible scenarios his father was going to torture him under. This was all Finn's fault. That much was obvious, but he knew his father would not take his best friend's midnight steering excursion, which lead to the ultimate demise of their precious Yacht as a viable excuse. Yes, Logan should have known better–he should have handcuffed that Australian nuisance to his bed the first night they got there. Actually, Logan was surprised they had gone almost an entire year without having any major accidents. He knew he greatly exceeded expectations. He just wished he hadn't rescued his idiotic friend from that volcanic rock he had gotten stranded on only two months before the sunken ship incident.
Now, instead of sleeping comfortably on their cushy yacht, they were stuck on some resort island, renting a condo until Logan's father got sick of making angry, unanswered phone calls and bothered to track him down. Logan leaned down to his feet and picked up a bottle of whiskey one of the local beach-bunnies had swiped from him. He took a long swig and winced as the burning liquid bombarded his salt-watered, dry throat. He was so sick of beach, sand, and salty air. All he wanted to do was go home and get ready to go back to the IVY-covered stone buildings of his college, Yale. Never had he thought that he'd miss Yale so much... or the people connected to it. What was delaying his return was the fear of this father's impeding wrath–he was such a coward. That Aussie better not come near him.
He craned his neck and spotted the unruly hair of his idiotic friend whom was his current antagonist. He had had enough of Finn for a year and he had been looking forward to a little break from their close quarters. Colin was beginning to wear on his nerves as well. Always the know-it-all, Colin had insisted on playing cruise director for the entire trip. Logan quickly looked down as Colin caught his eye. He looked up again and noticed that he had recruited Finn, and they were currently headed his way. Fuck, couldn't he have a little peace and quite for ten minutes?
"You look incredibly depressing in this little alcove of yours," Colin informed him with a cheeky grin.
Finn stood above him, arms crossed, smiling slightly. Logan wanted to
strangle his gangly, little neck. But, instead, he picked up a piece
of debris and prodded the logs in the fire gently. Colin and Finn
exchanged rolled eyes. "Oh, sod off, Mate. I said I was sorry! I
was so pissed I couldn't even see straight!"
Logan glared
at his cohort and practically growled in response. "I would like
to see you deal with Mitchum Huntzberger." Both of his friends
recoiled from the mere thought. "That's what I thought."
Colin remained stubbornly in front of him, not moving in his stance. "That's no reason to wallow now. Sure, you'll soon be in a world of hurt, but right now, I happen to know that there's a pretty girl over there," he motioned back to where he and Finn had previously been frolicking, "who's very interested in your company for tonight."
Despite his previous determination to mope around for the rest of the trip, Logan couldn't help but crane his neck over to the other side of the beach. A tan girl with almost black brunette hair waved seductively at him. He always was a sucker for brunettes—quite the contrast to Colin and Finn's taste. She was clad only in a skimpy, pink bikini top and a par of very short shorts. Internally, he fought between being stubborn in his silent brooding… or having one more fling during his epic trip, which was about to end. He'd been on the boat non-stop now for almost a week, and his body was currently reminding him of that. He decided to drop his angry charade and got up. He sighed in content and brushed the sand off his hands. "'Scuse me, boys," he said, smirking as he made his way towards his latest conquest.
"There's our boy!" Finn cried, pretending to wipe a tear from his tanned face. Colin snickered deviously, having gotten his way.
Logan ignored their catcalls and traveled on route to his destination. His confidence grew as he neared the girl and noticed her smile bashfully at him. She held a drink gingerly in her hand and swirled the contents absent-mindedly with her straw. She was standing by the tiki-style bar where everyone else seemed to flock to. Logan leaned up against the bamboo counter, noticing that it was fake bamboo. He turned towards the girl and plastered on his trademark smirk—laying the charm on thick. From experience, he'd learned that forgoing smarmy comments only prolonged actual conversation with his target—as misogynistic as that sounded. He didn't care—they were using him in the same way. "Hi," he called over the din of the crowd and music, "I'm Logan."
She smiled sweetly at him and he could swear he saw her push out her chest. "I know," she admitted, "I'm Megan." She took a sip from her drink, not breaking eye contact with him.
Logan inched towards her, eliminating the little space that was between them. He traced his finger down the length of her forearm. "I don't care."
Her eyes grew wide and she shivered from his touch and comment. Logan's smirk broadened noticing her brown eyes dilate appreciatively. This was going to be too easy.
--
After about twenty minutes of shameless flirting, innuendos, and not-so-supple touching, Logan decided it was time to put an end to the teasing. He took the drink out of her hands—without receiving a protest from her—and laced his fingers with hers. He pulled her away from the crowd, away from the prying eyes of his friends, and towards his small, temporary condo only feet away. He quickened his pace and all but threw her through the door as they reached the entrance.
As soon as the glass and screen door was shut behind them, he pushed her up against it, and attached his lips on hers—practically knocking the wind out of her and making all of the blood rush from his head to…. lower parts of his body. As soon as her mind wrapped around what they were doing, she wrapped her arms around his neck and responded enthusiastically to his assaults. Logan ran his hands up and down the length of her warm, bare body, relishing in the heat and the sensations it evoked. He found himself nibbling on her plump, swollen lower lip—begging for entrance. Without a second thought, she granted him access to his mouth, and he successfully slipped his tongue in.
She tasted sweet—probably because of whatever drink she had poured down her throat—the flavor made him press his body flush against hers, effectively crushing her against the door. She whimpered in appreciation and writhed underneath his body. This caused him to moan from her movement into her mouth. He was officially hot and bothered beyond belief. He lowered his hands from her mid back to the globe of her ass and squeezed through the material of her white shorts—bringing her hips, which seemed impossible—even closer to his. She squealed in delight and he smirked against her mouth.
Obviously wanting more, she pulled back slightly to take his white tee-shirt off his hard body. She threw it to the side and reconnected with his body, resuming with a new fervor due to their skin-on-skin touch. Following her lead of removing more clothing, Logan moved his hands down to the button on her shorts and popped it open with a simple flick of his wrist. He slowly moved the material off her long, tan legs, and helped her step out of them when they reached the floor. He kicked them out of their way when they were detached from her body, and he moved towards her again—this time lifting her up. She wrapped her legs around his waist and he pressed her against the door again. He kissed her lips once, and then made his way down her neck with a feather light touch, pausing to worship the pulse point at the base. He sucked and laved her skin with his tongue—feeling her heart rate race from the adrenaline undoubtedly surging throughout both of their bodies as if their connection was a circuit.
Through his haze, he could tell she was distracted. He looked over at her face, and noticed that she was looking off to the side—her brow kneaded in concern. Logan mimicked her worried face and stopped his ministrations momentarily when he heard the dull roar of a helicopter—no doubt close by. It felt like his heart stopped beating as he waited, anxiety building with every whir of the helicopter. He strained his ear for further noise outside, but all he could hear was the lame island music and the noisy aircraft. Suddenly, he heard the helicopter noise stop, and he let out a huge sigh of relief—he was too paranoid for his own good. He looked back at the beautiful girl in his arms and smiled wearily at her. She was looking at him in utter confusion—trying to figure out what had caused his minor freak out. "Sorry about that."
She smiled back and crashed her lips onto his once again. He pressed her up against the door once more and hugged her close to his body. He closed his eyes and chuckled throatily, but he furrowed his brow, recognizing that the laugh was too low and seemed to echo in stereo. For the second time that night, his entire body froze and his eyes shot open.
On the other side of the combined glass and screen door, was a face that seemed too menacing to be real. He was smiling wickedly at him in amusement. Logan screamed in surprise and bounced away from the door, dropping the girl onto the floor, and tripping over her limps himself. Ignoring the dull ache in his arms, he strained to get up as the figure opened the door, letting himself in.
The figure flicked the lights on, illuminating the room. Logan winced as he saw the now aggravated look on his father's face. "Get your ass up, boy," he commanded in an angry tone.
Feeling like a child, Logan slowly got up from his spot, and shot an apologetic look to the now cowering girl slumped in a pile on the floor. Logan sighed, realizing the jig was up. "Fuck," he muttered.
Mitchum gritted his teeth together and grasped Logan by the arm and yanked him towards the door. Always the gentleman, he tipped an imaginary hat in the direction of the poor girl before they left and her worried face immediately relaxed. His father tightened his hold on Logan's arm and dragged him out of the house and back onto the beach scene he had abandoned earlier. In his wake, Mitchum had managed to completely break up the party with his arrival.
Logan spotted his father's giant, corporate helicopter off in the distance. He saw that Colin and Finn were already safely inside and Finn was waving enthusiastically at him. Logan locked his jaw in frustration. "I can't believe I had to come all the way down here to GET you!" Mitchum roared. Logan grumbled as his father's grip began to sting. "But you know, you left me no choice—you wouldn't answer MY calls, you'd only answer your sister's. Do you know what I had to buy her to get her to tell me where you are?" Logan knew the question was rhetorical so he kept his mouth shut. He knew what he had to do when he got back—kill Honor. His father continued as they neared the chopper. "As if it wasn't bad enough that you SUNK the yacht, but then you decide to continue partying—continuing to act like an irresponsible child—do you have ANY idea what the date is?" Logan paused at that—he honestly had no idea what the date was.
His father pushed him towards the side entrance of chopper and made his way to the passenger's side. Logan gripped the sides of the door and hoisted him up into the black aircraft. Finn smiled hesitantly at him and Logan gave him an icy stare. The door slammed behind him, imprisoning him inside. Logan closed his eyes as he heard the pilot get into the helicopter and start up the blades. His father plunged into and eerie silence—thankfully. Feelings slightly skittish, Logan remained rigid in his seat—preparing for take off.
"So," Finn started, trying to break the awkward silence, "how'd it go with the Sheila?" Logan's eyes snapped open in time to see Colin punch Finn hard enough in the arm to leave a bruised. "OY! I. WAS. NOT. ASKING. YOU!" the Australian roared, nursing the pain in his arm. Satisfied with his discomfort, Logan re-closed his eyes and felt his stomach lurch as the helicopter rose in the air slowly. Suddenly, he missed the salty air and the white sand that he had been taking for granted less than an hour ago. Anywhere was better than where he was now.
--
There was a buzzing sound, and it was coming somewhere from her left. She groaned in protest and covered her head with her plush, navy blue pillow. She released her head when it registered that it was not her alarm clock, but her phone that was making the offending noise. She blindly reached her hand out over to her nightstand to grab her cell. Without looking at the caller ID, she flipped the phone open. "…Hello?" she answered in a groggy tone.
"Jeez, Ace, don't seem TOO happy to talk to me."
At the sound of his voice, Rory quickly sat up in her bed—instantly more awake. "Logan?" she asked, unsure if it was actually him on the other line or if her mind was playing tricks on her. She hadn't heard from the blond for at least two months and she was beginning to think that he was some kind of imaginary friend from her childhood. "Where are you?"
He chuckled, which sent chills under her skin. "Actually, I'm in New York." He paused, obviously for her reaction.
Rory's mouth gaped open in surprise. "As in US New York—you're actually on the same continent as me?" She couldn't help but let a smile crawl across her face from excitement.
"I'm not sure where there's another New York, but yes, and I'm less than an hour away from you."
Rory squealed in delight, which only served to wake up the sleeping blonde sharing a bed with her. They turned over and glared at her with weary eyes. She smiled apologetically and then reverted her attention back to the person on the phone. "So, you're actually going to show up at Yale this semester," she deduced, wily
"That's the plan," he relented.
Rory scoffed. "As memory serves, that was the plan last year, too. As memory serves you were SUPPOSED to only have your yacht trip last the summer, but that didn't happen, did it?"
Rory laughed when she heard Logan wince on the other line. "Your memory serves you correctly, however, due to the invasion of one Mitchum Huntzberger, we didn't exactly have a choice."
Rory gasped. "So, this triumphant return has nothing to do with the fact that you will see me again, your best friend, who you actually haven't laid eyes on since the tenth grade when you ABANDONED me to go to a European boarding school and continued to abandon by refusing to come home for breaks?"
She waited for a reply, and got a short laugh. "Ha, no, sorry, it's just because daddy dearest dragged my sorry ass back from Fiji via chopper."
Rory giggled. "Wait, he actually came there HIMSELF?"
"In the flesh."
"That sounds…"
"Horrifying, humiliating, hugely scarring?"
"I was going to say fantastic, but thanks for the options," she teased.
"I'm glad I could be of service. Now, are you already at Yale?"
Rory nodded her head, but stupidly realized that he couldn't see her. "Yeah, I moved back in last night. Steph is here, too, if you want me to wake her up."
"Nah, I'll see her later, I'm content with just talking to you for now."
"Oh, I'm glad I'm good enough for you," she spat sarcastically.
"Always twisting my words, now, the reason I was asking was because I thought you, me, Steph, and the gang could get together tonight at Old Man's Shoe. Do you know where that is?"
Rory snorted. "Of course I know where that is, I go to school here—just as long as you and more recently than you, too."
"No need to get defensive, Ace, you just don't seem like a pub person if MY memory serves."
Rory bit her lip. His memory wasn't completely up-to-date, many things had changed since his departure years ago. "Well, despite my studious ways, Steph has managed to drag me out of my cave every once in a while."
"Steph has a way with persuasion…"
Rory's lips tightened. "That she does."
"Well, perhaps it'll be a good thing that I took an unexpected year off, because now we'll be in the same year."
Rory rolled her eyes. "I don't exactly see that as a good thing."
"Why not, we can help each other with our homework."
"Ah, yeah, I'm not letting you copy assignments, Logan."
"Drat, I was hoping to use you for your brain…. as well as your body," he joked.
Rory tensed noticeably. It was a joke, but she had never been good with the subtle flirting stuff with Logan. It was too awkward, and not just because he saw her as a sister. "Well… too bad for you…" she laughed uneasily, but it went unnoticed by him.
"So, I'll see you tonight at… nine?"
Rory shrugged, glad that the uncomfortable innuendos were finished until probably later tonight—that's how Logan was. "Sure, I can't wait to see Colin again and meet the illusive Mr. Finnegan Rothschild." She smiled remembering her other childhood friend and the virtual stranger that had wormed his way into their group.
"I wouldn't be so excited about Finn," he warned.
Rory laughed. "Okay, well, I'm going to go back to sleep, because it's only eight, and I haven't had any coffee."
"Oh, did I wake you?"
Rory sighed; she couldn't believe that he was the son of a World famous reporter. "Yes, that's what people tend to do during mornings such as this."
"Ah, sorry, my internal clock is still off and I didn't realize the time."
"Well, just fix it before tonight so you actually show up on time."
"Even with the adjustments, that's highly unlikely," he quipped.
"Ah," Rory relented, "one can only dream."
He laughed lightly. "Later, Ace."
"Later." She pressed the 'end' button on her cell and placed it back on the nightstand. She felt the eyes of the blonde next to her baring into the side of her face in annoyance. "What?"
Steph sighed and flopped dramatically down on the pillow beneath her. "I'm just glad you have Tristan out of the way, now you and Logan can finally do each other and get it over with."
Rory tried to ignored the flip her heart made at the mention of her recently ex-boyfriend. "That's disgusting, Steph, Logan's like a brother to me."
Steph quirked an eyebrow up at her blatant lie. "Oh, yeah, that's why you've harbored an annoyingly, huge crush over him since the eighth grade. Sorry, Rory, I know you're an only child, but that's not how you're supposed to feel about a sibling."
Her words were dripping with bitter sarcasm—it made Rory blush crimson. "I, er…"
Steph rolled her eyes at her friend's naivety. "So, I say bone him, get it out of your systems."
Rory cringed at her crassness and whacked a pillow over her head. Steph gasped and cursed. "First," Rory said, sitting up on her knees, bouncing slightly on the bed, and holding up her right index finger for emphasis, "whatever strange, childish feelings I once had for Logan have dissipated. I'm not the same fifteen year-old girl who would get all tongue-tied around him."
Steph smiled like the Cheshire Cat, "Really?" Her tone gave away her disbelief.
Rory whacked her again with the pillow. "Second," she emphasized, "even if I didn't have brotherly feelings towards him, he only have sisterly feelings towards me, you know that." Steph pursed her lips, knowing that was true—the crush had been one-sided—sad, in her opinion, "because to Logan, I'll always be the gangly, little girl who ran around his backyard naked and played pirates with him."
Steph laughed, remembering her participation in the events. "Yeah, I also remember you guys playing house and he'd only let you be his wife. Not me, I had to marry Colin!" Steph made a disgusted face.
Rory rolled her eyes and got out of the bed. "I'm walking away from you."
"What?!" Steph called from the bed, "You're just going to leave me in bed?"
"You're only there because you couldn't get up after our movie night after all of the junk food you stuffed down your throat!" she called from the kitchen, knowing that the comments on her food consumption would get to her.
Surely enough, Steph gasped audibly and bolted out of the bedroom after Rory.
"I did NOT eat that much!"
Rory smiled coyly. "You ate more than I did."
Steph practically growled at the insinuation. "That's an impossible feat."
"And yet, you did." They exchanged heated glares, which only dissipated after their landline began to ring. "Ugh, I do NOT want to deal with any more people before coffee." She ignored the phone and walked over to the counter, getting her precious coffee maker ready for the morning. Instead, Steph walked over to the offending machine to answer it. Rory looked over at her and noticed that she paused, staring at the called ID. "Who is it?" she asked curiously.
Instead of answering her, the machine picked up the call. "Rory, hey, it's Tristan," Rory froze and waited for him to continue. She heard him take a deep breath, so she walked over next to Steph and crossed her arms. Steph moved her eyes to the ground. "I know you're probably asleep… or standing next to Stephanie, screening your calls." Rory and Steph exchanged glances quickly. "Anyway, I know this is awkward, but… you still have a bunch of my stuff." Steph scoffed, annoyed at the reason for his call. Rory remained quiet. "I was wondering if you could maybe mail my stuff to me… since you probably don't want to see me."
Steph seared with anger and put her hands on her hips, defensively. "You got THAT right," she yelled at the machine.
Rory shushed her, straining her ear to hear the rest of the phone call. "So, anyway, call me…. Bye." Click.
Rory sighed, pretending to ignore the phone call as she resumed what she was doing. What had she been expecting him to say? That he was sorry? She knew him better than to think that he'd actually get over his pride. He had cheated on her—she had caught him at the beginning of the summer, after she had stayed faithful to him the entire school year they were apart. The stupid thing was that, apparently, he had been cheating on her with this girl the entire school year. She broke up with him on the spot, which really wasn't much of a triumph since, according to a reliable source—Emily Gilmore—he was still dating that 'Vicious Trollop.' Her grandmother's words, not hers—she had some more colorful nicknames for Tristan's current girlfriend.
"Rory?" Steph said, approaching her from behind carefully.
"Hmm?" Rory asked, waiting for her coffee to brew.
"Can I kick him really hard?" Rory shrugged, still not making eye contact with her blonde cohort. She waited for Steph to say something else, knowing that the girl ALWAYS had something else to say—it was just part of her prying nature. "What stuff of his do you have?" Bingo.
Rory finally turned around, sighed, and ran a hand through her bed-head hair. "I'm not sure. I definitely don't have anything of his here. Anything I have is back at my parent's house."
She and Steph both smiled wickedly at that. "So, if he wants anything, he'll have to endure the wrath of Christopher Hayden?" Steph inquired.
Rory nodded, pouring herself a mug of now-ready coffee. "Or Lorelai Gilmore-Hayden."
Steph practically squealed in delight in the torture that Tristan would have to endure to get his precious stuff back. "The nerve of him," she fumed.
Rory took a sip of her coffee and shrugged again, feigning apathy. "What's done is done."
Steph looked at her quizzically. "Why are you so cool with this?"
Rory's mouth twitched slightly. "I just am." Steph continued to stare at her, as if trying to figure out what she was really feeling—that in reality, Tristan's call had really rattled her, and just the sound of his voice made her want to crawl back into her bed and eat her weight in Bon-bons. Not because she missed him—God, she was too pissed to get past her own bitterness—but because she felt deceived and stupid for believing that her horny, ex-boyfriend could ACTUALLY keep it in his pants for her.
Steph gave up trying to analyze Rory's action and began raiding their fridge for some Breakfast. Choosing her moment, Rory walked over to the answering and pressed a big, red button. "Messages deleted," echoed the robotic voice.
Author's Note: The hills are alive with the sound of reviews!! Please leave your opinions. Sorry for the creepy Logan + random girl sexy thing-y…. there isn't going to be much of that. :D