Story: Somebody Else's Page
Chapter: Saying Yes, This Is A Fine Promotion
Description: Rory/Logan. Slightly AU. What if Logan managed to take a little less time off during his college career and made it through without overlapping Rory's years at Yale? She's about to start her first internship at the Stamford Gazette, just as it's being taken over by the Huntzbergers.
Disclaimer: I write fan fiction. I own none of these characters. None of this happened on the show, which is the whole point of fan fiction. You get the idea.
Rory reemerged out of her room into the shared space of her dorm suite for the second time that day. Her roommate was deep in test preparation mode, needing the extra space to spread out in the biggest available venue. Every last surface was covered with papers and note cards and opened books, taken up without the worry of being disturbed. It was a common practice they shared, and it worked well until finals came around and Paris instituted a strict schedule for them to have plenty of time—though Paris tended to allot the majority of Rory's hours during the time she usually reserved for sleep.
"Hey, did I get any calls?" Rory asked as she walked around into Paris' field of view.
Paris failed to look up at her roommate, her brow furrowed and a pencil between her teeth. "No," she spoke around the pencil.
"Oh," Rory said, emitting disappointment. "Were you here all morning?"
"Does it look like I just sat down? I've been right here, and the phone rang only once, and it was a telemarketer trying to use his poorly worded script to con me into switching my long-distance phone service, even though I live here and have no choice of phone service thanks to the monopoly that is our great university. I then lectured them on knowing their target audience and not wasting the time of people who are likely to one day cure cancer, if only they could stop being interrupted while they study by idiots who are in the business of wasting everyone's time with badly rehearsed sales pitches."
Rory sighed at the end of the characteristic rant. "That was the only phone call?"
Paris finally glanced up. "Why, were you expecting their call?"
"No. Never mind, I was just curious."
"Aren't you going to the paper?" Paris inquired skeptically, continuing the conversation as she'd already been disturbed from her flow.
"I'm ready to leave now, why?"
"Because you look like you're about to go out on a date," Paris judged as she pointed to Rory's feet. "Those are fuck-me pumps, are they not?"
Rory dropped her mouth open, scandalized by the notion. "Please do not refer to my footwear in that manner. They're nice, respectable shoes."
Paris rolled her eyes. "You know, I don't expect you to tell me every detail about your sex life, but have a little respect for my proven extraordinary intelligence. It's obvious you're getting some."
Rory blushed furiously in an instant. "What?"
"Don't play dumb with me, Gilmore. You're getting laid, and you're hardly a master of deflection. If you don't want people to know you're having sex, then you should at least attempt to mask your tells."
"My tells?"
"The idiosyncratic behaviors that give away your actions," she explained automatically.
"I know what tells are, Paris. I was just unaware I had sex tells. What are they?"
"The late hours. The difference in your clothes. The unseasonal glow to your skin. People assume that's from solely from sex, but in my experience it's from the additional water intake. All that sweating makes me really thirsty."
"I'm not having that much sex," Rory defended herself, though she wasn't sure why she needed to defend her actions, especially to Paris of all people. Paris had been with far more inappropriate people, sexually speaking.
Paris smiled knowingly. "Quality over quantity, that's what I say."
Rory couldn't help but smile in kind. "I can definitely agree with that motto."
"So this new lover is good?" Paris inferred.
"Don't call him that," Rory said, wrinkling her nose in discomfort. The word lent itself to a vastly different encounter than what she was engaged in, not to mention it was far more concrete than what she had with Logan.
"That's what this guy is, isn't he? You haven't been going on dates, and sex without dates equals a lover."
"Yes, but he has a name," Rory said, stopping quickly as she realized the natural progression of the conversation she'd started.
Paris grinned, reminding Rory of the Cheshire cat from one of her most beloved children's tales. It was creepier on Paris than the cat in the story, as she had way more experience with Paris and her facial expressions. "Is it someone I know?"
Rory turned to grab her coat. "His name isn't important, and it's not worthy of a discussion. We're keeping things low-key; it's just a casual thing."
Paris snorted. "That will work out well."
Rory turned, a stern frown already formed. "What's that mean?"
"That means while it feels good right now, it's not going to last. You're not a casual sex kind of person."
Rory balked. "I don't need a relationship. I'm capable of remaining detached."
Paris didn't appear convinced in the slightest. "Maybe not at first. But you care about people, and while that's a very redeeming quality in the eyes of society, it makes it impossible to keep having sex, especially good sex, remain meaningless for very long."
"I don't agree. Sexual chemistry has nothing to do with compatibility on any other level. I have no interest in dating this guy, and I'm too busy for relationships right now, even if he were right for me. What we have is perfect—and by the time the attraction passes, we'll both be ready for it to end and no one will get hurt. It's perfect."
Paris turned back to her lapful of book. "Whatever helps you sleep at night."
"I'm sleeping very well at night, thank you very much."
"Another side effect of good sex. This guy must be amazing."
Rory added her bag over her shoulder with a pleased smile. "I have no complaints."
Paris straightened up suddenly and stared at Rory. "Oh my God. Tell me it's anyone but him."
Rory shirked back a bit. "Who?"
"He must have been with every debutante on the eastern seaboard. Please tell me you're not having casual sex with Logan Huntzberger!"
"Not that it's any of your business, but so what if I am? I don't care who else he's been with."
"You will when you get any number of STDs he's capable of passing on to you. Tell me you're being safe. Don't just rely on the school clinic, either. There are back-alley abortion clinics that have better sterilization practices than that place."
Rory shuddered in disgust. "Will you relax? We're being very safe."
"Do you know his sexual history? Do you really know anything about him other than the fact that he has a last name that equates him to royalty in the newspaper business?"
"I know enough about him. And I'm not sleeping with him because of his last name. I told you, we have sexual chemistry."
"Did he get you drunk? Is that how this started? Because you hated him, and with good reason."
"I didn't hate him, and he did not get me drunk. We were at a party, but we were both practically sober. And we're in complete agreement about how to handle our arrangement."
"Is part of that having sex in his office? Or is this just your new look?" Paris cajoled.
"Work is work. Everything else is separate. And what is so bad about my clothes?"
"So there will be no flirting, no knowing glances in the presence of others, and certainly no illicit meetings in a supply closet?"
"Our supply closet isn't big enough to do anything illicit in, other than stealing pens," Rory corrected.
"It just always surprises me how naïve you can be. But I guess it's good to know that you're eternally predictable," Paris summarized, clearly done with the conversation.
"I'm not naïve, or predictable. What I am is in a hurry. I should have left ten minutes ago."
"I'm sure your boss will slip it to you—I mean, let it slip," Paris taunted.
Rory stuck her tongue out at her roommate and exited the suite. She was not about to give one iota of credence to Paris' summation of her current state of affairs. It was her business, hers and no one else's. She'd definitely broken her own rule by discussing it in the first place. She'd realized, rightly so, that most people would scoff at her unorthodox arrangement with Logan, solely based on the fact that he was technically her boss. But she didn't need anyone's approval for what was transpiring between her and Logan. She was slow to put a label on it herself. While he was the last person she'd ever consider dating, she had to admit that what had transpired between them in that hotel room—over the course of nearly twenty-four hours—it was transcendent. But regardless of how good the sex had been, she still couldn't envision wanting him to become her boyfriend.
The transition between sleeping with him and working alongside him was sure to have its own set of issues, but nothing she couldn't handle. At least, that's what she told herself as she drove toward the Gazette offices in a wholly optimistic mood.
-X-
"That's not how it's done."
"It's how we do it," Logan said again, in the most drained tone he could muster, as he was tired of endlessly answering in a like manner.
"Have you ever heard of the term industry standard? They're standards for a reason."
"It's much faster, cheaper, and allows people to see their loved ones on a regular basis. It's the digital age, Dad."
Mitchum turned to his son with an impatient glare. "I know what technology is, but we don't have the funds to throw at this paper to invest in cutting-edge technology to save a few minutes' time."
"A few minutes? Try six hours a day, at least. And anyone can do this, instead of a dedicated staffer. I have an intern busting this out half the time."
"You used my money on the software?"
"No, I used mine. And not just the software, but the hardware, too."
Mitchum eyed his son. "You invested your own money into this paper, after I told you my plans for it?"
"You didn't want to give it a chance. It deserved a chance."
Mitchum murmured, but Logan couldn't ascertain if it was a negative or positive response. "Let's move onto advertising," his father declared.
Logan folded his arms over his chest and leaned back against the wall behind him. "We have a meeting in an hour, and I'll go over the latest changes to advertising."
"With the rest of the staff, fine. But I'm not one of your staffers. I'm the head of this company and can decide to shut you down for any reason. I'm not going into a meeting like that blind."
"I have several new sponsors signed on, set to roll out with the revamped website, all of which will bring in additional revenue."
"Revamped website? Let me guess, you have another intern on that as well?" Mitchum ribbed his son.
"You have a problem with interns suddenly?" Logan shot back.
Mitchum grinned, not at all put off by his son's calling out of his bad behavior. "Interns serve their purposes, but you can't base your success off of their labor."
"I'm not. But I do think that the team that's here, down to even our newest intern, can turn the paper around and make it profitable again."
"Let me guess, you just want more time. And some more seed money."
"Time would be nice, but I don't expect any favors from you."
Mitchum appeared almost impressed. "I almost feel like you've learned something."
Logan squared his shoulders. "Isn't that what my life has been about, a series of lessons you want me to learn?"
"You know, one day you're going to realize just how alike we are. It'll be a horrible day, and it'll involve a lot of alcohol, but once you move past the denial and get into acceptance you'll also realize that it's not so bad."
"What makes you so sure of any of that?" Logan asked skeptically.
Mitchum lifted his chin as he neared the door. "I had a similar epiphany when I was not much older than you are now. How's the coffee here?"
Logan frowned. "Uh, it's good."
"Another intern's handiwork?" Mitchum asked with a smile.
"Right," Logan said blankly as his father left him alone in the confines of his office. The talk of intern power around the office cut through his disillusioned family issues. His instinct was always to avoid dealing with his family, and he knew somewhere on the premises was the intern that was able to help forget all this problems, both in his professional and personal life. At least, she was able to handle anything he'd thrown at her so far at the paper, and they'd spent nearly a whole day in a hotel room that left him in need of rehydration and rest the day after.
He stepped out of his office and moved toward her usual post once he saw no sign of his father in the halls. She wasn't sitting at her desk, but her computer was on and there was a lipstick-ringed coffee cup next to the keyboard. He lifted his head and darted his eyes around to perform a quick scan of the surrounding area. She often helped out wherever she was needed, in addition to her expected duties. While he was hoping that would benefit him at the moment, he was frustrated that the quality made her hard to locate quickly.
"I promise, Harry. You'll never be able to tell Gina did the first proof. I'll fix it and it'll be like a bad dream."
Logan turned his attention to Harry's office, where Rory was standing in the doorway, still coddling their co-worker. He had a perfect view of her backside, the form-fitting pencil skirt that had a generous, though still professional slit up the back. Her legs were bare underneath. Her hair was pulled back, but it was a hasty job she'd performed after she got to the paper, rather than a practiced effort in front of a mirror at home.
He was staring openly by the time she turned to notice him. She gave him a surprised head tilt, with no need of a verbal greeting. He smiled and she began in his direction, her heels clicking on the floor tiles. He couldn't help but take one more appreciative look at her legs. Those legs had been wrapped around him like a vice for over an hour at one point last weekend. He had yet to regain eye contact as she stopped before him.
"Logan?" she asked.
"Yes?" he countered, finally focusing on her shockingly blue irises.
She smiled again. "Did you need something? I have these proofs for Harry, but that shouldn't take me too long."
"Yeah, can those wait a minute? I wanted you to take a look at something."
It was clear she saw through his vague excuse. "Something urgent?"
"Urgent enough," he said diplomatically. "In my office," he added.
If she thought of denying him or at least making him give her a proper explanation for putting off real work to come with him at a moment's notice, she didn't show it. She simply dropped the paperwork on her desk next to her coffee cup and stepped up next to him. "Don't you have a big meeting in a little while?"
"I do," he said agreeably, without making eye contact. He needed to keep things brief and light until he got her in his office.
"Don't you need to be preparing for that?" she asked.
"That's where you come in," he said as he ushered her into his office.
She cocked her head. "Do you really need me to run PowerPoint again? It's a simple program," she teased him.
He shook his head. "I was thinking you would be more helpful in helping me get rid of some pre-meeting jitters."
She turned to him, her features awash in disbelief. "You have pre-meeting jitters?"
"It's more like a rush of adrenaline. I prefer to go in there calm and cool."
"And how do I help with that?"
He smiled and stepped up to her. He settled one hand around her waist and pulled her flush against him. "I can show you."
"Logan," she gasped before his lips met hers. He tugged her shirt out of her waistband and slid his hand up her flat, warm stomach. His thumb circled her bellybutton and she widened her stance to allow them to pull in closer together. "We shouldn't."
"Why not?" he asked, not bothering to slow down. If his adrenaline was elevated before, it was ready to bust through the roof at that point, having her close enough to consume.
"We're at work, in your office," she said in a staccato fashion between kisses. "We were going to keep things separate."
"No one suspects what we're doing in here," he assured her. "And we won't make a habit of it. I just haven't seen you in days."
"I had classes," she reminded him, as he eased her skirt up higher on her thighs.
"And I had work. But we're both here now," he said before attempting to cloud her judgment once again with his mouth. He worked his way further south and began unbuttoning her shirt.
"At work. We're working. Well, we were, now we're," she said as her train of thought derailed again, which was just the effect he'd been going for.
"If you want me to stop, I'll stop," he offered weakly as he dragged his lips from her mouth across her cheek to her ear. He could feel her breath come in short bursts against his skin and her fingers were entrenched in his shirt under his jacket. The last thing he wanted to do was to stop, so he did his damnedest to make sure she was fully engaged. He made sure he was able to catch her weight as her knees went weak from his personal touches to that end.
"Don't stop," she said hurriedly as she took the time to loosen his tie with a yank of her wrist. He wasn't sure if she was concerned about getting caught or if she was merely caught up in the moment, but he wasn't going to argue the point either way. They'd have ample opportunities to take their time. He gave in to the all the urges that he was normally better at controlling. Control had always been a part of his winning moves—something he prided himself on. Control was out the window as they sped together toward a quick end.
-X-
It was over as fast as it had begun, though she was minus a pair of panties and her skirt was up around her waist in the end. His forehead was pressed against her shoulder and neither made a move to pull apart from their joined position.
It shouldn't have happened—she shouldn't have let it happen. She wondered if Paris had been right and her whole demeanor had invited such behavior on his part. It was far more likely that once they'd opened the door to a physical relationship the weekend before, it was an association he would continue to make with her—the sheer possibility of sex in her presence. It wasn't too late to put a stop to future occurrences. Everything in moderation, that was a sane and logical method of operation and one they needed to employ.
"I should get back out there. Harry will want his proofs."
"You're going back out like that?" he asked, a smirk aimed her way gracing his lips.
"This wasn't a smart idea," she uttered for her own benefit, but loud enough for him to hear without straining.
"I asked if you wanted to stop," he said, in his own defense.
She lightly pressed her hand to his chest. "No, I know. I'm not blaming you. It's just, last weekend," she began in futility.
"You didn't owe me anything for last weekend," he cut in when she failed to explain her reasoning.
"I know. But it was like we were in a different situation, you know? For a little while, it was almost like you weren't my boss and we were just two people at a party, and it made sense. But it wasn't real life."
"It was real life. We were just two people at a party. I don't think of you as my underling. We're two people that find each other attractive. Why do you keep fixating on our job titles?"
"Because you're my boss!" she exclaimed.
"Look, I get that maybe what we just did was risky behavior, but don't go second guessing everything because of one misstep."
She frowned at him. "I'm not. I just don't think we can do that again, here in the offices, with people outside."
"Alright."
She studied his even reaction. "Really?"
He nodded and put a hand at her elbow. "Yes. It wasn't smart, you're right. I just saw you and I guess things got out of control. Maybe we'll figure out a system, like seeing each other the night before you come into the office, so we won't have any pent-up urges while we're working."
She couldn't believe her ears. She knew little of how many women he was concurrently seeing, but she found it unbelievable, if a little flattering, that he had any pent-up urges reserved solely for her. "I suppose that's an idea."
"Because, after all, you're here to work and learn. I'd hate to impede that for you."
"Not to mention Harry will cry if those proofs don't get fixed."
"Any other day, that's the worst that would happen, but today if things aren't perfect, Mitchum will hand out pink slips."
Rory stiffened in horror. "Your father's coming today?"
Logan shook his head. "He's already here."
She instantly buried her face in her hands. "Oh my God, Logan!"
"What?" he asked in earnest as she began tugging her skirt down and stepping back into her shoes.
"What? Your father is roaming around the building and you think that's a good time for a quickie in your office? Are you completely unhinged?"
"He went for coffee. He'll go straight to the conference room from there."
"And what if you can't guess every move the man makes? I don't want to meet my idol with half my make-up rubbed off and my panties missing."
"They're not missing, they're on my desk," he said calmly, as if it were a normal sentence to say. "And you look great."
"We can't do this. I am a smart girl, Logan. I mean, think whatever you will of me, seeing as I'm the person you just had sex with in your office, but I am normally a smart girl. I don't do stupid things. Great sex isn't worth the damage we just risked."
"I know you're a smart girl. You're probably the smartest person I know," he said as he watched her race to return to a state of proper appearance.
"Then explain what just happened," she demanded.
He took a steadying breath and stepped to her. He touched her haltingly, as if he were concerned she might freak out further. Not that she could blame him. She relaxed under his touch. She looked up into his warm brown eyes. "I take risks. I hedge bets. I like excitement. And I missed you."
She blinked, unable to quite process his last statement. "You did?"
He nodded. "I had a good time this weekend. I'd like the chance to have more good times with you. I don't want to ruin your reputation or your chance to make a great impression on my father. I never worried about that because of course he's going to be impressed by you. Who wouldn't be?"
She wished to regain her bearings, but they were long-since gone. "You're placating me?"
He kissed her lightly. "No. I'm trying to explain what just happened."
She let out a breath. "Then I'm going to go to the restroom to freshen up and pray that your father is sitting in the conference room drinking coffee while I finish those proofs."
"Sounds smart," he teased her.
She put a finger to his chest and pushed in hard. "Stop."
He squeezed her finger lightly. "I promise no one will know what just happened."
She nodded and gave him one last regard before she made her exit from his office. Once outside she made no attempt to achieve eye contact with anyone nearby and made a beeline for the bathroom. It was only there that she realized anyone with eyes could see what had just transpired in his office. Her clothes might have been on (straight even) but her hair had gone from quickly pulled back to a mess of falling down strands from where he'd woven his fingers in her locks and tugged her one way and another as they moved together. Her neck was flushed with light pink blotches, thanks to the blood that had raced through her body as she hit her climax up against his office wall. Any lipstick that she'd applied before leaving her dorm room had dissipated to nothingness from his lips dragging across hers over and over in hungry and hypnotic ways.
Nothing about the reflection staring back at her appeared remotely smart. All she saw was the aftermath of some very risky behavior.
-X-
"So, I thought you had a whole host of interns," Mitchum said after the rest of the staff filtered out.
"What made you think that?" Logan asked, still focused on trying to get PowerPoint to shut down on his laptop.
"The way you discussed their many uses, I envisioned a whole fleet, instead of one very capable co-ed."
Logan looked up at his father. He hadn't expected a pat on the back or even a single word of appreciation for what he'd managed to do in such a short time at his new post. Gaining his own financing for the proposed changes was not a task he'd been given, but it was the only way he'd be allowed to proceed. It had been a huge risk, and it had paid off.
"I'm trying to keep the staff low and productive."
"Interns are free," Mitchum reasoned.
"Yes, but I wasn't in charge of selection. I got what was assigned. Next time I'll make sure to add to the pool. For the time being, I'm happy with the hand I've been dealt."
His father raised an eyebrow. "How happy?"
"Excuse me?"
"You can't shit where you eat," he said bluntly.
Logan crossed his arms. "What brought on this very sage wisdom?"
"Most interns aren't worth the space they take up in the office. There's a high learning curve and they're best kept to making copies and making sure we have enough toner. Everyone I've spoken with has had an anecdote about this intern you have helping them out or saving their ass in some way. She sounds like a real asset, and one you can't afford to lose, even with your new media revenue streams."
"I'm aware of her worth."
"Then why are you screwing around with her?"
Logan stood straighter, his spine prickled with uneasiness. "That's none of your business."
"You've made it my business. If you want me to be on board with keeping this paper in circulation, then I need to be certain that you're doing everything in your power to keep it profitable, from the highest paid positions to the interns, or in this case intern. You have to be making the most of what you have, and having her quit after you lose interest isn't what's best for this scenario."
"You have no idea what you're taking about."
"Please, Logan. Don't pussyfoot around me. I know how office flings work. I'm not going to pretend to be an altar boy around you. These things never end well. She's young, and while she may be talented, she probably believes whatever lines you're feeding her. She won't want to help you work after you end things."
"I'm not feeding her lines. We're both adults."
"Consent isn't always reciprocal. Her consent involves her wanting to make the best impression on her boss. Interns are eager to please, to get to the next level."
"She's not like that," he defended her to his father, who not only hadn't even met her, but was making assumptions based on his own many past indiscretions.
Mitchum stood up and clapped his son on the back. "I know I've spent years urging you to grow up and see the world for what it is, but this was one area I thought you were prepared for. You're young, rich, and in a position of power. You need to be smart."
With that, he was gone. Logan was left alone, with questions he didn't want to entertain. He hated having doubts about Rory, based on what he believed to be poisonous thoughts injected by his father. Just because his father invited the kind of women that traded sex for other favors didn't mean that is what Rory was playing a similar game. Part of what he liked about her was that she didn't want any part of such games. She was with him to be with him—not wanting anything out of it at all. When she'd finally come around to his way of thinking, it had seemed almost too good to be true. He hadn't wanted to question it—her intentions or what would happen when something changed for her and she was no longer satisfied with the arrangement.
He shook his head as he argued internally. He wouldn't let his father get to him like that. It was business as usual for Mitchum, to undercut his authority and undermine his sense of control. He wanted Logan to fail, or at least to be afraid of failure. Success was the only option for Huntzbergers and with his coup with the meeting his father had little left to threaten him with in order to keep him on his toes. There was nothing wrong with his relationship with Rory. Everything would continue going exactly as he wanted. He felt his confidence surging as he exited the conference room to face the rest of his day.
-X-
Rory opened her door and said nothing as she took in the sight before her. She kept one hand on the tie of her robe, which was secured over her flannel pajamas. The cold snap was in full effect, and even with the heat on in the room, glancing out the window chilled her to the bone. The longer she held the door open, the more she wished she'd shoved her feet into slippers on the way to answer the late-night knock.
Logan stood in the breezeway, holding flowers and a pizza box. He grinned at her in the boyish way he had, the kind of smile that would take the edge off a host of misgivings. She wondered what he was up to, as he'd yet to show up at her room since they'd begun engaging in a relationship outside of work. She tried to ignore the slip up they'd made earlier that day, having a very physical encounter inside his office. She couldn't imagine he'd pull out the same excuse that he missed her already to explain his presence.
"If you don't invite me in, the pizza will get cold."
She smiled at him. "I happen to like cold pizza. It's the breakfast of champions. Or, at least of Gilmores."
He laughed. "Yeah, well, I haven't had dinner yet, so are you going to let me in or not?"
She stepped back and let him in, along with his pizza and flowers. "Are those edible flowers for dessert?" she inquired playfully.
He turned and extended the bouquet in her direction. "These are for you, so eating them is entirely your decision. You're also welcome to half the pizza, should you be so inclined."
"You brought me flowers and half a pizza?" she asked. "Were you just in the neighborhood?" she guessed.
"No. I wanted to apologize, for earlier. You were right—we shouldn't have done that in my office. As good as it felt," he said with a strong twinkle in his eyes that made her blush noticeably, "it's probably best we save that for after hours."
She nodded her agreement. "Apology accepted."
"Good. So, are you hungry?"
"A little. I'll have a slice now and save the rest of my half for breakfast."
"Is that an invitation?" he asked eagerly.
"You want to sleep in my dorm room?" she asked, wholly perplexed as to why he'd choose the cramped confines of her single bed for a place to crash. Granted, he'd recently slept on her couch, but at least he'd had the whole piece of furniture to himself and he'd been too drunk to care about comfort.
"I was thinking more with you than in your dorm room, but," he explained.
"So, the pizza was just a sham."
"No, the pizza is fuel. If tonight is anything like last weekend, I'll need it."
She blushed again. "What's on the pizza?"
"Bulldog special. Best pizza in New Haven," he said, opening the box for her inspection.
"I keep forgetting you went here, that you know this place as well as I do."
He considered her seriously, with such a stoic manner that left her wholly self-conscious under his scrutiny. "It's a shame our time here didn't overlap more. We never had a chance to enjoy it together."
She felt his words, but she felt a duty to lighten the moment with respect to their far more lax relationship. "Once a Bulldog, always a Bulldog, right?" she asked.
He gave a small chuckle. "That's the case in most families. You're a legacy, right? You surely got the hard sell."
Rory dipped her head, remembering the uncomfortable situations she endured over the matter of where she would go to college. "There was no shortage of passionate opinions on the matter."
He arched a brow. "What, did your parents both want you to choose their alma maters?"
She hesitated. She didn't often utter the following sentence out loud, but she always knew how it would sound. "Um, no. Neither of them went to college."
Surprise washed over his face. "Oh. I just assumed," he began.
She waved it off and took the pizza box from his hands. It had been so easy, at work especially, to keep things to much less emotion topics—to keep things on the surface. She didn't need him to know her whole life history. It was enough that he knew her as a journalism student, and for their only bonds to be Yale and the paper. She didn't want their time together to get heavy and complicated. She took his hand and began backing her way to her bedroom. "You know, I think it's time you gained an appreciation for pizza for breakfast."
His easy smile reappeared instantly, and he followed her like a beacon. "I'm not that hungry now after all," he agreed quickly as they crossed the threshold to her bedroom and the door was closed for the night.
-X-
She was wholly peaceful while she slept. He wasn't sure what had woken him, other than perhaps the lack of real estate. He hadn't slept in a twin bed in a very long time—and he'd certainly never shared one. It was a puzzle-like fit they employed to keep all their limbs contained—his arm around her shoulders, her head on his chest, and their legs overlapped in a heap. Her hair clung to his chin, where stubble was emerging and providing a Velcro-type surface on which to catch. Each time he turned his head away from her, silky brown threads trailed in his wake. He shifted again in toward her, his nose buried in her hair and the scent of feminine pheromones filling his nostrils and triggering his lust all over again.
His eyes traced her lips in the dark, and he wondered if she would wake in an agreeable mood to his renewed advances. A quick kiss would give him an answer. Chances were she'd shift and turn away from him, her long hair still attached to his chin. The longer he considered the option, the surer he was that he was not going to fall back to sleep easily with her so intimately wrapped up around him. He traced her chin with two fingers and kissed her softly. She made a noise—a sleepy sigh—but then her leg shifted. Her body began molding back to his and he felt soft pressure against his lips in response.
"Is it morning?" she whispered into his mouth. Her eyes never opened.
"No," he answered in due time as her hand slid down from where it had been resting on his chest.
She moaned softly in response; whether she was upset for the break in her sleep or it was simply a sign of her renewed arousal he would never know. He had far more pressing matters at hand. His hands slid and squeezed, enjoying the soft skin that was pressed all along the length of his body. Most girls tended to slip something on after the initial go-around, but she'd curled up and fallen asleep gloriously bare against him. It was no wonder he found himself unable to sleep in the middle of the night.
Her eyes opened as he entered her. He hovered over her, momentarily unable to move. Her eyes held him in place, though she was wrapped around him in far more literal ways. "Logan."
It was a prompting, a call to action. He needed to stop getting caught up in the details of this girl. He kissed her hard, hoping to override his thoughts and operate on autopilot. His efforts paid off until they'd stilled and he took a moment to lie on top of her without pulling away. She put one hand on his back, over his shoulder blade.
"Are you leaving now?"
She thought he was just having one last go at her before he left in the middle of the night. He couldn't blame her, after all, but the notion stung. It wasn't that he'd never left a girl unwittingly in the wee hours of the morning, to either avoid awkward conversation or to attempt to discourage a repeat performance. But what he'd done in the past didn't seem to come into play with her.
"Do you want me to?"
"No, I just," she said, her breath catching for a moment. "I guess I'm not sure what to expect here."
He smiled faintly. "Yeah. Me either."
She nodded through a telling yawn. "If you're not leaving, I need more sleep. I have a full day tomorrow."
"I can go, if you want," he offered, silently hoping to not have to dress in the dark and leave the warmth of her bed.
She wound an arm lazily around his waist and pulled him in even closer. "Shhh. Sleep."
He mimicked her position, winding his arms around her to minimize their space requirement, but he knew that there were far better reasons for him to leave than what made sense for him to stay. Staying was not logical. His choice came back to what she'd admitted just moments before, and proved that she wasn't the only one that had no idea what to expect from their situation.
