A/N: Ah! thank you thank you for the reviews! they made me really happy in all this stress. im also really really sorry for the delay in this. i had a temporary writers block, but im happy to say, i think its been overcome. :-) and good news..only two more finals! yay! granted, i failed math and chemistry, i can honestly say the scantrons looked very pretty when i was done. hehe anyways. some may not like where this ended? im not sure...let me know. enjoy and review.

chapter eleven

"Talk to mommy!" Lorelai bounced up and down on Rory's bed the next morning like a little kid on Christmas.

"Mom," the bundled up form hiding underneath the covers groaned.

"You've been busy! I've hardly seen you! My little girl all grown up," she sighed, wiping her eyes for fake tears.

"Drama queen!" Rory exclaimed after she threw her down comforter off her body and sat up, leaning against the headboard.

"So, what's been going on?" She handed her daughter a cup of coffee, both of their elixirs, and sat cross legged in front of her eighteen year old.

"Nothing much. Working, as usual. Hanging out with people."

"You mean Logan?" Lorelai asked, well aware of their behavior towards each other. Though she had only met him a couple times, she already liked him better than she liked Dean throughout their long, drawn-out relationship.

She could see it in the way he held her hand when they were going somewhere, idly, obliviously, walking by the front desk where she was working.

She could see it by the way he pressed his hand in the small of her back, a small sign of protection towards her, knowing her past with guys.

She could see it in the way he slung his arm over her shoulders when they were talking, joking, kidding, laughing, whatever; his own way of showing her that he cares, and he's actually there.

She watched as her daughter ducked her head and blushed, "Yeah."

"Aw, babe. I know you like him."

"What? No, I don't. He's arrogant, egotistical, makes me so angry I want to rip off his arms, and he's a player." She ticked off these less-than-stellar qualities off on her fingers. "Believe me, I don't like him."

"Rory, you guys spend every waking hour that you're not working together. He stares at you in that creepy-but-still-adorable way because it's like you're so amazing. Which you are, because let's face it, you're my daughter."

"Mom!"'

Lorelai stopped her ramble, "Huh, oh yeah." She stood up off the bed, smoothing her hands over her dress pants. "I have to go, babe; big meeting with island hot-shots." She pushed hair away from her daughter's head and kissed her temple. "You like him."

Rory sighed, "I do, don't I?"

"Oh, and I need to talk to you about something later. We'll do it tomorrow, okay?"

Rory nodded from her place, setting her coffee cup on the nightstand next to her bed.

Lorelai smiled and walked out of the room, happy she had done her job as a mother. Rory slid back underneath her covers, groaning loudly at this new discovery.

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She walked slowly down the Floor Five and stood in front of his hotel room door. She hadn't seen any of the three boys that morning, and hope that he was in here, alone preferably, just to make this easier.

She lifted her hand and got ready to knock, only hesitating slightly before rapping her knuckles on the door. She jumped when she heard a crash and knew her eyes were wide with surprise when Logan pulled the door open.

"Hey," he said.

"Hi. Should I come back later?"

"No," he said immediately. "Sorry, just a little distracted this morning. Come in." He stepped back to let her slide past him.

He looked at her, this morning in a strapless black sundress. "Why black?"

"Huh?" She looked down at her dress. "Oh, um, big execs here today. This is supposedly more professional." She rolled her eyes and he laughed.

She looked around the room and saw the cheap plastic decorative vase full of fake flowers shattered in pieces on the carpet floor, the fake carnations spread around the shards, almost in an organized fashion. She saw his suitcase on the bed, open, half-packed, and raised he eyebrow at him. "Living out of a suitcase? Doesn't seem very blue-blooded to me."

He ran his hands through his hair uncomfortably, a nervous habit she noticed he had, "I'm going back."

"Back," she repeated for clarification.

"Yeah, back. Hartford."

She rocked back on her heels and looked past him to the bathroom, the door ajar and the light on. "Well, I'll just let you get back to doing…whatever you were doing."

He reached out to grab her arm, "I'm not leaving until tomorrow morning. Could you get off work?"

"I'll need to replace that vase first."

"Let the maids do it," he said, pulling her closer to him, so close she could smell the soap he used blended with the cologne.

"No, I used to be a maid. It's not fun to have to clean up other people's shit, Logan. It'll take five minutes. What did you do to it, anyways?"

"I was on the phone with my father," he said, as if that explained everything.

"And?" she pressed.

"And…he got on my nerves." He let her go and ran another hand through his hair, making it stand up on all ends. "I have to go back for a stupid party for my father's office. Since I'm going to be taking it over, he thinks it's a good time to get to know the business. As if he hasn't been shoving it down my throat since I was three."

He sounded so bitter, angry, at his father. She took a step back, "I'm sorry. I'm going to go get the vase." She left quickly and he sighed.

He didn't want to leave. He was so close to having her for himself. But then when school started, then what? He sat down on the bed and put his head in his hands.

She came back a few minutes later and he had gone back to searching for the things he had used in the first month of his stay so he wasn't running around at midnight trying to find everything.

She picked up the faux-flowers and placed them in the cream colored vase and set them back on the table where they were, and she finished picking up the broken shards of plastic that Logan had shattered.

"Next time," she grumbled as she scraped pieces of plastic into her hand, "Throw something not so breakable."

"Get up," he said concerned, pulling on her wrists. "You'll cut yourself." He turned her hand over above the trashcan to let the pieces hit the bottom.

"Let's go get food," he said as they left his room.

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They went to Luna's for nostalgic reasons, and when they returned it had finally sunk in to her that he was leaving. She may never see him again.

"We may never see each other again," she told him, voicing her thoughts aloud. They were sitting in his hotel room; he had needed to finish packing, but didn't want to leave her. His suitcase was on the floor at the end of the bed, and she was sitting on the floor against the wall, while he was underneath the window, a breeze coming through the open window.

"Don't say that. Of course we will. Who else will piss you off like I can?"

She smiled at him. He was trying to remain optimistic; they both knew they probably wouldn't see one another again. It was just a summer thing, a fling, if that.

She crawled over to where he was sitting and sat next to him, laying her head on his shoulder. She picked up his hand and entwined both of their hands together, observing them carefully.

"You know I didn't hate you, right? Not ever. Well, in the beginning, yes. But not after that."

He smirked in the darkness, "Yes, I knew that."

"Good." They simply sat there, hands intertwined, shoulders pressed together, her head on his shoulder, the moonlight shining through.

After about an hour of sitting with him she slowly stood, "I should go."

"Wait." He stood with her and pulled her close to him in an embrace. "Maybe I'll come back next year."

She smiled and brushed her lips to his softly, barely touching, and he pulled her closer to kiss her deeply, his arm sliding around her waist and up to her back to hold her to him. He walked her back to where she was pressed against the wall, and she was holding the fabric of his shirt bunched in her fist. He pulled back and looked into her eyes. She nodded slightly. "Are you sure?" he asked.

Another nod. "Just for tonight," she whispered. Her fingers fumbled with the buttons on his polo and his hand trailed across the bare skin above the fabric of her dress, before his fingers found the zipper to the black sundress.

He turned them around and pulled them back to his bed, where tonight they were just themselves. Not a heirs to billion dollar fortunes. Not girls who had been hurt by so many in the past.

Just teenage lovers between the sheets.