Bruins and Rebels

by MrSchimpf

Paris·Jess, alt S4 with Jess spin-off, rated PG-13. Paris decides to attend UCLA instead of an Ivy League school, and tries to make it on her own without her friends in the Golden State. A story about the trials and tribulations of a new girl in Westwood.

4. First 'Dates' and Soul Circles

Title: Bruins and Rebels | Chapter Four | First 'Dates' and Soul Circles
Author: Nate
Pairing: Paris/Jess, and couplings with the ancillary characters introduced in later chapters.
Spoilers: The big one would be the Jess/Milo spin-off series, which takes the Jess character to Venice, CA with his father. Otherwise it's unlikely I'm spoiling any of the upcoming plots. The earth-shattering and horrible news from The Big One is included and a major factor in the story.
Rating: Hard PG-13 (swearing, suggestive sexual innuendo, corrupted thoughts and dialogue). The R point isn't coming for several other chapters, so if you're not into an R story, breath easy for now.
Disclaimer: Amy Sherman-Palladino, Hofflund-Pollone and Warner Bros. Television along with the newer companies involved with the spin-off own the Paris and Jess characters. Pacific Bell is a division of SBC. Other trademarks are owned by their respective companies. And unless I can ever get to LA and bid in one of those wacky 'own a celebrity for a day' auctions, Liza Weil is never going to be my 'Brown-Eyed Girl' (pouts).
Archiving: Usual suspects; FF.net and LWL. Make sure to ask if you want to archive it yourself.
Summary: When Paris calls Jess on a Friday night, she offers to help him study and he comes over to the Saxons. But they both have other things in mind for the evening, which leads to some very close calls when it comes to their feelings for each other. Brianna has her own problems when her night doesn't go as planned, and she becomes embarrassed and flushed when she sees something she doesn't expect on a visit to another student's dorm.
Author's Notes: I do type a lot, don't I? This was one of those tough middle chapters where I didn't have an idea for how it goes until the last minute, but this just came to me and I ran with it (yes, for a month, but good stories do take time). I like how it turned out, though I shall fully live up to the Trory-coined title of "The Male Pooh" due to the length of this chapter, heh. It also hasn't helped that ShowParis was bed-ridden after the Harvard rejection and the whole nose ring plot was carried out badly by ASP's spin-off fogged mind. But Paris will get better by the end of the season I'm sure, and Liza continues to play her awesomely no matter how trite the role is in an episode.

Thanks to the Angels for encouragement over the last month, Chris, Jamie and Ash are doing the betaing once again, which I would be lost without, and Mala for continuing to dole out the UC love, despite her not wanting to write a Luke/Luke fic ;). Also, a personal thanks to a certain ff.net reviewer for inspiring a new character which is true to her form (you'll have to read to find out who). I hope that she enjoys her insertion into the story, with more words than usual. Also thanks to Gracie for keeping Gilmore Girls fanfiction likable and sane with the P&P site, and Priya for her great reviews. Also, thanks for Kait for keeping a leash on Chris' ego.

I've talked enough, it's time to zip it and let the story tell itself, so read on...

---

Paris looked down at the piece of paper she held in her hand, the same one that dropped out of a book and into Brianna's sight last Thursday night. Her fingers ran against the upper part of the paper, where the spiral holes were torn apart when Jess had ripped it out of his memopad.

"Why is this so hard?" she nagged at herself, reading Jess' writing over and over again as if it was the Rosetta Stone and she was trying to unearth its secrets. It was Friday night, eight days after that first meeting in Santa Monica, and her shy side, hidden after she determined UCLA was her school of choice, had reset itself within her. Every time Brianna had left the room, Paris found herself sitting on one of the stools next to the kitchenette's peninsula counter, trying to gather up the courage to stretch her arm out and pick up the phone sitting at the end of the counter. The beige object seemed to call for her to pick it up and dial those seven digits to try to talk to Jess, but every time over the last week she considered calling, she had second thoughts. The thoughts hadn't plagued her through any of her course work, but there were just times when Brianna just would never understand the mind that belonged to Paris Gellar.

So there she sat in that familiar position, looking at the phone. She had plenty of time to take action on her need to call Jess this Friday evening, seeing as Brianna was out with classmates touring the Democratic Party headquarters downtown for a field trip in one of her classes. Why on a Friday night Brianna couldn't figure out, but she figured any opportunity to learn more about the inner workings of a major political party would give her a coup when it came to extra credit points.

Paris had walked around the room a few times after she left, and flipped the TV onto KCET to take her mind off Jess for a bit with a little bit of Washington Week with Gwen Ifill. That distraction was short-lived however as the talking heads around the table kept yapping on and on about another Bush health care plan that was sure to fail in the Senate, and frankly Paris was sick of it. She was back on the stool twenty minutes later, nursing a bottle of Diet Coke and thinking about what she would say to Jess once he picked up the phone. Thoughts of confessing love in just one short phone call were off the table, and Paris determined that friendly inquiries were probably the best way to go. "Yeah, just act like a friend, that's the ticket." She had made up her mind, and it was now or never, she had to call Jess.

She read the number to herself aloud as she picked up the receiver and dialed each of the seven digits. "5-6-5-1-6-5-2." She cleared her throat and awaited the ringing tone.

She didn't get it however. Instead, she got Pac Bell's friendly automated operator notifying her seven-digit dialing was as out of style in LA as the sitcom, supermodels, and action movies starring lunkheads from Eastern Europe with little knowledge of the English language. "Please hang up and try your call again," she pleaded to Paris, before cutting her off rudely.

Paris could only sigh and try again. "Fine, I'll dial eleven digits, but I'm not happy with it. Why don't these phone companies get logical and add in an extra number to the first three numbers, voila! It's 100 million combinations of numbers instead of just 10 million a code." Done complaining to herself about the incompetence of the Bell System, she proceeded to dial the number again, adding the 1-313 on at the beginning.

This time, she was successful in receiving a ringing tone. She felt a chill go up her spine at the realization that she was calling a guy, a guy who had given her his phone number. Jamie never did that for her, she had to ask him herself for the digits. But this time, Jess obliged her wish without even having to have her ask for it. Now all she could hope for was that last week wasn't just a fluke and that he had already forgotten their accidental meeting at In-and-Out.

She listened to the phone ring a second time. Then a third. She was afraid of the fourth, which meant Jess wasn't really home and she'd have to listen to a horrid greeting from the answering machine or the mechanical voice of doom from a voice mailbox.

But she didn't have to deal with a message, because someone did pick up the phone.

"Hello, Marianos," The voice heard on the other end was the gruff voice of a middle-aged man. Paris assumed this was the father Jess was talking about, Jess' voice sounded much more unique to her.

And sexually arousing, she thought to herself. She snapped to attention on that thought, trying to will it out of her head, and continue the conversation without corrupted thoughts.

"Yes, would I be able to speak to Jess please?" Her phone etiquette had been highly developed, and this made Mr. Mariano uncomfortable.

"Hey, you ain't one of those stupid telemarketers? Because my son already has enough credit and doesn't need vinyl siding."

"No, no sir, I assure you I'm not involved with that business," she said in haste. "Is he there? This is Paris, and Jess gave me this number--"

"Sorry, I don't take international calls." Paris heard the retreating sound of his voice, then the sound of a soft beep from his cordless phone. Then, a dialtone.

"Damn it!" She growled as she pressed down on the cradle hook to reset the line, and dialed the number again. A couple of people had hung up on her when she said her name and assumed they were calling to France instead of Hartford, which made Paris regret that she hadn't changed her legal name to her middle name, Eustacia the day she turned sixteen.

But she decided against it because she really wasn't Eustacia-ish at all. She was definitely a Paris, a one of a kind. Even if her mother cursed her with such a weird name. At least it isn't Moonflower or Periwinkle, she thought as she dialed again and listened for Mr. Mariano to pick up.

"Hello, Marianos."

"Yes, can I speak to Jess?"

"Who is this?"

Paris tried another strategy to get past the roadblock of Mr. Mariano. "Paris Gellar, Jess--"

"I already told you ma'am, I don't take international calls." He hung up the phone again, and Paris was starting to seethe.

"Fucking idiot!" she cursed, pressing the cradle hook once again and resetting the line. "Third time's a charm," she said sarcastically as she dialed the number again, and let the line ring. This time there was no way Mr. Mariano was going to stand in the way of her talking to Jess.

As soon as he picked up the phone and said "Hello?" with some agitation in his voice, she started to try to wear him down.

"Sir, would you happen to have a caller ID box?"

Jimmy huffed and looked down at the phone stand. "Yes I do, near the phone, and on the phone's display."

"Could you read me the name and number that displayed when the phone rang moments ago?" She was going to prove this commoner wrong, even if it took basic logic to argue her position.

"Um, let me bend down to read it..." She heard some papers shuffling and the sound of a little feedback on Jimmy's end of the line, along with a soft cough. Finally, he was in position to read the caller ID's display. "OK, it says here 313-753-3294, and the name displayed is P. Gellar. I don't know what this has to do with you being in France miss--"

A plug-sized spark flickered a small nightlight bulb in Jimmy's small mass of cerebral flesh that somehow was called a brain. "Ooh, you mean you're not in France?"

Paris rolled her eyes up as she curled the phone cord around her index finger. "No, the 313 code is along the coast, remember sir? I'm Paris, Jess' friend."

"What kind of name is Paris, that sounds really--"

"Don't even start with me Mr. Mariano, I know I have a weird name and if you hate it, big whoop. My mother named me Paris, and although there are times I've wanted to change it, I've decided not to."

"You want to talk to Jess," Jimmy asked. "Well he's here, but how do you know him?"

"From Connecticut, I was his ex-girlfriend's classmate."

"You knew Rory?"

"She's my best friend."

"Well what are you doing here?"

"UCLA, journalism major. Me and Jess saw each other at In-and-Out in Santa Monica last week, got to talking, then he gave me his phone number."

Jimmy smiled as Paris described the circumstances that led to the two meeting. "Good, good. I've been trying to get Jess to make more friends out here, but so far he's been withdrawn since we moved to Venice."

Paris was starting to warm up to Jimmy Mariano somehow. She could sense that he really was trying to be a good parent to Jess, even if he only knew the boy for just a little under four months. "You want to talk to Jess then Paris?"

"Sure, that is why I called. But it was nice talking to you sir, even if it took a couple of tries to get a clue." She put sarcasm in her voice to hint to Jimmy that she was just kidding. She heard a laugh on the other end.

"Your welcome, I'll have Jess take the call in his room." Paris heard Mr. Mariano set his cordless on a table, then shouting to his son.

"Hey Jess, your Paris friend is on the line!"

Down the hall from the phone, Jess sat in his bedroom, pondering some of the science homework his new high school had saddled on him. His ears piqued upon hearing Paris' name, and he dropped his biology book onto his bed.

"Thanks Pop, and her name IS Paris! Sorry I didn't tell you before about her, you had a long night at the hot dog stand when you came home!"

"It's fine, it was a nice surprise!" Jimmy yelled back. Jess walked over to his phone's base unit, and pickup the line.

"OK, close the line!"

"Got it!" Paris was wishing that they had gotten a two line phone in that house. She didn't care to hear father and son bounce back and forth a conversation before one of them picked up the phone. She was half-expecting a heated game of Dozens to start, with various reasons the mother was something or other.

She heard Jimmy's phone hang up, and Jess open up his connection. He belonged to her, phonewise at least. Paris spoke first, as she picked up the base and walked with it to her bed, the handset locked onto her shoulder.

"Hello Jess, I thought I'd call and see what you were doing at home on a Friday night." She lay on her bed and rested her head on her pillow.

"Being frustrated with my bio homework and wishing I was about three years older so I could hit the bar scene. You?"

"Doing the same thing I've done every Friday night since I was 14, watching PBS' Friday night lineup and pondering why I always do homework before 6pm, no matter what I need to do before or after that time. I'm so bored right now that I've overreviewed my notes for advanced calculus about four or five times since I got home." She huffed and kicked off her shoes, which she had forgotten to take off after she got back from class five hours earlier.

"Aww, and here I thought you and LA were going to make such wonderful bedfellows Par. There's an entire city out there that's calling your name, why don't you head out and see the sights?"

"Three words; Labor Day weekend. Most everyone on my floor is already out on the town, and I was planning a trip to the Griffith Observatory later. Too bad I just checked out their website an hour ago and found out they're closed for the next three years due to renovation."

"There has to be something to do, a girl like you shouldn't be sitting in her dorm with nothing to do on a Friday night." Jess was trying to think up something for her to do in LA, or at least something he could do for her to wile away the many hours that remained between eight o'clock and about three on Saturday morning.

He looked down at his biology homework, which was starting to look like a hellish mess. His attempt at an example of a DNA helix turned out to look more like a warped snake than a building block of life, because he had done lots of flipping back and forth between the figure in his text and the drawing in his notebook for a compare and contrast. And he was definitely sure that about 7 out of his 24 work questions had answers which were sure to get the wrath of Mrs. Tumwater's red pencil. See, this is exactly the reason writing is my future, he thought as his mind figured out what to do about giving Paris and him something to do on a Friday night. After a moment for pause, inspiration hit him, as the image of his Blockbuster card sitting on his nightstand added fuel to his idea's fire.

"Well braniac, found something for me to do?" Paris asked, her eyes drifting between the fading sunlight of her window and the end of the budget debate on public television.

"Studying and a movie perhaps?" He asked sincerely. "This biology homework is giving me fits, and although my dad is cool, he's been sending me signals that he wants me out of the house tonight. I think he's bringing over a girl and doesn't want his son to ruin his chances at getting lucky."

"I hope he didn't hear that," Paris said, then she laughed. "Don't you have any friends at Venice High who can help you with it?"

"Not yet Par, we only started down here on Tuesday. Besides, I can trust you to help me out, you have encyclopedic gray matter under that blonde hair of yours."

Paris huffed a breath, trying to convey to Jess that she wasn't going to help him if she had to do his homework for him.

"And I promise I won't have you do my homework. I've changed, and I just want you to help me get the best grade possible."

"What movie?" She smiled, getting excited at the possibility of Jess coming over.

"I'll find something at Blockbuster, anything new you want?"

"The first half of the year always has the worst movies, no thanks. I'm thinking black and white romantic comedy, think you can find something based on that description?"

"The Philadelphia Story, that's a great movie."

"Mmmm, Cary Grant." She sighed, Jess had hit one of her weak spots. "That works for me Jess, are you on your way?"

Jess grabbed his jacket off the foot of his bed and put it on, then started shoving stuff like his wallet, video card and keys into his pocket. "Yeah, I'll be up there in about a half-hour. 343 in the Saxons, right?"

"Got it right Jess. I'll see you when you get here, we're getting right to studying the moment you get here though."

"OK Paris, I'll see you soon." He shoved his schoolbooks into his book bag and threw it around his shoulder. "Bye."

"Goodbye." She got up from her bed and hung the phone up, then picked it up and brought it back to the counter. She then walked around the counter, and made her way into the bathroom, looking at herself in the mirror above the vanity.

"Uggh, I look horrible," Paris groaned to herself. Her hair and face were fine, but she wasn't looking very fetching in her afterschool wardrobe of a white blouse and khaki pants. "Think, what did you used to wear for Jamie, Gellar? He came over two or three times..." She scowled upon realizing she was thinking of her idiot ex-boyfriend once again. She then replaced it with a nice memory, that of Jess' stare of approval at her choice of clothing last week when they bumped into each other.

"I think I'll go with something along those lines, preferably a little more casual." She walked out of the bathroom and made her way to her dresser, just before she remembered she did her laundry to waste a couple hours earlier in the afternoon, and her drying cycle was just about over. So it was off to the community laundry room downstairs with her, as she shut her eyes and crossed her fingers that her inabilities in the kitchen hadn't spread to her wash.

---

Paris managed to do her laundry pretty well, considering it was the only the fourth time she had ever done it herself, but really the first time since she was twelve (not counting the emergency load-in-a-robe she had to do in St. George). Nothing was shrunk or a different color, her socks still added up to an even number, and her delicates weren't flying on the flagpole in front of the building, taken by some fraternity pledge as a trophy. She was quite pleased with herself, and was smiling as she pushed the button for 3 on the elevator back up from the basement. By the time the elevator started its climb up the shaft, Paris had decided on a pair of grey sweatpants and a basic black shirt as her outfit for her study session with Jess. That should keep me comfy, and his eyes on me, she thought to herself as she held onto her clothes basket as if someone was going to steal it at any moment from her.

The elevator stopped on the first floor, but Paris wasn't mad at first at that. Some of the library crowd was headed back to their dorms, and she was expecting a stop in the lobby on the way up to the third floor. She made her way to the corner of the shaft to accommodate the incoming crowd as the doors opened.

She found only one girl waiting for the car, and as the peppy blonde walked into it, Paris groaned to herself at the luck of being stuck in the same place for 30 seconds with her new sworn enemy, her RA Piper.

"Hello Paris, and how are you today?" The peppy girl asked in a squeaky voice, her clearly modified smile blinding our heroine with its utterly fake whiteness.

"Fine Piper, just coming up from finishing my laundry." Paris looked down at her clothes, the better not to have to have her eyes besmirched by Piper, who personified California excess at it's worst. Piper was a trust fund honey blown to smithereens, what with her fully-Guccized outfit, obvious nip and tucks with her cheeks and chin, and a figure that would make even Calista Flockhart and Lara Flynn Boyle want to drag her out to Ponderosa for the all-you-can-eat steak special until she exploded. On top of her thin-rail figure were the not-so-small implants that made Paris thank her mother, father, and all of her descendents for having such good genes that she didn't need saline to fill out her figure.

"Oooh, you did laundry? Did you make sure to leave a dryer sheet in for the next student so they just have to throw in their clothes and go?" Piper was the ultimate Valley Girl from Sherman Oaks who didn't have a redeeming bone in her body. The few girls who were friends with her weren't about to become Rhodes scholars anytime soon. Paris guessed that the only future Piper and her cronies had were in those NASCAR race team pin-up calendars mechanics drooled over when they got a free moment in-between fixing cars.

"Yeah, I left in a sheet." Paris desperately tried to keep Piper from talking to her more, but the bleach blonde's eyes caught something in Paris' basket.

"Ohmigod, I have that same color and same style of panties in my drawer! You are so cool Paris, I envy you!"

A violent blush crept up Paris' face, and she shoved the offending article of clothing deep between a pair of slacks and a sweatshirt. "Shut up Piper, please, I don't really care what you wear, now leave me alone!" Paris groaned and tried to end the conversation, but Piper pressed on anyways.

"Are you having a guy over tonight so you can model them for him?"

Apparently subtlety isn't Piper's strong suit, Paris thought. She now wondered if that trick of pushing the floor button rapidly actually would speed up the elevator. She tried not to answer the question, but Piper kept asking it again multiple times.

Paris had to shut her RA up, so grudgingly she gave in.

"Yes I'm having a guy over, but we're only studying." That should shut her cork.

"Remember, you can't have a guy here after midnight, so if you plan to get it on with him, he can't sleep here tonight!" Piper repeated the most important rule of dorm living, and Paris was relieved to hear the ding as the elevator car passed the second floor.

"I know, I know, he can't be here after midnight, and if he's from outside the school he has to park in the visitor's lot. I read the rulebook, trust me!" Paris pushed her lingerie down to the lower levels of her basket, relieved to feel the push of gravity that signaled the end of the ride. "And he's not my boyfriend, we're not going to have sex!"

"He's from outside UCLA? What is he, older, younger, rich, poor?"

"Mind your own business, I'll just tell you he's a fifth year senior in Venice, and more importantly, Just. A. Friend!"

"Someone has a fetish for younger men!" Piper teased. Paris rolled her eyes and used all of her willpower to keep the fist she was tempted to form in just her mind.

"He's 18, just like me, get your mind out of the gutter!" The elevator doors opened, and Paris ran out of them post haste onto the third floor. "Bye Piper!" She walked down the hall, not even waiting for Piper's goodbye.

Piper walked out of the elevator and the other way. "Bye Paris, I want an update, update, update later!" she shouted loudly and in a high tone, causing several other students in the hall to cover their ears as the annoying RA walked past them.

"Geeze, I thought Saddam was bad, can we overthrow her?" a boy asked a girl. The girl shrugged and laughed. "We should've just sent her to Baghdad, it would've made for a very quick war." Then they went on their way, hoping the Admissions Board would come to their senses and hire a sane resident advisor who they actually wanted to be friends with as soon as possible.

---

Paris shoved her wash basket off to the side when she walked into her room, grabbed her chosen outfit from the basket and ran to the bathroom to quick change before Jess came. After running a brush through her hair, she shuffled around the dorm, trying to clean it up a little. Already two weeks into moving to Los Angeles, Paris was starting to succumb to being an average college girl, what with the empty bottles of Diet Coke and foam coffee cups sitting on the table, paper plates and empty take-out boxes all over the kitchen counter and Brianna's laundry basket filled to the brim with dirty clothes. Her bed had been left unmade earlier in the day, and the amount of trash in the garbage can suggested that a trip to the dumpster was in the future. I'll send Brianna to do that for me, these hands don't like touching trash, she thought as she threw things into the wastebasket.

It was 28 minutes after Jess said he would be over that Paris had everything cleaned up and the bed made, and had cleared off the computer counter's work area so her and Jess could study. She stared at the television, wondering if going back to communism would be a great idea in the age of corporations failing due to shoddy accounting. That, and Shawn Colvin's brother made a bad Louis Rukeyser replacement on Wall $treet Week. She hated that CNBC wouldn't let her get her Louis fix until 9:30 because of their Pacific schedule, and was stuck getting her business news from two idiots who worked for a bad financial magazine, and "just loved" every stock they mentioned on the show. Only because you got paid under the table to say so. She was frustrated with the show, and turned off the TV, sliding down the counter in her rolling chair to check her email. She clicked open her Eudora and let the messages filter into the inbox.

"Oh, Rory emailed me," she said, catching the girl's name in-between a plea to buy female herbal Viagra and 10 DVDs for a penny 'with nothing more to buy ever!'. She opened up the message and read it to herself.

From: gilmore.lorelai@yale.edu
To: pgellar@uclamail.edu
Subject: Happy Labor Day Weekend!

Hey Paris,

How have you been, I hope you're not having too much fun in Los Angeles. Then again, I'm sure you've been buried in the library since Prof. Jimenez caught you last Thursday. I've been doing pretty good, and the classes I'm taking at Yale are starting to get tough. I was up until two a couple nights ago for my class in political reporting, pretty exhausting stuff, yet very challenging.

My mom ended up staying in my dorm for three days before my RA caught on and told her to pack her bags. Well that and my roommate Lynise was complaining that she wasn't able to get settled into the dorm that well, Lorelai's back hurt from sleeping on the dorm floor and she needed to share a bed with Lynise. Me and Lynise are much better acquainted now though, and she doesn't seem like she's going to crack on me, we're good roommates.

As for my schoolwork, I'm on a roll. Except for that one moment of inattentiveness when we AIM'ed in class, I've been doing pretty well, never had a grade below 90 yet. I hope you're doing great too Par, and the holidays seem so far away, I miss your snarkiness. E-mail me back so we can set up a phone call or IM chat.

Your friend,
Rory

P.S. - As for the guy report, New Haven is sadly lacking anyone with brains or good looks in one package so far. I envy you Miss LA, you have surfers, actors and rich doctors to choose from. Hope you can find a great guy in LA, I'll be living vicariously through you this year it seems ;).

The postscript of Rory's letter stopped Paris from wanting to type out a response right away. Her feelings for Jess were still an unresolved jumble, because she hadn't talked to him in quite a few days before she called tonight. Her confusion about what he wanted from her was high. Did he just want to be a friend to her, or did he want to jump in and become her boyfriend? It hung over her head, along with her declaration in front of Rory that she wasn't going to date during her freshman year.

Compared to how Rory would react to the news of her best friend meeting her former beau however, those things were small potatoes. Paris had several drafts of letters that contained details about Jess in Santa Monica sitting in her outbox, ready to be sent to Rory anytime she felt like it. They remained sitting in the queue though, because when she reread them, the body of the letter came out like Brianna's explanation of 'I'm closer to Jess geographically than you, so you can't have him anymore, nyah-nyah!' did. Paris didn't want to lose her friendship over such a silly childish argument about distance. So for now, she just wrote to Rory with details about her life in LA, at school and the dorms, and nothing else. It would be the same for that reply when Jess left after they studied.

She closed down the mail program just as she heard a knock on the front door. She took a look at her room one more time to make sure that it was clean enough to study with Jess in, then she got up from her chair and walked towards the door.

"I'm coming!" She slid the chain off the slider, and opened up the door, and it didn't take but a moment for the girl to be both surprised and stunned at the same time.

"Hey Paris," Jess said as he laid his eyes upon her, backpack on one shoulder and fast food in his hands.

"Hi Jess." She tried to keep her enthusiasm at seeing him tempered, as if he was just another $20 tutoring student she was helping out in junior year. She felt her hands sweat up as she looked at what he was wearing though. A nice pair of blue jeans, along with a black band shirt from some obscure 80s punk outfit called The Potsies. Over the tee, he had a blue and red-checkered flannel shirt on, which hid his arms from plain view to her. Of course, those jeans were pretty tight.

Oh boy, it's gonna be hard thinking of him as just a friend, she nagged to herself, especially when her eyes landed on the food.

"That for you?"

He shrugged. "I figured you might be hungry so I stopped at In-and-Out on the way in. Consider it my payment for services rendered tonight, along with a bottle of RedHot."

"Actually I already ate." She pointed at the cardboard container sitting on the counter she had neglected to throw away, fork still in the tray. He walked into the dorm and set the food and soda tray down, then picked up the microwaved meal container and read it aloud.

"Von's Supreme Choice frozen meat lasagna entree? That's a snack, not a meal, have you learned nothing from your sojourns to Luke's?" Jess shook his head at Paris, as if she had disappointed him when it came to her culinary needs.

"It filled me up fine, but you're right, a burger and fries does sound like a much more filling meal than frozen lasagna." She laughed and started thumbing her way through the bag to find her food. "The fries are well done, right?"

"Golden brown, just the way you love 'em Par. I even double checked to make sure they got it right."

"You are a good man Jess, thank you for buying me dinner." Food and soda in hand, she walked over to the computer area, carrying a couple of Jess' books.

"I figure that I owe you for last Thursday night, and In-and-Out was on the way up to Westwood, so I just stopped there and picked something up for you. Sorry I was a little late."

She shrugged off his unneeded apology. "Don't worry about it Reb, I had to bring my laundry up anyways, I forgot to retrieve it earlier from downstairs. I had to throw something on from the basket because what I was wearing wasn't all that conducive to a relaxing night in the dorm studying with you."

Jess noticed something just then on her backside sticking to her pants, but he was trying his best not to say something because he was sure Paris would be smart and notice that the seat was padded a little more than usual as she sat in her chair. However she sat down and didn't notice the sock stuck to her pants courtesy of static cling. He didn't know what to do; he certainly couldn't touch her and yank the sock off without being slapped immediately by her for such a cavalier move. And he really didn't want to embarrass her, even though he was the only person in the room. He still remembered how down she felt that she wasn't a wonderful cook last week when they talked, he didn't want to ruin her high of accomplishing her laundry without a mistake or some kind of usual Paris-type wackiness ensuing.

"I doubt this night is going to be relaxing, seeing as I'm about to be drilled on all these questions," Jess said back, his focus on her face. It looked like his reverence for Paris was going to win out over his lustful side so far. Thank goodness I'm in a scholarly mood, no telling what would happen if I was just here for her only, he thought as he took the erasable pen he brought with him out of his pocket.

"I don't drill Jess, I pummel. You're going to pass this little biology test, and if it takes 30 repetitions of all 24 questions, so be it." Instead of the more relaxed vibe Paris usually gave around him, the girl was looking at him like he was a meek student who had spent a few too many days slacking off from the schoolbooks.

"Well when you put it that way, I guess I should ask you to pummel away." He looked at her, and she nodded at him to start describing what he needed help in when it came to science.

"Great, let's get started." Jess opened up his biology book and spiral notebook, and started showing Paris the questions that he needed to study, along with his disaster of a DNA helix. They got to studying, not letting up for an hour and a half. For then, the relationship between Paris and Jess was not good friends, but tutor and student. There were a few times they were awfully close for comfort and within kissing distance, but they didn't take action because Paris' descriptions of DNA, mitosis and heredity were spun in such a way that they worked for Jess' level of understanding, along with the way she phrased the questions differently than the text. For once, he was engrossed with biology rather than thinking of it as just that class between 1960s Authors and Public Speaking and Speechwriting.

As Jess wrote down the answers to the last three questions, written in the simple yet methodical way Paris strived for him to do instead of cut-and-dry, he thought back to his junior year and how Paris would've been in the situation when Luke made him get a tutor during his grade struggles. Luke had asked Rory to do it seeing as they were close, and that ended up in a disaster where he was sent back to New York and was hated by the citizens for 'hurting' Rory in an accident actually caused by a wayward squirrel with a vendetta against humans.

When Luke said he had gotten Rory to tutor him, Jess had thought to himself why he wouldn't have gotten a girl like Paris to do instead for him. The day that blonde hellfire had walked into the diner and accused his uncle of running a cathouse upstairs because of her assumption that Luke's was actually a front for the West Hartford County branch of the Hell's Angels. He laughed at the time when he got upstairs about how stubborn Paris had been about trying to find something seedy about the town, even if she would never find it. But as he sat in Prospect Park one day recalling the events of the two weeks since he left Stars Hollow, he thought of how different the tutoring would have been if it had been Paris instead of someone at the time he was having strong feelings for.

There was no way around it, she would've been tough on him to the bitter end, and there was just something about her somewhere behind her bitter façade that said that even if she didn't show it, she wanted him to get the highest grade possible, if not for his sake and ego, but to give one of his teachers a 'take that' moment which would give him the class' attention for an afternoon, and that moment would stretch into days with each assignment turned in, so that at the end of the semester, a low A or high B grade would be status quo for Jess. It's too bad her first impression on Luke sucked, I wouldn't have minded her tutoring me, he thought as he put the finishing touches on a Venn diagram, to the delight of Paris. She was kind of wondering where her roommate was though, it was about ten o'clock and Brianna was still out. Party headquarters wouldn't be open that long, although Brianna had befriended a couple of girls in the class. Probably out with girls in Hollywood having a nightcap, she mused as she finished her assessment of the quiz and gave Jess a thumbs up that it would impress his teacher when he turned it in Tuesday morning.

"I can't believe it, I finished a science assignment without falling asleep or resorting to reading a book to pass the time," he exclaimed, as Paris dug into his backpack to fish out the movie he brought.

Instead of gloating, Paris tried to downplay how much she had helped Jess understand the concepts of what she had helped him out with. "It's nothing really Jess. I just needed to teach you at your own level and give you some individual attention, so I just taught at a pace you'd feel comfortable with. I did it all the time when I tutored at the Boys and Girls Club in the Clay/Arsenal section of Hartford. Some of those kids, school wasn't their first priority, so I had to come up with a better way of tutoring them than just telling them to do step A, then B, and etcetera. That meant I had to drop the haughty tone I usually keep and use simpler words to express subjects, equations and schoolwork."

Jess raised an eyebrow up as his mind flashed a picture of Paris in her Chilton uniform in a inner-city classroom, helping a 10 year-old Latino boy who had a few problems with his history by describing Abraham Lincoln as being 'down with the slaves dude, he wasn't going to take any jive from Jeffy Davis and his wack Confederacy, 'cuz A.B. Lincoln was da bomb!'.

"Uh, why are you looking at me like that, did I say something wrong?" Paris was concerned about the stare Jess was giving her, the kind that someone usually gave someone who was about to be committed to an asylum.

"Please don't tell me that involved being dope and getting on their down low fa-schizzle, because I don't know if I could picture Hartford's smartest heiress talking like she was competing with Eve for baddest female rapper of them all." He laughed at his comment, and Paris had to agree she really had set herself up for that punchline. She smiled and kept back a giggle.

"Word up Jess, I'm just the baddest mama-jama in the HFD," she responded back, trying her best to sound street, but failing rather miserably. This only caused Jess to laugh even harder at this entire concept of Paris being urban and hip. "Hey, I'm trying to be serious here, I can hang with the best of them!"

"Oh good God Paris, please--please stop before I die from laughing at all of this!" He sat down on the couch as Paris walked over to the TV, which had a DVD player combined with it to save the precious shelf space a cramped dorm truly needed, and took the DVD movie out of it's case. She put it in the tray and watched it recede back into the unit, then sat down at the other end of the couch.

As Jess calmed down from his laughing spell, Paris figured by sitting as far from Jess on the futon as possible, there was no way she could be tempted into getting any closer to him than she already had. She was determined to keep their relationship strictly platonic, no matter how much she was sensing the chemistry between her and him.

I don't have to be attracted to him. Being his friend is just as wonderful as being a girlfriend, I can be just his girl friend, with a space in the middle. I'm not going to fall victim to him again, this shirt I'm wearing doesn't flatter me and he can't talk during the movie, so there's no way he can lure me into a haze like he did last Thursday. She ended her thought with one more self-declaration.

I will not move if he asks me to sit closer to him, no matter how much he wants me to. She picked the TV/DVD remote off the side table and hit the play button.

"Ready for a classic?" Paris asked Jess, smiling at him and trying to stop her gaze from wandering down towards his upper body.

"Not quite Par," he responded. "You could sit closer to me, we have four feet separating us and I'd really like to enjoy the movie with you by my side."

"Err, I can't Jess, um, my field of vision is limited when I sit on the left side of the futon, I can't see the screen right. I see it much better over here."

Paris' hope that Jess would take that excuse was dashed as he scooted to the right rather than asking her to move again. "OK, if you say so, I'll move towards you."

Quick, come up with something else! Her brain came up with something quick that she hoped would appease him. "No, you can't move because...because you're closer to the door than I am in that seat. If some nut comes in here screaming about togas you can teach him a lesson by using the bat over there, you can protect me!" Geeze, why didn't I just fake a southern accent and call him my big, strong protector, I sounded like Penelope fucking Pitstop right there!

He shook his head. "It's 10 at night, the toga parties have long since started, and didn't you lock the door when I came in?"

"Well you never know, some of those students can be idiots, I don't trust myself around them. They might even have a key!"

"Sure, they're only after you and only you in room 343, right. You really think someone's out to get you, come on! You yell at a guy and he cowers in fear at your feet, I know you, and there's no way you'll ever have to use that bat over there. Now come on over here and let me sit next to you." His brown eyes had a pleading look to them, and as much as Paris tried to keep her eyes averted as if not to fall under Jess' spell, she couldn't deny it. His eyes were handsome, and she had always lost herself in them, no matter how much she tried to convince herself of the opposite.

She tried convincing herself not to have Jess sit right next to her, but to no avail. Not only were her eyes getting to him, but his scent was overwhelming her senses. A heady mix of Jess' cologne combined with his perspiration to create an aroma that was all Jess' own, with a couple of pheromones mixed in there to whip up in her mind a thought of Jess sitting next to her without his two shirts on, and him ready and waiting for her.

For now though, she had to make do with him close to her seat, and fully clothed. She moved back toward Jess, and settled herself in to watch the movie with him.

"There, I moved close to you, are you happy Reb?" she told him snappishly, hiding the true feelings that were coming out of hibernation after a year at rest.

"Very," he responded. He took of his flannel shirt and threw it behind him, draping it over the back of the futon. Then he settled in for the two hour movie, his dream girl by his side wanting to enjoy the movie just as much as he was going to.

He had a soft side for the black and white movies that were a large part of his childhood; Liz's TV was tuned to AMC, TCM and the tiny independent channel 56 out of Long Island City for almost every day since she decided to hook up the apartment with cable when he was seven. He would never have the memories of getting into crazes like the Ninja Turtles and Battletoads that most boys were into back in 1990, his afterschool time usually consisted of homework followed by some old studio romance from 1933 without much of a plot but plenty of pratfalls. But even if his mother and him weren't on talking terms, her habit was one of the few things that he wanted to pass onto his mate and his children. To him, the art of filmmaking was starting to be lost in the battle to have the next great hit, and the only truly 'modern' movies he ever watched were romantic comedies that reminded him of Desk Set and those Tracy/Hepburn films of the 40s and 50s. To him, Tara Reid was a blonde whore who took advantage of the casting couch system in Hollywood to get her lead roles, and Chris Klein and Freddy Prinze Jr. had about as much chemistry with actresses as a wet sponge. He had a large-scale rant about the new action heroes who took over the genre, including why Vin Diesel didn't deserve $10 million a movie to spout out dialogue that made even soap opera actors cringe to say.

Paris' wish did come true that Jess wouldn't talk during the movie, he was too involved in the pratfalls of Hepburn, Stewart and Grant to really say anything or opine about how he felt a scene should've gone. However, her other hope that what she was wearing would turn him off from trying to make a move didn't work. About an hour and a half in, just as the twists were starting, sleep was starting to come to her slowly, and she started to feel Jess' hand hover close to her, as she relaxed and leaned her head on the armrest, resting on a propped throw pillow. What she didn't expect with her choice of a black shirt was for it to ride up, even though she had checked it in the bathroom hours before to make sure that it tucked into her pants and stayed tucked. The cool air of the air-conditioned room could be felt against the bare skin exposed at her waist, and suddenly she felt self-conscious, namely because the sweatpants she bought were two sizes over hers for comfort's sake. Suddenly she was questioning her choice of underwear that night, and as she glanced down, could clearly read the manufacturer's imprint of Hanes Her Way on the band of her pink cotton panties. Praying Jess wasn't looking at the exposed patch of skin, she pulled her sweatpants back up, and tightened the drawstring of the waistband so they wouldn't fall below her hipbone again.

The shift was Jess' perfect opportunity, and as she got up to pull up her pants, his hand yanked the sock that was clinging to her rear for dear life off of them, trying his darndest not to startle her by laying a finger on her.

The thing he forgot to remember about static cling however, was that the person wearing the item in question could feel the other item being peeled off slowly very clearly. Paris could almost feel Jess' fingers touching her butt, and her eyes popped in shock at first when she felt his thumb rub against her fleece lightly.

Why that son of a-- her thought was starting to drift towards that direction, with her mind formulating a stinging way to tell him to go to hell and stay out of her life, until she sees the green sock he's holding in his hand. There's also a sense of disappointment that the only reason Jess had made such a sly move was to prevent her from finding out later that not everything she wore was still in the basket.

Wait, why am I complaining that he didn't give my ass a squeeze? I don't want that, her angelic conscience nagged at her. At least not yet, the devil side of the coin chimed in.

He had an apologetic look on his face as Paris turned to look at him, and he started to beg for forgiveness on sight. "Paris, that sock had been bugging me since I walked in into the dorm and saw it clinging to you--"

Not wanting to see Jess at his weakest moment, Paris shushed him quickly. "I'm not mad at you, a little perturbed that you didn't point it out to me, but it's nothing. Next time you notice I have a case of static electricity, just let me know Jess."

"I just didn't want to ruin your giddiness about doing your laundry all by yourself and not making a mistake like the cooking disaster you had last week." Jess was still wondering why he was saying all this instead of going on the defensive, but he couldn't deny it. He was in the beginning stages of caring for Paris and whatever she did, and trying to save her pride was the first thing that was cementing those feelings down.

"Jess, I can prevent burning my food, and I have to teach myself not to do that again. In a clothes dryer though, static cling is inevitable. I expected it to happen, and it doesn't bring down my high one bit, I'm not disappointed in myself." She smiled at him as she fell back into the sitting position she had been in before.

"So, you're not mad?"

"If I was mad I'd be asking you to leave the dorm." She sighed. "I'm not the girl from Hartford that lived and breathed Harvard crimson anymore Jess, I've changed. If I was going to attempt to become the #1 student at UCLA, not only would you not be here at all, but I probably would've gotten an apartment off campus and lived alone so that no one could annoy me as I overworked myself beyond belief, and to the point where I was anti-social and would be attractive only to J.D. Salinger, and even then, eww, he's seventyish now. I was #3 at Chilton, but so what? I was in the top percentile of my class, and I still got to be on that stage on graduation day, and I made my father and mother proud despite that. Not only that, two of my best friends were there right next to me, and I was pleased as punch that my academic ass got kicked by them. If it wasn't for those two, I'd still be stuck in my room, watching The Guiding Light and being a deranged hermit who wished I could turn back time and redo that interview."

"When Harvard rejected me, I felt spurned, as if they were like that cute guy in school who kept flirting with you and kept saying just the right things to keep you whipped into being together with them and only them. I couldn't see myself anywhere but Cambridge, and that was a dangerous line of thinking for someone like me. You could say that even though I became unglued when I received the letter, it was a chance to get out of a dead-end relationship."

"So you're saying that Harvard was played by Tim Matheson, and you were Dee Wallace Stone, both stuck doing a horrid NBC TV-movie from the early 90s?"

"You know I never thought of it that way, but yeah, that was me and Harvard!" She laughed at Jess' analogy of her life up to 2-28. "I was the crazy schitzo wife with a whole set of issues, while Harvard cheated on me with other students who wanted my slot in our cabin up north, all the while with them teasing me and saying 'Don't worry, everything's gonna be fine baby, I'll love you forever Paris.' Just thank God I decided not to play out the ending and chase Harvard into the woods with a Colt .45, spouting out horrid dialogue like 'you treated me like crap Harvey, and I took it for so long. But now..." She paused for dramatic effect, "...it's over. See you in Hell you dick!'"

"Then BANG! You blew him away and claimed it was self-defense." Jess completed the scenario the two had come up, and Paris was crying tears of laughter and joy, busting her gut and having a wide smile as laughter overtook her body. She kept trying to stop it and recompose herself to finish out the rest of the movie, but she just couldn't. Everytime she looked at Jess again, the wacky scene they created replayed, and it became even more side-splitting each time. Jess was laughing more calmly, and offered up his hand in an attempt to console her.

She happened to fall of the couch and onto the ground though, and where his hand was supposed to take hers, instead it brushed up against her tummy as her butt hit the floor, causing Paris' mirth to become even more pronounced. He was starting to fall into the heat of the moment.

"Are you ticklish anywhere Paris?" he asked, expecting her to calm down right away and ask what the heck he was thinking asking her a question like that. Paris was too into the moment to refuse to answer his question though.

"I don't know, I dare you to find out, but those fingers felt pretty good on my stomach!!" The sentence uttered was separated by several bouts of laughter.

What is up with her, he thought as he looked down at the happy girl below him. It's as if the California effect they talk about hit her and freed this whole other side of her that is not only easy to talk to, but makes you fall hard for them. Words that would form a compliment were on the tip of his tongue, as he started noticing that Paris had took his advice of making a trip to the tanning bed. The way her skin glimmered in the lamplight of the room was getting to him, and his hypothesis that she'd look great with a bronze shade of skin was proven correct beyond his wildest dreams.

His thoughts were interrupted by Paris' hand grabbing his, and she pulled him down over her. "I honestly don't know if I'm ticklish or not, no one has ever dared find out unless they wanted me to give them a punch in the gut. My mother wasn't exactly Rosy Sunshine, and my father feared touching me in front of relatives without some worry of accusations of molestation getting into the papers, he had a weird paranoia about touching me too much." She was starting calming down, and she leaned her head back against the bottom of the futon.

Jess was shocked to say the least. No one had ever tickled Paris before? It wasn't a surprise knowing her from the way Rory described her and that one time they met, but still it hurt to hear her say those words. At least Liz, despite her demons managed to give Jess some rapt attention every once in awhile when he was a kid, including tickling and playing fun games around the apartment with him. He couldn't imagine how a young Paris lived in her mansion without the attention from her parents she so rightfully deserved.

Without thinking, he put his arm around her, and rested his hand on her shoulder. "I'm sorry that your father had that fear and your mother didn't warm to the idea. Are you sure you aren't ticklish?"

"Well my nanny Francisca did tickle me when I was younger, but once I got on the Harvard cattle train at seven she was expected to become more of an overseer and less of a nanny, my mother wouldn't tolerate me 'being abnormal', as she would call being a normal kid. Up until first grade, I was a regular ol' girl, I was into the GloWorms and Barbies and all that, though my Barbie campaigned for human rights in Tibet and equal pay for equal work instead of mooning over Ken's anatomically incorrect charms, and having coffee klatches with Skipper and Christie."

He laughed. "As would be expected of your version of Barbie."

"They're still in the attic at the Manor, collecting dust with all the other toys I lost when I decided that I was going to Harvard come hell or high water. I'm pretty sure that I can sell it for a small fortune someday at auction when I pass, or else I can pass them onto my daughter when I try to raise her." The slight smile she had slowly inched off her face. "That is if I even have a child, I have one of three choices. I can be a subservient trophy wife to some blond hair-blue eyed guy, do my best Diane Keaton in Baby Boom imitation and try to raise a child alone as I work my way up in the world of newsgathering, or I just won't get pregnant, that way I don't have to deal with a baby in the first place."

"What do you mean you don't want children?" Jess asked.

"Look at me Mariano, do I look like mother of the year material?" She pointed at herself. "I'll be the dream mother that the baby industry is looking for. Within moments of seeing that strip turn pink, I'll have 17 wallet-sucking parenting and pediatrics magazine subscriptions and be looking into the 92nd St. Y to give my child a head start. Heck, the first words out of the little bugger's month will probably be Pocket and PC seeing as I've DayTimered his or her life until they're not only captain of the basketball team and have a 4.25 GPA, but have the perfect wife or husband lined up to marry them the day they turn 18!"

He set his hand on her back, trying to calm down Paris' hyperventilating. "OK Par, step number one in proper child care; however your mother raised you, please make sure to forget your entire upbringing in that moment between damning God and the creator of Demerol as you deliver your firstborn. Your kid will be a lot saner and less resentful when they grow up."

"Got it," she mumbled, starting to calm down.

"Lesson number two, someday you'll have a child, and no matter what the magazines and books have told you, their advice is a bunch of bull by the time you get that first squirt in the eye during a diaper change. Liz followed the books down to the letter when she had me, but by about the third week they were shelved 'cause I was a wild and rambunctious little boy, and there was nothing in the books about a baby crying on and on even after getting fed, changed and their favorite blanket next to them."

He brought Paris close, and held her close, her face in the crook of his neck. "But the third and most important thing to remember is to never think you'll be a crappy mother, because you're going to make a great one someday. I can already see you turning into a pile of mush when you first lay eyes on your baby, and all this stuff about you being the worst mother ever will fade away just like that. Your kid will be going to the best schools, have the best friends, and God willing, the best father possible in addition to who I think will be an awesome and nurturing mother. Using one of your analogies, all you have to do is take that passion you have for academics and writing for a newspaper, and put all that into raising a child. It's not that hard, you just have to take it easier than you have anything else." He clasped his free hand with Paris' in her lap, and Paris found herself not wanting to leave that spot and having that hand taken out of her grasp.

Her thumb ran against the inside of the fist Jess had formed, and as each line in his hand became apparent, she remembered the first time she had that moment with Jamie. At the time, her hand was scarred with calluses and imprints from her writing utensils, and had ink along the top ridge of her palm from testing each one of her pens to make sure they worked. She remembered Jamie's comments about how she felt good, but nothing else besides that before he closed in for a kiss to wish her goodnight. Paris said not a word in response, as she felt nothing but hand cream smoothed skin in her grasp. That's the moment I knew Jamie and I weren't meant to be, she thought as she recalled when her thumb edged along his lifeline. Her hands had healed since then due to the lack of summer work, but five hour sessions at her books and keyboards since she arrived in LA were bringing back the scholar's calluses she was so familiar with, and wouldn't want to ever lose.

Her lashes fluttered as she felt Jess' grasp in hers. It felt strong, yet at the same time, it felt safe. A daydream flashed in her mind of her and Jess in a chuppa in front of her rabbi, exchanging wedding vows in front of her family and friends. The image wasn't well formed and she couldn't place any other faces besides those of Jess and the rabbi, but Jess was clear in 20/20 vision, and the look he was giving her was one of pure love and adoration. In her dream, she looked down towards herself, and saw she was wearing a baby pink strapless wedding gown that had a train going six feet behind her in back. Jess was wearing a black suit with a white shirt and black bow tie. She was in full bliss as her hand felt his and recited her vows, and it was such an amazing image to Paris.

She'd never visualized herself walking down the aisle with Jamie in their seven months together, because he was showing all the interest in her. Paris never felt that she reciprocated what feelings she had for Jamie enough, and before he confronted her about the outburst at the Bicentennial, she had remembered sneaking a peek at her future engagement ring, formerly the property of Jamie's mother. No matter what she did in order to imagine it on her left ring finger, Paris never found the result to her liking. And she suspected that if he ever proposed, like the day he asked her out it wouldn't even occur to her until five minutes after the fact.

However, with Jess, things were looking a lot different within her eyes. She didn't have the thoughts of him proposing or even their first date yet, only the image of the end result of the two marrying. But to Paris, it was a picture of foreshadowing, something that might come true. And frankly, it scared her to death. Just friends, just friends, just friends...she thought to herself as the image disappeared.

Her therapist had once described Paris as having four invisible zones surrounding her during a session. The first was called the 'outsider circle', where strangers and those she didn't know well were. Zone two was referred to as a 'median circle', where Rory had been before she befriended Paris, and others like Lorelai, Mr. Medina and Brad resided. They knew her, but weren't close friends. Paris' third zone was referred to as 'the insider's circle', and it was where Rory, Madeline and Louise, and Francisca the nanny, along with most of her family resided. They knew Paris well, along with most of the feelings she would share with them.

She remembered Dr. Longwell's description of the fourth and final zone clearly, and recalled it from memory. "The fourth zone you have is called the 'soul circle', and only a select few people will ever make their way into it. At birth, your mother and father were the only two people who were in it, along with any siblings and grandparents you had. But as you grow up, close, close friends eventually find their way in, along with people whom you're grateful to for saving your life or helping you get back on your feet after disaster strikes. But the most important of those persons are the ones who manage to fall in love with you. They're going to be in the extreme center of the soul circle, and if you play your cards right, you'll try to keep them as close to the nucleus for as long as you live, and perhaps the afterlife."

Paris had thought that her therapist, who had minored in Eastern philosophy as she worked for her Ph.D., was a little kooky, and that was certainly one of those times. She just nodded her head, said "I believe in it," and moved onto the next of her many unique neuroses that had to be dealt with at the time.

But sitting there on the floor with Jess, Longwell was making total sense. Jess was quickly winding his way around each zone, as if he was a needle on a 78-RPM record. A year ago he was an outsider to her world, and after they met at the Gilmore home he made his way into her median circle. With him in LA and no other friend to turn to except for Brianna, he was becoming one of her insiders.

How long is it going to be before he's in my soul circle? The thoughts and feelings, Jess' hand in hers with the other on her shoulder, they were starting to overwhelm her, and her mind started spinning. She had to get away from Jess before she did something she might regret later. Thankfully, she noticed the clock screensaver on her IBook was displaying the time as 11:40.

"Jess, you have to leave, in twenty minutes my RA's going to come around, and if she sees you in here, I'm in trouble." She abruptly pulled her hand back from Jess.

The loss of contact stung at him, but he knew it was inevitable. It was going to take weeks, perhaps even months for Paris' guard to be let down, and from her description of Jamie she talked about him last week, there was still some lingering effects and trust issues floating around her.

He got up, trying to ignore the pain in his lower body from sitting in such a weird position for an extended period of time. "Well I'd love to sleep here in your room, but I don't think Brianna would appreciate me stealing her bed."

"I think she'd go postal, Bree's very particular, almost obsessive-compulsive about anyone even sitting on her bed." Paris got up and pressed the eject button on the remote, letting the ended DVD come out of the player/TV unit. "You should try that DVD by mail thing Jess, it's cheaper in the long run. How Blockbuster can get away with charging $4 for a movie you're only keeping one night is highway robbery. That's one of the things I miss about Hartford, I rented my movies from a little mom and pop outfit on Cottage Grove. I knew the owner, and they always made sure to keep a copy of a movie I really wanted, especially if it was a Friday night and I didn't have any time to get to the store until after the 6 o'clock rush."

"I know how you feel. Stars Hollow Video may have had the Rory Curtain shielding back those movies Kirk thought were inappropriate, but they charged a fair price." Jess laughed at the memory of his ex-girlfriend's school photo in a frame, staring at him from outside the shop's display window, saluting the girl's off-the-cuff idea to shield the films inappropriate for children behind velvet red upholstery.

Paris' face lit up as she recalled the memory of interviewing Taylor for her story about the lurid side of small towns. "They not only charge well, but those two guys helped give me an Oppenheimer award for best community interest piece, I'm forever thankful to them for helping me get that plaque."

"Don't you mean the Franklin received the award?"

"Hey, don't ruin my high Mr. Reality Check," Paris said as she faked a pout. "It maybe hanging in the Franklin office, but my name is etched below on the plaque as editor. Future Chiltonians are going to know it was me who wrote that story and they'll look at me with reverence as the best editor in the paper's history."

"And Rory too, right? Without her you may have never got that award in the first place."

"Yes, Rory's the one who started the story, and she's credited as the co-writer on the plaque. I made damned sure the Oppenheimer committee gave her equal credit for it."

Jess started cleaning up the food and schoolpapers off the coffee table with Paris, and thought it would be the perfect time to compliment her on her tan. "By the way, you decided to take my advice and lay under the tanning bed for a couple hours Smartie?"

"Well you were right Jess, thanks for the suggestion, it was a very wonderful experience. I was expecting it to be kind of disgusting because other women and men were in the bed before me, but they assured me and I saw that it was very clean and I'd be tanned evenly. It gave me a couple hours to have some girl talk with Brianna and to revel in my own thoughts. You could say then that as I tanned, I also meditated at the same time, it cleared my mind laying there."

"Really, are you going again?"

"I already have an appointment for two weeks from Saturday, the time alone there with nothing but my thoughts was worth it, along with the results." She looked up at him as she threw the leftover food wrappers and boxes into the In-and-Out bag, and noticed his hovering stare, as if he was trying to pierce his stare through her clothing. "Jess, what did you want to ask me?"

He looked startled and tried to hide his ogling. "Nothing, I was just looking at you."

"Yes, in the way a 300 pound trucker looks at a 72 ounce steak he gets for free if he consumes it all in front of 160 other patrons. Spill it Jess."

He was adamant that the questioning looks were completely innocent. "There's nothing I have to ask you, really, can you just drop it." She only sighed in response, totally on to him.

"You'll kill me if I ask," Jess said, relenting.

"All the knives are in the kitchenette, there's no murder on my mind."

"So I could ask you the question and I'd still have a chance to get out of here?"

"Don't know, I have a 40-yard dash time of 8.59 seconds, and seeing as this room is only 3½ yards long with about six feet of open carpet space between here and the kitchenette, I estimate I can make it to the knife drawer in about...oh, just about 2/3 of a second."

"You have a 40-yard dash time?"

"I was forced to take the presidential fitness test when I was sixteen, large emphasis on being 'forced'."

"Of course, you're not an athletic kind of girl," he nodded back at her. "But I guess I should confess that I've been fixating on something about your tan all night."

"And what would that be?" Paris groaned out, mildly annoyed at him.

"Whether you have any tan lines or you decided to go au naturel in the booth." It was a natural curiosity that he needed to ask Paris that question, and he was expecting either the trademark eyeroll followed by the short and sweet answer that would shut him up, or an outright refusal to answer accompanied by a speech that would make a feminist shout "Say it sister!" so loud it shook the rafters in the ceiling.

Paris didn't know how to respond to it though. She had been expecting the question somewhat because Jess was a male, but when he actually inquired, the prepared answer in her mind disappeared into the ether like memories of a popcorn movie after the end credits rolled. Her face was a mix between paleness for the impact of the question, and a blush at the mere thought of Jess thinking of her nude. It was disconcerting to her that only a mere week into their second chance at getting to know each other, she was already in his thoughts in a sexual sense. It didn't make any sense to her though. She was the one that was supposed to have impure thoughts about Jess, not him about her. No matter what Brianna or Rory might tell her about how much of a catch she would be to any guy that comes her way, Paris was in denial about herself. She was a Sarah, Plain and Tall in a Bridget Jones' Diary world, where wanting the two kids, picket fence and 40 acres (less the mule and replaced with a Hummer H2 because of the modern age) wasn't enough. She had to be a 100 pound waif who lived only to fret over guys and her shortcomings in life. God, why can't I be Renee in 'Chicago' instead of in 'Bridget Jones', at least Roxie was a confident woman who knew what she wanted, she thought to herself, as Jess looked on in astonishment at the time she was spending answering him.

"Well Smartie, yes or no, do you have tanlines? I bet if I asked Brianna--"

On that bit of strategic surprise, Paris blanched and had to answer the question, God forbid her friend had to reveal the truth rather than her. "No I don't have a tanline, the girl at the salon suggested I go without clothing in order to acclimate myself to the process. I mean I had no choice, I'm not comfortable wearing a bikini, I'm more the full-swimsuit type, and how are you going to get a tan from wearing that?"

"I--" Jess tried to respond to her answer, but was cut off by one of her classic rants as she plopped herself onto her bed.

"It's not like anyone saw me in the buff in the first place, I had on a robe that I took off inside the bed and threw off to the side, my image to everyone in California is still of being clothed. And then why would you want get a $50 tan and only have 90% of your body tanned, it doesn't make financial sense. There's no way I'm going to let the covered areas of my body not match the uncovered parts, if I get a tan, damn right I'm making sure that my whole body is bronzed! I'm spending big bucks on doing something for myself, I can't get it half-assed and just say 'Oh Paris, don't do that, it's not like anyone's going to see it anyways.' It's my body and my choice, and if I want to get a full-body tan wearing nothing but a smile then damn straight I'm doing it!"

Jess shook his head and smirked as he heard Paris vent, that was one of the most endearing things about her to him. That she could take a small query and somehow expand it to a riff about how she took full advantage of the entire bed by not covering up because she didn't want to waste her money. It was getting kind of hard to keep thoughts of Paris naked out of his head though, and he chastised himself for asking the question in the first place. Oh man, if she ever describes getting a massage I might need to be put out of my misery, he thought. Before thoughts of her laying at his side as he poured massage oil into his palm could form, he needed to get out of Paris' dorm.

"Um, well still, despite all that you look absolutely glowing," he said, minimizing his thoughts from 'You're such a California hottie'.

Paris got up from her bed, a glowing smile forming and the rant quickly forgotten. "I'm glad you like it Mariano, you're the one who suggested the tan after all." Jess took his bag, and with the girl behind him, walked towards the door.

"We need to do this again, I had a lot more fun with you tonight than I would've sitting in my room alone doing my homework. It's too bad we didn't get to see much of the movie though."

"There's always another night and I'm planning on having the cable company install a digital box in here so me and Bree can get the classic movie and premium channels." She looked nervous and looked down at her feet as she wanted to ask a question herself to him. "I'm just curious though, you haven't asked me for an ashtray or wanted to go outside for some air since we met last week. Did you quit smoking?"

He felt glad that Paris had finally asked him about his lack of nicotine use. "Jimmy made me give it up back in June as a condition for using the Beetle, he said that a Marlboro was never to smoke up the windows of his baby and that if he caught me smoking I'd have to work a full 12-hour day at the hot dog stand. Also cigarettes in this state are like $5.25 a pack, and I'd basically be working an hour just to pay for a pack. I got the patch, and I haven't had a craving since July, it feels much better to be smoke-free."

"You look it too," she said to him sincerely. "Not that you were bad-looking at all when we saw each other the first time...you know what I mean, right?"

"Yes, I do, somehow," Jess laughed, strapping the backpack around his shoulder. "I should go before you end up being kicked out 'cause I stayed too long."

"Yeah, I guess." Paris felt a twinge of disappointment that Jess had to leave. If it was up to her he could've stayed 'till two. There was something developing between them, and she would have to wait a little longer for the picture of them and their enigmatic relationship to continue to reveal.

He noticed how down she was, and moved to reassure her, taking her hand back into his. "Paris, you can call me anytime you need to talk, I don't want us to drift apart so quickly. You're a familiar face, and I'm thankful to have you in my life again. Just because I'm leaving now doesn't mean I'm leaving you forever, and I promise you if you'd like to come down to Venice and see me, I won't turn you down. You're a good friend, and I'm very happy you gave up your Friday night to help me with my homework."

"It's nothing, really, friend helping out a friend," she murmured as her eyes wandered down to stare at Jess' grip of her hand. It felt so safe and strong, and in a sudden moment, she didn't want him to leave her. Paris wished that he could stay, especially when her gaze found it's way up to his face. Her lips were a six mere inches from Jess', and there was a large temptation on her part to close that distance, just as much as the boy's wish to take her into his arms and feel his fingers through her generous blonde hair as his tongue probed her fully pouted lips. They were stuck on staring at each other for what seemed an eternity, Paris' doeish eyes slitted and partially hidden beneath her lashes, with Jess' brown eyes looking into them like windows into her world. There was a paused moment where both of them were ready to act on their wishes so soon beforehand.

They were both startled when Paris' phone rang. And she knew just who was on the line.

"Shit, you better go Jess, my RA Piper's freakishly obsessed with laying down the law with outsiders in the dorm after midnight. That's probably her giving out the five minute notice before she sics the hounds on you." She kept her voice at an even authoritarian treble as she opened up the door for Jess, trying to keep her composure.

"Oh well, wouldn't want to offend the almighty Piper," he joked with a smirk.

"You wouldn't want to, she has a voice that would drive a siren nuts. I'll talk to you whenever, but I definitely want to hear about how you did on the test on Tuesday, good luck Jess."

"Thanks, I'll need it." He walked out into the hall, expecting Paris to shut the door on him "See you later Par."

"Oh, by the way Mariano?"

He turned back around to face her as she called out his last name. "Yeah?"

"My stomach, the soles of my feet, along my sides, the back of my neck, and a little place behind each of my armpits, that's where I'm ticklish. I never answered your question." She smiled back at him one last time, wanting a last glance of him before he left.

"Darn, I loved the mystery, you shouldn't have told me that." He directed a come-hither stare towards her, and lowered down his voice."I think those aren't the only places you're ticklish, you just haven't had someone discover them yet. Maybe someday they will." He trailed out, and found her look of confusion and bemusement to his liking. "Goodbye Paris." He started walking down the hall, oblivious to Paris' stare moving from right to left as he walked down the hall.

"B-b-bye Jess," she intended to say to Jess, but he was out of earshot by the time she uttered the words. She blushed as she shut the door, and her t-shirt suddenly felt like a 100 pounds weighing down on her shoulders as the powerful arousal caused by Jess' words shot through her, coursing down from her ears and throughout her body. She picked up the ringing telephone, and shaken, uttered a soft greeting to the other person on the line.

"Is your boy gone yet?" the telltale voice of Piper was grating even through a wire.

"He's gone, just left," Paris commented.

"So how was he, did you two do it?" Piper asked a little too excited.

"MYOB, no, and bye." Paris didn't allow the call to go further, and hung up the phone. Jess' arousing words returned shortly thereafter to her conscience. She didn't know whether to just go to bed and nap until Brianna came home, or to watch some late night television or surf the web to augment some arguments for a debate she had on Tuesday for her class on conflict reporting.

Then again, I haven't had a shower since this morning, I might not have time tomorrow... She grinned as if she were the cat eating the canary as that inappropriate thought came to her, and she walked into the kitchenette towards the bathroom. I do feel a little dirty, and kind of hot and sweaty. Nothing like a little water pouring down on me to cool me off, and some... The last of her thoughts were unknown as she shut the door of the bathroom and started disrobing, intending to take full advantage of being alone in her dorm for the first time after midnight in two weeks, and since she met Jess again. She made sure the bathroom door was locked before she stepped into the warm and steamy mist behind the glass shower enclosure, and started imagining her very own Rebel Boy behind her, doing her back.

---

"Paris, are you still up?" Brianna's voice came through the bathroom door, and just in time as Paris slipped back on her shirt and smoothed out her hair as she opened up the door.

"Hey, how was party headquarters?" Paris said, smiling brightly upon seeing her roommate back again.

She walked out to find Brianna in looking rather frumpy in her formal event dress, her makeup running and a few strands of Silly String hanging from her hair.

Paris looked at her friend and immediately had pity for her, while at the same time holding back some snickering. "I'm thinking one of two things, prank by some of the juniors or seniors, or the California Democratic Party really knows how to throw a bash."

"I wish it was one of those two, but Theta Kappa Sigma tried to recruit me into joining them." She brushed the Silly String out of her hair, and sat down at a stool, fuming. "We did make the stop at the party headquarters, yes, and it was interesting. Unfortunately I had the joy of carpooling with three brainless bitches from TKS on the way back into Westwood, and they brought me over to the house for me to check it out, against my will may I add. Those girls would not take no for an answer, and I spent three hours being belittled by them and their housemates and feeling so mentally superior to that sad collective of young women. You know what they do for fun in that house? They watch MTV all day, I checked, they programmed all the channels out of the TV except for that one. They're trying to be the new house for Sorority Life, but I think the only show they might get on is World's Most Psychotic Nuthouses!"

"Oh, you poor, poor girl, you must be scarred for life." Paris offered up her hand. "But you're safe now, they can't get you when Piper the psycho RA is here to protect us all."

"I even told them that I was happy living in the dorms and they looked at me as if I was on crystal meth, apparently living with one or three other people and not a whole morass of people is such a foreign concept to them."

"Don't they understand some of us don't want to share a house and want to actually be alone with their thoughts once? I have the money, I'm paying for some of the stuff in the dorm and being a good girl, so you have no reason to move."

"Yeah, I told them I wanted to be with someone I shared the same IQ with, and that's how I got besiged by a deluge of Silly String. If this stuff destroys my hair they're going to be sorry they ever messed with Brianna Moira Daugherty." She bared her teeth and growled.

"We'll file a report with campus security tomorrow, but for now just relax, you're home and far away from them, they can't recruit you now." Finally, Paris couldn't hold back, and she started on a laughter spell. "I think you rather look fetching in Silly String, it's a good look for you."

"Glad you enjoy laughing at my pain Paris, really I am." Brianna rolled her eyes and went to her dresser, getting out some pajamas. "I'm sure you didn't have as much a fun-filled night as I did, but I'd love to hear about it anyway, might take the pain away from hearing 25 girls laughing like hyenas at the image of Justin Timberlake making a really lame joke to Suchin Pak about Britney."

"You're right, my night was less painful than that," she smiled wistfully as she recalled how she spent her night, leaving out Jess on purpose for a bit. "I cleaned the room, got all my homework done, did my laundry then sat down to my usual Friday night TV shows, it was a very non-productive night."

"Jess came over, didn't he?" Brianna looked her straight in the eye, on to Paris' strange behavior.

"He did, needed help with his biology homework," she stated confidently.

"No wonder you needed to do chores after he left, the boy's insatiable for you girl."

"Well I cleaned because--" She noticed Brianna's little crooked grin, and groaned. "Not that kind of biology homework Bree!" She huffed and sighed. "Dirty!"

"Hey, I didn't say anything, you set the ball on the tee and I swung it onto the fairway, it's not my fault."

"I did walk into that one, didn't I?" Paris shook her head, and found it ironic she was helping him with biology when biology was affecting her hormones so much.

"So when am I going to meet your mystery man Paris, It's been eight days and I don't have an image of him yet."

"One of these days, he invited me down to his house in Venice whenever I feel like seeing him. Definitely turned this mundane night fun, we watched The Philadelphia Story, or at least tried to as we chatted about stuff, our lives when we were little, homework, old movie trivia, it was a night to remember."

"Would you call it a date?"

"Huh?" Paris was confused.

Brianna sat down next to Paris on her bed. "A date, do you think that tonight was your first date?"

"Of course not, we were studying, that was the original purpose of the whole thing."

"Yes, but who called?"

"I did," she admitted.

"OK, and if you hadn't called, would Jess have even asked for your help in school?"

"Probably not, he was stubborn as hell back in Connecticut. He finagled his way out of a study session with Rory with his good looks and charm."

Brianna was going to get her date classification soon enough, as she continued drawing out the information out of Paris. "And what happened tonight, did he try at any time to get out of it and slack off?"

"We went over his work for an hour, and then he finished up his assignment in front of me, all 24 questions answered to the point and ready to shock Mrs. Tumwater into an academic coma from how bright he can be if he sets his mind to it."

Brianna caught a glimpse of the wastebasket and the new additions since she left in the afternoon. "What else did he do?"

"He bought dinner at In-and-Out and rented the movie for me--" The moment of realization had finally come for Paris. "Wait, it can't be, this doesn't count at all." Her face lit up in surprise as Brianna summarized the conclusion of the details of the night.

"It counts, dinner and a movie, it's a bona fide official date Paris."

"But it can't be, we stayed in, we had fast food, and me and Jess watched a movie on the couch. You actually have to go out to have a date." Paris was trying her best to minimize the impact this night had on her. "It can't count because of one important thing."

"What's that?"

"We didn't kiss at the end of the night. There, sorry, no date, just a regular Friday night, proved you wrong Brianna." She waved her hand in a dismissing fashion, but the brunette was having nothing of it.

"It's a date, you two must've been so close the temptation to kiss had to be there. And how come when I came home you were just coming out of the shower? No girl takes a shower after midnight unless she's feeling all flush and hot, and she needs to blow off some steam from spending five hours with a guy she's lusting for."

"Now you're just grasping straws, I might not have time for a shower tomorrow, so I decided to take it tonight."

"Paris, look at me." She smiled at her roommate of two weeks and proceeded to explain the concept of timing. "I walked into the dorm at 12:20 and immediately upon entering I heard you utter in a very lustful tone over the spray of the shower," she started a dead-on imitation of Paris' monotonic voice with a spin of sexual spice, "'Oh Jess, my back is so tender right about there, run the loofa over it--no don't kiss my neck...mmmmmm, yeah Reb, you know how much I like that.' Moments after hearing that, I decided to run down to the 7-Eleven and pick up some candy so you could finish your 'shower'." She air quoted the last word for emphasis.

Paris felt mortified that she had been caught in the act, at least aurally. "Um, about that Bree, I--"

"Vocalize your fantasies, yes, I know that, very well. I forgot to tell you on Tuesday morning you dreamed of Jess reading a scene from Legendary Lovers, and that I could hear your fantasy quite clearly because of your sleep talking. Maybe I should ban you from reading the books, they're only adding fuel to your fire."

"NO, you can't take away my books!" Paris screamed. "Look, fine, I'll admit it, I made the call, and he took that as a sign of a date under the cover of a study session, and we were approximately 5¾" away from starting to kiss at the end of the night when that fucking Piper had to ruin it with her curfew call! I was thinking totally normally after that, then he made some wisecrack that turned me from mild-manned Paris Gellar and into a sex maniac. Is that what you wanted to hear, that I've had illicit thoughts about him all night?! I admit it, he's turning me from a frigid Frieda into a horny Helga, damn it I hate my hormones! Why did I develop early and suddenly develop a sex drive later?"

"Because the California air changed you somehow, along with that nice little tan of yours. He commented on that, didn't he?"

Paris finally had to relent from Brianna's queries when she brought up that topic. With a nice little knowing smile, she said "No comment, and there will never be one."

"Yup, I knew he'd love it." Brianna got up and took her clothes, then made her way into the bathroom. "Just keep at your normal pace, soon enough you'll have that boy in the palm of your hand." She smirked and walked in, shutting the door behind her to change.

"Brianna, once again, dirty!"

"Oh you know you want to!" she yelled out.

"Look, I'm not going to take action on whatever I feel with Jess until I'm sure that we can work and we're both compatible. I'm a much different type of personality than his other girlfriends in that I'm more demanding of him to better himself, and he'll need to understand that it takes a lot to get me out of my shell. If he can accept that, then and only then will I take this relationship beyond the fantasy and friendship phase."

"It's understandable," Brianna said as she ran a brush through her hair to get the last of the Silly String out. "It's not going to be easy to try to start a relationship with him. You have your problems and he has his, but the way you gush about him, you two must have amazing chemistry when you're together. The way you went on about him while you tanned with me last week and how unbelievably literate and handsome he is, you've never felt this way about a boy, have you?"

"I have too!" Paris countered. "Tristan and Jamie, remember?"

"Pish posh my friend, Tristan was a high school crush, and Jamie was a player." Brianna responded, laying out the facts quite clearly. "You managed to keep most of your wits about you as you pursued Tristan and Jamie tried to get you. Lest we both forget that Jamie, despite having every piece of contact information you could possibly muster out including your social security number, did not contact you after the Washington date, and waited three months to show his face around you again. And from the description of his so-called triumphant comeback to Chilton, he had to grovel at your feet to even get that second chance to woo you." Brianna walked out of the bathroom, wearing an A's practice jersey with green stirrup pants.

"I still don't see your point, I mean I liked Tristan and Jamie equally, even though only one went beyond the first date. I knew DuGrey was going to be hung up on Rory so I had a snowball's chance with him, but Jamie was nice. He cared for me, and liked me for who I was."

"Mm-hmm, and how many illicit fantasies did you have with Jamie from November up until March when you dumped him?"

Paris cringed as she tried to recall her Jamie dreams, stuck in the warehouse of her memories, buried just below the time she was dragged by Louise to see former pop princess Tiffany at the Charter Meadows Mall in Bristol when she was five. She counted in her head all the times she had imagined being taken by him or seeing him undressed when she was her dream self.

She could count the times on both of her hands, and still not use all her fingers.

"I had six dreams of a sexual nature about him, all the rest, about 45, were very rote dream discussions about Faust, the economy and Greenspan, politics and such. However when you don't count the times I was woken up before my dream self committed the act, I only did him three times, and one of the times he had a...dysfunction."

"A dysfunction?" Brianna blanched.

"Yes, he was as flaccid as a wet noodle, Viagra wouldn't have even worked to fix it. However to note it was after I had sex with him in real life, so in a way it was my conscience's means of expressing how unsatisfied I was with him in bed."

Brianna laughed as she put on her big yellow ducky slippers. "OK, I think I get that Jamie was just a boyfriend and nothing more, and there were no sexual sparks lingering with him inside you. Now tell me, counting tonight and Tuesday morning, how many times you have dreamed about Jess in a compromising position."

Oh lord, do I include the dreams between March and July of last year too? she thought. She decided not to include them for the sake of Brianna's sanity.

"Including the aforementioned incidents, I've had impure thoughts about Jess about five times so far, including when he was reading On the Road to me in the bookstore."

"Six times in eight months with Jamie, compared to five times in eight days with your black-haired dream guy. And probably a few other times after your Kerouac debate last year, admit it. I think we have a winner!" Brianna declared.

"Two or three times," she admitted sheepishly.

"You've done the deed more with Jess in your dreams than with the guy you thought you loved in such a short time. It's a true sign Paris, and anytime you're around this boy you lose your mind and just want him. Add to that he challenges you both emotionally and academically, and you think he's a pretty cute guy, there's nothing wrong with him besides the obvious 'he's not rich' problem, but that isn't even a factor with your wealth. I know you're not ready to say you love him quite yet, but admit it to me right now, that he's the only man on your mind as of this moment."

Paris looked as if she was trying to concentrate on other guys she came upon throughout the week, including Prof. Jimenez, Ronnie and Doug, along with various men without a name to them that she passed on campus. Some of them had the Tristan-like look to them, but they also had horrid attitudes and lack of respect like the two boys who ruined the former's life in Hartford, Duncan and Bowman. Some of them were like Jamie, but that was status quo and they behaved like expected by women. They, however, were boring to Paris, she didn't need another Jamie in her life.

There were no other boys on Paris' mind. Only one, and his name was Jess. She perked up, and smiled as she admitted it to Brianna.

"You're right, he's the only one Brianna. Jess is currently the one." She almost felt giddy as she let the impact of her own words envelope her.

"You're making progress, the next step is going after him--" Brianna cut herself off as something she forgot to do came to mind. "Shoot, I forgot to get the $10 Doug and Ronnie owe us for the doughnut runs this week, I forgot to ask, and you've been too busy avoiding Doug since his slobbery handshake." She got up from off the bed and walked towards the door.

"Is Doug here on a Friday evening, you'd think Mr. Average Joe would be out partying on Sunset," Paris said as she switched the subject.

"Nope, big test in his sports medicine class Tuesday morning, so he had to study in the library about ACL surgery and whatnot."

"God, I hope that's not his major. If he behaves like he does with me with Mia Hamm he better sure have a cup on, soccer players wear spikes, and one of them in the groin wouldn't be pretty."

"Nope, he's undeclared, doesn't quite know what he wants to major in. I caught him in the hallway on my way back in from being hijacked by TKS. Surprisingly he had no words about my hair full of Silly String and didn't say I look like shit, maybe you scared him straight Paris."

"Who knows with Doug, maybe he likes you." Paris said non-chalantly, catching Brianna off guard.

"Just what I need, some guy falling for me and me not returning his feelings." She rolled her eyes and walked towards the door. "He doesn't know me that well so how can he want me. I'm in Los Angeles to learn, not fall in love."

"Um, Bree?"

"Look, I'm not going to fall for Doug because he's not the guy for me, I didn't graduate first in my class because I was rolling around in bed with every guy I met in Antioch, some of my friends used that strategy and paid for it dearly when May came around."

"Brianna?"

"I don't care what you may think Paris, there are no sparks between me and Doug and I don't want you to set me up with him..." She continued to rant on for a minute, with Paris trying to interrupt her and keep her sane. Finally, Paris had to raise her voice when Brianna started talking about her night with Leonard as if it ruined her life.

"BREE!!"

The brunette stopped as her eyes bulged out and her heart ker-thumped when Paris screamed. "What Paris?" she mumbled out vaguely.

Paris drew her focus down towards Brianna's feet. "If you're going to talk to one of our sworn enemies, you might not want to do it in oversized slippers resembling a cuted-up waterfowl, and may I add that I've never seen a yellow duck in my life after it matured." The blonde smiled smugly, and Brianna doled out a dirty look as she changed from her duckie slippers into beige Isotoners.

"Sorry, I went into rant mode, I have to learn how to control that." She pensively looked at the door, laughed, and walked towards it. "Well Paris, wish me luck in getting that $10, I'll try to get the money for next week too if I can."

"If Doug says the words g-string and lapdance give him a nice slug courtesy of me, good luck." Paris joked wryly. She picked up her radio news quiz book and started reading it silently to herself as she climbed beneath her covers.

"Thanks." Brianna walked out into the hall and towards 319, leaving Paris alone with her thoughts and her dreams. She knew one thing that would come out of this night besides her admission for wanting Jess.

I have to keep my fantasies to myself, and I need to get shock therapy for my sleep talking. She smiled secretly to herself and went back to reading, trying to figure out which headline went with which from the news of the past three years.

---

"Doug? It's Brianna from 343, I'm the roommate of the girl who threatened to castrate you." She knocked on the door as softly as she could, trying to keep the students who were sleeping from waking up in other rooms. It was her fourth knock, and she was becoming frustrated as Doug didn't answer the door.

"Merriwether, I know you're in there, I just talked to you a half-hour ago." She knocked again, and still Doug wasn't coming. She deduced the lights in his room were still on, the bottom of the door was bright. "Listen, if you and Ronnie think you're gonna get out of paying for the doughnuts, I can send in Paris to tell you otherwise, and I found out she has some pumps with a nice pointy toe and a tall heel." She huffed in frustration, and knocked again. Not a response from the other side.

"I'm going to knock one more time, and if this door isn't open, I'm coming in," Brianna challenged. She twisted the doorknob to test, and it was unlocked. Doug had to be in his dorm and fully awake. The short girl was thankful she wouldn't have to ram the door in since she had saw his door before, and there were no other locks except for a padlock that was rarely used.

With no answer from the dorm, Brianna opened up the door slowly and walked in, creeping around and trying to make as little noise as she possibly could. She noticed Doug's room was much more haphazardly organized than 343, and was messy like an average guy's room with the usual assortment of 'it hot girl' posters with an abundance of cleavage on the wall. He had a TV and a computer in the same places, though the 19" set he had looked as if it was balancing perilously on the bookshelf, held onto the counter by a slab of plywood. His furniture was a haphazard mix of a big recliner and a tan thrift store couch that would feel just at home in the 70s. His bed was unmade, and his counter was full of dirty dishes and pots and pans. Brianna took in her surroundings, and couldn't understand why he wasn't in the room. There was no balcony or extra rooms, besides a connecting door with 317 which wasn't used judging from the location of the couch in front of it.

Damn it, I know he's in here, the common room's TV is off and I already checked there for good measure. She called out for him one more time.

"I'm going to count to three Doug, and if you don't show yourself I'm going to be seriously pissed." She was looking at the window as she started to count, her ears not noticing the opening bathroom door. "One." A pause to survey the room, including a check under the bed. "Two." Another survey of the area around the kitchenette area.

"Thr--"

"Hi Brianna, what brings you to these parts?"

As she started on three, her blue eyes somehow missed Doug walking out of the bathroom, wearing nothing but a towel wrapped around his waist, and his light brown hair mussied up and dripping water onto the floor below. His chest was wet and shimmering light from the fluorescent fixture above the food preparation section of the cupboard bank in the back of the kitchenette, and as her concentration went back towards him, Brianna became speechless, as her feistiness lost its fervor.

"-Reeeeee" Her larynx stood stuck to that one sound as she took in the boy standing thankfully about eight feet away from her in the room. Fuck, say something, Doug is not ice cream, he's just a guy! Don't get brain freeze! She didn't understand the feelings sweeping up inside of her, and was wondering why Doug wasn't yet making wisecracks about her being in his room.

"Hello Brianna, you OK?" he asked as he made his way around the counter and into the living room. "You're turning all white and ghastly on me, like you saw a ghost." She started trying to regain her composure and at the same time back her way up in the room, blinding herself to the body she was being forced to look at. That, and the knot in the towel, being held closely together in Doug's hand.

She looked back up finally, running a hand through her long dark hair. "Yeah...fine Doug. Just wondering, you have the doughnut money for this and next week?"

"Oh yeah, forgot about that, I've been sparse around Paris lately. You want me to dig it up?" He didn't seem to notice how awkward Brianna was feeling around him.

Instead of looking into his eyes however, Brianna was too busy staring at his chest, which was tanned and perfect in her opinion. Somehow the memories of her night with Leonard were coming back, and she was starting to compared his above-the-waist image with Doug's. "Yes, please do, er, sorry to have walked in the room without letting you know. I didn't know you were in the shower." Her words were shaky and nervous, and her heart was beating at double the normal rate.

"Did you knock beforehand?" he asked to Brianna as he tried to remember where the pants he was wearing had been when he took them off.

"About six times, then I checked to see if the door was open." She kept involuntarily staring at his features, and chiding herself for such behavior. Goddamnit Brianna, he's just a guy, one that probably watches The Best Damn Sports Show Period for the eye candy rather than the statistical joy that is ESPNews. You have no obligation to him, just get the money and leave.

"Sorry about that, I usually leave out a sock signal on the door for when I'm showering or need alone time 'cause I can't hear the knock over the spray, but it's after midnight so I figured no one would notice." Doug found his pants and the ground, and bent down to pick them up, causing Brianna to look away. But not for long, as her hormones got to her again and she found herself in a full-on ogle as he dug through his front pockets.

Look away, look away, look away...oh shit! She was hoping that Doug was an unhealthy slob who wore oversized jeans and shirts to fit with his figure, but it was too impossible to think that. His torso was perfectly formed, and the rear view was just mouth-watering to her. She felt flush and feverish as he bent down, and there was a tempting view of his rear. In short notice, she was rooting for the towel and gravity to cooperate in giving her a sneak peek of Doug's ass, and cringing that her helpless love side was starting to stray from her.

"It's alright Doug, I didn't know you were going to shower after you talked to me in the hall," she said shakily, as Doug gave her mercy by turning around. He handed her a $20 bill and smiled back, but instead of the smug schoolboy grin he usually used around Paris and Brianna, it was a genuine smile at her.

"There you are, that should cover us for the next two weeks." He then took an additional $5 bill out of his pocket. "And there you are Brianna, that's for reminding me. I can be a little forgetful at times, and I got scared of walking down to 343 with the money because your roommate is scary when she's pissed."

"Would you say...she's cute?" Brianna asked, then cursed asking it right away. Whoa, hold on! Why the hell are you asking him that, I'm not playing the field, I just can't!

He was thoughtful for a moment, and responded. "Paris is cute yeah, but not dating material. She's rich and kind of resentful, and while she'd make for a great date and has a nice bod, I and she would never have a connection." His brain was going on overdrive as he took in Brianna in her tight togs and huge shirt, leaving a wide berth for his imagination to wonder what was beneath the A's jersey. Don't say something stupid Doug, just look at her and nod at answers, don't let her overwhelming beauty, bright blue eyes, pouting lips--gggaaah...shimmering dark and curly hair down to inches below her bra line, nice short and voluptuous body--get to you. Fucking A, stop it Daugherty, stop being such a hot all-around chick! He was starting to feel just as lost as Brianna in the conversation.

"Anyone else you have in mind right now?" She relaxed a little against the post of the door. "Perhaps Ronnie?" she alleged with a mischievous grin.

Doug laughed nervously at Brianna. "Sorry to dash your hopes of homoeroticism, but I've never had a sexual thought about a guy."

"Damn," she pouted. "Well anyone of the female persuasion then?"

"Not really, no. I just broke up with my girlfriend in Coronado a few weeks ago, so I'm just trying to settle into single life in UCLA. She was going out with one of my buddies back home behind my back, so I've been feeling uninterested in chicks lately. Although you and Paris seem to be a great respite from the girls who surround my dorm."

"Is that why the 317 connector is blocked?"

"Hell yes, before I blocked it these two ditzy roommates kept coming in and trying to flirt with me. They kept asking me out, but I'm afraid they can't even tell time. I just want a girl who's intelligent, with a wry and dark sense of humor, looks beautiful and can handle what I dish out at them."

"Even the teasing?"

He didn't know how to answer, so he just nodded.

"I see," Brianna said as the last of her corrupted thoughts of Doug coursed through her and she started motioning towards the door. "Well, I got what I came for," she started nervously, "So I suppose I should go."

"Yeah, you should," he countered. "It was great talking to you earlier, I hope you stop by again." He kept hold of the towel as he guided Brianna out of the dorm.

"I think I will, your dorm is on the way to the lobby," she said with a shaky laugh. "Just make sure, um, next time that you're clothed."

"I'll try, but you should get back, you look all flush and sweaty, must've been from the shower steam." Brianna walked out into the hall, and looked at towel-clad Doug one last time before she started on her way.

"Yeah, shower steam," she said back automatically. "Thanks for the money, the extra will help me with coffee."

"You're welcome Bree, if you don't mind me calling you that. I'll see you tomorrow." He started shutting the door.

"Me too, and go ahead and you have the permission. See ya." The door shut in front of her, and Brianna hypothesized that perhaps a shower of her own was in the picture. Stop it, it's just lust girl, pure lust. Guy in towel, cliché #1 in college life! Just because he looks so hot and wanting in it doesn't mean you want him! The pleasure lobe of her brain, stunted from the encounter with Leonard though was starting to suddenly heal, and her increased bloodflow was affecting more areas than she wanted, she could hear it in her ears, and feel it all over.

"I don't want him, he's Doug, prankmaster and immature boy extraordinaire," she told herself around the 325 section of the floor. "He's an idiot who teases Paris and me too, and besides I'm a prude, he doesn't want me. Look at me, I'm not a siren. I'm just an only daughter from a conservative Irish family in the Bay Area, nothing much to look at." She tried to stay stubborn and keep her new-found feelings for Doug bottled up.

"If I want Doug, forget it. I'll just bury myself in my work and make excuses to stay away from his dorm, that's all. I don't want him." She continued to try to clear her thoughts as she walked in the room, and immediately ran for her bed after handing Paris the doughnut $20 without a word.

"Goodnight Bree, sleep well," Paris said softly as she dislodged her nose ring and turned off her bedside lamp.

"Night," Brianna mumbled back as she bundled her blankets as close as she possibly could against her body. Her thoughts were plagued by Doug from that moment on, and until she fell asleep at 1:30, the scene of him leaving the bathroom played over and over in the Tivo of her mind. Her last thought before she went to bed wasn't much, except an answer to her thought of eight days before.

You wanted a conflict of the heart Bree, you got it girl. Along with your sexuality and some added physical stimuli as a nice bonus. She fell asleep shortly after that, and thankfully Doug decided to stay on her dreamworld's sidelines.

Doug lay on his bed meanwhile, trying to deduce whether Brianna's looks were of a "I want you" or a "I want to get out of here" nature. He also was recalling how lucky he was that his towel didn't fall down while she was in the room. He could've never forgiven himself if it had dropped and Brianna noticed that his B positive blood decided to create a positive effect in his groin, he had held it just tight enough so that it was unnoticable. He managed to fall asleep about a half-hour later, and then right off the bat, Brianna invaded his mirages, usually in either a conversational or sexual nature. Suffice to say that Doug had a very confusing night's sleep.

As for Paris and Jess, both were in their own worlds, with Paris having a dream where she met Jess on a Mulholland Drive promontory, and things getting hot the moment the dream started. There were bits of literature talk and intellect, but most of the dream focused on Paris and Jess making out in her car. Despite this however, she managed a restful sleep and managed to keep the sleep talking to a very quiet minimum. And in Venice, Jess had a dream of more tutoring sessions with Paris, and a proud look on her face as he walked down the aisle to receive his diploma in January. Nothing sexual or physical, just her being the first to hug him for graduating high school as he walked back to his seat after he received his scroll.

Even in his dreams, Jess wanted to make Paris proud of him for working so hard. From that point forward, Jess was not only working for himself, but for hopefully, the future love of his life. And hopefully the reality would end up being just as fruitful as the fantasy.

---

To be continued...

Next Chapter: Labor Day has passed, and it's time for Paris to put her nose to the grindstone by applying to work for The Daily Bruin, UCLA's newspaper. She's challenged however when the faculty chief and editor give her a first assignment in an area she has no expertise in at all. Will she be able to return the volley with a hard spike and impress her superiors enough to receive a promotion, or will her writing fall short of the net? She'll have to depend on Brianna to help her in the first test of their young friendship, and learn to trust those that she covers. Top it all of with her flirtations with Jess, balancing her love for journalism with that of school, and Brianna and Doug's awkwardness around each other, Paris is starting to see that perhaps Los Angeles isn't all fun and games.