"Ahem," kimlockt says sheepishly looking at her feet, "what was that I
said? This chapter wouldn't take long to materialize?" If I thought I
could swallow paper without getting physically sick, I'd print out that
sentence and literally eat my words.
I'm sorry it has taken me ages to update Being Right is Overrated, but in my own defense, this has been a ridiculous summer. Without going into too many details, basically I blinked and it was August. Please rest assured that this story was never abandoned.
Thanks to all of you for your reviews (I consider each a gift), emails, and patience with me as I ease back in the writing game.
Extra special thanks for Beth for the expert beta reading. You are awesome!!
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Warning: This chapter is rated "R" for sexual references and situations.
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His eyes open. Groaning in protest against the arrival of morning ('always too damn early', he thinks), he rolls over. His arm reaches towards the nightstand to push aside a stack of books blocking his view of the alarm clock as he marvels yet again that his legs aren't trapped in the bed sheets.
He used to be a fitful sleeper. Tossing and turning, he was never quite comfortable enough to drift into authoritative unconsciousness. Not to mention that every little thing that went bump in the night caused his eyelids to fly open, made his body tense and alert. He used to believe that if he could just get comfortable enough, just find the magic sleeping position, he would fall softly, gently asleep. This belief prompted endless nighttime maneuverings and half conscious thrashings that left his legs, and occasionally an arm, imprisoned and immobilized in an unforgiving tangle of sheets. Sometimes, usually when the room was too warm, he managed to twist the bottom fitted sheet loose as well, only to wake feeling hung over and sweaty. That's all changed lately.
He's sleeping peacefully, deeper. Actually waking up - imagine this - feeling rested. Ironically, falling asleep has almost been more difficult as his mind refuses to surrender the day. It's a benign side effect though, one he accepts simply and without irony. Some nights he stares contentedly at the ceiling watching the shadows play, allowing himself the luxury of feeling, for once, lucky. On days like today, he even wakes up before the alarm sounds. Granted, it's only three or four minutes before the alarm is set to go off, but waking naturally is still waking naturally and it's unprecedented in the world of Jess Mariano.
Denying the alarm its single pleasure of shattering his silence with an angry soulless buzz, he turns it off and rolls onto his back. A yawn escapes him as he rubs his eyes with the heels of his hands and suppresses a smile. The predawn blue light filtering in the window finds him in a state of arousal. Again. He shouldn't be surprised by this and, truthfully, he isn't. Waking erect has been the norm lately and he's come to expect it.
'It's the dreams,' he thinks to himself as he lets his arms fall to his chest and shuts his eyes, remembering. Struggling to piece together the nebulous thoughts floating through his semi-consciousness, small snatches come back to him. The thread of coherency between the jumbled images eludes him but that doesn't stop him from trying to assemble the fragments in some logical, orderly fashion.
It's Rory, always Rory. He can't fully see her, can't quite make out her features, but there's no doubt it's her. It's her hair he feels enveloping him as her head dips, her weight he feels on top of him, her lips sliding across his chest like honey, her breath he hears in his ears, her hands he feels on his body, exploring, touching. If he could fully remember his dreams, he doubts he'd change much about them. When he closes his eyes at night, Rory is completely and utterly his in a way she isn't in the daylight. 'At least not yet,' he thinks, allowing the suppressed smile to surface.
Stretching, he tries to decide whether he should lie there until his heightened state subsides a little or whether he should just take care of it himself in the shower. Listening to the darkness, he hears no sound of Luke and guesses that he's already downstairs in the diner. Standing to make his way to the bathroom, he concludes that it's a good thing the apartment is empty. The current state of his boxers notwithstanding, the shock of seeing Jess with a full-fledged grin on his face would probably be too much for his uncle.
. ~ . ~ . ~ .
"I know," Lorelai's voice calls from the living room where she is determinably removing cushions from the couch, "but that was before he tried to poison me."
Rory's muffled voice attempts to shout a reply overtop of the decidedly un- Gilmore like noise of the garbage disposal but her words are lost in the resulting whir. The only one Lorelai can partially make out are "not" and a word that sounds vaguely like "syringe."
"Why would Luke need a syringe?" Lorelai asks entering the kitchen, pulling on her glove that is no longer lost in the sofa.
"What?" Rory asks, turning off the disposal.
"Honey," Lorelai begins, approaching Rory and looking into the sink with a mix of curiosity and wonder, "When did we get a garbage disposal?"
"It came with the house."
"You're kidding me! And it works?"
"Uh huh."
"Ooh," Lorelai trills, clapping her hands, "I want to use it. Find something for me to dispose."
Opening the refrigerator, Rory hands her mother a carton of leftover takeout Chinese food. "Knowing us, this has to be bad."
"Nope," the elder Gilmore replies, handing the carton back, "that was Tuesday's dinner. It has at least another two days of shelf life left. What else is in there?"
"Bottled water, ketchup, and grape jelly," Rory lists, pulling her head out of the fridge and turning to her mother.
"Daggone," Lorelai pouts, "you get to have all the fun."
"Well," Rory muses, "we could let the Chinese food go bad and then you can grind it up in the disposal."
"Excellent idea!" Lorelai brightens. "Promise me you won't get hungry and eat it."
"If I get hungry, I'll eat the ketchup instead."
"That's my girl," Lorelai grins to Rory's back as she darts into her room to retrieve her heavy-laden book bag.
The women walk into the foyer where the couch, its cushions in disarray, sits visible guarding the deserted but cluttered living room. Dropping her book bag, Rory reaches for her coat.
"One day," Lorelai begins, staring at Rory's book bag, "that backpack is going to crash right through the floor."
"Probably," Rory agrees.
Coats on, the two women exit the house and walk towards Luke's Diner. The air is crisp and smells like winter. A few tenacious leaves cling stubbornly to stark tree branches, their brethren having been blown away in colorful gusts of orange, red, and yellow. Their breath, weeks earlier only marginally visible, now appears in mists of translucent white as they walk. Lorelai glances at the sidewalk and notices their shadows which, given the angle of the low-lying December sun, appear to be holding hands.
"Oh," Lorelai starts, "I remember what I wanted to ask you. Do you think Luke will still give me coffee after I have him arrested?"
"Arrested for what?" Rory questions, brows knit together in a scowl as the corners of her mouth involuntarily inch upwards.
"Attempted poisoning. I knew you weren't paying attention to me earlier!"
"You weren't poisoned," Rory grins.
"But I could have been."
"It's not like salads are full of strychnine."
"I'm not talking about the average person's digestive system, I'm talking about my digestive system. I don't think I have the right enzymes to digest vegetables, especially green ones. He totally could have killed me."
"Yet, here you stand, very much alive," Rory states, gesturing to her mother. As Lorelai opens her mouth to contradict her, she continues, "and, no."
"No what?"
"No, I don't think he'd give you coffee if you had him arrested."
"Damn," Lorelai mutters. "That's what I thought too."
The two women enter Luke's as the smell of freshly brewed coffee wraps seductively around them in welcome. They sit at an open table near the window, and almost instantly, Luke materializes with a steaming pot of coffee and two mugs.
"I own a garbage disposal," Lorelai tells him happily.
"You should be very proud," he replies before walking behind the counter.
Rory's eyes follow Luke. He ducks down to grab another coffee mug from under the counter to reveal Jess's previously hidden jean-clad form. Jess leans back on the far counter next to the coffee machine, his hands lightly gripping the edge of the countertop behind him. He regards Rory silently, thoughtfully. Instinctively, her eyes seek out the crystal-brown depths of his and, upon connection, she feels the sensation of being covered in a warm blanket.
"I'll be right back," she mumbles to her mother as she stands to cross the restaurant.
Seeing her approach, Jess moves forward with athletic grace to rest his elbows on the front counter. As she nears him, her hands snake across the counter's surface to entwine with his. Fingers touch fingers. Leaning towards her, Jess brushes a soft kiss on her lips. Rory feels the unmistakable sensation of the scrape of his lower teeth on her bottom lip. Involuntarily, she draws a sharp soft breath as her eyes close. He pulls back and tucks loose strands of her hair behind an ear, his fingers lingering momentarily on her earlobe and jaw.
"Morning," he says quietly.
"Hey," she greets in return. Pausing to study him she continues, "You look like you're in a good mood."
"Huh," Jess muses smiling softly, as his eyes scan her face.
He leans forward to say something imperceptible in her ear, which makes her smile. From her vantage point across the diner, Lorelai watches the unfolding interaction and frowns.
"You're probably hungry," Luke says.
Looking up, Lorelai regards Luke for a moment before raising her eyebrows. "Why, you must have ESP," she responds sarcastically.
"ESPN," he corrects, refilling her coffee.
"I want pancakes," she states firmly. "Medium rare. With a side order of more pancakes please."
"Got it," Luke responds pulling a pad from his back pocket to write her order down. Without glancing at her he says "And Rory wants?"
"Jess," she answers, turning her attention back to the pair.
Luke looks up sharply, eyebrows knit together. Following Lorelai's gaze, he studies his nephew and Rory. They're engaged in soft, animated conversation, their heads bent together, hands touching. Jess has apparently gotten Rory another cup of coffee. Between contended sips, she alternately listens and talks to him, her eyes on his face. Their world seems private and wholly their own.
Straightening his spine, Luke scratches his chin. A mild "hmm" is the only comment he offers.
Giving him her best look of disbelief, Lorelai stares at him. Luke shrugs.
"He's been doing better lately," he says as if it explains everything.
Lorelai's eyes narrow and she continues studying Luke's face. "Define better," she commands.
"You know," Luke begins, gesturing with his hands. "He's been getting up early, helping me down here without me having to ask him 50 times. I hardly ever have to threaten him anymore and yesterday, he almost said a full sentence to me."
"He's a regular Wally Cleaver," Lorelai grumbles, more annoyance that she wants leeching into her voice.
"Not quite," Luke responds. "He's still a pain in the ass. It's just. . ." he pauses as he searches for the right words before giving up and exhaling, "he's, less so lately."
Lorelai grimaces.
"He likes Rory," Luke states flatly.
Lorelai looks up at him, worry etched into all her features. Locking eyes with her, Luke nods reassuringly and mutters, "Really. He does. She makes him. . ."
"What?"
"I don't know," he sighs shaking his head. Looking away from Lorelai towards the teenagers, he concludes, "If it will make you feel better, I'll keep an eye on them when they're here."
Lorelai manages a feeble smile, which Luke accepts, doing his best (but failing, he's sure) to look reassuring. Warming her coffee again, he walks back to the kitchen to make her pancakes.
As Luke passes Jess, small snippets of their conversation become audible.
"Me?" Rory questions. "At least I've read Cat's Cradle."
"Says the woman who hasn't read Slaughterhouse Five," Jess retorts.
"That's the one with Billy Pilgrim?"
"Yup."
"It's on my list of books to read."
"Here, I'll save you the trouble. War is bad," he pauses with a glint in his eyes. "There. Now, you can skip right to Breakfast of Champions."
"C'mon," she laughs. "There must be more to it than that."
"There's no doubt it's an anti-war novel but it's a strange one. A lot of black humor. A lot of debate about predestination versus free-will."
"I still want to read it," Rory says, looking at their laced fingers on the countertop.
"You should," Jess encourages. "Breakfast of Champions is his best, though."
"Says the man who hasn't read Cat's Cradle."
"Rory," Lorelai's voice interrupts. She is standing next to Rory at the counter eyeing the pair warily. Rory immediately lets go of Jess's hands and turns to look at her mother. Jess pushes away from the counter and waits.
"You're going to miss your bus," Lorelai informs her daughter.
"Oh," Rory comments, looking at her watch to confirm the veracity of this statement. Pulling her coat on, she says 'goodbye' to Jess and Lorelai. Luke has put a donut in a carryout bag for her and she thanks him gratefully. Making her way towards the diner's door, she suddenly stops and spins around.
"Hey," she exclaims looking at Jess, who smirks to cover his pleasure at being singled out for her continued attention. "About Cat's Cradle-"
"I'll read it today," he finishes for her.
She flashes him a dazzling smile, which leaves him feeling embraced. Then she is gone.
Lorelai watches, wishing the smile had been for her and hating the cold feeling in her stomach that she knows is jealousy. Her eyes slide across the diner and land on Jess.
Jess knows she's watching him, can feel the gravity of her intense stare. Lorelai is worried. He knows this too. He turns and walks into the kitchen without acknowledging her unspoken question. 'Are you going to hurt my daughter?' her eyes would have asked had he permitted it. It's a question he can't afford. The prospect of Lorelai reading anything other than a firm 'no' in his eyes is too risky. . . .and too possible.
. ~ . ~ . ~ .
Rory sits on her bed absentmindedly playing with a highlighter pen. Her Chilton uniform is draped over the back of a chair and she wears a velour sweat suit for comfort. Focused on the textbook in her lap, notebooks, assorted papers and other open textbooks litter her bed. Without prelude, her studying is interrupted by the phone.
"Hello?"
"Hey," he says, his voice sounding slightly scratchy, like liquid sand.
"Jess," she smiles, putting the highlighter down and leaning back into her pillows.
"What are you doing?"
"Homework."
"Huh," he comments, pausing. "You didn't come in for dinner."
"Yeah, I planned to but Mom picked up a pizza," she explains. "We can't eat the Chinese food."
"Right," he answers, not bothering to ask for clarification.
"We ate early because Mom has that Inn thing tonight with Sookie."
"Inn thing?"
"Another 'How to run your own Inn' seminar. Most of them are wastes of time, at least according to Mom, but this one has something to do with financial planning and advertising. She and Sookie thought it might actually be worthwhile."
"So, you're by yourself tonight."
"Yeah, I'm by myself tonight," she responds grinning, guessing where the conversation is heading.
"Do you think that's safe?"
"What?"
"Being at home alone."
"Well, there was that pack of rabid wolves roaming the streets, but I thought I'd, you know," she pauses, teasing him, "stay off the porch."
"I don't know. I heard they could pick locks."
"Wow. Those are really smart wolves."
"Tell me about it. Maybe I should come over. Make sure they don't get in your house."
Rory rolls onto her stomach, smiling broadly. "Maybe you should."
"OK."
"OK," she repeats.
"So, I'll come over."
"OK," she breathes.
She spends the few minutes it takes him to walk from the diner to her house putting away her homework and gathering her scattered papers. Just as she is finishing, she hears him knock.
Opening the door, Rory finds Jess smiling shyly on the porch.
"If it isn't the Big Bad Wolf himself," she says in greeting,
Jess laughs and stares at his feet. Looking up at her through a curtain of thick dark lashes, he gives her his very best 'you can trust me' look.
"Put that away," she tells him opening the door so he can enter. "I know that look. I'm immune to it now."
"Really?" he replies, a challenge tinting the edges of his voice. Without warning, he grabs her wrist, pulls her to him powerfully and kisses her. Her free hand lands unceremoniously on his chest as his arm encircles her waist. Caught off guard, Rory is slow to react. Mind spinning, she feels his tongue enter her mouth and leans against him for support.
It's a visceral, physical sensation, being kissed by him. Her bones melt and she feels shaken, dizzy. Every damn time! It would almost be annoying if it weren't so amazing, so addictive. She wants to match him move for move, make him weak like he makes her. So far in their relationship, all she's been able to do is hold on for dear life. Dear sanity is probably more like it. She's beginning to think he does it on purpose. He tortures her with his lips and she sinks like a stone.
Slowly, the haze lifts. She comprehends that if she's constantly drowning, constantly falling under his spell, she can't make him lose control. With astonishing clarity, she realizes that's exactly what she wants to do. She's being played, she knows this now, but it's so expertly done, she decides she almost doesn't mind. Almost.
Moving her hand from his chest to his shoulder to steady herself, she feels his muscles tense beneath her touch. Understanding dawning, she is stunned to discover that he is as affected by her touch as she is by his. Deciding to - no needing to - assert some control over him, she cups his cheek with her hand and captures his lower lip between her teeth. When he stills, she slowly, tantalizingly teases his mouth with her tongue. At once, they both realize that she is learning. Immediately, he releases her captured wrist and with both hands pulls her closer to him. In a rush of pure desire, he matches her body to his. Summoning more bravado than she actually feels, her newly freed hand tugs his t-shirt out of his jeans and slips underneath it.
"Rory-" he breathes against her mouth.
Kissing him deeper, she trails her hand along his stomach muscles, fingering the skin just above the waist of his pants. They are slung low on his hips and she feels the top of his boxers under her searching fingers. A small moan, half desire and half protest, erupts from the back of his throat. Without thinking, she tucks a finger underneath the elastic band of his boxers and pulls her hand across his stomach again. Abruptly, she is pushed away.
Startled, she looks at him. His hands grip her biceps tightly. His pupils are dilated, his eyes, dangerous. They stand, eyes locked, for several heartbeats. In this frozen moment, they could be statues but for the labored rise and fall of their chests. For the first time, Rory recognizes the full potential of her power and the possibility - mildly frightening to them both - that she could seduce him if she tried hard enough. Rory smiles, a blush creeping onto her cheeks. Groaning, Jess pulls her back into his arms and rests his forehead against hers.
"Rory Gilmore," he whispers, closing his eyes, "the things you do to me."
"Like what?" she asks, interested.
"Make me read Kurt Vonnegut novels for one," he answers, releasing her and walking into the living room.
"What did you think of Cat's Cradle?" she asks, following him.
Eyeing the jumbled couch cushions, he says, "I think the wolves may have gotten here before me after all."
Helping him slide the cushions back in their proper places, she responds, "No wolves. Just Mom."
"Same difference," he mutters under his breath.
"So, Cat's Cradle?" she prompts.
He sits on the couch and says, "There is no cat. There is no cradle."
Deciding that a little distance between them would be a good thing right now, she plops on the other end of the sofa. Tilting her head to one side, she says, "Wait. Did you finish it already?"
Jess gives her a look that tells her she should know better than to ask questions like that.
"Impressive," she smiles.
"I've decided to convert to Bokononism," he announces.
"Jess Mariano finds religion? Next you'll tell me you have some Ice-9 in your back pocket."
"A religion that admits it's based entirely on lies makes perfect sense to me," he grins, reaching across the sofa to pull her feet into his lap.
Rory watches him pull off her socks and giggles, "What are you doing?"
"If I'm going to be a Bokononist, I should start paying more attention to your feet, don't you think?"
"I suppose," she sighs as Jess's strong hands begin massaging her feet. Settling herself back into the sofa, she asks, "Do you think humans need to struggle to be happy?"
Kneading her feet between his palms, Jess grows thoughtful. "I don't know. There is something basically human about challenging authority and overcoming adversity."
"But," she counters, "don't you think that the citizens of Vonnegut's San Lorenzo would have been better served by a government that actually tried to improve their situation than by one that outlawed their made-up religion so they'd have something to rebel against? It seems a huge distraction from the real issues."
"Sounds like government as usual to me."
"Oh, c'mon!"
"I'm serious. What do you think politics are?"
"An attempt by the people to unite to improve their lot in life," she answers mildly, enjoying her impromptu foot massage.
"How about a big massive effort to divide and distract the people from the important issues so that nothing ever really changes?"
"Tsk, tsk," she smiles at him, clicking her tongue. "I bet such a cynical outlook is against the laws of Bokonon."
"Not at all," he smirks. "But then again, my people have always been misunderstood by outsiders."
Relaxing fully into the sofa, she sighs, "I think you'd make a good Bokononist. That feels really nice."
He smiles as his hands continue to rub her feet. She shuts her eyes and moves her arms above her head, stretching like a cat. Jess watches as a strip of skin on her midriff becomes deliciously visible. It's a part of her body he's never seen before and his eyes drink it in. He wants to look away but finds he can't. The gentle expansion and contraction of her flat stomach as she breathes is mesmerizing.
Based on her performance in the foyer, he wonders briefly if she's giving him a glimpse of this unexplored part of herself on purpose. Truthfully, he knows she isn't. Although he tries hard not to, his mind imagines what her skin there tastes like. Touching her feet suddenly isn't enough anymore.
Rory stares at his face. She's not sure what he finds so fascinating about her stomach but she knows things have shifted. His face is now deadly serious. Something flutters inside her, a small flicker, a faint yearning. This is how it happens, she thinks as she watches him want her. This is how people lose control.
Cursing himself for his weakness, he wills himself to look at her face. He is not entirely surprised to find her studying him. He realizes that she knows he wants to touch her. When she doesn't look away, he understands that permission has been granted.
Releasing her feet, he slowly moves across the couch. His hands alight on the bottom of her sweat jacket. He looks at her face one last time to be sure this is OK. Her eyes reflect only mild curiosity and simple need. He returns his attention to her abdomen and tenderly pushes her jacket up her torso, stopping just below her breasts.
Slowly, carefully, he splays one hand on the exposed flesh. She shivers. His fingers trace her ribs as if he is counting each one. He knows he shouldn't be doing this. He should stop and discuss Vonnegut or some other safe subject but he can't. His index finger traces an arrow down the center of her body and circles her navel. Unable to resist, his tongue follows the same route. She shudders again.
Shifting so that his body is positioned directly above her legs, he lowers his head and kisses her stomach. His lips and hands caress and explore this uncharted territory, moving in tandem, touching then tasting. Leisurely with infinite patience, he learns about her, watches her reactions. Rory bites her lip to keep from crying out.
Jess finds the pulse in her stomach and longs to trace its route through the rest of her body. Instead, he tips his head, and sucks the tender skin beside her hipbone as his thumbs hook under the waistband of her sweatpants. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, he eases them down an inch. Unable to keep still, Rory arches slightly beneath him.
Registering her response, Jess lifts his eyes to look at her face. She looks beautiful.
He doesn't want to frighten her, or push her because he knows she isn't ready for more than this. He just wants to make her feel. Make her feel him. His eyes hungrily caress the flesh formerly hidden by her sweat pants. He leans over her to draw teasing circles on this sensitive skin with his tongue.
Despite her efforts at control, Rory feels herself slipping completely under his spell. Wanting to touch him, she moves her hands to his head and runs her fingers through his dark curls. Sighing, Jess finds there isn't anything more satisfying than what he is doing to her.
A car door shuts outside. The sound registers vaguely with Jess as he momentarily pauses. Rory opens her eyes to look at him.
"Someone's coming," he mutters.
He reaches up and pulls her jacket down, mourning the loss of the sight of her perfect skin.
Rory makes a small sound of protest. "I don't hear anything," she says, reaching for him, greedy for his touch.
Jess places a quick kiss on her lips and pulls her into a seated position.
"Lorelai's home," he warns.
He has just enough time to return to his own side of the couch before the door opens and the elder Gilmore walks inside.
"Rory?" she calls, taking off her jacket in the foyer.
"Here," Rory answers.
Lorelai looks into the living room and spies Jess. He's as far from Rory as he could possibly be and still be on the same sofa with her. Noting his rumpled appearance, she greets, "Hi Jess."
"Hey," he greets in return, running a hand through his hair. Standing he says, "I was just leaving."
"Of course you were," Lorelai responds, regarding him with a knowing expression on her face.
Doing her best to calm her wild heart, pounding so loud she's certain Lorelai can hear it, Rory says, "I'll walk you to the door." She stands on spaghetti legs. This sudden interruption makes no sense to her and tears of confused disappointment spring to her eyes. She blinks them away and follows Jess.
Lorelai waits for her in the living room. It seems to her that lately she's constantly observing Rory from a distance. A pang of loneliness slices through her and she wonders if this is a sad harbinger of what lies ahead. She sees Jess places his hands on Rory's hips before brushing a chaste kiss against her mouth. Inaudible words pass between them before Rory closes the door and walks back into the house alone.
Edging closer to her bedroom, Rory waves at her mother, "Night Mom."
"Not so fast," Lorelai says, making a concerted effort to keep her voice light and normal.
Rory freezes. Folding her arms across her stomach, she nervously looks at her feet.
"Time for a little chat," Lorelai states, patting the sofa cushion next to her.
Rory begrudgingly enters the living room and sits next to Lorelai. The two are momentarily silent as they gather their thoughts.
At length, Lorelai begins, "I'm really trying hard to hold up my end of our bargain."
Rory casts a sidelong glance at her mother as she waits for her to continue.
"For the record, Jess is not my favorite kid but I know he's your boyfriend, and I know you like him and I know I promised to give him a chance so. . . I'm giving him a chance."
"I know," Rory says.
"But," Lorelai continues, "at the risk of losing my status as the world's coolest Mom, I need to tell you that I'm concerned."
"Everything is OK, Mom."
"Honey, I respect your privacy and have faith in your decisions but I need to know more about what's going on between you and Jess. Just hearing you say 'Everything is OK' isn't giving me the peace of mind that I need to honestly believe that everything really is OK."
"What do you need?"
"I need you to tell me what Jess was doing here tonight and what you were doing with him that is keeping you from looking me in the eyes right now."
Rory blushes furiously at this.
Looking up at her mother, she begins, "He called and we chatted and he came over."
"Uh huh," Lorelai replies. "And?"
Rory looks down again. Looking up, she grins guiltily and blurts out, "It's just embarrassing. I'm not used to talking about. . . you know."
"Sex?" Lorelai says, holding her breath.
"Kissing," Rory corrects.
"Oh, thank God," Lorelai exhales. "When you said 'you know' my mind immediately leapt to the worst case scenario."
"Sorry."
"No problem. Just. . . just. . . just don't use words like 'you know' to describe things that you do with Jess because it's likely to give me a heart attack."
"OK, let's consider that first and only time."
"Thank you. Now, what basically happened tonight?"
"Well," Rory falteringly begins, "he hasn't seen any part of me that wouldn't be visible on a public beach."
The obvious innocence of this admission makes Lorelai grin. "And those parts of you would be?"
"My feet and my stomach," Rory admits, blushing again.
Lorelai smiles and her shoulders visibly relax. Gazing at the wall, she leans back on the sofa.
"You know,' Lorelai muses, "I thought potty training was hard."
"But compared to this?"
"A walk in the park."
"Sorry about that," Rory sighs.
Lorelai smiles sadly. "I love you, you know."
"Yeah, I know," Rory says. Her eyes tear again as she thinks about how her relationship with her mother is going to change, has already changed. Impulsively, she lies on the sofa and rests her head on her mother's lap. Closing her eyes she says, "I love you too."
. ~ . ~ . ~ .
A/N: I would love a review. Thanks!
I'm sorry it has taken me ages to update Being Right is Overrated, but in my own defense, this has been a ridiculous summer. Without going into too many details, basically I blinked and it was August. Please rest assured that this story was never abandoned.
Thanks to all of you for your reviews (I consider each a gift), emails, and patience with me as I ease back in the writing game.
Extra special thanks for Beth for the expert beta reading. You are awesome!!
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Warning: This chapter is rated "R" for sexual references and situations.
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His eyes open. Groaning in protest against the arrival of morning ('always too damn early', he thinks), he rolls over. His arm reaches towards the nightstand to push aside a stack of books blocking his view of the alarm clock as he marvels yet again that his legs aren't trapped in the bed sheets.
He used to be a fitful sleeper. Tossing and turning, he was never quite comfortable enough to drift into authoritative unconsciousness. Not to mention that every little thing that went bump in the night caused his eyelids to fly open, made his body tense and alert. He used to believe that if he could just get comfortable enough, just find the magic sleeping position, he would fall softly, gently asleep. This belief prompted endless nighttime maneuverings and half conscious thrashings that left his legs, and occasionally an arm, imprisoned and immobilized in an unforgiving tangle of sheets. Sometimes, usually when the room was too warm, he managed to twist the bottom fitted sheet loose as well, only to wake feeling hung over and sweaty. That's all changed lately.
He's sleeping peacefully, deeper. Actually waking up - imagine this - feeling rested. Ironically, falling asleep has almost been more difficult as his mind refuses to surrender the day. It's a benign side effect though, one he accepts simply and without irony. Some nights he stares contentedly at the ceiling watching the shadows play, allowing himself the luxury of feeling, for once, lucky. On days like today, he even wakes up before the alarm sounds. Granted, it's only three or four minutes before the alarm is set to go off, but waking naturally is still waking naturally and it's unprecedented in the world of Jess Mariano.
Denying the alarm its single pleasure of shattering his silence with an angry soulless buzz, he turns it off and rolls onto his back. A yawn escapes him as he rubs his eyes with the heels of his hands and suppresses a smile. The predawn blue light filtering in the window finds him in a state of arousal. Again. He shouldn't be surprised by this and, truthfully, he isn't. Waking erect has been the norm lately and he's come to expect it.
'It's the dreams,' he thinks to himself as he lets his arms fall to his chest and shuts his eyes, remembering. Struggling to piece together the nebulous thoughts floating through his semi-consciousness, small snatches come back to him. The thread of coherency between the jumbled images eludes him but that doesn't stop him from trying to assemble the fragments in some logical, orderly fashion.
It's Rory, always Rory. He can't fully see her, can't quite make out her features, but there's no doubt it's her. It's her hair he feels enveloping him as her head dips, her weight he feels on top of him, her lips sliding across his chest like honey, her breath he hears in his ears, her hands he feels on his body, exploring, touching. If he could fully remember his dreams, he doubts he'd change much about them. When he closes his eyes at night, Rory is completely and utterly his in a way she isn't in the daylight. 'At least not yet,' he thinks, allowing the suppressed smile to surface.
Stretching, he tries to decide whether he should lie there until his heightened state subsides a little or whether he should just take care of it himself in the shower. Listening to the darkness, he hears no sound of Luke and guesses that he's already downstairs in the diner. Standing to make his way to the bathroom, he concludes that it's a good thing the apartment is empty. The current state of his boxers notwithstanding, the shock of seeing Jess with a full-fledged grin on his face would probably be too much for his uncle.
. ~ . ~ . ~ .
"I know," Lorelai's voice calls from the living room where she is determinably removing cushions from the couch, "but that was before he tried to poison me."
Rory's muffled voice attempts to shout a reply overtop of the decidedly un- Gilmore like noise of the garbage disposal but her words are lost in the resulting whir. The only one Lorelai can partially make out are "not" and a word that sounds vaguely like "syringe."
"Why would Luke need a syringe?" Lorelai asks entering the kitchen, pulling on her glove that is no longer lost in the sofa.
"What?" Rory asks, turning off the disposal.
"Honey," Lorelai begins, approaching Rory and looking into the sink with a mix of curiosity and wonder, "When did we get a garbage disposal?"
"It came with the house."
"You're kidding me! And it works?"
"Uh huh."
"Ooh," Lorelai trills, clapping her hands, "I want to use it. Find something for me to dispose."
Opening the refrigerator, Rory hands her mother a carton of leftover takeout Chinese food. "Knowing us, this has to be bad."
"Nope," the elder Gilmore replies, handing the carton back, "that was Tuesday's dinner. It has at least another two days of shelf life left. What else is in there?"
"Bottled water, ketchup, and grape jelly," Rory lists, pulling her head out of the fridge and turning to her mother.
"Daggone," Lorelai pouts, "you get to have all the fun."
"Well," Rory muses, "we could let the Chinese food go bad and then you can grind it up in the disposal."
"Excellent idea!" Lorelai brightens. "Promise me you won't get hungry and eat it."
"If I get hungry, I'll eat the ketchup instead."
"That's my girl," Lorelai grins to Rory's back as she darts into her room to retrieve her heavy-laden book bag.
The women walk into the foyer where the couch, its cushions in disarray, sits visible guarding the deserted but cluttered living room. Dropping her book bag, Rory reaches for her coat.
"One day," Lorelai begins, staring at Rory's book bag, "that backpack is going to crash right through the floor."
"Probably," Rory agrees.
Coats on, the two women exit the house and walk towards Luke's Diner. The air is crisp and smells like winter. A few tenacious leaves cling stubbornly to stark tree branches, their brethren having been blown away in colorful gusts of orange, red, and yellow. Their breath, weeks earlier only marginally visible, now appears in mists of translucent white as they walk. Lorelai glances at the sidewalk and notices their shadows which, given the angle of the low-lying December sun, appear to be holding hands.
"Oh," Lorelai starts, "I remember what I wanted to ask you. Do you think Luke will still give me coffee after I have him arrested?"
"Arrested for what?" Rory questions, brows knit together in a scowl as the corners of her mouth involuntarily inch upwards.
"Attempted poisoning. I knew you weren't paying attention to me earlier!"
"You weren't poisoned," Rory grins.
"But I could have been."
"It's not like salads are full of strychnine."
"I'm not talking about the average person's digestive system, I'm talking about my digestive system. I don't think I have the right enzymes to digest vegetables, especially green ones. He totally could have killed me."
"Yet, here you stand, very much alive," Rory states, gesturing to her mother. As Lorelai opens her mouth to contradict her, she continues, "and, no."
"No what?"
"No, I don't think he'd give you coffee if you had him arrested."
"Damn," Lorelai mutters. "That's what I thought too."
The two women enter Luke's as the smell of freshly brewed coffee wraps seductively around them in welcome. They sit at an open table near the window, and almost instantly, Luke materializes with a steaming pot of coffee and two mugs.
"I own a garbage disposal," Lorelai tells him happily.
"You should be very proud," he replies before walking behind the counter.
Rory's eyes follow Luke. He ducks down to grab another coffee mug from under the counter to reveal Jess's previously hidden jean-clad form. Jess leans back on the far counter next to the coffee machine, his hands lightly gripping the edge of the countertop behind him. He regards Rory silently, thoughtfully. Instinctively, her eyes seek out the crystal-brown depths of his and, upon connection, she feels the sensation of being covered in a warm blanket.
"I'll be right back," she mumbles to her mother as she stands to cross the restaurant.
Seeing her approach, Jess moves forward with athletic grace to rest his elbows on the front counter. As she nears him, her hands snake across the counter's surface to entwine with his. Fingers touch fingers. Leaning towards her, Jess brushes a soft kiss on her lips. Rory feels the unmistakable sensation of the scrape of his lower teeth on her bottom lip. Involuntarily, she draws a sharp soft breath as her eyes close. He pulls back and tucks loose strands of her hair behind an ear, his fingers lingering momentarily on her earlobe and jaw.
"Morning," he says quietly.
"Hey," she greets in return. Pausing to study him she continues, "You look like you're in a good mood."
"Huh," Jess muses smiling softly, as his eyes scan her face.
He leans forward to say something imperceptible in her ear, which makes her smile. From her vantage point across the diner, Lorelai watches the unfolding interaction and frowns.
"You're probably hungry," Luke says.
Looking up, Lorelai regards Luke for a moment before raising her eyebrows. "Why, you must have ESP," she responds sarcastically.
"ESPN," he corrects, refilling her coffee.
"I want pancakes," she states firmly. "Medium rare. With a side order of more pancakes please."
"Got it," Luke responds pulling a pad from his back pocket to write her order down. Without glancing at her he says "And Rory wants?"
"Jess," she answers, turning her attention back to the pair.
Luke looks up sharply, eyebrows knit together. Following Lorelai's gaze, he studies his nephew and Rory. They're engaged in soft, animated conversation, their heads bent together, hands touching. Jess has apparently gotten Rory another cup of coffee. Between contended sips, she alternately listens and talks to him, her eyes on his face. Their world seems private and wholly their own.
Straightening his spine, Luke scratches his chin. A mild "hmm" is the only comment he offers.
Giving him her best look of disbelief, Lorelai stares at him. Luke shrugs.
"He's been doing better lately," he says as if it explains everything.
Lorelai's eyes narrow and she continues studying Luke's face. "Define better," she commands.
"You know," Luke begins, gesturing with his hands. "He's been getting up early, helping me down here without me having to ask him 50 times. I hardly ever have to threaten him anymore and yesterday, he almost said a full sentence to me."
"He's a regular Wally Cleaver," Lorelai grumbles, more annoyance that she wants leeching into her voice.
"Not quite," Luke responds. "He's still a pain in the ass. It's just. . ." he pauses as he searches for the right words before giving up and exhaling, "he's, less so lately."
Lorelai grimaces.
"He likes Rory," Luke states flatly.
Lorelai looks up at him, worry etched into all her features. Locking eyes with her, Luke nods reassuringly and mutters, "Really. He does. She makes him. . ."
"What?"
"I don't know," he sighs shaking his head. Looking away from Lorelai towards the teenagers, he concludes, "If it will make you feel better, I'll keep an eye on them when they're here."
Lorelai manages a feeble smile, which Luke accepts, doing his best (but failing, he's sure) to look reassuring. Warming her coffee again, he walks back to the kitchen to make her pancakes.
As Luke passes Jess, small snippets of their conversation become audible.
"Me?" Rory questions. "At least I've read Cat's Cradle."
"Says the woman who hasn't read Slaughterhouse Five," Jess retorts.
"That's the one with Billy Pilgrim?"
"Yup."
"It's on my list of books to read."
"Here, I'll save you the trouble. War is bad," he pauses with a glint in his eyes. "There. Now, you can skip right to Breakfast of Champions."
"C'mon," she laughs. "There must be more to it than that."
"There's no doubt it's an anti-war novel but it's a strange one. A lot of black humor. A lot of debate about predestination versus free-will."
"I still want to read it," Rory says, looking at their laced fingers on the countertop.
"You should," Jess encourages. "Breakfast of Champions is his best, though."
"Says the man who hasn't read Cat's Cradle."
"Rory," Lorelai's voice interrupts. She is standing next to Rory at the counter eyeing the pair warily. Rory immediately lets go of Jess's hands and turns to look at her mother. Jess pushes away from the counter and waits.
"You're going to miss your bus," Lorelai informs her daughter.
"Oh," Rory comments, looking at her watch to confirm the veracity of this statement. Pulling her coat on, she says 'goodbye' to Jess and Lorelai. Luke has put a donut in a carryout bag for her and she thanks him gratefully. Making her way towards the diner's door, she suddenly stops and spins around.
"Hey," she exclaims looking at Jess, who smirks to cover his pleasure at being singled out for her continued attention. "About Cat's Cradle-"
"I'll read it today," he finishes for her.
She flashes him a dazzling smile, which leaves him feeling embraced. Then she is gone.
Lorelai watches, wishing the smile had been for her and hating the cold feeling in her stomach that she knows is jealousy. Her eyes slide across the diner and land on Jess.
Jess knows she's watching him, can feel the gravity of her intense stare. Lorelai is worried. He knows this too. He turns and walks into the kitchen without acknowledging her unspoken question. 'Are you going to hurt my daughter?' her eyes would have asked had he permitted it. It's a question he can't afford. The prospect of Lorelai reading anything other than a firm 'no' in his eyes is too risky. . . .and too possible.
. ~ . ~ . ~ .
Rory sits on her bed absentmindedly playing with a highlighter pen. Her Chilton uniform is draped over the back of a chair and she wears a velour sweat suit for comfort. Focused on the textbook in her lap, notebooks, assorted papers and other open textbooks litter her bed. Without prelude, her studying is interrupted by the phone.
"Hello?"
"Hey," he says, his voice sounding slightly scratchy, like liquid sand.
"Jess," she smiles, putting the highlighter down and leaning back into her pillows.
"What are you doing?"
"Homework."
"Huh," he comments, pausing. "You didn't come in for dinner."
"Yeah, I planned to but Mom picked up a pizza," she explains. "We can't eat the Chinese food."
"Right," he answers, not bothering to ask for clarification.
"We ate early because Mom has that Inn thing tonight with Sookie."
"Inn thing?"
"Another 'How to run your own Inn' seminar. Most of them are wastes of time, at least according to Mom, but this one has something to do with financial planning and advertising. She and Sookie thought it might actually be worthwhile."
"So, you're by yourself tonight."
"Yeah, I'm by myself tonight," she responds grinning, guessing where the conversation is heading.
"Do you think that's safe?"
"What?"
"Being at home alone."
"Well, there was that pack of rabid wolves roaming the streets, but I thought I'd, you know," she pauses, teasing him, "stay off the porch."
"I don't know. I heard they could pick locks."
"Wow. Those are really smart wolves."
"Tell me about it. Maybe I should come over. Make sure they don't get in your house."
Rory rolls onto her stomach, smiling broadly. "Maybe you should."
"OK."
"OK," she repeats.
"So, I'll come over."
"OK," she breathes.
She spends the few minutes it takes him to walk from the diner to her house putting away her homework and gathering her scattered papers. Just as she is finishing, she hears him knock.
Opening the door, Rory finds Jess smiling shyly on the porch.
"If it isn't the Big Bad Wolf himself," she says in greeting,
Jess laughs and stares at his feet. Looking up at her through a curtain of thick dark lashes, he gives her his very best 'you can trust me' look.
"Put that away," she tells him opening the door so he can enter. "I know that look. I'm immune to it now."
"Really?" he replies, a challenge tinting the edges of his voice. Without warning, he grabs her wrist, pulls her to him powerfully and kisses her. Her free hand lands unceremoniously on his chest as his arm encircles her waist. Caught off guard, Rory is slow to react. Mind spinning, she feels his tongue enter her mouth and leans against him for support.
It's a visceral, physical sensation, being kissed by him. Her bones melt and she feels shaken, dizzy. Every damn time! It would almost be annoying if it weren't so amazing, so addictive. She wants to match him move for move, make him weak like he makes her. So far in their relationship, all she's been able to do is hold on for dear life. Dear sanity is probably more like it. She's beginning to think he does it on purpose. He tortures her with his lips and she sinks like a stone.
Slowly, the haze lifts. She comprehends that if she's constantly drowning, constantly falling under his spell, she can't make him lose control. With astonishing clarity, she realizes that's exactly what she wants to do. She's being played, she knows this now, but it's so expertly done, she decides she almost doesn't mind. Almost.
Moving her hand from his chest to his shoulder to steady herself, she feels his muscles tense beneath her touch. Understanding dawning, she is stunned to discover that he is as affected by her touch as she is by his. Deciding to - no needing to - assert some control over him, she cups his cheek with her hand and captures his lower lip between her teeth. When he stills, she slowly, tantalizingly teases his mouth with her tongue. At once, they both realize that she is learning. Immediately, he releases her captured wrist and with both hands pulls her closer to him. In a rush of pure desire, he matches her body to his. Summoning more bravado than she actually feels, her newly freed hand tugs his t-shirt out of his jeans and slips underneath it.
"Rory-" he breathes against her mouth.
Kissing him deeper, she trails her hand along his stomach muscles, fingering the skin just above the waist of his pants. They are slung low on his hips and she feels the top of his boxers under her searching fingers. A small moan, half desire and half protest, erupts from the back of his throat. Without thinking, she tucks a finger underneath the elastic band of his boxers and pulls her hand across his stomach again. Abruptly, she is pushed away.
Startled, she looks at him. His hands grip her biceps tightly. His pupils are dilated, his eyes, dangerous. They stand, eyes locked, for several heartbeats. In this frozen moment, they could be statues but for the labored rise and fall of their chests. For the first time, Rory recognizes the full potential of her power and the possibility - mildly frightening to them both - that she could seduce him if she tried hard enough. Rory smiles, a blush creeping onto her cheeks. Groaning, Jess pulls her back into his arms and rests his forehead against hers.
"Rory Gilmore," he whispers, closing his eyes, "the things you do to me."
"Like what?" she asks, interested.
"Make me read Kurt Vonnegut novels for one," he answers, releasing her and walking into the living room.
"What did you think of Cat's Cradle?" she asks, following him.
Eyeing the jumbled couch cushions, he says, "I think the wolves may have gotten here before me after all."
Helping him slide the cushions back in their proper places, she responds, "No wolves. Just Mom."
"Same difference," he mutters under his breath.
"So, Cat's Cradle?" she prompts.
He sits on the couch and says, "There is no cat. There is no cradle."
Deciding that a little distance between them would be a good thing right now, she plops on the other end of the sofa. Tilting her head to one side, she says, "Wait. Did you finish it already?"
Jess gives her a look that tells her she should know better than to ask questions like that.
"Impressive," she smiles.
"I've decided to convert to Bokononism," he announces.
"Jess Mariano finds religion? Next you'll tell me you have some Ice-9 in your back pocket."
"A religion that admits it's based entirely on lies makes perfect sense to me," he grins, reaching across the sofa to pull her feet into his lap.
Rory watches him pull off her socks and giggles, "What are you doing?"
"If I'm going to be a Bokononist, I should start paying more attention to your feet, don't you think?"
"I suppose," she sighs as Jess's strong hands begin massaging her feet. Settling herself back into the sofa, she asks, "Do you think humans need to struggle to be happy?"
Kneading her feet between his palms, Jess grows thoughtful. "I don't know. There is something basically human about challenging authority and overcoming adversity."
"But," she counters, "don't you think that the citizens of Vonnegut's San Lorenzo would have been better served by a government that actually tried to improve their situation than by one that outlawed their made-up religion so they'd have something to rebel against? It seems a huge distraction from the real issues."
"Sounds like government as usual to me."
"Oh, c'mon!"
"I'm serious. What do you think politics are?"
"An attempt by the people to unite to improve their lot in life," she answers mildly, enjoying her impromptu foot massage.
"How about a big massive effort to divide and distract the people from the important issues so that nothing ever really changes?"
"Tsk, tsk," she smiles at him, clicking her tongue. "I bet such a cynical outlook is against the laws of Bokonon."
"Not at all," he smirks. "But then again, my people have always been misunderstood by outsiders."
Relaxing fully into the sofa, she sighs, "I think you'd make a good Bokononist. That feels really nice."
He smiles as his hands continue to rub her feet. She shuts her eyes and moves her arms above her head, stretching like a cat. Jess watches as a strip of skin on her midriff becomes deliciously visible. It's a part of her body he's never seen before and his eyes drink it in. He wants to look away but finds he can't. The gentle expansion and contraction of her flat stomach as she breathes is mesmerizing.
Based on her performance in the foyer, he wonders briefly if she's giving him a glimpse of this unexplored part of herself on purpose. Truthfully, he knows she isn't. Although he tries hard not to, his mind imagines what her skin there tastes like. Touching her feet suddenly isn't enough anymore.
Rory stares at his face. She's not sure what he finds so fascinating about her stomach but she knows things have shifted. His face is now deadly serious. Something flutters inside her, a small flicker, a faint yearning. This is how it happens, she thinks as she watches him want her. This is how people lose control.
Cursing himself for his weakness, he wills himself to look at her face. He is not entirely surprised to find her studying him. He realizes that she knows he wants to touch her. When she doesn't look away, he understands that permission has been granted.
Releasing her feet, he slowly moves across the couch. His hands alight on the bottom of her sweat jacket. He looks at her face one last time to be sure this is OK. Her eyes reflect only mild curiosity and simple need. He returns his attention to her abdomen and tenderly pushes her jacket up her torso, stopping just below her breasts.
Slowly, carefully, he splays one hand on the exposed flesh. She shivers. His fingers trace her ribs as if he is counting each one. He knows he shouldn't be doing this. He should stop and discuss Vonnegut or some other safe subject but he can't. His index finger traces an arrow down the center of her body and circles her navel. Unable to resist, his tongue follows the same route. She shudders again.
Shifting so that his body is positioned directly above her legs, he lowers his head and kisses her stomach. His lips and hands caress and explore this uncharted territory, moving in tandem, touching then tasting. Leisurely with infinite patience, he learns about her, watches her reactions. Rory bites her lip to keep from crying out.
Jess finds the pulse in her stomach and longs to trace its route through the rest of her body. Instead, he tips his head, and sucks the tender skin beside her hipbone as his thumbs hook under the waistband of her sweatpants. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, he eases them down an inch. Unable to keep still, Rory arches slightly beneath him.
Registering her response, Jess lifts his eyes to look at her face. She looks beautiful.
He doesn't want to frighten her, or push her because he knows she isn't ready for more than this. He just wants to make her feel. Make her feel him. His eyes hungrily caress the flesh formerly hidden by her sweat pants. He leans over her to draw teasing circles on this sensitive skin with his tongue.
Despite her efforts at control, Rory feels herself slipping completely under his spell. Wanting to touch him, she moves her hands to his head and runs her fingers through his dark curls. Sighing, Jess finds there isn't anything more satisfying than what he is doing to her.
A car door shuts outside. The sound registers vaguely with Jess as he momentarily pauses. Rory opens her eyes to look at him.
"Someone's coming," he mutters.
He reaches up and pulls her jacket down, mourning the loss of the sight of her perfect skin.
Rory makes a small sound of protest. "I don't hear anything," she says, reaching for him, greedy for his touch.
Jess places a quick kiss on her lips and pulls her into a seated position.
"Lorelai's home," he warns.
He has just enough time to return to his own side of the couch before the door opens and the elder Gilmore walks inside.
"Rory?" she calls, taking off her jacket in the foyer.
"Here," Rory answers.
Lorelai looks into the living room and spies Jess. He's as far from Rory as he could possibly be and still be on the same sofa with her. Noting his rumpled appearance, she greets, "Hi Jess."
"Hey," he greets in return, running a hand through his hair. Standing he says, "I was just leaving."
"Of course you were," Lorelai responds, regarding him with a knowing expression on her face.
Doing her best to calm her wild heart, pounding so loud she's certain Lorelai can hear it, Rory says, "I'll walk you to the door." She stands on spaghetti legs. This sudden interruption makes no sense to her and tears of confused disappointment spring to her eyes. She blinks them away and follows Jess.
Lorelai waits for her in the living room. It seems to her that lately she's constantly observing Rory from a distance. A pang of loneliness slices through her and she wonders if this is a sad harbinger of what lies ahead. She sees Jess places his hands on Rory's hips before brushing a chaste kiss against her mouth. Inaudible words pass between them before Rory closes the door and walks back into the house alone.
Edging closer to her bedroom, Rory waves at her mother, "Night Mom."
"Not so fast," Lorelai says, making a concerted effort to keep her voice light and normal.
Rory freezes. Folding her arms across her stomach, she nervously looks at her feet.
"Time for a little chat," Lorelai states, patting the sofa cushion next to her.
Rory begrudgingly enters the living room and sits next to Lorelai. The two are momentarily silent as they gather their thoughts.
At length, Lorelai begins, "I'm really trying hard to hold up my end of our bargain."
Rory casts a sidelong glance at her mother as she waits for her to continue.
"For the record, Jess is not my favorite kid but I know he's your boyfriend, and I know you like him and I know I promised to give him a chance so. . . I'm giving him a chance."
"I know," Rory says.
"But," Lorelai continues, "at the risk of losing my status as the world's coolest Mom, I need to tell you that I'm concerned."
"Everything is OK, Mom."
"Honey, I respect your privacy and have faith in your decisions but I need to know more about what's going on between you and Jess. Just hearing you say 'Everything is OK' isn't giving me the peace of mind that I need to honestly believe that everything really is OK."
"What do you need?"
"I need you to tell me what Jess was doing here tonight and what you were doing with him that is keeping you from looking me in the eyes right now."
Rory blushes furiously at this.
Looking up at her mother, she begins, "He called and we chatted and he came over."
"Uh huh," Lorelai replies. "And?"
Rory looks down again. Looking up, she grins guiltily and blurts out, "It's just embarrassing. I'm not used to talking about. . . you know."
"Sex?" Lorelai says, holding her breath.
"Kissing," Rory corrects.
"Oh, thank God," Lorelai exhales. "When you said 'you know' my mind immediately leapt to the worst case scenario."
"Sorry."
"No problem. Just. . . just. . . just don't use words like 'you know' to describe things that you do with Jess because it's likely to give me a heart attack."
"OK, let's consider that first and only time."
"Thank you. Now, what basically happened tonight?"
"Well," Rory falteringly begins, "he hasn't seen any part of me that wouldn't be visible on a public beach."
The obvious innocence of this admission makes Lorelai grin. "And those parts of you would be?"
"My feet and my stomach," Rory admits, blushing again.
Lorelai smiles and her shoulders visibly relax. Gazing at the wall, she leans back on the sofa.
"You know,' Lorelai muses, "I thought potty training was hard."
"But compared to this?"
"A walk in the park."
"Sorry about that," Rory sighs.
Lorelai smiles sadly. "I love you, you know."
"Yeah, I know," Rory says. Her eyes tear again as she thinks about how her relationship with her mother is going to change, has already changed. Impulsively, she lies on the sofa and rests her head on her mother's lap. Closing her eyes she says, "I love you too."
. ~ . ~ . ~ .
A/N: I would love a review. Thanks!