Author's Note: I am truly shocked and grateful to all of the feedback I received. I adore it, and I promise that as long as you read, I will continue to write. I love Rory/Logan and have gotten inspired to write for them. I hope you enjoy. And I wanted to add, to the person that commented she hoped Logan and Rory wouldn't get drunk: I promise you they won't. I don't think it's in character for Rory either. In fact, it's two OTHER people that get drunk and have a little party… but that's later in the story (grins wickedly). Thank you!!

CHAPTER 2

We did not change as we grew older; we just became more clearly ourselves.

Lynn Hall

If asked why she wanted to be a journalist, Rory would jump in to answer because she was probably Christiane Amanpour's biggest fan.

She'd grown up a cultured girl. She'd learned of the world through the confinement of the town that was Stars Hollow. Ever since she was a little girl she'd known of Faulkner, Dumas, Thoreau, and of Kierkegaard. Had grown a fascination for science and history (a respect for Isaac Asimov and a new love for Dan Brown), and even now, a college student, Rory would dedicate at least one day of the week to her grandfather, Richard. They would learn and talk about history, politics, society, economy, and of art.

She had always admired and adored her grandfather's passion for knowledge, similar to Rory's. And one Sunday a month, Richard Gilmore and his closest friends—all a part of the elitist group in Hartford—would gather around his oval table. Emily had bought it for him, imported from India, the majesty of the wood and the beauty of its antiquity was definitely something to behold.

Richard Gilmore had many powerful allies, and some very close and treasured friends. A respectable figure and a prominent businessman, he was admired for his brilliancy. He and his friends might as well have had their own secret society. All of them would play an instrument; they would talk about politics, of history and philosophy, or Richard Gilmore's favorite subject, finance.

A lot of his speeches to Rory—be it his political frustration or his economical rants, came flashing to her mind as she stared blankly at her computer screen. And nothing would come of it.

She loved the class she was writing the essay for, as well. College fit her, maybe in different ways then other people. She didn't party every Thursday through Sunday, didn't go around having casual sex, and she definitely wasn't joining a sorority, but it still fascinated her, the environment she was surrounded in constantly. She loved seeing the doctors-in-training sitting around in the benches over going their study notes. She enjoyed seeing the poets sitting down in the trees sipping their lattes and passionately discussing Donne. She liked the carefree, easy going manner in which the sport team would horse around with each other, running from one side of the campus lawn to the other. There were myriads of people, all of different shapes and colors. They all seemed to be having fun in their own distinct way.

Noticing her coffee mug was close to being finished, she stood up and stretched while she did so, a yawn escaping her. She'd awakened in the wee hours of the morning, suddenly inspired to begin her paper, and had hit a rough patch through and had stared at the screen until she saw her pink-furred clock (courtesy of one Lorelai Gilmore) was blinking near nine. Eager to get away from her room for a while, she grabbed her jacket and headed out her of her room.

Rory peered towards Paris, who seemed to have picked out a new-hobby-for-the-week. Knitting, apparently, was another form of relaxation and mind stimulation. And so, she was sitting cross-legged on the couch, listening to a meditation tape and all the while attempting disastrously to knit a mantelpiece. No matter how many times she seemed to ferociously put the needles together, the result was fruitless and the yarn did not seem to be joining any time soon.

Seeing as how Paris would probably blame this mishap on Rory's appearance, she decided to make a bee-line towards the door, leaving before she could be questioned.

"Gilmore."

Rory groaned inwardly, hesitating. She could, of course, feign deafness for a moment there and sprint towards the door. Run to the library and maybe catch up with Marty. And instead, she turned around and turned to Paris expectantly. "Hey."

Her eyes finally focused on Paris' surroundings. And it wasn't the meditation tape or Paris' lethal hands trying obtusely to knit that caught her attention.

It was the millions of red, white, and a mixture of red-white roses that adorned the entire living room in different vases and shapes.

"Is it your birthday today, Gilmore? I was quite surprised because I have nothing of your birthday being today recorded in my agenda," she inquired, raising her meticulous eyebrow as her slim legs crossed and uncrossed themselves until she found her preferred position.

Rory frowned. "It's not my birthday… why?"

Paris shrugged. "These flowers seem to be a gift to you. And a rather big present was sent to you along with them."

She tried hiding the shock, tugging at her long sleeves. "Really?"

Paris sighed, and it was Rory's cue to know she was becoming frustrated. "Yes, really."

Ace:

I gallantly admit defeat.

I appraise your skilled tactics.

L

"Rory? Rory!"

"What?"

"Why do you have such a ridiculously goofy smile on your face?"

Rory attempted to put on a serious face. "What do you mean?"

Her eyes narrowed to the center of her couch, where a gift box lay with a beautiful red bow.

"Over-the-top. That's Logan, eh?" Paris asked sarcastically. "You know what they say about men being like roses, Rory… you need to watch out for the pricks!"

"I didn't say they were from Logan."

"You didn't need to," Paris sniped, Rory's obtuseness garnering another eye roll from Paris. "Unlike some people who are encased in their wonderful denial and blind naivety, I don't need to be hit with a hammer to know if was Prince Charming's blatant attempt at seduction. You really should read a book, Rory. Or at least do us all a favor by buying yourself a clue."

Rory ignored her, taking her gift and closing the door on Paris, sitting on the bed and carefully opening the box, that had attached a beautiful red rose on the corner. She gasped, almost berated herself for being so emotionally full at the sight. Inside of the box were a beautiful, new pair of ice skates.

And, not for the first time, Rory had to wonder what Logan Huntzberger was up to.

88888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888

"Dude, no."

"Uh, yeah."

"Nuh-uh."

"Totally."

"Jennifer Lopez is so not hotter than Beyonce."

"Beyonce is just a cheap imitation!"

"J-Lo was a rough draft!"

"Beyonce's tits are bigger!"

Logan sighed with frustration, , drumming his fingers idly against the table as he muted Colin and Finn's conversation. He was absolutely certain one had to pass this way if they wanted to get to the library. And if he knew Rory Gilmore, she always wanted to be in that damn library. He was anxious to see her face after his little surprise.

"Hey, Logan."

Annoyed, Logan turned around to face Finn. "What!?"

"The cute blonde is staring at you again."

"So?"

"So?" Finn asked in disbelief. "Dude, that girl's fine. And, if you're thinking about your reporter girl? She's, you know, actually smart. What's she gonna do with a player like you?"

"Thanks," Logan retorted sarcastically.

"I'm just sayin'. The blonde's dee-lish. And obviously, by the looks she's withering your way, she's looking to have a good time with you. I know all the signs. And she doesn't have enough neurons to know you're nothing but trouble."

"Ever thought about the fact I'm not interested?"

"Logan, have I taught you nothing?" Finn asked with irritation. "You never say no to free sex, you ass face, especially free sex with a hot girl. I thought I'd never have to even say this. Maybe to Colin, but never to you!"

Colin turned to him, wounded. "Hey!"

Logan momentarily ignored Colin's ego, and turned to Finn.

"What about you?"

"What about me?"

"Seems you're not so popular anymore, bro. Haven't heard of any latest conquest. Aren't there any more girls stupid enough to take your sorry ass?"

Finn sneered, "I beg to differ."

Logan grinned cheekily. "I'm sure you beg for many things."

Finn slapped the back of Logan's head with strong force.

Before Logan could pounce, he rubbed his head and noticed the awaited brunette walking towards the coffee stand. He unconsciously grinned as he ignored his friend's questions, walking up towards her.

"Morning Ace, did you like my gift?" Logan asked, jumping easily into the conversation.

"Thank you for the flowers and skates, Logan, they're really nice but…"

"Don't swoon on me now," Logan teased.

She glared at him. "I did not swoon. There was no swooning."

"In effect, there was a little swooning."

She turned her piercing blue eyes towards his. "What are you doing?" she asked. Her voice held no anger nor condescension, just complete bafflement and wonderment.

"Do you always think everyone has an ulterior motive for everything that they do?"

"Well… no."

"Just me."

Rory shifted uncomfortably. "Logan, we're completely different."

"Well, yes."

"And I could never be friends with you and your posse."

"Posse?" he mimicked, mocking innocently her choice of words. "Okay, look, if you gave us a chance, a real chance, I'm sure you'd love us."

She smirked up at him, arms crossed in similar stance as he. "Listen, buddy. I'd have to be deranged. Mentally incapacitated, cerebrally impeded, lost of all sense of judgment and on top of that, drunk."

"Ouch." Logan made a face, as he twisted an imaginary dagger in his heart. He later straightened, giving her an infuriating, albeit delectable, grin. "Eh, that's all right. I'm a patient man, Ace."

"Logan? Don't think I've forgotten what you and your friends did. Psychology class? Something along the lines of…" she paused, trying her best to attempt an Australian accept, " 'Damn it Gilmore, give 'em back their balls?' "

Logan chuckled again, just remembering. "They are not that bad."

Almost as if a cruel joke on fate's part, Finn and Colin were passing by them, waving at Rory with a smile before continuing on with their antics. Their voices were loud and clearly trying to please the crowd, who was eating it all up. Their intended target was Doyle, whom Logan had mentioned was a little uptight—Finn and Colin were working on correcting such notion.

"Oh, man!" Colin breathed, covering his face.

"Damn it, Doyle let one rip, ladies and gents…"

"… and clearly he ate something foul and nasty. Doyle, lay low on the tacos!"

"Yeah, Doyle, lay off the cheese."

Finn looked towards the girls sitting near them. "Somebody spank me!"

…case and point.

Rory raised her eyebrow, daring him to prove her wrong. Though it was satisfying to see her boss so flustered.

"Okay, so Finn and Colin are a little… special. And, yeah Finn has his own special name for his supposed mojo and yeah, his sole cerebral function is brain farts but…" his voice trailed, a smile on his own face appearing as he saw her giggle softly. "But they're good guys."

"You know… the way you hate me really wounds me," Logan commented, blocking her way as his face was inches away from hers. He was currently sporting a very adorable smile on his face. She however, would not admit this. She would never tell him this smile made him look boyish and sexy all at the same time, that his eyes grew darker, fiercer somehow, and made females want to pound on him. Because that would mean defeat—and she'd never be defeated by 'Logan Huntzberger, all hail the golden boy.'

Rory sighed. "Logan, I can't accept your presents."

"You didn't ever expect anyone giving you such lavish presents? I guess Marty is a little far behind on knowing how to please his woman, huh?"

She was chewing her lip, lost in her own reflections as a blush reached her cheeks. It was odd, but endearing, to see there were still females that blushed. He wondered, definitely not for the firs time, what way he'd use to kiss her—would he worship her mouth in ways she'd only dreamed of? Would it be frantic and longing? Or methodically, reverently exploring her mouth, making her whimper? He stared longingly at her soft lips, knowing they'd be the end of him one day. He'd probably want to make her knees weak—an incessant hunger but making sure he was… taking care of her. Like he secretly wanted to. He really wanted to explore every inch—

"Logan..."

"What?"

She was taken aback by his far away tone. "It's a lot of money."

"Eh."

"Spent on me."

"Most definitely."

She stopped their quick banter to stare at him with confusion. "Why?"

The playful smirk evaporated from his face, and the dance his eyes were holding seemed to come to a halt. He stared at her pensively for a minute, and she had to remind herself to breath. He tucked a strand of Rory's dark hair behind her ear, shaking his head in an almost humored pain as his eyes changed on a whim. It had gone from tender amusement to reverent contemplation to protective wonderment to confusing annoyance. Just why, exactly, was this girl so alluring to him? He'd been in the presence of other beautiful girls before. Some older, some far more worldly and all of them definitely more experienced. Why was she so different from them? Why did she manage to get to him?

His voice was filled with unguarded affection, and almost took her aback with its emotion. "Silly girl."

"Logan—"

"I'm a Huntzberger. Half the time I get money thrown at me, so much I don't even need. If I want to make a nice gesture then shouldn't I be able to, no ulterior motive?"

"Nice gesture is donating money to an orphanage or a hospital. Over-the-top displays of… of…"

"Affection?" he interjected, a playful grin dancing around his face.

Rory rolled her eyes. "Bribery fits better."

"Why is it so hard for you to believe I have good intentions?"

"Because you never do?"

Logan sighed with frustration. "You're accepting them."

She stopped fidgeting to stare at him. "I can't, Logan."

"My family donates a hefty sum to all and any foundations that they find. Not for their good, kind, noble hearts, mind you. It just comes with the old rich venue—you have, you help. Keeps you in the good name and all. I plan on giving you things like these, whether you like it or not, Lorelai Leigh Gilmore. And what's more is you will accept them, because I most certainly will not take them back."

Rory stared at him with wide-eyed wonder. "Wait a second—"

"Furthermore, a car will pick you up at your house tomorrow—punctuality is key, if I remember correctly—at eight o'clock and those skates will really come in handy. Wear something casual but warm, of course," he finished, flashing his pearly whites, charmingly resting his hands in his pockets as he turned to walk away.

"Logan!" she called after him, stunned he had rendered her speechless.

"I'll see you tomorrow, Ace!"

She would be damned if she let him get the last word this time, as well. "LOGAN!"

He finally turned around, surprised at her tone.

She walked towards him, until they were eye to eye.

All he knew and felt was her body pressed on his, the faint smell of her hair, of strawberries and vanilla, the soft contact of her arm with his. She was getting under his skin. And it was a bad idea.

How on earth did she manage to stay so poised when he felt so stupidly nervous and confused inside? How had he turned into a high-strung incoherent idiot?

And finally, she graced him with a smile. "Logan? I don't hate you at all."