THE OBLIVIOUS MODE
By Yih

Chapter 4

Yale Note: Trying to write a novel makes keeping a steady job hard. Writing hours are weird. Besides Rory makes pretty nice money for the limited hours she works.

-

"You and Marty are serious, aren't you?"

"Why do you ask?"

"It's been what, nine months?" He stuffed his hands into his pockets. "Any thoughts of the future and whatnot?"

"Like what?"

"Like getting married and having babies."

I blinked. That was like climbing up to the top floor of a high rise from the ground level that Marty and I were on. "I haven't."

"I think it's heading in that direction."

I didn't. "Why do you think that?"

"He called you three times this morning on my line, and God knows how many times he called you on your mobile."

"He called 7 times in all."

"Don't you think that means something?"

"We didn't talk any on Saturday," I pointed out. "And he merely wanted to let me know when he was getting back. Who knows when he was going to get another free moment? You know how his band mates keep him otherwise occupied."

"He basically lives with us," Logan stated blandly. "I don't think he spends half the time he does in his apartment that he does at our penthouse."

"You're exaggerating."

"The last time the kitchen was really used for cooking, it was Marty that cooked."

That was true, very true, but only because neither of us couldn't stomach the thought of eating anything either of us had cooked. It was takeout all the way when we didn't want the hassle of restaurant waiting. "Marty cooks well, and we don't."

"The point I'm trying to make is," his shoulders tensed and his back straightened even more, "that Marty wouldn't live with us or cook for us unless he was serious about you."

"I don't think he's that serious," I whispered. We were good friends that had decided to get together for the hell of it. If it went well, then it went well. If it didn't, oh well. It was our experimentation. Marty's and mine. "We're a carefree couple."

"You might have once been, but I don't think you are anymore."

"You forget it started as an experiment to see if Marty and I could get together with the opposite sex and make it work. It was weird, our attraction to each other, though it definitely wasn't totally out there. There had been girls before me, and there was a guy before Marty. And…"

"And," he stared at his nails, "there is something there."

"Yeah, there is."

"And you still don't think it's serious?"

"Not marriage happening or baby making serious."

"It's getting there."

I shrugged. Maybe it was and maybe it wasn't. I'd think about it if it got there. What was the point in worrying about it now? "Who knows?"

"No one." Logan glanced at his Rolex. I knew what time it was. "It's 12:10 and mass starts at 12:30." He smiled apologetically. "Would you like to meet for lunch afterwards?"

"Barney's?"

"Barney's."

-

Barney's was nice. But the ¼ Price Bookstore was wonderful like lunch had been wonderful. Logan was not a fan of used anything. He was complaining, not in words but in attitude. He was almost sneering, but his etiquette lessons on how to always be the model of propriety prevented it. I giggled inside. He diligently carried the finds I found, the basement bargain books, as far away from his person as he possibly could.

"You and books," he uttered with resignation. "You and used books."

"I'm saving my hard earned cash," I muttered. As if he even knew how to be thrifty. He was wearing at least a thousand dollars worth of slacks and a polo shirt. "Those books," I gestured to the pile, "if you bought it new would cost like $40, and I'm getting it for about $10!"

"But they're old."

I sniffed. "But I'm poor."

"If you'd just let me…"

"I don't want you to!"

He sighed. "Shouldn't your boyfriend be the one lugging these books around?"

"He's in Boston."

"I'm the alternate, eh?"

I knew what he was getting at. Logan wanted a damn ego boost. To give or not to give? I needed the ride back if I kept on with the way I was going. It was a long mile or so back. "Nope."

He smirked. "You're using me as labor, that's why you're being so generous with your words."

It was hard to stroke his ego when he could see through my attempts at sycophancy. "You forgot the car you provide," I quipped. Might as well admit the attempt and get him to laugh. Yet Logan didn't laugh enough. "First class in your CL500, it doesn't get much better than that."

He chuckled. "You are quite the user."

"Yup." I piled a few more books on top of the slightly teetering stack. "How many more do you think you can carry?"

"None."

"Logan…"

"A few more."

I grinned. "Good." My eyes shifted to the Classics section. "I've got an entire section to go." He groaned. "And it's my favorite."

Poor Logan, he had thought I was done. What with the stack of books he was
cradling as far from his person as possible, it must be scary to think that I had only just begun. But Classics were Classics, and it had been ages since I had splurged my hard earned money on books. After putting up with an obsessive complex and bratty kids, I deserved a reward didn't I?

"Rory, it's 6:45."

"Stop bothering me." I was perusing the section like a hunter on a mission. Sometimes back synopses weren't good enough. Sometimes to get a feel for the buying potential of a book, I needed to open it up and read a few paragraphs, and even a few pages. "I'm reading."

"We've been here for almost three hours."

"Didn't you hear me? I'm reading."

The impolite git kicked my shin. I glowered. "I thought you told me you wanted to be on time to Marty's."

I did. I looked at my watch. "It's only 5:45."

"You can't tell time with that stupid watch. It's 6:45." He turned his wrist over in an odd twisted pose that let me see what his watch said, 6:45. Bloody hell. "15 more minutes?"

He sighed. "All right, but don't blame me if you're late getting to Marty's."

-

Seven tulips were lying on the table when I got to Marty's flat. I had brought some takeout, some Italian food that he was fond of, but my mouth began to water when I took in the delicious aroma of Marty cooking. Every time Marty cooked, it was a blessing.

"Darling, I'm so proud you're on time," he declared, slipping out of the small
kitchen with a quaint apron tied around his waist as he swept me into his eager arms. "Do you like my surprise?"

I opened my mouth, closed it, and thought for a moment. I was supposed to arrive here before him, so he had intended on coming back early and hadn't wanted me around while he'd been cooking me a stomach indulging meal. What was the occasion? "Of course, I do," I responded a tad late, and I saw the flicker of bemusement in his eyes. He knew that I didn't have a clue what this was about.

"Aren't girls suppose to be good at knowing the secret purposes behind surprises like they're suppose to know the dates of important events in a relationship?" he teased. He knew I was horrible at remember our anniversaries. His soft lips brushed my cheeks as his arms tightened around me. "Do you want to think about it or would you like me to tell you?"

The seven tulips were a clue. Today was the last Sunday in June. Think Rory, think. The number seven was significant, but for the life of me I didn't know why. We hadn't dated seven months ago, but what else would we be celebrating? "The seven times we've uh… had sex?"

"You're guessing."

"I am," I admitted. "Was I at least close?"

"Somewhat." He kissed my nose and I wiggled restlessly against the confines of his embrace. "I think we've had sex more than seven times."

I groaned. I wasn't close at all. "What do the seven tulips represent?"

"Besides the seven times that I called you this morning?" he joked, holding me
tighter. I pulled away from his arm length prison and prodded his stomach in a tell me gesture. "Or the seven times that I've thought about you in the last hour?" I smiled. "We've been together nearly nine months, and this is the seventh time that I'll say I love you, Rory."

I was paralyzed. The only times he had said I love you before had been in the euphoria of orgasm. It was hard to believe that it was anything other than an exclamation of the moment type thing. If he was keeping track, and I certainly wasn't--- then it meant more than I thought it had.

"I know I've said it six times when we were making love, but I meant them."
Marty read me well, almost as well as Logan.

"Are you sure? I still see you staring at Jamie's ass sometimes," I teased.

Marty dropped the plate he'd been holding. It shattered. Odd wasn't the right word. It was bizarre. I wasn't clumsy, and I was far clumsier than Marty was. He had a grace that rivaled Logan's. Mom always said my tongue was scathing. I ought to have reined it in. Jamie was a sore subject. I ought to know. I knew all about it.

"Rory, darling," he whispered hoarsely, "I'm serious."

Fuck. My initial thought had been, yes, he had to be serious. To hear him say it was dreaded confirmation. Love was a sticky issue. It came with all these sort of expectations that were on top of normal couple ones. Was I ready for this? I stared; he stared. Didn't matter, he was and it was there. I could hear my inner Logan telling me told you so. Another complication to my complex life. Were had the simplicity gone?

"I know."

His shoulders tightened. "And?"

"I don't know."


TBC.

A/N: Let me know what you think. No updates 'til after finals, sometime next week. And those that have reviewed, you don't know how much I appreciate it!