"Please don't tell me you're still mooning over that blonde playboy scum!" Paris entered the room with her usual bluster.

"I'm not mooning, I'm wallowing. There is a definite distinction between unconscious dreaming about the playboy scum and willful, indulgent thought about said playboy scum," Rory replied as she squirted chocolate sauce on a giant marshmallow and stuffed the entire thing in her mouth.

Paris eyed the half-eaten pizza, boxes of Chinese food, ice cream, cheese spray, cookie dough, whipped cream, and red vines with unabashed disgust. "Well, whatever you're doing it's revolting. It's been almost two weeks since you unyoked yourself from Huntzberger. I hope you know that your metabolism won't stay this way forever. You keep wallowing like this and pretty soon you'll find that you're 40-years old and seven dress sizes larger."

"Gee, Paris, thanks for your concern." A part of her knew that Paris was right, however. She couldn't go on moping over Logan indefinitely. But it was too hard to let go. Once the wallowing period was over, Rory would have to put Logan behind her once and for all. And she just wasn't ready, or able, to do that yet.

"Are those salt and vinegar potato chips?" Paris took a seat on the couch and grabbed the family-sized bag of chips.

Rory looked over at her roommate in mild surprise. "Why aren't you at Doyle's?"

"Those roommates of his are loud, inconsiderate sloths!" she waved her hands in an animated show of distaste. "I couldn't stand to stay there for one more night. Then when I nicely suggested that we come back here, Doyle had the audacity to pull some neanderthal act and demand that he and his woman stay where he decides they should stay. The blowhard!"

"He didn't!" Despite her current misery, a giggle escaped from Rory's lips at the mention of Paris doing anything "nicely." The image of Doyle standing up to an irate Paris threatened to start making her laugh uncontrollably. She definitely must have ingested too much sugar tonight.

"Yes, he did. The little gasbag. I was not about to set feminism back to the Stone Age, so I told him he can come crawling over here if wants to see me. Otherwise, he can expect to not have any sex. At least not from me. And it's damn good sex, let me tell you." Paris smiled smugly. "This sex withholding thing is quite empowering you know."

"Uh, Paris, please stop saying sex so many times in my presence," Rory groaned. "I'm going through enough trauma here."

"I can see that." Paris glanced at the television as she proceeded to wolf down chips at an alarming rate. "Are you seriously watching 'The Andy Griffith Show'? This is pathetic, even for you."

"Hey, I like Opie."

They watched in companionable silence as hilarious hijinks ensued involving Andy, Barney and Aunt Bee's kerosene cucumbers, also known as really awful homemade pickles.

Paris looked over at Rory. "What the hell did we just watch? We're college girls. It's Saturday night. What the hell did we just watch?"

"You're not thinking of calling Janet and Althea for more social advice, are you?"

"Oh, hell no," Paris replied. "I've had enough of their so-called advice. They would have us act coy, play games and pretend to be simpering females, which really only plays into the guy's hands. No, the male-female dynamic is a battlefield. And I'm prepared for mortal combat."

Rory didn't know whether to laugh or go buy herself some riot-gear. Paris looked as if she were about to storm the beaches of Normandy. "Easy there, General Patton. I think you can hold off on the guerilla warfare, at least for a little while. I'm sure Doyle will come around."

"I'm serious, Rory. In life and love, we must take no prisoners," Paris remarked thoughtfully. "Being in a relationship is like being a drill sergeant in the Marines. You have to break down the grunts during boot camp in order to build them up into warriors. As strong women, we need to tear down the boys and remake them into the men we want them to be."

"Aren't you getting a bit gung ho on the military metaphors? It sounds pretty extreme." Rory was starting to fear for Paris' sanity. She thought she saw a strange glint in her eye that was eerily reminiscent of Jack Nicholson in The Shining. "Personally, I wouldn't want to be a drill sergeant to anyone. What kind of relationship is that?"

"Oh, Rory, you're so naive. It's sweet really," Paris replied in typical condescending fashion, then sighed in that insufferable, yet strangely endearing, way of hers. No wonder Rory was heartbroken over Huntzberger. The poor girl clearly had no idea how to deal with a notoriously noncommittal ladies' man like Logan. "Look at what happened with you and the Yale Hefner," she commented vaguely.

Rory stiffened ever so slightly. "What do you mean?"

"Well, in polite terms, you didn't call him on his crap," Paris said pointedly.

When Rory didn't say anything, she continued. "You should have handed his ass to him on a silver platter. Instead, you gave him what no woman should ever give a man - an easy out. He probably danced back to his dorm, because you did all of his work for him. Really, Rory, that's almost grounds for getting kicked out of the Sisterhood. You should have made him squirm and get him to give you all kinds of stupid excuses." She paused dramatically for effect. "And then you hit him below the belt and let him know that he's not man enough for you and that he's weak and pathetic and, well, you get the picture. If you're going to break up with a guy, at least make him feel very very small when you do it. I can pretty much guarantee that you'd have felt better about it. It's a pretty cathartic process."

A light turned on somewhere in Rory's brain. Holy shit! Paris was actually making some sense. Logan had gotten off virtually scot-free. She never even really pushed the matter of his offensive behavior...sweet-talking her on the phone and then getting it on with some spider-legged Bond girl. How repulsive. All she said was a lame ass goodbye. Sure, she was emotionally paralyzed at the time, but looking back she now found it woefully pathetic. Rory found herself getting angry all over again.

"Oh my god, I think you're actually right, Paris," Rory breathed. "But, wait, don't you think Logan's had his share of angry females beating down his door and demanding explanations?"

Paris shot her another "poor Rory, you're so naive look." "Oh, I'm sure he has. You can't be a cad like Huntzberger and not infuriate some unfortunate, hapless female along the way. The trick is to not be pitiful and beseeching, but to be tenacious and unyielding when you let him have it. You have to play hardball. It's the only thing guys understand."

"So, who died and made you Gloria Steinem?" Rory asked, a bit bewildered by Paris' newfound "female power."

Paris merely shrugged. "I just decided it was time to go after what I want and plow over anything that gets in my way."

"Did you ditch Terrence again?"

"Sure have. His life coaching just wasn't doing anything for me anymore."

"Ahh, and it all falls into place." Rory smiled over at her roommate. Sometimes, she wondered how they managed to not kill each other. There were times when it still surprised her that they had become good friends. But now Rory couldn't imagine a Yale existence without Paris.

"You know, Rory, you have a perfect opportunity tonight to tell Huntzberger off once and for all."

"What?" Confronting Logan sounded good in theory, but, in reality, not so much.

"Apparently, his bosom buddy Finn is hosting some pre-Spring Break bash over at his dorm. Where've you been? The whole campus has been counting down to it all week."

"Spring Break's not for another month!"

A look of repugnance settled over Paris' features. "Yes, well, he must be getting started early. What a boozehound."

"Aww, I think you'd like Finn," Rory laughed, picturing Paris standing head to torso against Finn. "He may just be the General Lee to your General Grant."

Paris let out a loud, most unfeminine snort. "Let's hope my life never comes down to that. I'm destined for bigger, better, and, decidedly, more sober and intellectual battles. So," she said turning the subject back to Rory, "you want to go the party?"

"What! Are you high? No!" Okay, Paris had seriously lost it. "I don't want to go to some party where I'm sure Logan has his pick of gorgeous, cunning, supermodel types with legs up to here." Rory raised her hand high above her head for emphasis.

"C'mon, Rory, I'm bored. The party could be fun."

"You want to go to a party and have fun? Who are you and what have you done with Paris Gellar?" Rory shook her head vehemently. "And, no, I don't want to be your entertainment for the evening."

Paris sniffed huffily. "I want a chance to hone my female battle skills out in a natural social setting. And you should, too. Don't you want to show Huntzberger how great and fabulous you're doing without him? Well, you can pretend you're doing fabulous, anyway. Don't you want him to see what he's missing? Don't you want to laugh in his face and tell him what a deplorable, repugnant ass he is?"

"Yes. No. Maybe." Rory admitted, albeit confused about what she really wanted to do. "That sounds a lot like game playing, Paris. Are you sure you haven't been talking to Janet or Althea?"

A sigh heaved itself from Paris body. "It's not a game, Rory. Love is a battlefield."

"Great, now you're channeling Pat Benatar. My mother would be proud."

"Speaking of Lorelai," Paris said, knowing full well how to press Rory's buttons, "what would she do? She wouldn't let the guy get away with it. Lorelai would wipe the floor with anyone who treated her the way Huntzberger treated you. She'd at least confront him first."

"Ugh, you just had to play the mom card," Rory shot Paris a dirty look. "Okay, fine," she said resignedly, "C'mon, Xena, put your warrior princess outfit on. We're going to the party."

Paris shot up in a flurry of excitement, while Rory gathered the energy to just stand up. She trudged into her room and stared blindly into the closet. What exactly did one wear into the lion's den?

Glancing at the clock, Rory decided it wasn't too late to call her mother. As she pressed the speed-dial button, she hoped that her mom and Luke weren't in the middle of anything...intimate. Ewww! Rory made a face at herself in the mirror. Her mind seriously didn't need to go there.

"Hello, daughter of mine. How's the wallowing? Do you need more supplies? I can be right there with the jelly beans and cinnamon bears. I'll even have Luke brew you up a special batch of coffee if you want." Rory thought she detected a faint grunt on the other side of the line. "Do you want me to come over and break Logan's legs? Or, even better idea, I can kidnap him and duct tape him to a dinner chair in the Gilmore house, and subject him to hours and hours of nothing but Richard and Emily. That will break him for sure."

Rory laughed at the mental image. Logan trapped with her grandparents seemed like perfect punishment. "Hey, Mom, sorry to call you so late. I need the patented Lorelai Gilmore wardrobe advice." She was actually starting to get excited about the prospect of seeing Logan tonight. Plus, she needed to let off some steam and yelling at Logan seemed like it could be good for her soul.

"What's the occasion, hon?" Lorelai piped up. She was curious about the note of mischief in her daughter's voice.

"I'm going in for the kill."

"Aha!" Lorelai whooped into the phone. "You are your mother's daughter after all. Going in for the kill, huh? Well, that's pretty serious business. This calls for a bit of La Femme Nikita, a dash of Alexis Carrington and a smidgen of Holly Golightly. Let's see..." she pictured Rory's closet, "The blue cashmere sweater that showcases your eyes and shows off every delicious Gilmore curve. Shush, Luke! If the girl's got it, she has to flaunt it. The tight, black pencil skirt with the slit up the side and, oooh, definitely the knee-length boots with the killer heels. That'll totally slay him."

Rory couldn't help but snicker as she hurriedly pulled the articles of clothing from their various hiding places. If this wasn't a female warrior outfit, she didn't know what was. "Perfect! I knew I could count on you. You could give Miss Celine a run for her money."

"Aww, look at you with the compliments." Lorelai smiled to herself. She was glad to hear Rory sounding so alive and energized. She only hoped that Rory was dealing with her heartbreak in a positive manner. "Have a good kill and don't forget to do at least two hair twirls. It'll bring him to his knees. Guaranteed."

"Will do. Thanks, Mom. Love you. Say hi to Luke for me."

"Bye, hon."

Twenty minutes later, as she and Paris approached the swarm of people at Finn's latest bash, Rory lost touch with her inner Femme Nikita. Suddenly, the party didn't sound like such a hot idea. Her hands were clammy with nerves and she had lost all feeling in her left pinkie toe. "Paris, maybe we should head back," she said tentatively. "My left foot's turning numb and I..."

"Don't tell me you're chickening out already, Rory. We just got here," Paris snapped derisively, as she looked around at the throngs of people surrounding them. She cocked her head to the left. "Who's that with the leer? Don't turn your head in any obvious way."

Rory turned as surreptitiously as possible. "Oh, that's Robert. Don't feel too special. He leers at anything female. Robert hangs out with the usual suspects."

Paris gasped. "That's Robert Pierce! I thought I recognized that chin."

"Huh?" Rory was thoroughly confused.

"His mother is Dr. Simone Hadley-Pierce," Paris explained as if everyone should know who Dr. Hadley-Pierce was. "She's one of the leading female thoracic surgeons in New York. A brilliant doctor and a total queen bitch. I want to be her someday."

Rory rolled her eyes. "Well, you're halfway there," she muttered under her breath.

Paris merely ignored her. "I should go make nice to him later. It never hurts to make connections."

"You sound just like my grandfather."

It was Paris' turn to roll her eyes. "Honestly, Rory, have you learned nothing from Richard and Emily? It's all about who you know. You dated Huntzberger for two months. It's sad that you didn't parlay that into some meaningful networking opportunities. After all, you're supposed to be a journalist. I bet you don't even know anything about Colin or Finn either."

"I didn't date Logan for his name," Rory said exasperated. "And I do know that Colin went to boarding school in Switzerland and had a bunch of hot moms."

"Well, that's useful," Paris scoffed. "Colin comes from a long line of cutthroat litigators. His great great grandfather founded the law firm of Maguire, Bishop and O'Halloran in Boston. It's a venerable and highly revered firm. If you ever need an acquittal, that firm is the one to call. Of course, you'll need to sign over all of your earthly possessions to be able to afford their legal fees, but from everything I've read, it's well worth it."

"Ah, well, that explains Colin," Rory mused. "He's pretty harmless most of the time, but Colin can be quite the smug ass. What do you know about Finn?" she asked curiously.

"What rock do you live under?" Paris asked, shocked at Rory's complete and utter cluelessness. "Finnley Trenowith of Trenowith Estate Vineyards? His family owns the largest and most successful vineyard in all of Australia. The boy was weaned on wine. It's no wonder that he's the accomplished wino that he is today."

"Wow," Rory gasped.

"Wow is right. It's amazing that you even caught the attention of the wealthiest scion of them all. Logan, Colin and Finn make one of the most influential and commanding trios on campus."

"Logans and Colins and Finns...oh my!" Rory exclaimed breathlessly. She had absolutely no idea how rich and powerful Logan and his set truly were. "Well, thanks, for the lesson in lifestyles of the rich and famous, Paris. And now you expect me to try and intimidate him? You're off your rocker, sister."

"Oh, they're still just little boys underneath all the filthy richness." Paris suddenly grabbed Rory's arm. "Speak of the devil. There he is with one of his pet buffoons now. I can make out the tops of their heads. Do they really think that messy hair thing is still cool?"

Standing on tiptoe for a better view, Rory could see Logan standing in the corner about thirty feet away. When she looked at Logan, she didn't see the Huntzberger name, or the newspaper magnate's son, or connections into the world of journalism. All she saw was the man she had fallen in love with. Logan with his quick wit and soft kisses, and a voice that put her body on fire. She instinctively longed for him.

Her insides twisted as she watched him laugh at something was said. Logan was more handsome than ever. And his smile was as gorgeous and bright as she remembered. Logan looked good. Damn good. As Rory's heart started pounding at the sight of him, a tidal wave of both love and anger washed over her from head to toe. She doubted that Logan even missed her. The very thought crushed her.

"Get a grip!" Paris hissed into her ear, bringing Rory back to reality. "He's just a guy. Don't let him get to you. You're here to make him feel small, remember? C'mon, you look like you need a drink." Before Rory could even protest, Paris was dragging her out towards the bar and away from Logan.

Logan took a sip of his cognac and smiled easily, as if he hadn't a care in the world. The truth was he was restless. He could party with his friends, laugh, drink and be merry, but there was still something missing. Ever since that moment he walked away from Ace's door, he had ceased to be able to enjoy anything. Nothing seemed fun anymore. The feeling made him frustrated and impatient. He felt like a caged tiger prowling the perimeter of his prison.

He knew he would get over his restlessness eventually. Ace wasn't the only girl for whom he had developed feelings. For the first time, however, the depth of those feelings scared him. Ace actually made him want to try to be different, to be boyfriend material. Logan wasn't afraid of commitment necessarily, it was more like he knew he would be bad at it and so being in a relationship never interested him. It just wasn't in him to remember anniversaries or call to let someone know where he was at every second or to play the role of loving, supportive "boyfriend" twenty-four/seven. That's just what it was to him - a role, and one that didn't come naturally. Plus, it was too much responsibility. Being in a relationship meant you were accountable for another person's feelings. There were already too many expectations on Logan's shoulders. He didn't need or want to add anything else to the list.

Logan shook his head and took another sip of cognac. He let the amber liquid burn slowly, soothingly down his throat. Why was he thinking about this now anyway? Ace. It always came down to Ace. He was still angry about what happened between them. No matter how he played and replayed that final scene with her, it still didn't make any sense. Ace had berated him for no good reason and it grated on him. Sighing resignedly, Logan willed himself to forget about her.

He began to make his way through the crowd when he was tackled unceremoniously by a very drunk Finn. "Hey, matey!"

Logan scrunched his face in response to the toxic fumes emanating from Finn's mouth. "Ah Finn, have you been tapping the moonshine or something? You could start a fire with that breath of yours."

"I'm saving that particular trick for later with Rosemary." Finn grinned lasciviously.

That elicited a genuine smile from Logan. "Yeah, good luck with that. You can barely stand up, buddy."

"I'm fine. In fact, I'm masterful," Finn drawled. "I'm having the time of my life. This has to be one of the greatest parties I've ever thrown."

"You say that about every one of your parties, Finn. But I must say, this is shaping up to be quite the gala, for the month of March anyway." Logan looked out at the nameless sea of faces, none of whom he particularly cared about. Damn, he caught the eye of one Alexa Adams, who was back to trying to seduce him. He sent a vague smile her way, raised his glass in a silent toast and quickly turned back to Finn. Great, now he had to make sure to avoid Alexa for the rest of the night.

"Dealing with unwanted attentions, are we?" Finn crooned. Even in his inebriated state, he was surprisingly observant. "Alexa's a beautiful bird. I certainly wouldn't kick her out of my bed."

Logan smiled wryly. "Yes, well, that's why you're you and I'm me, isn't it, Finn?"

"And thank god for that." Finn laughed. "I don't think the world is ready for two of you or two of me. Or is it two of us? We times two? Ouch. Math hurts."

"I doubt math will be the only thing hurting in the morning." He laughed at the woeful expression on Finn's face. Finn was one of his oldest friends and he loved that he could always lighten up any situation. "You, my friend, are going to have one mother of a headache tomorrow."

"But not if I wake up next to the lovely Rosemary," Finn corrected merrily. "I stand by my theory that a night with a gorgeous woman can abate even the biggest of hangovers. Yes," he nodded, "a beautiful lady is a great cure-all."

"Or the very source of one's headache," Logan drolled.

"Still hung up on Gilmore, are you?" Finn was of the mind that if you liked a certain girl, you spent time with her. If you didn't like a certain girl, you go find another one. And if the girl didn't like you? Well, you drive her crazy until she gives in, of course. Finn rolled with the punches and didn't concern himself with too much thought and analysis. He lived an unfettered and uncomplicated life, able to put any negativity behind him without much effort at all. Finn was lucky that way.

"Not exactly," Logan answered as honestly as he could. "More like...still fascinated."

"Fair enough, mate," Finn replied casually. It was obvious to him that Logan was head over heels in love, lust, or whatever with Gilmore. Logan hadn't been this taken with a girl since...well, ever. He didn't understand why it was such a big deal. If Gilmore made him happy, then he should be with her. He should get what he wanted and be done with it. Simple as that. Perhaps, Logan needed a little push in the right direction. He grinned wickedly over at his friend. "You love her?"

Taken by complete surprise, Logan nearly spit out his drink. "What!"

"You know, it makes you shiver. It eats at your insides, you know?"

"Wha-" then Logan caught on and shot Finn a dirty look. "Aw, Finn, are you doing Jerry Maguire again? How many times do I have to tell you? You're an awful Rod Tidwell." He shook his head at Finn's insanity.

Finn dramatically clutched at his heart. "I'm out here for you! You don't know what it's like to be me out here for you. It's an up at dawn pride-swallowing siege that I will never fully tell you about! Okay! Help me help you. Help me help you."

"I know what you're doing. Don't think I don't see right through you." Logan was torn between joining in on Finn's idea of fun and elbowing him in the head. Fun won and Logan did his best Tom Cruise as Jerry Maguire impersonation. "I didn't shoplift the pooty. We were thrown together and - I mean it's two mutual people who...Alright, I shoplifted the pooty."

"Shame on you. Shame on you." Finn crooked an accusing finger at Logan.

"Okay, I leave you two jackasses alone for ten minutes and you're doing Jerry Maguire without me!" Colin looked at Logan and Finn reproachfully. "And, Finn, how many times do I have to tell you? You're an awful Rod Tidwell. Thank god you didn't get to the Marvin Gaye song yet."

Logan turned to Colin. "You...ungrateful...unctuous..."

"Dick?"

"Dick." And the trio collapsed into a fit of delirious and drunken laughter.

"Colin, you're such a smarmy ass, you make a perfect Bob Sugar," Finn sputtered in between bouts of laughter. "We are so retarded. I love it," he exclaimed proudly.

"Hey," Colin nudged Logan's arm, "speaking of shoplifting the...um, well, nevermind, bad joke. Gilmore girl. Two o'clock." Colin nodded his head towards the door. "She seems to be headed our way."

Logan turned to his right and, sure enough, there Ace was, looking beautiful as ever. In fact, she was stunningly hot in that tight black skirt and heels. Logan's mouth went dry.

"And she brought her fire-breathing roommate with her," Finn added, practically salivating at the scene that was sure to come.

As if in slow motion, Logan watched as Ace, with Paris trailing close behind her, walked directly to them. "Hello, Ace," he greeted genially, if not somewhat curiously, as she came to a stop before him.

"Logan, Colin, Finn," Oh my, she thought as she looked at them each in greeting before forcing her attention back to Logan. She prayed that the tequila she'd just inhaled would kick in. "We need to talk."

Behind Logan, Colin and Finn looked at each other and simultaneously cringed in horror. Those were the last four words any self-respecting guy wanted to hear from a girl.