AN: Sorry for the delay. Work sucks. 'Nuff said. Oh, and those of you hoping Logan will become a major factor—nuh-uh. This is a Trory. Logan may or may not be mentioned again as a foil, but Tristan is our hero here, folks. On with the show.
The air in the bathroom reminded her of a sauna. From near constant use of the showers, the air was thick, warm, and coating like a blanket. The permanently cracked window did nothing to decrease the humidity. Rory pulled her robe tighter around her still damp form as she emerged into the cool, dry air of the hallway. She still wasn't quite used to seeing and being seen in just a robe by near strangers of both sexes. She bee-lined for her door, only to meet Tristan and Dan halfway there.
It was clear they'd just come from the soccer match. Both wore t-shirts and sport shorts, and they were drenched in sweat. Both sported smiles, and she couldn't help but return the gesture, despite her discomfort due to her state of undress and the sparkle that hit Tristan's eyes when he took in the view of her in such a state.
"Did you guys win?"
"We obliterated them," Tristan nodded.
"This guy is amazing—have you ever seen him play?" Dan asked.
Rory shook her head and looked at Tristan in amusement as Dan continued to sing his praises.
"The other team never knew what hit them—especially Sarah and Elisa," he hit Tristan's shoulder.
Tristan watched Rory's bemused blue eyes harden before looking away altogether. He spoke up quickly.
"Dan has this painfully embarrassing crush on Elisa. She's the second floor monitor. I was just helping him out," he explained.
"You practically had them fawning all over you! No one can resist this guy," Dan continued, much to Tristan's displeasure.
"I'm sure someone can," Tristan interjected, still looking at Rory. She looked back up at him then, startled, and he felt her search his eyes for meaning.
"Well, I'm sure you guys will have fun on your dates," she said tersely, having found no proof his words weren't just hypothetical.
"I should go shower off, I'll see you guys later," Tristan made a quick escape.
"Yeah, I should … go, too," Rory smiled awkwardly at Dan. He watched her go, having caught all the silent exchanges between her and Tristan. He'd had a feeling when he first witnessed their exchange in the lounge that there was something unspoken between them, underlying the tension. If they wanted to ignore it, he supposed that was their business. He just shook his head and wandered off to his room.
XXXX
Now completely dry and ready to settle into bed with her book, Rory reached out to turn her bedside lamp on. It flickered brightly, and then went dark again. She clicked it twice more, to no avail. Groaning, she slipped out of bed and out her door.
She knocked on the door frame to Dan's room, as his door was wide open. He sat with his back facing her, at his computer. He craned around at her politeness.
"Yeah?"
"The light bulb in my lamp burned out. Any chance you could scrounge up a spare?"
"Is there a Pop tart involved?" he grinned.
"Anything for you," she smiled.
"No problem," he got up, moving to a closet on the other end of his room. "Can I ask you a question?"
She stepped into his room further to hear him better. "Uh, sure."
"Did that bother you—my talking about Tristan and those girls?"
She looked up at him and frowned. "Of course not."
"I mean, I expected you to show up with him, and when I asked, he said you two were just friends, and that he thought you were still sort of wrapped up with some other guy," he informed her as he handed her a fresh bulb.
"He's right. We are just friends."
"And the other guy?"
"That's over."
Dan nodded, noting the confusion that clouded her eyes. He couldn't help but wonder if it were over Tristan or this mystery heart-breaker. "In that case, you should come to the next game. Lots of eligible hot guys with no shirts."
"Thanks. I'll keep that in mind," she nodded, turning to exit his room.
She meant to turn left, back to her own bed and half-read novel, but her feet instead steered her right. Just a few doors down, she found another open door. This time her view included Tristan pacing back and forth in shorts and socks, talking on the phone. She didn't want to interrupt, so instead of knocking, she just waved when his attention moved to her.
He nodded and waved her in. She heard him tell his caller that they could finish this later. He hung up and smiled.
"You didn't have to do that."
"Not a problem, in fact, I should be thanking you. That was my father."
"You don't like talking to him?"
"I don't like being talked at," he clarified.
"Oh."
"What can I do for you?" he asked, before his eyes fell on the light bulb in her hand. "Did you come to service me?"
She turned a deep shade of pink, more mauve than red. She looked down at the object in her hand.
"This is for me, mine burned out."
He smiled at her reaction, still waiting to see to what he owed this visit.
"I went to Dan's room, to get a spare. He mentioned that you thought I was dating someone."
"Did he?"
"But I'm not. Not at all," she went on, her tone adamant.
He wondered why she was in here telling him all of this if she wasn't trying to give him an in. But this wasn't just some girl that he could easily sway. This was the girl that worked hard at showing him how she could say no.
"Okay."
"Not that I'm opposed to dating. Dating is good."
Was he cracking her resolve with his indifference? The less he gave her, the more she babbled. Ms. Calm, Cool, and Collected was definitely flustered. He felt a true spark of possibility ignite.
"I've always thought so."
"Right," she pointed at him with the light bulb.
"So?"
"So, I meant to tell you earlier—I got my internship."
"The BBC? That's great, we should go celebrate," he stepped forward to hug her.
She returned the gesture, her hands grasping onto the smooth expanse of skin that covered the toned muscles of his back. Her face was pressed into his shoulder due to their height difference, and for the first time she noticed how masculine his scent was. She closed her eyes for a moment, before she gathered her wits.
"You have a date tomorrow," she reminded him as she pulled away.
"Because dating is good," he teased her, and she shoved him back playfully.
"What about the next night?"
"Is Rory Gilmore asking me out?" he was partially teasing, but partially incredulous.
"You suggested this, I'm just defining its constructs."
He smiled, not a taunting smirk, but showing genuine happiness.
"The day after tomorrow," he agreed.
"Good."
She felt as unclothed as he was, finding it impossible not to take advantage of this first opportunity to see him in this state of undress. She told herself that it was as much as he'd wear if swimming, and felt the blush creep up from under her ears as she realized that there was a great possibility of seeing him in less in the bathroom at some point this semester.
"Rory?"
"Yeah?"
"You okay?"
She'd been openly checking him out for a good minute. Not that he minded, any sign of encouragement from her made his day. This short time together this evening was enough to make his week.
"I'm good."
"I'm buying you a thesaurus."
"What?" she looked at him quizzically.
"That is like the fifteenth time you've said 'good.'"
"Oh, right," she laughed nervously. "I should go."
"If you must," he consented with a sad smile.
Her brow scrunched together at his words, and he pointed to the phone. "Now I have to call my father back."
She smiled, nodding in understanding. He watched her go, completely intrigued by their conversation. There was no denying this girl wanted him to ask her out. Not that he didn't want to—but with their history he wanted to test the waters, and, in all honesty, to make her work for it a little bit. She'd been the one girl to break his heart, the one he could never get. He didn't need that trouble again. The problem was, it seemed he was inevitably going to collide with it whether he liked it or not. He'd much rather enjoy it this time around.
XXXX
Rory all but ran to her room and picked up the phone. She waited impatiently, pacing as Tristan had been doing, fearing only getting the voicemail.
"Lorelai speaking."
"I may or may not have a date with Tristan."
"I'm sorry, what?"
"I'm not sure."
"How could you not be sure? Did he ask you out?"
"Well, no, not so much."
"Did you ask him out?"
"Not exactly."
"I'm sorry, what factors here indicate to you that you're going on a date?"
"You don't understand."
"No, not at all," she concurred.
"It was—he was being all weird—he had his shirt off, and I couldn't think, I kept repeating myself, and he said something about us going to celebrate my internship, and I said the day after tomorrow, and then I left."
"You got the internship? That's wonderful!"
"Mom, you're not focusing here."
"I'm just happy for you, you really wanted that!"
"I know, but we're going out, and I'm not sure of exactly what that means."
"What do you want it to mean?"
"I'm not sure."
"Maybe it's too soon."
"No, I'm not unsure because of Logan. Tristan isn't someone I ever thought I'd date. He's infuriating, and he makes me nuts."
"You've used such words in describing past beaus. Sounds like someone has it bad. You said he was shirtless?"
"Yeah. So?"
"Did he touch you at any point while half-naked?"
"We hugged."
"Uh-huh. And he smelled really good, I assume."
"Are you enjoying this?"
"Look, would it be so bad to see where this goes? What's the worst that could happen?"
"We could go out and have a great time, only to find out at the end of the date that he doesn't like me that way, and he just wants to be friends."
"Has he ever given you any indication that he just wants to be just friends, nothing more?"
"At my request."
"Well, then I wouldn't worry."
"Really?"
"I mean, you've put him off many times in the past, probably not being very nice to him, so I'd dress a little on the sultry side to make sure he got the hint," she joked.
"Mom, stop."
"Just be honest with him. And if he still doesn't get it, what with your brilliant speaking ability in his presence, jump him."
"You speak from experience?"
"How do you think I got Luke? No guy is that dumb."
"How is that going?"
"Uh, good. It's fine. We're just fine."
"Uh-oh. What happened?"
"Nothing."
"You didn't talk him yet?"
"It's too weird. I'm worried about this for nothing, for all I know."
"Probably."
"He'll get all weird, then we'll be all funky, it'll take awhile to get our rhythm back, and I like our rhythm right now."
"We're quite a pair, aren't we?"
"That we are. You going to bed?"
"Yeah. I'll talk to you later?"
"Always."
