Disclaimer: Not mine. I'm just playing.

Author's Note: Thanks to Bridges and CineFille for taking a look. This was my first time writing in first person, so that was an interesting challenge.

I settle with relief into Luke's kiss. It's not that I doubted we'd get over this, but the making up is so much better than the fighting. It hurts that he didn't believe me, that he insinuated, but Luke has always had a blind spot where Christopher is concerned, and I've done my fair share of contributing to that. I just wish that he could see, that he could understand. I pull away then, reluctantly, because duh, Luke's kissing me. But I need to explain. "I wish you could be in my head right now." Okay, in my brain that sounded like a logical statement.

"What?" I've confused him and he's staring at me, a little taken aback.

"Well, I guess not right now cause, ewww, kissing yourself." To clear my head of that disturbing image, I lean in for another kiss and his arm tightens around me. He's finally managed to put down his beer and his other hand caresses my back. I'm seriously about to melt right into him. But that thought is still there. It won't go away.

I give him one more peck and pull away, putting on my 'I'm serious' tone, "No, I wish you could be in my head right now so that you could see - see how little Christopher is to me-"

"Christopher?" he says with disbelief, "Lorelai, we were kissing." He says it like I've interrupted a symphony, or maybe a church service, or something else really important. And I have, but this is important too. He needs to understand.

So I plead with him, "No, bear with me for a second. This is important. I mean, this - "I gesture between us, giving him a smirk, "this is important too, I just...I just think if you could see inside my head, then you'd get it. You'd understand that any hopes I had for Christopher died when he chose Sherry. And now he's not even a blip on the radar...and you're...you're a big blip." I cringe at that because it sounds dumb and Luke's giving me this completely baffled look, like he's not sure who this crazy woman is in his lap. "Okay, you're not a blip - I have no idea how to carry that metaphor through - but you are more than a blip."

I see a flash of something in his eyes. He's touched, but he doesn't want to admit it to the crazy woman sitting in his lap talking about blips. When he speaks, his voice is gravelly, "Lorelai, I don't want to be in your head. Can we just go back to...?"

I have to laugh at how transparent he is, at the way that the frustration blends with the desire in his voice. And now I'm in a mood. I want to make the most of this. "Yeah, you're right. It's probably better this way anyway. If you go wandering around in my head you might see something disturbing..." I pause for dramatic effect and lower my voice, "or find out what I've got planned for our wedding night."

"Wedding night?" he asks, swallowing thickly.

I give him a little grin. "Yeah, but it's a se- ...umm surprise." I tap my fingers on his chest. "Uh, are those allowed in this whole 'no secrets' thing?"

He's finally cracking a small smile, "Surprises could be good," he answers, his voice deep. "Can I have a hint?"

I wiggle my eyebrows at him, running my finger down his chest, "Spaghetti straps. 'Cause I know how much you like taking them off." Holding his gaze, I lean in, admiring the stunned look on his face, and plant a kiss on his lips.

He holds me firmly, trailing his lips down my throat and pulling aside my shirt to press kisses across my shoulder. "That I do." His lips hum against my skin, "You really have that planned out? We don't even have a date yet."

I sigh but manage to stumble through a response, "I picked it out...couple...months ago."

"Months?" his voice sounds a little strangled.

I pull back and give him an evil grin, "Yeah, I don't have a dress, or a wedding date, but I know what you're taking off me on our wedding night."

His face takes on this look of shock and desire and I congratulate myself on sufficiently torturing him. "Lorelai..." he groans.

"Yeah?" I ask innocently.

"Less talking, more kissing." And I can't really argue with that.