Chapter Three: Legs Like Gisele

---Gilmore Girls---

"What does one wear to interview the men's soccer team?" Rory asked Cheyenne, who'd taken up residence on her bed, flipping through her last month's issue of Vogue, "I have no clue what to wear!" She cried in anguish, tossing the sweater she'd had in her hand to the floor, slapping her palm to her forehead.

"Honey," Cheyenne sighed, closing the magazine, standing and walking to the door of Rory's closet, "You have more clothes then even I do and you have nothing to wear? Gosh, darling, I never thought I'd see the day when you didn't know what to wear."

Rory scoffed, and went about her business of looking for something appropriate to wear, "I don't do sporty things. They're going to be doing whatever the hell they do to get ready for whatever the hell they play, right?"

"Uh huh."

"So I can't wear a skirt and heels, correct?"

"Probably not so logical."

"So I should wear jeans and sneakers, right?"

"Sounds simply ravishing," Cheyenne's grin burst from the corners of his mouth and he dove his hands into her closet, pulling out a Yale sweatshirt with a cartoon Handsome Dan on the back, "Look school-spirity."

Rory took the sweatshirt in her hand and shuddered, shaking her head in mild disdain, "Don't guys like to see skin?"

"Of course we do."

"Then why'd you give me a sweatshirt?"

"Because guys think female forms look simply smashing in oversized, unflatteringly garments that look simply ridiculous on a girl if it's theirs."

Rory looked at the sweatshirt, and dropped it to the ground, letting her feet step over the fabric, "Its Logan's tennis sweatshirt," she told him, scrunching her nose up, before rubbing her eyes, "Get it out of here, Cheyenne."

Cheyenne frowned, and tugged the sweatshirt out from beneath her feet. He looked at it, and held it with his index finger and thumb, holding it away from his body as if it was suddenly diagnosed with a fatal disease. Throwing her bedroom door open, he tossed it into the common room, before pulling the door closed behind him as he reentered Rory's bedroom.

"It's residing on the floor, darling," he told her, "Paris'll probably find something crafty to do with it."

Rory nodded, and swung around, holding a green and turquoise sweatshirt up to her chest, "Yes?"

"American Eagle?" he laughed, clapping his hands together, "It looks simply ravishing with your complexion, dear. Go for it."

"Didn't you want to become a fashion designer, Chey?" she asked, pulling the sweatshirt over her head, before pulling her hair from the collar.

"Mhmm."

"Why are you here then?"

"My mother didn't want to let me go to the Art Institute," he sighed dramatically, placing his hand to his forehead, and throwing himself onto Rory's bed, before propping himself up by his elbows, "Apparently being gay is one thing – but when I try to bring my 'flaming ideas inside the house of Leonard and Victoria Lennon, I've gone to far'. Mummy dearest's words, not mine."

"I'm sorry," Rory frowned, slipping a turquoise scarf belt through the belt hoops on her jeans, tying it in a pretty knot when the end met up with the beginning. "My mom is actually looking to start a tiny fashion line, and sell it in a boutique she's thinking about opening in Cedar Hill. You should talk to her about you drawing some sketches for the line; I'm sure she'd love your work. You're amazing."

"Oh, lovely, how you make me blush!"

---Gilmore Girls---

Saying Rory Gilmore felt out of her league as she walked towards Yale's athletic fields, tiny notebook and pen in her back pocket, would be completely and entirely true. She wasn't sure why she'd agreed to Paris' article proposition – Paris knew that she opposed anything to do with sports; so why had she chosen her of all people? On some level, not so deep down in side, Rory knew that Paris had it in for her.

"Hi," she said nervously, coming up to the group of soccer players, sitting around, a few balls discarded by their sides, or in their laps, "I was wondering if I could have an interview with a few of you for an article for the Yale Daily News."

One of the guys laughed, and looked at her, "What happened to the guy that always interviewed us? Lloyd, or something. Jake, you remember his name?"

"Doyle, I think."

"Right," Rory said, raising an eyebrow. She chanced a glance around the team players – all of whom where very athletic looking. Most of them had short hair, but there was a brunette towards the back of the group whose hair was pulled back with a headband—Rory inwardly chided him to get a hair cut. "Could I speak with the captains first?"

"You can do more then speak," one of the players said, standing. Rory took in his appearance, and furrowed her eyebrows, "Alex Munns," he introduced himself, "And this," he said, motioning towards another of the standing guys, "Is Jake Miller, and Tristan Dugrey. Tri-captains."

Biting down on her bottom lip so hard she could taste the bitter, metallic tang of blood on her tongue, she nodded, "Hello," she said to the three of them, mentally chastising herself to act like she'd never heard of Tristan Dugrey before, "So… I'd like to begin with how last year's season went. Ups, downs…"

---Gilmore Girls---

"You bitch!" Rory cried, slamming her way into the dorm suite she shared with Paris, and tossing her notebook and pen on to the table beside the door, "You knew he was on the soccer team! You knew he transferred to Yale! You daughter of a bitch! I can't believe you willingly threw me in with a bunch of guys and Tristan happened to be one of them!"

Paris looked up from her copy of The New York Times, seemingly unaffected by Rory's outburst. Clucking her tongue against her teeth, she set the paper down on the table, and crossed her legs, leaning back into the couch. As Paris got comfortable, Rory sent her many death glares as she stalked into the kitchenette, murmuring and muttering her dissatisfaction for the blonde in her current state, "I have no idea what you're talking about, Gilmore," she scoffed, examining her nails.

"You knew Tristan flipping Dugrey transferred to Yale, Paris!" She cried, flaring her arms above her head as she groaned in frustration, "Why would you do that? You were in love with him! Why didn't you do the article?"

Paris shrugged, "I was not in love with Dugrey, Gilmore," she snapped, standing and walking towards the kitchenette, "I was mildly infatuated with him while I had a brief lapse of sanity."

"Right."

"Anyway, I thought you two would like to catch up."

"Well you thought wrong."

"Did I? Because last I knew – when he was bidding us, well, rather you, good-bye; he wanted to kiss you. Not me, you."

"Yeah, because he wanted to piss Dean off his rocker!"

"Typical, Rory Gilmore – oblivious."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing," Paris shook her head, tapping her finger nails against the granite of the counter, "Did you get any good research?"

"Mhmm."

"Great. But I don't want good, Gilmore! I want great! Outstanding! Unworldly!"

Rory shot Paris a look, and poured herself a mug of her freshly brewed coffee. She took a sip, and gripped her mug tighter in her hands, "I understand Paris. It needs to be amazing, yeah, yeah, yeah. Everything I write is amazing."

"Getting a little modest, now aren't we?"

"I've been spending to much time around Tristan," she snapped, her voice dripping with malice. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have some homework I need to do."

Rory stepped around Paris and trekked her way into her bedroom, not surprised to see Cheyenne conked out on her bed. She sighed, setting her mug gently down on her desk before flopping onto the window seat. Tracing her fingers over the glass, she bit her lip and watched as students mulled about in the courtyard, going about their daily routines.

---Gilmore Girls---

"We're meeting at the pub tonight, right Munns?" Tristan asked as he rubbed a white, cotton towel against the back of his neck.

"Definitely," was Alex's answer as he pulled on a fresh polo t-shirt, sliding his deodorant over his armpits, ridding him of his body odor, "What'd you think about that reporter? If I'd know the smart girls looked like that I wouldn't be wasting my time with the cheerleaders."

"She's got some legs," Tristan agreed, pulling his soccer sweatshirt over his t-shirt as he turned around to look at the other guys, "So – pub, around nine tonight?"

"Uh huh," Jake said, as he stepped into the locker row that Tristan, Alex and a few other guys were changing in, "Did anyone catch that girl's name?"

"I'm pretty sure she didn't say it," one of the other team players told them, shrugging, "She works for our paper though, right?"

"Right."

"Then just look for her there."

Tristan slung his duffle bag, filled with his dirty practice clothes, over his shoulder, and grinned at the rest of his teammates. Walking towards the exit of the locker room, he turned his head back towards them, "I'll see you guys tonight."

Walking out of the locker room, Tristan felt a gush of cold, October air overwhelm his face and his body. He groaned, and rubbed his forehead, wishing Rory Gilmore to go the hell away. He'd spent the last four, going on five years trying to get her out of his head. But when he finally thought he'd succeeded, that all traces of Rory Gilmore were out of his life, he ends up at the same college as she did.

"Wasn't she Harvard bound?" he asked himself as he walking towards the Old Campus, where his lofty dorm was located.

Unlocking the door to his dorm, he dropped his duffle bag beside the door, kicking it shut behind him as he made his way towards his bedroom. He was having trouble comprehending the notion that Rory Gilmore had now just sprung up into his life again; when he least expected it.

"Great, just fucking great," he groaned, dropping onto his bed, and staring at his ceiling where, had he still been at Military School, a poster of a half naked Gisele Bundchen would be taped.

---Gilmore Girls---