Hello!

wearsandlesandeatsnickers review cracked me up and I think she (i'm assuming you're a girl) will be a little ticked, since the drama continues. BUT - before you click this away - this is pretty much the low point, for now.

Happy reading! And remember, let me know whatcha think!! I love ALL the reviews!

With Love,
GilmoreGirl19

Disclaimer: I do not own GG

Pizza wishes and creepy kisses

Logan left the penthouse early that morning in a rush. Of course, he overslept. Rory used to wake him, but those times were long gone. Now, he sat on a plane speeding towards London and could not keep his focus on the business documents he was supposed to be reading, instead he thought about last night.

He realized that his relationship with Rory had started out exceptionally well, especially considering the circumstances, though now it was nothing more than constant bickering and hot, steamy, angry sex. He reasoned that since the sex was remarkably good that Rory, somewhere, deep down, still loved him.

Nevertheless, her hurt, strained 'I'm done' was on a constant loop in his mind. He turned the volume on his i-pod up, hoping to drain out her voice, but it was useless.

Being confined in a tin can high above the clouds didn't help either – he wanted to reach out to her, in a normal, husband like way. Maybe he'd take her out to dinner, they had not done that in a long time, or maybe he'd buy her jewelry and that Prada bag. Whatever it was, it would have to wait until the plane landed.

"Something to drink for you, sir?" The flight attendant asked politely, though it was obvious she was checking him out. This is why Logan hated flying commercial.

He was just about to order a stiff drink, as he glanced down at his tray table, covered in unread documents. "Uh, just some Coke, I guess," he answered, and was handed a small, just-big-enough-for-one-sip, soda can.

He smiled, since it was something Lorelai would find hilarious. It would be something she would have served at her infamous pizza parties, had they had mini-soda cans in his youth.

'Friday Night…" Chris exclaimed happily, as he entered the family dining room.

'Pizza night!" Six children's and one adult voice greeted him.

He poured a rum and coke for himself and poured Lorelai some coffee, and sat down at the table.

"No more work for two whole days!" he said relieved.

It was tradition. To celebrate the weekend Christopher and Lorelai stayed home and ate pizza with the kids. Normally, they would spend the night in Rory's bedroom, since Lorelai figured the Nannies could use a night or two off. It was exhausting to take care of a handful of 9 year olds.

"No more school for two whole days!" Finn said mimicking Christopher, which was met by laughter from the table.

"Well," Lorelai said, getting up and grabbing the phone, "just be glad you can get away. Emily is always watching me. Dinner party this, dress fitting so…"

"Lorelai," Lane laughed, "Emily is not that bad, my mother is much worse!"

"Uh, huh, Mom, it's true," Rory added, "at least your mother never threatened to send you to boarding school!"

"Just be glad YOUR mother hasn't threatened you!" Lorelai said seriously, but with a twinkle in her eye.

It was hard being a nine year old, what with threats of boarding school, piano lessons, riding lessons and etiquette lessons next to their normal prepschool. Friday Night was to relax, unwind, and eat pizza.

"Can we order, Chris is home," Logan asked, "I'm hungerful!"

"It's hungry, stupid!" Rory corrected as she reached over to grab the pizza menu.

"Rory," her mother warned, "don't call Logan stupid, it's not very nice to say…"

"Fine," the nine year old sighed, and rolled her eyes. Logan grabbed the pizza menu from her and stuck his tongue out. "You snooze, you lose!" he told her teasingly.

Christopher shot the young boy a disapproving look and it forced an apology out of Logan.

"Sorry," he mumbled, never lifting his gaze from his power ranger placemat.

"Me too," Rory mumbled in reply and a slight blush crept over her face. She never really meant to tease Logan, but at the same time, she really could not help it.

Like at the end of any Friday Night Dinner the kids took settled in their sleeping bags on the floor of Rory's playroom, after pizza, loads of ice-cream, a bath and a movie. Lorelai toyed with the idea of making two guest bedrooms into rooms for the girls and boys, but the kids liked to sleep on the floor in Rory's playroom. It was up to them.

After kissing each of the kid's goodnights, she stood in the doorway. "Don't stay up talking for too long, otherwise no waffles in the morning! Love you!"

"Goodnight, Lore," the kids sang simultaneously, "Love you too!"

Once the door shut, Stephanie shot up, "Your mommy kisses your daddy a lot, huh"

"I don't know," Rory said, somewhat put off by this question. In truth, she did not know if her parents did a lot of kissing. They were always hugging, or holding hands or something. It was just the way they were.

"They do, Rory," Stephanie continued, ""My mom and dad never kiss like that,"

Of course, not, Lorelai and Chris were still madly in love at twenty-two, whereas Stephanie's parents were middle-aged. More to the point, they were both having affairs; so in fact, they did kiss like that – just not each other.

"Stop talking about kissing!" Colin whined disgusted. The girls annoyed him sometimes, who wanted to talk about kissing?

"No, Colin McCrea, I can talk about kissing whenever I want!" Stephanie said matter-of-factly, and crossed her arms over her chest and glared at him.

"Whatever," he relented and pulled his sleeping bag up higher.

"I'd like to kiss someone sometime," Finn admitted dreamingly, glancing over at Lane.

"Well, I wouldn't," Logan stated adamantly, fixing his gaze on Lucy Bunny, who now lived on Rory's top bookshelf, "kissing is gross."

"Yeah," Rory nodded, "It's….stupid!"

"Well, I'd like to try it!" Finn stated, and crawled out of his sleeping bag. He stopped right before Lane, who was sitting Indian style and he placed a gentle kiss on the tip of her nose, which resulted in a very pink-faced Lane. After that, he crawled back, shimmied into his sleepbag and fell asleep.

After an excruciatingly boring meeting with the London Investors Logan decided, the only rational thing to do was to hit the pub. Why not – he was alone, his work could wait until tomorrow, and Rory was probably fast asleep in Hartford, so it was a perfect time to drink.

"Another scotch neat," Logan tipped back the last sip of his glass, and let the tiny amount of alcohol burn in the back of his throat.

"You sure?" the bar tender asked, since this young lad had been downing drink after drink, but Logan just nodded, "You know I'm good for the cash, keep 'm coming."

After about ten drinks, he started to feel the affect of the alcohol, and instead of it making him feel better, like he planned - it only made him feel worse. His brain was a foggy mess, and different images floated through his mind. Timmy, his childhood toy, Rory at Martha's Vineyard, his room at the Hayden House, Rory's sapphire ring, the gang on vacation in Aruba, and their promise – no regrets.

He stared down at his libation, and wondered how much truth there was in their promise.

He was not sure if he regretted it, since they both knew about it at a young age; they accepted that their destiny was set. Besides, he always figured if it hadn't been this – he would have some other great tragedy in his life, like his father sending him off to boarding school , making him leave his friends behind.

Wait, did he really consider his marriage to Rory the great tragedy of his life?

And Rory, what about her, he wondered: did she regret this? Probably, since she was so damn mad all the time.

She hates me, Logan thought sadly, as he downed yet another scotch

Drunkenly, he pulled his blackberry out of his coat pocket and typed a text.

"Don't hate me."

The barman put a fresh drink on the bar, next to it a bowl of pretzels, "Eat something, okay."

"Thanks mate," Logan said, in a horribly drunk British accent. The barman just shook his head, which caused the Huntzberger boy to submerge in a fit of giggles.

Miles away Rory was sitting in Lane's theater room, watching the end credits of "The Bourne Identity", with her girlfriends.

"Thanks for the sleepover," Rory said, "I needed it."

"Hey, no problem," Lane smiled, "I'm glad you wanted to come over, keeps me off baby duty."

"Me and my messed up life are here to help you and your perfect life," Rory smiled wryly.

It was true, compared to Rory Lane led the perfect life. Lane and Finn had gotten together shortly before Rory's sweet sixteenth and remained a couple ever since. They were always the most outgoing ones in their group.

In high school, they shared the same taste in music, and in college the same taste for booze and partying, though Lane always knew when to stop. She would be there helping him nurse his hangover in the morning.

It always struck Rory as amusing that, when they were younger, they had a "wild-child" image, though, relationship wise they were so good. Finn and Lane were each other's first and only's.

They had gotten married a few years after she and Logan tied the knot. Wisely, the couple had decided to elope, in an effort to get out of the spotlight. A little over a year ago, Lane discovered she was pregnant with twins and on a snowy March morning, Willow Olivia and Matthew James Rothschild were the first new members of the next generation of the Golden Circle.

"Rory," Stephanie yawned, "Your life isn't messed up, it's just a in a rough…a rough… patch."

She smiled weakly at her lame attempt to cheer her friend up, but she really could not help it, it was past midnight, and all she really wanted to do was curl up in bed. In the morning, she would be fit to analyze Rory's current, yet ongoing, predicament.

Lane sent Stephanie a 'you've got to be kidding me' look, which Rory happened to notice.

"It's okay, guys – it'll be okay," she paused for a beat, "it has to be." Her two best friends nodded solemnly. "So, lets get to bed, and spend tomorrow at the spa, pampering our asses off?"

No sooner had she said that, had her blackberry vibrated straight off the table. Now, who would be sending her a text message at this time? Curiously, she flipped it open and clicked on the tiny envelope in the left hand corner.

"Don't hate me," she read aloud.

"We don't," Lane and Stephanie replied in unison.

"No, not you guys," she rolled her eyes, as she held up her blackberry, "It's from Logan."

The room remained silent, both Lane and Steph unsure as what to say.

"Don't hate me," she said as if she was trying it on for size. "Don't hate me," she repeated, this time in a whiny voice. "Don't hate me," again differently, this time using her angry voice. "Don't. Hate. Me!" she exclaimed, frustrated, and then again, in a more playful tone.

"And?" Lane asked hesitantly, "which one?"

"I don't know," Rory sighed, as she tapped her fingers nervously on her blackberry. She looked at Lane, at Stephanie, back at Lane again and finally let her gaze shift to her phone, and the message that contained three simple words. She lifted the pen from its holder and replied.

Her reply was simple, as it was true and perhaps, she hoped, it could fix whatever relationship problems they were having – or at least, it was a start.

"What did you write?" Stephanie inquired.

Rory shot her friend a half-smile, as she held up her phone for them to see: 'I don't."

"Last call, mates, last call!" The British bartender called out in the dark pub. He really needn't yell, since it was the only people present were Logan, some other guy he dubbed "toothless bastard," and a couple making out in the corner.

His gaze kept on shifting from his half-empty glaze to the couple. He thought about the theme he had going on in his pity party for one: no regrets. Maybe he should have invited Rory to go on business trips. She could occupy herself – shops, theaters and museums enough – and they could meet up in pubs with sticky floors and make-out until last call.

Maybe, he thought, maybe then she would not have hated me. By now, after a whopping twenty drinks he convinced himself that Rory definitely hated him since she had not replied to his text message.

At least, he did not know about it and in his intoxicated state checking his messages was not on his radar.

He wobbled off his barstool and fished his credit card out of his pocket. "Here," he managed as he forced the card into a woman's hand. As soon as his brain registered that it was the female bartender, and not the British bloke, he looked up and examined her, through drunken eyes.

Her frizzy red-dyed hair was piled atop her head in a messy bun, her vibrant green eyes heavily made-up, fire engine red lipstick painted on her luscious lips – much too red for her pale complexion making her whole appearance clownesque. But, to Logan, she looked spectacular.

"Hey, you are kind of cute…" he slurred absentmindedly, giving her a once over, where he lingered at her chest – in search of a nametag of some sort – but in the attempt making him look like a perv.

"You can call me Red," the waitress said flirtatiously, obviously enjoying drunken guys ogling her.

She handed back his credit card, deliberately stroking his hand in the process.

"Thanks…Red," he slurred, and kept his eyes firmly locked on her. Smooth Huntz, very smooth.

"I just have to close off the till; you can walk me to your place, if you want…."she said seductively, as she pushed out her bottom lip in a vain attempt to sex-up her appearance.

Logan bobbed his head as he contemplated her suggestion. "Kay," he finally said.

A blast of crisp London air funneled through Logan's musty brain, granting him a moment of clarity. Where was he?

In London, walking towards his hotel with a girl on his arm. A very flirty girl, whose hand had made it inside his coat pocket, snatched hold of his hand, and started rubbing it, in a slimy sort of way.

His breathing intensified, but not for the reasons she thought. He didn't know this girl, and he had no recollection of how she got here. He couldn't do this.

"Baby, slow down," her soft, sexy voice whispered in his ear.

Or could he?

He stopped short at the hotel, and turned towards her. "The Ritz. Good choice," she said as she slowly ran her tongue over her upper lip.

He waited for a beat, but it was too long. She pressed herself flush against his body, and started placing random, hot, sloppy kisses up and down his neck.

It took his intoxicated state a while to figure out what was going on. His first thought was, "I'm glad Rory is a good kisser," and then, 'Rory'.

"Get off," he spat, as he tried to push her off him. "You have to go …"

She ignored him, and made her way from his collarbone, to his neck, chin and inches away from his mouth.

"Come on, stop" he pleaded, as she looked up at him, her green eyes glazed over in lust.

In that moment, she was so unattractive, so cheap, so different from Rory, that even if, just moments before, he had been toying with the idea of an affair he knew it would not be worth it.

"Go home," he said through gritted teeth, "I'm …"

"Married," Red supplied as she broke of suction, dusted herself off, and gave him a cold once over. "Isn't it always the case?"

She stormed off in to the London night, leaving Logan behind, feeling guiltier, and more confused, than ever.