You know how Grey's Anatomy does those epic multi part episodes? In no way is this writing related to Grey's (or epic haha) but the 3 part arc inspired me. And if I told you that the last chapter was the first part of this arc how excited/upset would you be?
Hope you like!
Disclaimer: I do not own GG.
Instead of little black dresses, romantic dinners in Nice, and Logan, Rory got sweat pants, Chinese food and Finn.
He was recovering from a not completely broken, but severely bruised heart and Rory was suffering from a battered ego and nagging feeling that the other shoe was about to drop.
How could it not? Logan and Gemma in Paris equaled trouble. Even though Logan had reassured her plenty before he left Rory knew that Gemma would try to chat up Logan. As the self-proclaimed president of the Logan fan club – how could she not?
Those thoughts floated in and out of Rory's mind as she lay on the couch, head resting on Finn's lap, legs stretched out, and her feet dangling over the arm rest. Finn was still eating from his carton of Chinese food, while Rory had traded in her box for her cell phone. Periodically, she'd pop it open to see if she'd gotten any new messages and then shut it in disappointment.
Suddenly, she felt Finn's hand brush over her head. She looked up. "Love, do you think Smith and Samantha will get back together?"
For a split second, Rory had no clue what he was talking about and then she remembered they were watching Sex and the City 2 – an advanced copy of the DVD specially ordered since neither had felt like getting dressed to go to the movies. "What?" she asked, still confused.
"Smith got her those tickets for the premiere. No man would do that for a woman he didn't want to have sex with."
A small smile tugged at Rory's lips – Finn had a point. And Smith was definitely one of the films most attractive features. "Turn it back on," she gestured, "we'll find out." She snapped open her phone, before closing it again.
"That's the thing," Finn sighed, "I can't – not with all the phone snapping you've been doing!"
Rory was about to deny, but she looked down and saw that she was in the process of flipping open her phone. Apparently for this millionth time this evening. She shot him an apologetic smile – she didn't want to be this girl, but she couldn't help it. "He said he'd call."
"Right," Finn nodded understandingly. It was clear the "he" in this situation was Logan. Neither Rory nor Logan had ever confided in Finn about anything pertaining to the possibility of a relationship, but there was a silent understanding among the three of them that there was a (possibility of) Logan-and-Rory.
"He'll call," Finn told her reassuringly. "He just has business to attend to first."
"But it's 9:45!"
"Rory, you know these HPG meetings are marathons, not sprints…" Absentminded, she grabbed the heart shaped charm on her silver necklace and swirled it around a few times as she pondered what Finn was saying.
"They have probably reached the celebratory dinner portion of the evening," Rory said, strings of doubt lacing her tone. "But he still could've texted."
"Maybe he didn't want someone peaking over his shoulder," Finn said.
Immediately images of a champagne-sipping (and therefore, possibly, grope-y) Gemma filled her mind.
That bitch.
Finn laughed at Rory's deep-in-thought contorted face, before gently taking the cell from her hands and replacing it with a glass of white wine. "Let's just relax and watch the movie, okay?"
Logan hated the way the French did business. The cheek-kissing, the protocol, the way every last detail had to be discussed at length. It was torture for the fly-by-the-seat-of-his-pants kind of business man that he was. It probably didn't help negotiations that Gemma was not sophisticated in the way she dressed (above the knee skirt), acted (kissing the CEO of Le Monde on the cheek - a privilege reserved for close friends), or spoke (in her funny English accent, seeing that she couldn't speak French).
The HPG prodigy sat there wide-eyed and grinning through the entire meeting. And it was obvious that the French were unimpressed by this "prodigy".
Oh, how he wished Rory was there right now. She would smooth over this business deal in a second. She'd "bonjour, monsieur" and smile and be able to hold her own in debates about the finer points of the contract. That's what he should've told Westville instead of shrugging and going along with the decision to send Gemma instead. It was clear that Rory was better qualified. It had nothing to do with whatever personal feelings he harbored towards her – and besides – as if the Board had time to muddle with his personal life.
But he was scared. Basically, that's what it boiled down to. He wanted Nice and Rory, but he knew it'd be serious right away. No more fucking around. Although that was something he'd been coming around to, he couldn't help but wonder about what would happen after. They'd been building up to this moment for so, so long – what if it disappointed?
The Board's proposition offered him a way out. So he took it and now he regretted it. It was 10:00 pm, he hadn't had a chance to call Rory yet; he's here is with Gemma, listening to the French ramble on about the stipulations of the contract and they still had pages to go…
"Well, this one we can add to the Must Watch to Mock List," Finn said as the end credits started to roll.
"Really, I though you'd like the bra-less nanny?" Rory laughed as she topped off her glass of wine. "You want some more?" she asked, pointing the wine bottle at him.
He nodded and she started pouring. "Bra-less nanny is not a red-head, Rory."
"Oh, that's right," she took a sip, "you've got standards."
"I'd like to think so." He waited a beat for Rory's comeback, but she didn't make one, seeing as her gaze was fixed on her phone.
"Still no message?"
The three or four glasses of white wine she consumed made it difficult for her to hide her disappointment. Not seeing that stupid yellow envelope in the corner of her screen hurt and stung. As if she hadn't been rejected enough by HPG, Logan needed to rub it in a little more.
"Nope."
"Well, I'm sure he's just busy with business-y things," Finn said, trying to sound peppy and upbeat but he knew just as well as Rory that he was failing miserably.
"Probably," Rory shrugged her shoulders; she appreciated Finn's peppiness. "So, no intriguing messages on your phone, either?"
A laugh escaped Finn. "Very smooth, love, diverting the conversation like that."
Rory cocked her head to the side, feigning ignorance. "Well, are there?"
"Just because you are depressed, I'll divulge," Finn told her and Rory giddily clapped her hands. "So, do tell."
He sighed dramatically. "There's nothing to tell, love. I think I was way too honest with her."
"Victoria?"
"Victoria," Finn nodded solemnly, "Beautiful, could have been perfect Victoria."
Rory nodded understandingly, after all she knew the pain. "What happened?"
Finn took a sip of his wine and winced. "I told her she and I were like a Taylor Swift song…"
"Please not an angry at a Jonas song…" Rory muttered, knowing that'd be bad.
"No, love," he shot her a crazy look. How in the world would that be a grand romantic gesture? "I had written the lyrics to "Our Song" on a napkin."
Rory dropped her head – it was romantic, if that was your thing – but it was much too much, far too soon. "Oh, Finn," she sighed, "How long…?"
"Just a week!" Finn exclaimed, "but what does that matter?" He was genuinely confused and added softly, "I loved her!"
Rory loved how intense Finn was. Fast with his heart. Despite his tragic romantic history, he was still so hopeful and optimistic; a stark contrast to her cynical self. She scooted a little closer to him and wrapped him in a hug. "I know, Finn, I know."
The two sat there in silence for a few moments, each pondering the sad state of their love lives, until the buzz of Rory's phone sliced through the room.
"A text!" Finn was excited and Rory couldn't deny the little flutter in her stomach. She feverishly hoped it was Logan. Hell, he could even throw in some Swift lyrics – she'd appreciate that. But, to her surprise it was a text from Nicholas.
"I was the supportive friend this afternoon, but Gemma is in Paris and I'm drinking alone. Join me?"
"Oh, bugger," Finn shook his head, but Rory ignored him, realizing that there was some truth in what Nick sent her. Her she was, sitting at home, in her sweat pants, drinking white wine and waiting by her phone. And for what?
For some boy – not boyfriend – who maybe, possibly liked her and who promised to call but proved to be exceptionally bad at the follow up. He couldn't even be bothered to send a text. Even though he said he would. Even though she was supposed to be in Paris right now.
And sure, it was out of Logan's hands and he was sorry and all that. But how sorry was he, really? He rolled over for the Board, he had no problem picking up Gemma in the company car, he waltzed out of the door without a care in the world. Maybe he didn't like her that much after all. Or, maybe, calling was just a really hard thing to do with Gemma's tongue shoved down his throat.
There was no hard proof, but the not-calling was enough to plant doubt in her mind. She'd been humiliated like that once before and she sure as hell wasn't going to stick around to witness it again.
"Finn, I'm thinking we should go out," Rory said finally, a tiny buzz of excitement flitting through her – it been forever since she'd gone out.
"I don't know, love, I've got my comfy sweats on…"
Rory laughed, "Oh come one, Finn. What's the worst that can happen? Cocktail napkins are too small to write lyrics on! Just enough room for phone numbers…"
A smile tugged at her lips as Finn slowly came round to the idea. "Well, It's been a while since I've gotten chatted up at the pub. And this Nick fellow might be a good wingman..."
"This is what I'm saying," Rory said with a sly smile. "Give me 30 minutes to get ready."
"I believe this meeting has been most successful, wouldn't you agree Monsieur Huntzberger?"
The room fell quiet as everyone waited for Logan to answer, but he was too wrapped up in his thoughts to respond. He felt a delicate finger brush over his forearm.
Gemma.
With a soft smile gracing her face, she cocked her head to the left.
"Oh," he exclaimed, slipping right back into business mode. "Absolutely, Monsieur Corbin, I'm very excited to start this venture with you all."
Corbin shot Logan an unimpressed look, closed the meeting and with that everyone started to shuffle out of the room.
"Nice save," Gemma laughed, "Real slick."
He turned to her, his smirk in place. "That how I got to be on top."
She bit down on her lip, letting the obvious and oh-so-easy-to-make comment slip, before pushing her lips into a flirty smile. "Really, I thought it was your Dad?"
Logan's eyebrows shot up in surprise. Talk about overstepping boundaries, but he was late and he was in no mood to argue.
"You're well informed," he quipped.
"I try – that's how I got to be on top, of the Future Writers, at least," she said through a smile. That wasn't entirely true, but Logan didn't care enough to tell her the truth.
He chuckled instead and suddenly he realized that he was starving. "Do you want to get some dinner?"
It'd been a while since Rory had properly gone out. She'd tried her damndest to shed that image – appear all practically perfect and if today proved anything, that clearly was not working out for her. She was young and free and she deserved a little fun.
Problem was, as she stopped her partying ways, her wardrobe became more conservative. Shift dresses and knee-length skirts aplenty, but nothing that was acceptable to wear to whatever middle-class bar Nick was holed up in. Maybe her black YSL kimono tunic could pass as a very, very short dress?
She sized it up in front of the mirror. Why, yes, yes it could. Especially teamed with fishnets and boots
Feeling good about her decision – going out, dolling up, not waiting for Logan – she decided she needed some tunes to punctuate the evening. She scrolled passed her perfectly acceptable top 40 music on her IPod to her old party music playlist.
As electronic beats blasted into her ears, she sipped her wine and got ready. A sweep of grey eye shadow, thick kohl lining her eyes, double coats of mascara. Red-stained lips. Perfume and hairspray fumes filled the air. The slightest buzz in her brain. It was a familiar feeling; comfortable even. God, how she'd missed it.
Finn was speechless as she emerged from her room some 30 minutes later. It was a certain change from her typical good-girl wardrobe, but it was much more decent than what she used to wear. In fact, Rory quiet liked her thigh-skimming kimono with over-the-knee boots. Hell, her hair was even done up in chic wrap around bun.
"You realize it's not a fashion show, love?" he said, feeling overwhelmingly underdressed in his khakis and burgundy polo.
"You never know who you're going to meet," Rory said as she let her credit card, cell, and house key drop into the shaft of her boot, like a club-going pro.
His shoulders pulled into an agreeing shrug, before he downed the last sip of his wine. "Marvelous creature," he muttered to himself and the pair left the house.
"What's open at this hour, anyway?" Gemma asked as they hit the streets of Paris.
It was 10:45 and the choice – despite being in a metropolitan city – was limited. "Probably McDonalds and the Ritz Carlton," Logan said half-jokingly. The restaurant at the Ritz may have closed for the general public, but Logan knew it'd always be open for him. Especially since it was where he was staying.
"The Ritz?" Gemma's eyes lit up in surprise. "I've always wanted to go there."
Logan nodded – of courseGemma wanted to go there. Rory would've been more than happy to sink her teeth into a Big Mac, though he probably have to comprise by getting her Burger King fries. He smiled at the thought, though he didn't notice that Gemma's smile grew as well.
The Ritz was fine by him. Besides, he hadn't been the best travel partner to Gemma and it was obvious that this would make her happy. "Well, the Ritz it is, then."
About 50 heads turned as Rory and Finn entered the old pub. Apparently, kimonos and boots were very appropriate partying attire as she felt eyes of all sorts of men on her. And she knew that all of the women were shamelessly ogling Finn.
"Maybe tonight I'll leave my red-head policy at the door, love" Finn whispered in her ear. Rory laughed, "Why limit yourself?"
Soon, she spotted Nicholas at the bar. He was dressed like she expected – loafers (no socks), khakis and a blue and white checkered shirt. It screamed "upper middle class" and was desperate. Rory turned her disapproving scowl into a desperately fake smile as she approached him. "Nicholas, darling!"
He couldn't hide his surprise. Perfect, conservative Rory Gilmore stood before him dressed like… that.
"I brought my friend Finn," Rory leaned in closely to ensure Nicholas could hear her. "Finn's looking to get lucky tonight."
Nicholas grinned mischievously. Did that apply to Rory, too? "That's splendid," he nodded slowly, letting his eyes take in every bit of her form. "I think I dropped something on the floor…"
"What?" she asked confused.
"My jaw!" he laughed, "you look amazing, Rory. Let me buy you a drink."
Rory nodded unfazed at his lame pick-up attempt. Nicholas could try to charm her with a cheesy line as long as he'd buy her a drink.
"I'll have a beer."
"Really love?" Finn asked, dropping his hand on her shoulder.
"Beer is fitting of the venue," she said whispering in his ear. He smirked and ordered the same.
"So," Nick drew out as he leaned closer to Rory on the bar, "anyone out there for you, Finn?"
"I'm observing the prospects," Finn replied, "how 'bout yourself?"
"I'm fine right here," Nick replied as he clenched his beer bottle tightly.
Rory sipped her beer as she continued to listen to Nicholas and Finn exchange digs. Nicholas had no reason to get all possessive; Finn was her friend, for one, and more importantly, she wasn't interested in Nick. Her liked her. She knew that this middle-class loser boy liked her from the beginning he laid eyes on her. He most likely wanted to fuck her, like most men in this room.
One look and she could have anyone in this room – it wasn't cocky, it was a fact - but she didn't want these sleaze balls and she certainly didn't want Nick. And it wasn't that she was morally against being with middle-class loser boys that liked her. But Nick would think it'd meant something and he'd get all involved. He'd be possessive and clingy and his true gold-digger nature would shine through as soon as he heard about her last names.
And she was over involvement and definitely if it involved gold-diggers. She was just over it; she was done. She tried… she tried so hard to be good enough for Logan, good enough to be a Future Writer. She tried living with her last names, she tried living without them. She tried, but her best wasn't good enough. And what was the point?
Tristan cheated.
All evidence pointed to Logan cheating at this very moment.
With Gemma.
And Richard was dead.
Her mind was always on overdrive, always filled to the brim with thoughts, hypotheses, what if's, should-haves, would-haves, could-haves, and maybes. Tonight, she wanted not to think. Tonight she just wanted to be.
"I want to go dancing," Rory announced, bringing conversation between Nick and Finn to a halt.
"You just got here!" Nick exclaimed, but Finn was more accommodating. "I think Bungalow 8 should be getting good about now."
A bright smile flashed across Rory's face. Why hadn't she thought of that? But Nick was none too pleased. "You have a membership to Bungalow 8?"
"Most everyone does, mate," Finn shrugged as if it weren't a big deal. "We could go to Whiskey Mist, too…"
"…but the music is better at the Bungalow," Rory finished his thought.
"And those boots," Finn patted her thigh, "were made for dancing!"
Rory laughed loudly. "You know it, Finn. Let's go," she said resolutely.
"But…" Nick sputtered, stunned as to what was happening, and grabbed Rory's hand. "I thought…"
"…oh, so very, very wrong," Rory interjected unapologetically. "If you thought you and I could ever be something you are sadly mistaken, Nicholas."
His eyes widened in pure shock – what just happened here? He had no time to ask, as Rory turned on her heel and Finn lead her out of the bar.
"Rory!" he called out after her.
"Don't follow me! Goodbye Nicholas," she shouted as she exited the bar.
"That was very cruel of you, love," Finn said as the two of them walked along the London streets.
"No, it was honest," Rory countered with a grin, "I mean, Nicholas?" She scrunched up her nose in disgust and Finn laughed. "Alright, point made. So, Bungalow?"
"Seems like a perfect venue to continue this evening."
"Oh Logan," Gemma gushed, "It's so fancy here." Her eyes dropped and she plucked at her blouse. "Are you sure I'm dressed alright?"
He stopped walking and turned to her, running his eyes up and down her body. She was clad in an above the knee black pencil skit, which looked much shorter because she was strutting around in 5 inch heels. Her blouse was too tight and probably a little too open, especially since she wasn't wearing a jacket. Her hair was curly and loose around her shoulders, and was nice, but probably – for the Ritz – should've been pinned up.
He was a Huntzberger, Gemma was his guest. The Ritz had to comply. No questions asked. Logan nodded and shot her an approving smile. "You look great, Gemma."
The maître d was not too pleased with his late guests, but lead them to a table immediately. If Logan had been trying to impress Gemma, it was working. "Are you sure the kitchen's open?" she asked confused as the waiter helped her to her seat.
"Oh yeah," Logan nodded, though as he looked around, he noticed that the restaurant was nearly empty. If it'd been just him, he'd order room service and call it a night. "I eat late like this all the time. They know me here."
"Wow," Gemma's eyes popped open and she nervously took a sip of her water. "In that case, I'm sure you know what's good?" she asked coyly as she flipped open her menu.
"Anything you get is going to be good…"
"Well, right, it's the Ritz obviously!" she said, excitement lacing her tone. "But I meant what would you recommend?"
Logan did not hear the flirty undertones or spot the twinkle in her eye. He was busy examining the menu figuring out the quickest way to eat some dinner.
"You like fish?" he asked her and she nodded, making sure to fix her eyes on him. "Very much so."
His eyes darted back to the menu. "I'd probably go with the Salmon Carpaccio as a starter and the Clam Linguine as a main."
"Carpaccio, wasn't that meat?" she asked as she ran a hand through her blond curls. With that type of behavior, Logan supposed it was better that the restaurant was nearly empty.
"It can be," he explained patiently, "but it actually just refers to the cutting technique – that its thinly sliced."
"Oh right," Gemma nodded. "Funny that you never stop being a teacher."
His mouth pulled into a half-smile and he cast his eyes down to his menu. This time he had picked up on her advances. And now, with the almost-private dinner at the Ritz and the special treatment. Nothing really good could come of this.
In an effort to hurry up the dinner, Logan also ordered the Salmon and Linguine and did his best to keep the conversation neutral. They talked about her experiences as a Future Writer, they talked about Paris, but Gemma had a knack to add innuendos to everything. Quite a remarkable talent had it not been for the fact that he was in no mood for this. He thought Rory's jealously was cute, but he never realized how truthful she was being.
As dessert came around – 2 chocolate mousses – he felt Gemma's foot on his leg. He didn't say anything, but shifted his leg under the table. Conversation carried on as if there hadn't been foot-to-leg contact, but within the next few minutes Gemma's foot was there again and now it was running up and down Logan's leg.
So much for subtlety.
Logan coughed and Gemma's removed her foot. He took a sip of his wine before he looked up and met her expectant (not apologetic!) eyes.
"I can't, Gemma."
"What do you mean?" she asked, running a strand of hair around her finger.
"I'm – you are a student," he reminded her firmly and she let go of her hair and leaned in closely.
"So?"
The two sat at the table, eyes locked, tension building.
There was no denying it; she was a pretty girl. Big blue eyes, rosy cheeks, and despite what Rory said, the gap-tooth was cute and her blond curls sexy. And any other day he'd agree with her. So what?
He typically made a rule to sleep with females of his standing, but he'd kind of exhausted his supply. And Gemma looked like fun. But tonight…tonight was different. Maybe it was the way she made herself so available to him or how easy she propositioned the "so?" He couldn't put his finger on it, but it was decidedly not sexy. In fact, it was infuriating.
So? He wanted to shout at her. There's a million reasons, chief among them a beautiful girl named Rory.
But he didn't shout, he simply looked her in the eyes. "I can't."
"But no one has to know, Logan," she tried again.
That was true. No one, not even Rory, had to know. But he didn't want to.
He didn't want to. Not with Gemma.
As soon as that realization dawned on him, he felt an immense relief. Screwing around with available girls was no longer a want – even when they were right there. Sure, the thought briefly flitted through his mind, but he had no psychical desire to pursue it. He wanted Rory. Only Rory.
He couldn't help the grin that spread across his face. "I'm sorry, Gemma, but I don't want to."
"You don't want to?" she scoffed; obviously insulted by Logan's enthusiasm in turning her down.
"I'm sorry if you might have gotten that impression, but no, I really don't want to."
Gemma blinked a few times, picking up her wine glass - it was empty - before putting it down. "But what about the Ritz? You made them stay open for us?"
"Because I was hungry. You were hungry. We had the long meeting. We needed to eat," he explained as if it was obvious.
Clearly, this was not the outcome Gemma expected. "That's all?" she asked in confusion.
Logan nodded, absolute certainty written on his face. "That's all."
Gemma looked like someone had told her that all the kittens in the world drowned and for a brief second Logan felt bad for the girl; she was the first girl in history to get shot down by Logan Huntzberger.
"You know what? You are a great girl and before I probably would have… but…"
Gemma looked up, already knowing the answer. "There's someone else? Some girl who's managed to tame you?"
A loud laugh escaped him and he nodded. "It sure does seem that way."
Rory had always liked clubs. Especially exclusive clubs. The complimentary shot of whiskey helped her get into the party mood right away. But even in the run-of-the-mill venues she frequented in her youth, she always had a good time. Maybe it was the thump, thump, thump of the bass that muted her thoughts. Or maybe that people didn't care – everyone was just there to have a good time.
She and Finn made a beeline for the bar. Finn was right – it was getting good. The club was just about at maximum capacity, the DJ's electronic beats were pounding through the club and the gin-and-juice Finn presented her was literally the best drink ever. A French guy asked her to dance, but she ignored him. French was not needed tonight. And Finn saved her with another gin-and-juice.
"You're popular," she told him after taking a sip.
"How so?" he asked, swirling around the scotch in his tumbler.
Rory tipped her head, pointing at the far side of the bar. "Scottish red-head over there."
Finn smiled at the pretty red-head at the end of the bar. "How'd you know she's Scottish?"
"Lucky guess," she muttered. "Scotland has the highest concentration of red-heads," she said waving this fact away. She didn't want to be the smart one tonight. "Go on. Have fun. Play nice. I'm going to dance."
"Are you sure?"
Rory nodded, tipping her cocktail glass at him, shooting him a smile before she stomped, stomped, stomped her way towards the dance-floor. The sea of people parted to let her in. At first, her stomps and arm sways were restrained, polite, kind of civil dancing. She made sure her beverage stayed in its glass but soon it was finished and she passed it off it to someone else.
The DJ switched up tunes. Immediately she recognized the du-du-doop of La Roux' Bulletproof.
It was fitting. Her stomping became wilder, primitive. Pounding her heels into the shiny metallic floor was her sole purpose. Her torso turned and swayed in time with the rhythm of the music as if she was in a cage and trying to break free. Her fists hit the air, punching her demons.
She danced away the doubt Logan planted in her mind, she danced away Nick's stupid come-ons, she danced away her disappointment about failing FTF. She danced away Tristan, she danced away thoughts about her Grandpa.
I'm having fun, don't put me down.
Rory felt a pair of strong hands on her hips and she automatically began grinding her rear into whoever was behind her. The unidentified hands took hers and raised them towards the sky. Rory scooted back a little closer, pushing her body against this stranger's. Together, their feet pounded the floor, their hands punched the sky and her back to his chest moved as one. Together, they were lost in the music and Rory did not want it to end, but eventually, La Roux faded into Cobra Starship and Rory jumped around to meet her dancer.
He was – through her gin-and-juicy eyes – perfection. Olive-toned skin, perfect rings of dark curls, dark eyebrows framing his glistening green eyes and a killer smile. She couldn't resist and smiled back.
He was a play-boy, obviously and maybe a good-boy, but probably not. But that smile. Well, for that smile, she'd dance with him. He was probably Greek, or Italian maybe. Rory fancied him an oil heir; certainly not a newspaper heir and that was all that mattered.
As the chorus kicked in, she jumped up high, shaking her hair all around as she went. He grabbed at her hips, pulling her closer to him. If she had just flashed the club, she didn't care. This Greek God was here and they were dancing, dancing, dancing through mixes of music.
The DJ eventually slowed it down with Madonna's 4 minutes and all suave, he gestured at the bar. She nodded, seeing that she was parched. His hand dropped to the small of her back, before cupping her ass. Rory let her hand slip into the back pocket of his khakis. He looked at her and she flashed him a big grin.
At the bar Rory glanced around, but couldn't find Finn. She couldn't be bothered to look for him, or worry about him what with the Greek God staring at her. He handed her a tequila shot and took one for himself. It'd been a long time since she'd done a shot, but she hadn't forgotten the specifics.
She kept her eyes locked on him as she licked the skin between her thumb and index finger. Instead of sprinkling the salt on herself, she held out her hand to him and he did he honors. Rory took the wedge of lime from the small bowl that topped her shot glass, licked the salt from her hand and downed her shot. She bit down on the wedge of lime as the tequila quickly burned through her body. Savoring it for a moment, she bobbed her head to the beat of the music, before taking the wedge out of her mouth and gesturing that is was Greek's turn.
He pointed at his shot, at the salt, and the lime, as if he was a magician about to do a trick. Rory laughed. Greek was a cute drunk. Or maybe she was a cute drunk. Or maybe he just really liked tequila. It didn't matter. She watched as he downed his shot and Rory clapped. Very cute. Pleased, he ordered another round of tequila.
This time, though, he held out his hand and Rory took it, taking a moment to observe how perfectly tan it was, before running her tongue from his knuckle to wrist. His green eyes glazed over in lust as she sprinkled on the salt. Greek then took the shot glass as if he were about to down it, but handed it to Rory instead.
She smirked and proceeded to run her tongue across his hand for the second time. The shot burned in her throat, but tasted better. A small laugh escaped her as she realized that she had always liked Greek food.
He grabbed Rory's hand and ran his tongue over his lips, but she pulled away, using her hand to push the hair away from her neck. Greek looked at her, perhaps asking for permission, and Rory nodded.
She and Greek had drunken chemistry and it'd be a shame to waste it. He agreed and slowly, sensually, pulled her closer, kissing her neck softly before licking it. It tickled and they laughed and he might have pressed another small kiss against her neck. She couldn't tell.
Salt, his tongue dancing down her neck, the shot, the burn, the lime and his tongue found its way back to her neck. The licking was now kissing and slowly he moved from her neck, to her mouth.
Those gorgeous Greek lips on hers, the tequila in her blood, the thump, thump, thump of the bass through her body. Her lips parted and as his tongue dipped in she felt a total disconnect from her brain, her body. All the noise that flooded her head was gone. For all she was concerned the room was white, quiet, and empty. It was just her and the Greek. But mostly, just her.
Flat-lined, floating, being.
Until she remembered Greek. He was a good kisser. Maybe the best. She didn't know; she didn't care. It was nice. He was nice. La Roux pounded around in her brain. I'll never let you sweep me off my feet.
No, no, no, her drunk self muttered. No feet-sweeping tonight. Greek was fun. She remembered that concept, didn't she? Yes, yes, she did.
Rory broke off the kiss and gestured for more shots. And ogled him as she waited for their drinks. Alcohol was supposed to numb, but she felt more tonight than she had in a long while. Maybe it was becuse Greek had enough skin exposed – two tan arms, two strong hands, and one gorgeous neck – to do plenty of shots. It was obivous he thought the same as his eyes remained fixed to Rory's.
I'm not turned on to love until it's cheap. La Roux drilled in her skull.
It's not cheap, she drunkenly argued with herself. And she stood up from her bar stool – maybe to prove just how much fun it was - and fell into Greek's arms.
He smiled at her. Blinding. And Rory noted he smelt good, before she pushed herself up on her tippy toes to reach his gorgeous neck.
Her tongue drew a sloppy line across his neck. She was so sexy. He was so sexy. Together they'd burn in this club. Together they'd drown out the noise. Together they'd be.
Salt. Tequila. A sweet, sweet, burn. His touch almost melted her. Another kiss. Thump, thump, thump.
Her heart?
No, it was the music.
His eyes locked to hers.
And her breath hitched.
The only reasonable thing to do?
Another shot.
It was 3:00 a.m. and Logan was wide awake in his Parisian hotel room. The dinner with Gemma was disastrous for, well, Gemma, but had been a real eye-opener for him and currently the reason why he lay awake.
Rory was right, Gemma wanted him. And Rory's jealousness indicated – on some deep level – that Rory really wanted to be with him.
And honestly, at first that kind of freaked him out – it always had. Sure, he was the one who proposed Nice and all, but he hadn't been sure if he was quite ready for the seriousness that was sure to follow.
But now he knew.
He and Rory were something whether he liked it or not. There was Gemma and he had no problem turning her down. Right there, gap-toothed and curly-haired was his possibility to fuck this up and he took the pass.
This was excellent, thrilling news. News he really only wanted to share with Rory. His business here was finished; they were supposed to fly back at 10:00 am, but he really had no desire to eat room service breakfast and fly back on the corporate jet.
He wanted to go home. He needed to go home.
A quick phone call down car service and his vehicle was arranged. He'd just drive. It was just five and a half hours. And really, what's five and a half hours to see the person you love?
With love on the brain, he set off towards London. He couldn't remember the last time he'd been this happy. There was no traffic, The Kooks blasting on the radio, their sweet music urging him to go faster.
At this rate, he'd be home for breakfast.
Oh, Logan. Oh, Rory. And what happened to Finn?
Honestly, I don't know why I weave these incredibly tangled webs, but I do. And drama will ensue (how could it not?) It will be resolved. I cannot say when or how but I will fix this.
Meanwhile, review if you:
1. did not expect Rory to go back to Old Partying Rory and be the one to mess it up
2. did not expect Logan to have an epiphany and turn down Gemma.
3. thought Rory and Finn would hook up (never, ever, would I write that. I've read the occasional Finn/Rory fiction and I like it but I could never write them like that. At least not in this story.)
4. think it'll be a really long time until Rory and Logan will get their date.
Also, two totally unrelated things: I recently discovered Florence & the Machine and it's amazing! I have to go to school on Thursday to defend my thesis and after that I find out if I graduate! EEK!
Anyway, to end this obnoxiously long AN I just want to say thanks! For everything basically. I've got the best readers :)