A/N: Tonight, I watched the series finale of Gilmore Girls. And I cried. But I also squealed (loudly) when Luke and Lorelai finally got back together. Anyhow, now that I have nothing to do with life but explore the rest of Netflix for other series I can binge watch, here's a new chapter! Enjoy!

P.S. Some light mature content ahead! You have been warned!

Eight and a Half

By Imagine Backstory

Chapter Eight – The Missing Phone & The Blame Game

Rory

I could tell Jess was pretty smashed when he could no longer focus fully on my face. His eyelids were drooping and his words were slurring. I had to admit, I did not expect the night to go this way. I'd always thought Jess would be the kind of guy to put away drink after drink no sweat, but there he was, practically falling asleep at the table, even after all his talk earlier about drinking all kinds of booze. I wondered if maybe that hot dog we'd had in Times Square was all he'd eaten today. In any case, I made quick work of getting him out of the bar, hailing a cab once we got outside.

Not that I was sober, or anything. I had a hard time keeping him upright, what with him leaning on me and the world spinning every time I blinked. But me and booze got along just fine as long as we agreed that I wouldn't go past my breaking point. Lorelai could say I couldn't hold my booze as much as she wanted, but it was a lie to a certain point. Once I took the seventh or eighth drink, I was into the territory of the point of no return. I had had six standard drinks—I'd counted—and was on the knife's edge, but definitely not too drunk to get Jess and me to our respective homes safely. I'd lost count of how many Jess had had; I was pretty sure one of the jugs we'd ordered had been entirely dispensed into his glass.

I held Jess at arm's length to steady him before we got in the cab. The city lights shone in his eyes as he stared up at the stars, his crooked mouth slightly open in awe, as if he had never seen the night sky before. To me, the sky tonight was nothing fascinating; you could barely even see the stars with New York's lights blocking the way. But he seemed to be searching for something up there, and I wasn't about to break his train of thought now, especially since he had just revealed a rather important piece of information to me.

Five years he had been with this girl. And he only mentioned it now? I had a million questions going through my mind, and I only wished he'd told me earlier on in the night so I would have had a chance to ask them all. Just when I thought I got Jess Mariano—that I understood him, to a certain point—he threw me for a loop again. It had been all I could do to plaster what I knew was an insincere smile on my face when the words finally came out of his mouth. It was the second metaphorical slap in the face that night, and this time, the sting wasn't going away as quickly.

When I finally got Jess in the cab he curled up next to me, his head on my shoulder, and promptly fell asleep. He was murmuring something I couldn't make out. I felt awkward and upset and kind of embarrassed, but as the cab took us over the Brooklyn Bridge I stretched my arm around him and tucked him closer, counting my blessings with these rare moments of intimacy with him while they lasted. Even though everything emotional between us had morphed and shifted over the years, the physical reaction I got when I touched him was exactly the same. It was easy and familiar and too comforting for my own good. I knew this. But I couldn't resist because he looked so cute and content in my arms, oblivious and sleeping and drunk.

Getting him awake and out of the cab and up the stairs to his apartment was a feat in and of itself. I knew I would be sore in the morning and probably pulled some muscles lugging him around, and I had to stick my hand into the pocket of his shorts to get his keys. Rolling my eyes towards the ceiling, I prayed that my hand would only come into contact with his keys.

As I turned the key in the lock, fear shot through me like a bolt of electricity. What if his girlfriend was home? What was I to say? Hey, I'm Rory, I'm Jess' ex-girlfriend from a million years ago; we just went out for a few but I guess he had a few too many! Ha-ha, anyway, here is your obliterated boyfriend. BYEEE!

Knowing there was nothing else I could do, I pushed the door open.

The place was dark and silent. I paused, listening for any sign of life, but all I could hear was my own laboured breathing and Jess' quiet mumblings. Figuring the coast was clear, I fumbled for a light switch, but at that moment Jess pitched forwards and nearly fell right into what looked like a glass coffee table.

"Jess!" I hissed, stopping his progress with my own body. His nose collided with mine and I swore loudly.

"I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm so sorry," he ranted, placing a hand on either side of my face and inspecting the damage with glazed eyes. "Are you okay?" His face was merely inches from mine.

"Yes, Jess, I'm fine. Come on, let's get you on the couch." I shook his hands away and tried to pull him towards the couch, squinting for any other potential obstacles. The wall of windows allowed city light to stream in, but it was still difficult to see much. Finally, I got him to lie down on the couch, and knelt to take off his shoes.

"You're beautiful, Rory," he said slowly, gazing at me sleepily as I took his shoes off one by one. "You know that? So beautiful."

"Shut up, Jess," I snapped. Squinting, I found my way towards the kitchen, in search of a bowl or bucket I could place by his head in case he hurled.

He was calling after me, almost incoherently. "I'msorryRory. Ijusswanyoutobehappy. You deserve tobehappy."

Not able to answer him, I found a plastic garbage bin in the kitchen and dragged it over to the couch, placing it safely within hurling distance. Noticing a throw blanket over the back of the couch, I tugged it out and over him, and almost smiled as he snuggled right in. Seeing him there, helpless and cute, some of my anger and irritation melted away. I knelt in front of him and gently brushed the pad of my thumb over his forehead, just a simple, gentle caress, and impulsively leaned in to brush my lips chastely where my thumb had just been.

He sighed contentedly. "Rory?"

"Yeah, Jess?"

"I really missed you," he slurred, then he pulled my face to his and kissed me.

I was kissing Jess. Holy. Shit. My immediate reaction was to pull back, but despite his inebriation his grip was firm. He held me there, his lips moving sloppily over my own, his hand tangling in my hair. All I could think was how uncomfortable I was, still on my knees and bent over him at an awkward angle, so I shifted to sit up a bit. He seemed to take my movement as a sign to take it further, and suddenly his tongue was at my lips, asking for entrance.

He was so drunk. I was drunk. I knew how totally wrong this was, but I found myself blanking as to why. I knew there was a reason, but the electricity running through my body was overpowering, and I found myself responding primitively to Jess' touch. I gasped and opened my mouth to him, tangling my tongue with his, hot and wanting, as he pulled me into his lap. Stradling him, I ran my hands over the planes of his chest, feeling the taut muscles underneath his t-shirt, feeling the swell of his biceps and the veins protruding from his forearms. His own hands were everywhere, traveling from my bottom up my sides and finally to cup my breasts, which ellicited a moan from somewhere within me. He grunted in response, a noise which sent a jolt of energy right down to my womanhood.

"Rory..." he groaned, his hands wandering low on my hips, his breath hot on my skin as he planted wet kisses along my jawline.

His voice brought the moment to stunning clarity, and I broke away from Jess, panting and wide-eyed. His eyes were closed, his hands quickly going slack around me, and I knew he was moments away from passing out. I hauled myself out of his arms, off his lap, and gracelessly rolled onto the floor, knocking some things off the coffee table as I went, landing on my ass with a small shriek. Fumbling around in the dark, I grabbed my shoes and purse, which had been tossed haphazardly onto the floor near the front door, and let myself out. By the time I shut the door, I was certain that Jess was fast asleep.

My cabbie sure was pissed when I stepped out onto the street. I hadn't paid him for the ride to Jess' place, yet, after all, and he had been waiting. Of course, while philandering with Jess upstairs it had started to rain. I sprinted to the cab and threw myself into the backseat, apologizing profusely, assured that I probably looked a drunken mess, and that the cabbie was definitely judging me. Even more pissed that we had to go all the way back to Manhattan to get to my hotel, I wondered whether the cabbie was secretly plotting my demise. I made a mental note to give him the biggest tip of his career.

It was nearly three in the morning by the time I finally stumbled into my hotel room, shivering like a leaf after having been caught in the summer rain. I tossed my purse onto the bed and followed it with my own body, letting my shoes drop off my feet on their own. My hands went to my pockets, searching for my phone to check if James had called. Finding my pockets empty, I groped for my purse and dragged it to eye level, but one glance inside told me I had fucked up even more tonight, if that were even possible.

I could picture my phone, then, sitting helpessly on Jess' coffee table, as he slept soundly beside it.

Jess

When I woke, I wondered for a fleeting moment if I were, in fact, dead. I had been hit by a truck and died, I had to have been, because certainly there was no other explanation for how I felt at that moment. But that moment passed, and I was hit with an even worse reality: the hangover of hangovers. I had definitely been more hungover in the past, but this combined with the lingering sense of wrong which clung to me like summer sweat literally made me feel like my head was being crushed under a sumo wrestler's heel. I couldn't yet wrap my head around why I felt this way; images of last night were flashing one by one before my eyes, but I couldn't make sense of any of it.

Reluctantly, I pried my eyes open, but immediately regretted that decision, hissing as the morning sun blinded me. There was an awful crick in my neck; as I stretched I finally gained a sense of where exactly I even was.

How the hell did I get on my couch?

The furthest moment I could remember from the previous night was the stars as I gazed up at them outside Donna's pub with Rory. Rory—

Oh, fuck.

I sat up suddenly, panicking, my eyes glancing once around the seemingly empty apartment before nausea overwhelmed me. Noticing the garbage bin inexplicably waiting next to the couch, I leaned over it in preparation to spew, but nothing came of the impulse. I hung there, panting above the can, just waiting for it, as my mind furiously worked to put the puzzle pieces together. Figuring I had time to make it to the toilet, I staggered up from the couch, the room spinning around me, and stumbled to the bathroom, folding myself over the toilet as my body finally convulsed.

Once done emptying my guts, I reached for the shower and cranked it on, stripped, and lay down in the tub, letting the lukewarm water soak me through.

I must have fallen asleep, briefly. When I woke, the water was ice cold, and I was shivering violently, probably half from the cold water and half from dehydration.

Drying my hair with a towel and pulling my briefs back on, I wandered back out into the living area, collapsing onto the couch with a loud groan. I threw an arm over my face, shielding my sensitive eyes from the brilliant morning sunshine. I ached for a cigarette, but I knew they were still in the pocket of my shorts, which were lying crumpled on the floor of my bathroom, and that was just too far away right now.

I opened my mouth and yawned, feeling the need to vomit again when I tasted stale alcohol and sleep on my breath. Realizing how quiet it was, I managed to choke out an awful, raspy, "Nora?"

The apartment was empty. I wondered fleetingly if she had gone to the Café already, but judging by the angle the sunlight was streaming in, it was still way too early in the morning. Had she been here last night?

Frantically, I attempted to put the pieces of last night that I remembered together. I remembered being at the bar, pissing Rory off, following her outside to give her her phone because she had left it when she stormed out, convincing her to come back in, ordering several pitchers of mojitos...ugh, mojitos. I was usually strictly a beer person, but when Rory announced that she drank anything, I couldn't resist the urge to beat her at her own game. I also remembered talking about our favourite colours, asking questions back and forth, we talked about my virginity, her virginity...after that, I remembered looking at the stars, and her smiling up at me, half amused, half exasperated. I vaguely remembered being in a taxi. Then I had a brief memory of being on my couch at home, an even briefer image of Rory nearby me, kissing my forehead? Then—I couldn't remember. Something had happened, because the pit in my stomach was too deep for last night to have been all innocent. Had I puked on her? Said something embarrassing? Told her I loved her?

Forcing myself to sit up, I glanced around. The TV remotes were on the floor, along with a couple of my books. The throw blanket was a tangled heap at the foot of the couch. No sign of Rory, anywhere. Then, on the coffee table, my cell phone's screen flashed to life, buzzing violently, shaking the whole table.

Lying back on the couch, I blindly reached for the phone, pressing accept and holding it to my ear without looking at the caller ID, certain that it had to be Nora calling. "'Llo?"

"Uh...hallo?" It was a man's voice. It voice sounded funny. "Who's that?"

"You called me, man," I grunted, irritated. If this was a fucking telemarketer, I swear to god—

"Who the hell is this?" the guy asked loudly; I winced as a headache suddenly shot through my skull. "Where's Rory?"

"Rory?" I rubbed a hand across my face, perpetually confused.

"Yeah, wanker, Rory! Who the fuck are you?"

I floundered for a minute, just trying to make an ounce of sense of the situation. "Uh. I'm. This is. Jess."

"Alright, Jess," the guy roared. "Now why the fuck are ya answering my finacé's phone?"

Fiancé? What the...

Rory.

Fiancé—

Oh, fuck.

I pulled the phone away from my ear and looked at it. So similar to mine—a Samsung S4 in a black Otter Box—but with one tiny difference in the detail, a detail I had overlooked, a detail which was now about to cost me what I was sure would be dearly. Where my phone was black, this one was stunnigly white. Rory's fucking phone.

Putting the phone back to my ear, I addressed who I could only assume was James. "Listen, man, there's been a misunderstanding. See, Rory left her phone here, I guess, and—"

"Where is here?" he snarled.

I ran a hand back and forth quickly over my sort hair. I knew how this looked. If I were in his shoes I'd probably already have a deathnote out for the dude. "Look, I know how this looks—"

"Do ya?" he snapped. "Cuz tah me this is seemin' pretty fucked up, if we're being honest."

"It's—it's not what you think," I said quickly. "I'm her, uh, friend." Fuck, why did I hesitate?

"The fuck you are!" James roared, his voice climbing to an impossibly high octave. "Fucking put Rory on the phone right now!"

"Dude, relax," I spat, really starting to get pissed now. "She's not here. She left her phone here. We were up late last night and she must have forgot it when she left to go back to her hotel."

There was a long pause where I could hear James just breathing loudly. "Hotel?"

I blanched, slapping a hand over my face. Oh, Rory. Had she seriously neglected to mention to James that she was even in New York? She had said she hadn't told James she was meeting up with me, but now how the fuck was I supposed to explain to the guy why she was here if she hadn't told him? I silently thanked the heavens that the dude was on a different continent, or I could very well be fearing for my life at the moment.

I sighed. "Uh, listen man, I don't know what to tell you. I thought you knew. She's in New York. She got a job with the New York Times."

He started to speak a few times, obviously struggling with this information. "Ya still haven't told me who the fuck you are."

"Yes, I did. I'm Jess. I'm an old friend of Rory's. We met up last night because she was in town. I live in Brooklyn. She's staying at a hotel in Manhattan," I added to put more distance between us.

James scoffed loudly. "She's never mentioned a Jess before," he snapped.

I closed my eyes slowly, taking a deep breath. She hadn't just not told James she was meeting up with me, she hadn't told him about me at all. Oh, this was so fucked! I tried to keep my voice as even as possible as I spoke. "I don't know what to say about that. We've known each-other since we were teenagers. In Stars Hollow. Her stepdad is my uncle. I was even invited to your wedding." I took another deep breath, trying to stop my hands from shaking. "Seriously, man, it's a totally innocent situation here. I know how this looks, but believe me, nothing happened. She was here, she left, she forgot her phone. I'll get it to her ASAP."

"Don't you go near her!" James yelled.

"I have her phone," I sneered, refraining from adding something like jackass on the end. "I have to give it back to her, unless you'd rather not speak with her?"

Another long pause. "I don't give a fuck," he growled, his accented voice loaded with venom, and then the line went dead.

I moved the phone and stared at it. There were half a dozen missed calls on there, most from James, some from someone named Rufus. A handful of unread text messages, which I didn't read. Carefully, I went through the phone, trying to find a clue as to which hotel Rory was staying at. All I wanted to do was get this fucking thing out of my possesion as soon as possible, and it was about to die, too. I opened her e-mails; Bingo. Hotel confirmation receipt. She was staying right around the corner from Times Square. I groaned, trying to figure how long it was going to take me to get to the island on a weekday morning.

Scrambling up from the sofa, I went to collect my cigarettes and my cell phone from my shorts in the bathroom. Shoving open a window in the living room, I lit the cigarette, blowing the smoke out the window as I unlocked my phone. Besides some work-related messages, there was only one text from Nora:

Going to Natalie and Jay's tonight. Don't wait up. We need to talk.

I breathed a sigh of relief. Natalie was Nora's friend from college; with her boyfriend, Jay, the four of us often hung out as a group. I now knew where Nora was, that she was safe, albeit probably pissed. But, checking the time of the text, I saw that it had been sent before I'd met up with Rory. Why would she have been pissed so early in the night—?

Oh.

Rory had gone to Café Livre. So Nora had seen her. Fuck.

Knowing Nora, she probably would go right from Nat and Jay's to work, avoiding me until the evening, knowing this was my day off. I would have time to go to Manhattan, give Rory back her phone, come back to the loft and forget this whole thing ever happened with plenty of time to prepare for when Nora got home. I even considered going out and getting ingredients for a nice dinner, maybe some flowers. Some serious grovelling was going to be involved.

I climbed the stairs to the bedroom and lazily pulled on a t-shirt and a pair of shorts, slipped my feet into some flip-flops, and grabbed my aviators from my nightstand, certain I would need them in the glaring sunlight in my condition. I popped a couple aspirin, for good measure. I went to the kitchen to fill up a water bottle, which I downed once before refilling, and went to collect my keys. I opened my front door to leave and my shriek was met with a higher squeak of surprise.

Rory was standing at my door, her fist raised to knock. She bit her lip, taking in my disastrous appearance.

Wordlessly, I left the door open and retreated to the coffee table, grabbing her phone (only then realizing I had been about to leave without it), which I then brought to her and shoved into her hand. She looked at it guiltily. "I guess you know why I'm here."

"Yeah," I snapped, rage suddenly flaring up and boiling my blood. I pushed the door closed behind her as she stepped into my apartment. "You know, next time you're going to play lies and deceit with your fiancé, could you at least give me a heads up so I don't get ripped a new asshole when the guy phones you in the morning?"

Her eyes went wide, shocked at my aggression. "What are you talking about?"

"James called. He wasn't too impressed when I answered, as you can probably imagine."

"Why did you answer?" she demanded, her brows knitting together as colour pooled in her cheeks.

I shook my head, backing away from her a few steps. "Oh, no, don't you dare blame this on me. I'm hungover is fuck, I heard the phone ring and I just grabbed it, I thought it was mine. And then I received the third degree from your fucking boyfriend and then I was left trying to explain why I was answering your phone—oh, and then I had to explain why he didn't know you were in New York to begin with, let alone that he didn't seem to even know about me at all—which of course, I couldn't even begin to fucking explain! What are you doing, Rory? Why are you being so dishonest with this guy? Weren't you supposed to marry him this weekend?"

She practically had steam coming out of her ears. "That's none of your business," she snarled, but her blue eyes betrayed her. They were filled with obvious regret.

"Well when I get fucking chewed out at eight in the morning by some guy I've never even met, then yeah, it fucking becomes my business," I shot back, crossing my arms over my chest and hooking my thumbs outside my armpits.

"You know, you're really one to talk about dishonesty after your behaviour last night," Rory fumed, matching my posture by folding her own arms. "Let me guess—you don't remember anything, right?"

"Don't turn this around on me," I spat, taking a step towards her.

She rolled her eyes. "Figures," she mumbled. She turned to go but I seized her arm, turning her back to look at me.

"Enlighten me," I growled, staring down at her. Seeing the flash of fear in her eyes, I released her arm. and took a step backwards. I gestured towards the couch, and we both perched awkwardly on the edge of it, a good two feet apart. "What happened?" I asked, trying to keep my voice as low as possible. My head was still pounding.

"You got wasted," she began, stating the obvious. "You were practically passing out on me and I had to drag you up here. Then you wouldn't stop mumbling about how much you missed me and saying that I was beautiful and deserved to be happy and other bullshit like that. And then, you—" She stopped, shaking her head.

"Then I what?" I prompted, ducking my head in an attempt to catch her gaze with mine, which she avoided like the plague. Her hands were tangling nervously in her lap. "What did I do, Rory?"

Finally, she looked me right in the eyes. "You kissed me," she said quietly.

Before I could think of anything to say in response, I heard a key turn in the lock on the front door. Panic flashed through my body like a lightning bolt and I instantly scooted another half a foot further away from Rory on the couch. I knew I had a split second between the lock hitting home and the door being shoved open to come up with a viable excuse for Rory's presence before Nora came through the door, but my mind ever so helpfully was drawing a big fat blank.

Nora was already speaking as she stepped over the threshold into the apartment, balancing her keys and her travel coffee tumbler. "Oh my god, you would not believe the cab driver I had on the way here—" She stopped dead when she saw Rory and me seated on the couch at a distance which under any other circumstance would be considered appropriate. For a moment she just stared at us, and then fixed her withering gaze on me. For once, I couldn't read her expression. She was a blank canvas, and I Jackson Pollock; the wrong words could cause her temporarily composed façade to implode.

"Nora," I began as casually as I could muster. "This is Rory. Rory this is Nora...my girlfriend."

Nora's green eyes were molten. "I believe we've met," she said icily. Her gaze shifted to Rory. "Hi, Rory." I felt a chill in the room that was completely unrelated to the open window.

"Hi." Rory's voice was tiny. She fidgeted, her knuckles turning white in her lap.

Nora's smile didn't reach her burning eyes. "I see you've found Jess."

"So it would seem," Rory replied, attempting to return the smile.

There was an awkward pause. I rubbed a fist against my opposite open palm, wracking my brain for words, any words, really, to fill the silence. Finally, Nora beat me to it. "I'm going to make breakfast," she said, tossing her stuff on the kitchen counter. "Would you like some breakfast, Rory?"

"No," Rory said, "I should probably get going, actually. Thanks for the book, Jess." She quickly reached out and grabbed a random book off my coffee table.

"Yeah. No problem." I felt like I couldn't breathe. We stood and I walked Rory to the door; she tucked the book under her arm and pocketed her phone.

"It was nice to meet you, Nora," Rory said, smiling a bit more genuinely, now.

Nora barely turned her head from the pantry. "You, too."

Rory gave me a look before she left, and my heart sank. I couldn't ask her now, but I somehow got the feeling I wouldn't see her again before she left town. That fact hit me harder than I ever could have imagined, and I didn't entirely know why.

I shut the door softly behind Rory and lingered there for a moment, letting my head rest against the door. I could feel Nora's shoulder turned coldly against me as she banged around the kitchen, bringing out tools and ingredients seemingly at random. Taking a deep breath, I turned towards her. "Nora," I began slowly. "It was nothing."

"You know, Jess, I'm really not in the mood for your bullshit excuses right now," she snapped, throwing a cabinet door closed after removing a mixing bowl.

"I should have told you she was here," I offered, walking round the island so as to get a more direct view of her.

"Yeah," Nora spat, her voice acid, "preferably before you went out for drinks with her." She began furiously cutting cheese on the cutting board meant for onions, but I could hardly correct her on that front now. "You both look like shit. How trashed did you get?"

"Nora, stop," I groaned as her chopping became more aggressive. "You're going to take a finger off. Stop it and talk to me."

"I have nothing to say." But she did stop chopping. She threw the knife down and tossed a dish towel at me. "I'm not hungry. I'm going to take a shower."

I caught her around the other side of the island before she could reach the bathroom, placing my hands gently on her shoulders. "Nora." I tried to look into her eyes but she was avoiding my gaze, keeping it firmly trailed on the floor. I ducked my head to try and catch it. "Hey. Look at me." Finally, she did. In her eyes now was just hurt, maybe some betrayal. Her bottom lip quivered ever so slightly. "Nora, nothing happened. We had a few drinks last night, talked, caught up, and she left her phone in the cab. She came by to collect it from me—and to borrow that book. That's it. She was here all of fifteen minutes."

"Why didn't you tell me she was here?" Nora asked, her voice gaining more force again. "Why didn't you say it was her you were going to see? You know I would have been cool with it if you'd been honest with me. You know what—I can't deal with this right now." She shook my hands off her shoulders and blew past me towards the bathroom. "I had a shitty, shitty night and I don't want to think about this."

"Nora, come on." I followed her, standing in the doorway to the bathroom as she stripped off her business attire, leaving herself standing in her camisole and underwear. "Please don't be mad at me. I don't ever mean to purposefully hide things from you."

"Then don't," she snapped, her voice climbing an octave. "We have to be honest with each-other, Jess! I know you have a history with Rory. Don't make it harder for me to trust you when you're with someone who broke your heart."

I wanted to tell her that I had broken her heart, too—more than once—but I decided it wouldn't help my present situation. I stepped further into the bathroom as she reached to turn the water on. The shower hissed to life as steam began to fill the room. "All that stuff that happened with me and Rory?" I began as she let her blood red hair down from the bun. "It ended years ago. Eight and a half years ago, to be exact. I haven't spoken to her since she came to see me when I was still living in Philadelphia."

"That doesn't mean it's over," she quipped, peeling her cami off to reveal the lacy black bra that I loved.

Momentarily distracted as my eyes scanned my girlfriend's nearly naked body, her words landed on me late. "What are you talking about? Of course it's over. What did I just say?"

"Just because it happened so long ago doesn't mean it's over between you two." Nora made no move to remove the rest of her clothing. She folded her tattooed arms across her chest, making her cleavage tantalizingly more prominent. "Why is she here, anyway? Is she staying?"

I barely surpressed the urge to roll my eyes. "She's here to review a Broadway show for the Times. She'll be gone by Friday," I tagged on, hoping that my shot in the dark was correct. I really had no idea when she was leaving.

Nora looked at her feet, suddenly looking very small, standing half naked in our bathroom. "I knew this would happen," she whispered. "I knew as soon as she showed up, I would lose you."

"You haven't lost me," I said incredulously, hurt stabbing through me. "Nora, I love you."

Nora stared at me for a long minute before she finally relaxed, letting her arms drop to her sides. "Fine, Jess. Just—don't hide things from me. Especially when they involve Rory."

"I wasn't trying to hide anything," I said, stepping closer and putting my hands on her waist. "I'm sorry. I fucked up. I should have told you I was going to see her."

"You big idiot," she sniffed, but she stepped into my embrace and rested her forehead on my collarbone. I felt the light sensation of a kiss being planted there and I smirked, looking down at her. "Shut up," she whined upon seeing my expression. But her eyes were playful now, and we quickly discarded our remaining clothes and stepped into the shower together.

A/N: Phew! My longest chapter yet, at nearly 6,000 words! Marathon writing! I actually had the part where Nora comes in already written before I even started the rest of this fic. Badabing, badaboom!

REVIEW PLEASE! Much like Lorelai can't function without coffee, I can't write without reviews to inspire me and keep me on the right track!