August 2005

Logan watched his friends from his spot perched at a picnic table on the terrace of the waterfront bar they were currently at. Colin was getting his ass handed to him by a very tall, very intimidating boyfriend of a girl he'd been hitting on. Finn was commanding a crowd as he stood inside a rowboat tied up to the dock, rocking precariously back and forth and shouting, "Weebles wobble but they don't fall down." Logan would be worried about them, but they'd been dabbling in these kinds of antics for as long as he'd known them and they hadn't died yet, so he had to assume they had some sort of superhuman powers.

Besides, if he was honest with himself, he was already using up his quota of worry thinking about Rory. Was she dead or alive? Was she hurt? Did she have enough to eat? A roof over her head? Was she still in Connecticut or had she moved to LA, or Houston, or hell, even here to Amsterdam?

It was pathetic; he realized that. She'd dumped his ass—in a letter. The first girl he'd even considered giving his heart to and she'd discarded it like it was nothing more than some old furniture someone left at the curb with a note that said "Free Stuff." Everyone was telling him to get over it, to get back out there. And that's what this trip was supposed to be…him moving on with his life and enjoying his freedom. There was so precious little of it left as it was. He'd already managed to postpone his dynastic fate by taking a fifth year of college as well as taking a year off, but there was no way his father was going to allow him any more leeway. He'd even floated the concept of an MBA his father's way in an attempt to buy himself more time, but the man had rejected the idea outright—generations of Huntzberger men had managed to grow HPG into the most successful newspaper business of all time, and not one of them had needed an MBA to do it.

And so, in less than a year, it would all be over. His life of frivolity and fun would be replaced by work, work, work all the time. This was his last hurrah. But no matter where they were or what amazing experiences were happening all around him, he just couldn't seem to enjoy it. A part of him hated Rory for ruining this for him; for destroying the last vestiges of his carefree life. He needed to just forget about her. But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't shake the niggling feeling in the back of his brain that told him that Rory wouldn't do this. That the girl he'd been falling for wouldn't just run away from not only him, but her whole life. Maybe he just didn't know her as well as he thought he did. That's what his friends thought; that she was just a selfish, bitch who didn't care about him, so he shouldn't waste his energy caring about her either. But if they were wrong and he was right, that meant that something had happened; something big. She could be in trouble.

"I'm pathetic," he admitted to his tablemate. "I'm supposed to be having fun. This is Amsterdam for god's sake. It's a mecca of debauchery and hedonism. They're having fun," he gestured vaguely in the direction of his friends. Logan picked up his drink which had been stewing in the summer heat so long that all the ice had melted, and downed it whole. "Fuck this, I'm going out there…" he started to push up from his seat but then stopped, staring at the back of a girl with chestnut hair falling in loose waves just past her shoulders. She was the right height, the right frame…Logan knew it wasn't her and yet for the splittest of seconds, he almost believed. He slumped back down in his seat. "Who the hell am I kidding?" he asked his companion with a shake of his head. "I'm fucked. She totally fucked me. This is why you should never let yourself get attached to a woman. But I don't have to tell you that. That's the beauty of being neutered, I suppose."

The grey tabby looked up from licking himself to let out a sympathetic meow.

"I'm talking to a fucking cat," he mumbled, burying his head in his hands.

"I'm sorry, were you just talking to that cat?" the familiar voice articulated his own self-deprecatory thoughts.

Logan looked up at his friend. "Strike out again, Colin?" he asked.

"At least I'm trying," Colin reminded him. "At least I'm interacting with members of the human race. Some of us didn't fly all the way to Europe to sit around and mope with a cat in the capitol of legal weed and prostitution."

"Well, maybe you should get yourself a prostitute then. Her boyfriend probably won't mind." Colin raised his eyebrows, his lips pressed together. "Oh god, please tell me you did not get yourself a prostitute."

"Please," Colin scoffed. "I may have suffered a rejection or two, but I am still capable of getting myself laid for free. Not all of us are pathetic eunuchs."

"Excuse me?"

"I believe he called you a pathetic eunuch," Finn piped in as he joined them, plopping down on the bench across from Logan.

"Indeed, I did," Colin confirmed, leaning up against the edge of the table and crossing his arms.

"With good reason," Finn assured him. "Our dear friend over here let himself get so whipped by that uppity reporter girl he could have been served on a sundae. And now, alas, the poor boy is melting away in the summer heat, all flavorless and limp."

"You don't know what you're talking about," Logan grumbled even though a part of him knew that they knew exactly what they were talking about. Still, he didn't appreciate the dig—especially the limp part…that was a low blow. And the eunuch part too. He'd forgive them for calling him pathetic though, because to be fair, he'd been calling himself that not two minutes ago.

"We know it's been over two months since she left your sorry ass. Have you even been with another woman at all, or is this cat…" Colin flicked his hands towards the feline who had finished grooming and curled up to take a nap, "the closest you've gotten to a pussy?"

"I'm doing just fine for myself," Logan huffed. 'By himself' was more like it but he'd be damned if he admitted to Colin that he'd only been taking matters into his own hands these days. And more often than not, it was Rory he was thinking of when he did. He closed his eyes and an image of her bright, blue irises appeared.

"Finny," a dulcet voice with a local accent crooned. "There you are. I thought you were going to show us your headstand."

"You're going to do a headstand in the boat?" Logan asked, his eyebrows spiking high. Maybe it was best Rory tore out his heart and left him a shell of the man he used to be. At least it would keep him from drowning himself in the IJ in an attempt to show off in front of cute Dutch girls

"Just a minute, Love," Finn replied, sending her a charming smile. "I've just got to finish dealing with my sad, lovelorn friend here." He nodded his head in Logan's direction. The girl turned to Logan. Her eyes widened appreciatively and she giggled, flipping her brown hair over her shoulder and giving him a flirty smile.

"What foolish girl broke your heart?" She threw her hands over her chest. "I'd be more than happy to help you forget her."

Logan gave her a polite smile and was about to let her down easily, but before he could get any words out, Finn cupped his hand next to his mouth and stage whispered, "She's all yours, Mate, there's a cute red head on the docks that's much more my type." Finn stood up. "Coming, Col?" he asked. "Let's leave these two lovebirds alone."

Logan gritted his teeth and rolled his eyes as his friends walked away and the brunette girl helped herself to the seat next to him. "I'm Yara," she introduced with a coquettish smile. Logan sighed, resigning himself to his fate. There were fates far worse than a conversation with a pretty girl, after all. And pretty she most certainly was. She was average height with ample curves on prominent display in a pair of dark skinny jeans and a white, snake print bandana shirt. Her dark auburn hair tumbled straight down to her midback with the front pulled back and woven into a set of intricate braids. She had a cute smile with full, pouty lips and long lashes that framed her honey brown eyes. He was thankful for that honey brown hue; he didn't think he could handle looking into blue eyes—eyes that mimicked the globes that still haunted his thoughts.

"Logan," he replied, the roguish smirk he'd once been notorious for found its way onto his face out of sheer muscle memory. It felt forced and unnatural, but he figured he was just out of practice. He'd find his groove again. Colin and Finn were right—he needed to get back out there; once he did it would all come back to him, like riding a bike.

"Are you from Australia like your friend?"

"Sorry to disappoint," he replied smoothly. "I'm American, born and raised."

"American?" she repeated, her voice sounding pleased. "I am not disappointed. I've always had a thing for American boys. I have such a crush on Paul Walker. You have his hair." She reached up to run her fingers through the slightly overgrown tresses on the side of his head. He had to admit, the feel of a woman's hands on his skin after all this time felt good. He let the feeling wash over him for a split second before he replied.

"Wait until you see me behind the wheel of a supped-up sports car." He gave her a wink. He could do this…just like riding a bike.

"Mmm," she sighed, her face scrunching up in pleasure. "I like the sound of the that."

"You a big car buff?" he asked.

She shrugged. "I am when they're driven by sexy, blond, American boys." She let her hand fall to his knee, her fingers tracing softly back and forth. "What kind of car do you drive?" she asked, her head cocking slightly to the side.

Logan shrugged. "Depends on what kind of mood I'm in."

Her brows lifted delightedly. "You have more than one?" Technically only the 911 was his. But there was the car with the company and his father's Range Rover that he never used that Logan had the keys too. But that was semantics and he saw no need to get too in the weeds about it.

"I have more than one of a lot of things," he let her know.

She giggled. "That silly American girl was an idiot, letting you go." His teeth clenched together and the smile he forced onto his face this time bore no resemblance to the signature smirk he'd been able to manifest earlier. Rory wasn't an idiot; she was the opposite of an idiot. She was the first girl who could even remotely keep up with him. That was one of the many reasons he just couldn't understand her dropping out of school—no matter what his father had said to her. She loved school. She loved all things cerebral. There was no place where she was more in her element than in a lecture hall going head-to-head with another student, or even the professor. Sometimes, when they'd had plans to meet up after one of her classes, he'd get there early just so he could peek in and watch her in the midst of a heated debate. He didn't appreciate her being called an idiot. But still, this wasn't about her—at least, he didn't want it to be. So, he pushed down the sudden annoyance and kept the conversation going.

And as expected, it got easier as he went. He quickly found himself falling back into the comfortable rhythm of flirting. A witty reply here, a teasing touch there, the occasional reference to his enormous bank account…

But despite the effortlessness—or maybe because of it—he couldn't quite seem to help the sense of dull tedium pulsating below the surface. She was nice, and sexy, and fun. But something was missing. Still, if he tried hard enough not to think about it, he could almost fool himself into thinking he was having a good time. The alcohol helped too; he'd ordered them a round of drinks earlier and was on his way back with yet another.

As he approached the table, Yara looked up at him and started to laugh. "What?" he asked, faking an offended pout. "Are you laughing at me."

"Come here," she instructed, grabbing his hand and guiding him around so he was facing away from her. The next thing he knew, her hand was brushing against his ass. His head spun around to look at her. "You've got something on you," she explained as she continued to touch him. He tilted his gaze down to see a large dirt smudge. It must have happened when he'd leaned up against something while waiting for their drinks. He fought the urge to pull away; a beautiful girl was touching his ass—who was he to complain? So, with an exhale, he felt himself relax as he took in the sensations she was causing in him—very good sensations. Maybe he could actually do this. Maybe this was what he needed to start getting over Rory after all. "I think that's as good as it's going to get," she informed him.

He looked back down at his pants. The sand and dirt had left a residue, but it wasn't as noticeable as it had been before. "Ahh, come on now, you can do better than that; I have faith in you."

"You'd like that, wouldn't you," she chuckled.

Logan shrugged unapologetically. "Can't blame a man for trying," he admitted as he took a seat again, straddling the bench to face her.

"What?" she asked as he stared unblinkingly at her.

"I think you've got a little something too," he lied as he reached his thumb up to brush the imaginary smudge off the corner of her lip. It was the oldest trick in the book, but it rarely failed to deliver for him back in the day. Not that he imagined any of the women actually believed the cover story. He didn't really need a cover story anyway. He could have easily dispensed with the pageantry and gone straight in for the kiss, but he liked the way it gave the illusion of spontaneity, and the moment of building suspense. He loved watching them swallow as their mouths started pooling with saliva in preparation.

"Did you get it?" she asked airily. He loved the feel of their breath on his face.

"Not quite," he whispered as he leaned in to press his lips to the spot his thumb had just been, barely whispering over the corner of her mouth. Her head tilted to the side exposing her neck and his hand reached up to cradle her chin as he tilted his head to compliment hers and went in for the kiss. Her lips were coated in gloss—sticky, and sweet like some sort of berry covered in syrup. He immediately found himself missing the flavor of plain Chapstick and coffee that he'd grown accustomed to. He tried to ignore the sickeningly sweet tang currently assaulting his taste buds and focus on the feel. He pressed his tongue out to part her lips, darting into the warm, wet cavern of her mouth. She obliged, letting him in, but her tongue just followed his lead. Rory's always fought for dominance—as combative in its search for affection as it was in its confrontational retorts. He missed that…the way she never let him have the upper hand.

He couldn't do this. He pulled back. "I'm sorry," he told her, genuinely meaning it.

"It wasn't good?" she asked.

"No, it was…" it was fine, but he wasn't going to tell her that. Even if English was her second langue, she knew it well enough to know that "fine" wasn't the compliment she wanted it to be. "It was great. It's not you, it's me."

Yara scoffed. "Damn right it's you. I am an amazing kisser."

"I'm sorry," he said again.

"You're sure?" she asked, her eyebrows raised high. "I mean, your friend already paid me, so it doesn't really matter to me one way or the other."

Logan blinked, letting the full weight of that statement sink in. Had she just said what he thought she'd said?

"Paid you?" he repeated.

She shrugged. "Very well, too."

"Finn?" Logan clarified. He was going to kill him. She nodded in confirmation. "Finn paid you to…" He knew the answer. He knew Finn hadn't just wanted her to talk to him. He hadn't hired her as a fluffer to boost his ego.

"Have sex with you."

He was going to kill Finn. Was he fucking serious? He had hired him a hooker? And tried to trick Logan into sleeping with her under false pretenses? Logan didn't know what pissed him off more—the fact that Finn thought this was a good idea, or the fact that he'd almost fallen for it. Fuck that—Logan knew what pissed him off more. "If you'll excuse me," he said to Yara, not even bothering to glance her way before stalking off towards the docks.

He found Colin first. He was talking to a skinny blonde girl. It seemed he'd finally managed to find a girl who wasn't taken and was actually interested in him. Unless of course she was one of Finn's hookers too. "Where is he?" Logan growled.

Colin grimaced. "Figured it out, huh?"

He spun around to face him. "You were in on this too?"

"Hey, don't look at me," Colin held his hands up innocently. "I knew, but I told him it wasn't going to work. Angelina Jolie could come along and offer to suck your cock and you'd still be all…" He threw his head back and his hands over his chest. 'Rory, oh Rory, why did she leave me? Where did she go?'"

"Screw you, Colin."

"Oh please, you're not screwing anybody these days, Huntz, that's the point. You had a seriously hot, perfectly willing woman over there and yet you're over here screaming at me."

"She was a prostitute!"

"I'm told they prefer the term 'sex worker' these days."

Logan shook his head. He'd deal with Colin later, he had bigger fish to fry. He let his eyes scan the dock until they landed on Finn standing by the water with not one, but two redheads hanging off of him. "How much has he had to drink?" Logan inquired.

Colin shrugged. "It's Finn, so I'm going to say 'a lot.'"

"Think he can still swim?" Logan asked.

"He's Australian," Colin pointed out. "He could be semi-comatose and manage a doggy paddle at the very least."

"Good." He started marching his way. "Finn!" he bellowed. Finn looked up and the two girls unlatched themselves from him and backed away at the site of the angry man charging their way.

"Now that does not look like the face of a man who just got laid," Finn surmised with a grimace.

Logan didn't say a word, just shoved his hands out into Finn's chest and watched as he tumbled backwards into the canal.

October 2005

"Gretchen?" David called as he kicked the doors of the indoor tennis court shut behind him. "Yoo-hoo! Tennis anyone?" A soft giggle cut through the air. "Gretchen?" The giggling got louder as David turned to see Gretchen on the other side of the court. "What do we call this? Mixed singles?" The camera cut to Sabrina, face pressed against the window pane.

"I gotta say, Ace, that girl has some weird stalker-y vibes going on."

Rory gasped as she turned to look at her movie viewing companion. They were in a small coffeehouse cinema, practically abandoned but for the two of them on a Thursday afternoon. The screen on the wall was framed with red curtains and a few rows of red-velvet upholstered chairs lined the back of the theater to give homage to the movie houses of yore. The rest of the floor was laid out with an eclectic hodgepodge of seating from beanbag chairs to café tables to sofas. It almost reminded her of The Black, White, and Read theater back in Stars Hollow. She pushed the thought away. She didn't miss it. What was to miss? She had this place now. Boston had everything she needed. "She's not stalker-y, she's in love!"

"She was spying on the guy from a tree," Logan pointed out. "And now she's followed him to the tennis courts to watch him get it on with that Gretchen chick. It's messed up."

"It's romantic!" Rory argued.

"Really?" Logan chuckled. "Is that what you think? I guess that explains why you threatened to stalk me right after we met."

"Oh my god," Rory inhaled deeply, pulling back to stare at him agog from her side of the loveseat they were occupying. "I can't believe you would say that. I wasn't stalking you, I was doing what I had to to get my story. You were incidental."

"Riiiiiight," Logan taunted. "Totally incidental. You weren't completely obsessed with me or anything."

"Me?" Rory scoffed. "What about you? Playing stupid pranks in my class? Showing up to my grandparent's vow renewal…"

"Oh, I totally had the hots for you." That was unexpected. Rory had anticipated he would deny it. That was how this worked. He wasn't supposed to admit it. How was she supposed to keep teasing him? How was she supposed to take the moral high ground and call him a hypocrite?

"Wait? You're admitting it?"

"Mmhmm," he agreed. "I wanted you from the moment you called me Judy Dench."

Rory let out an annoyed huff of air, falling back against the back of the sofa and crossing her arms petulantly. "You're no fun," she huffed.

Logan chuckled and threw his arm over her shoulder. Rory immediately tensed at his touch, the relaxed and carefree atmosphere dissolving the moment of contact. He had his arm around her shoulder like it was nothing. Like that's how it was supposed to be. Like they weren't broken up. Like she wasn't pregnant with another man's child. She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. He'd gone back to watching the movie, seeming totally oblivious to the sudden tension in the air. She watched his face in the glow of the movie screen as Sabrina ran up the stairs to her room above the garage, as she spoke to her father, as she wrote her suicide note…Rory noticed a slight twitch to his jaw as Audrey Hepurn's scrawling script looped out the words 'I don't want to go to Paris. I want to die." She wished she could hear what was going on in his head. It was clear Sabrina wasn't going to succeed in her suicide attempt, so why was this the thing, of all things, that seemed to affect him so much? She fought the urge to reach up and smooth away the tension in his face. That wasn't her place anymore. And yet, he didn't seem to care as he tightened his grip around her shoulders, drawing her in to him. She felt a tingling sensation between her legs and she squeezed her thighs together, trying to make it go away. Logan was just reacting out of habit; it didn't mean anything.

She tried to turn her focus back to the movie. Not that she needed to pay attention, she'd seen it a hundred times before, but then again, she'd seen Logan's face a hundred times before too and she never got tired of either one of them. But at least the movie she was allowed to love.

Sabrina made her way into the garage and started turning on cars one by one as the exhaust filled the air. As she started to nod off, a coughing fit woke her. She opened the window for a breath of fresh air.

"She does realize that defeats the purpose, right?" Logan snarked.

"Oh my god, what is wrong with you?"

"What?" Logan shrugged. "I'm not rooting for her to die or anything, I'm just saying, it's a little antithetical to the point to open a window while trying to induce carbon monoxide poisoning."

"You're a terrible person," Rory scolded, though secretly she had had the same thought more than once when watching this scene.

Sabrina continued to cough as she got drowsier and drowsier until the garage door opened and Linus walked in and found her hiding under one of the cars.

"Checking the spark plugs?" Logan scoffed. "She can't really think he's going to fall for that." Sabrina continued to make her excuses as Linus guided her out of the garage into the fresh air. She took a few deep breaths, and then passed out on his shoulder. He scooped her up fireman style and began to carry her up the stairs.

"Ugh," Logan cringed.

"What?" Rory turned to look at him, his arm falling from around her shoulder. Ugh? What was he talking about? This was one of the most romantic moments in the movie-the first real moment of connection between the protagonists.

"I just can't get over the age difference. He's totally old."

"He's Humphry Bogart," Rory defended.

"He's old enough to be her father—and then some. She's our age; could you imagine being with a man in his 50's?"

"If that man is Humphry Bogart," Rory defended. "Humphry is timeless. He's sexy at any age, like Harrison Ford, or Sean Connery, or…or…Harrison Ford!" Okay, she'd already said Harrison Ford, but his sexiness was that timeless. He could be on the list a thousand times. There would never be a man sexier than Harrison Ford.

"You got a thing for Han Solo?" Logan asked.

"Why? You want me to put on a gold bikini and braided buns and have me rescue you?" Rory immediately felt the heat rise up on her cheeks in embarrassment. Had she really just said that? She couldn't pull that off when she wasn't pregnant. But Logan just looked at her, his left eyebrow quirked and his lips pulled into an approving grin.

"You offering?"

Rory cleared her throat and turned away. "Just watch the movie." She felt Logan's eyes lingering for a few moments before he finally turned away just as a French chef popped up in front of the Eifel Tower. It was only then that she let herself relax back into the seat and finally, sparing one more glance Logan's way to make sure he wasn't looking, she pulled her feet up onto the sofa and leaned into his side. A moment later, his arm was around her once again.

"I still can't believe you didn't like Sabrina," Rory commented as they made their way into the lobby of her apartment building. They'd gone to dinner after the film and Rory was carrying a large bag of leftovers. She could probably eat for three days off of what was in that bag. And while her legendary Gilmore appetite was compounded by the fact that she was eating for two, she was pretty sure that Logan hadn't expected them to finish off three appetizers, two salads, two 20 oz steaks, and three desserts in one sitting. He'd wanted to make sure she was left with plenty of leftovers to eat. He was looking out for her. And a part of her was starting to get used to it, although the other part was still screaming 'danger' at the top of its lungs.

"I'm sorry, but how was any of that romantic? Not only was he old enough to be her father, but he treated her like a child. He literally thought she was dumb enough to turn on a dozen cars with the garage door closed, just to check a spark plug. And he just assumed that he could charm her and she'd fall into his arms and forget all about David…"

"Oh please, like you've never just assumed you could charm your way into a girl's pants?"

"Their pants, sure, but their hearts…that's just cold, Ace. He seduced her under false pretenses. He was looking to break her heart. Besides, I'm clearly a David in this scenario." Rory let out a snicker. "What?"

"It's cute that you think that. And by 'cute,' I mean not cute at all. You don't give yourself nearly enough credit, Logan."

He rolled his eyes. "What are you talking about?"

"You think just because you spent years skating by on your charm and sleeping around that that's all you have to offer? David was a fool who never grew up. He had no idea what he wanted, he just flitted from school to school and wife to wife, not caring about anyone but himself. You, Logan Hunztberger, you may be a David on the outside, but you're a Linus on the inside."

"I give myself enough credit to know I'm no Linus. Linus was an asshole. He was married to his work. It was all he cared about and he didn't care who he hurt so long as it was good for business; not Sabrina, not Mr. Fairchild, not even his own brother. He let her get on that boat and was ready to put an entire ocean between them just for the sake of a stupid business merger."

"No," Rory shook her heard vigorously. "He thought David was going to get on that boat with her. He let her go so that she could have what she always wanted…so that she could have David. Only it turned out that David wasn't what she wanted anymore."

"So one grand gesture makes it all better? It makes it okay that he tried to ruin her life?"

Rory shrugged. "It depends on the gesture, I guess. It wasn't diamonds or gold. It wasn't some pretty words that didn't actually mean anything. It was real sacrifice and commitment." Sacrifice—like giving up his days to drive to Boston and spend time with his pregnant ex. 'Boys do not hop on the interstate and drive hours to bring you beds they don't want to do sexy things to you in,' she heard Jo's voice echo. She tried not to think about that too hard. It was ridiculous. But she couldn't get that look out of her mind; the one that he'd had when she'd made the Princess Leia joke.

A comfortable silence settled over them as they ascended the last flight of stairs to her apartment.

"Well, I guess this is goodnight," she replied, feeling suddenly shy. This was now the third time they'd had to say goodbye at this door and it wasn't getting any easier. Especially after today. All she could think about since they left the movie was the feel of his arm around her shoulder, the way she still seemed to fit perfectly in the crook of his arm despite the changes to her body, the tingly sensation she got at his touch. And then she thought about all of the other sensations his touch could elicit in her. Her muscles contracted involuntarily and she crossed her arms over her chest to hide her body's reaction to the memory of his hands on her. She fidgeted uncomfortably, looking down at her feet. Damn hormones. It was the hormones; it had to be. When they weren't making her cry over telephone commercials, they were getting her horny over perfume commercials—although to be fair, those perfume commercials were completely nonsensical yet extremely erotic. Anyway, the point was, she got turned on at the drop of a hat these days. Of course it was bound to happen around Logan. It didn't mean anything. Still, that didn't mean she was ready for him to go.

She waited, dreading the words she knew were coming—goodbye, Ace. But instead, when he spoke next, something entirely different came out of his mouth. "I could come in for a bit."

Her face scrunched up in confusion, a myriad of emotions coursing through her as she processed his words. "Like, for a drink?" That was how that usually worked, right? They got to the front door and the girl invited the guy in for a nightcap, or a coffee or something. Only she couldn't have alcohol or caffeine so her apartment might as well have belonged to a Mormon.

He shrugged. "I don't have class until 11 tomorrow, I'm just saying I don't have to rush off."

"All I have is tap water and olive juice."

Logan laughed. "With a selection like that they'll name you hostess of the year."

"Well, you've seen the place, it's not exactly Emily Gilmore approved for guests. I have one desk chair and the bed."

"Well, it's a comfortable bed at least, I hope…"He reached out to touch her arm. Dear god, what was happening?

"Very comfortable." She swallowed nervously.

"Mmm, that's good, I'd hate to have to call and complain."

"No," she shook her head. "No complaints. I'm sleeping like a baby."

"Good," he took a step closer to her. Was this real? Or was it just the throbbing between her legs that was making her delusional—sucking all the blood away from her brain. Boys do not hop on the interstate and drive hours to bring you beds they don't want to do sexy things to you in.

"Of course…I have yet to try out its full range of usages…" Holy fuck, had she really just said that? Logan's eyes widened a little, apparently as surprised by her bravado as she was, but rather than the horrified look she was sure graced her face, he appeared intrigued.

He took another step closer, his hand stroking up and down her arm. "Is that an invitation?"

"Logan," she gasped, her eyes darted uncomfortably away but she couldn't deny that his words were affecting her. The throbbing between her legs was only intensifying. "We can't!" She wasn't sure who she was trying to convince more—him or herself.

"I think past precedence has shown that we can…and quite well if I do say so myself."

"That was before," she reminded him.

"So?"

"Logan?!" How could he ask that? 'So?' Like she was the crazy one for thinking things had changed? And yet she had to admit, at the moment, it was a struggle to remember that they had. But it was also hard to completely ignore it when the evidence of it was prominently displayed on her midsection. "Look at me."

Logan took a step back but the loss of contact didn't do anything to alleviate the quivering at her center—not with the way his eyes caressed her from head to toe and back up again. "I'm looking, Ace." He reached a hand up to gently trace the v-neck of her sweater with his index finger. "I've been looking at these in particular all day."

Her heart thudded faster underneath his touch, her breath quickened. He was going to be the death of her. "You're serious?"

"It doesn't have to mean anything," he assured her in a whisper. "Just two people scratching an itch." This was insane. Was this why he kept coming back here…to scratch an itch? It wasn't like there wasn't a plethora of women back at Yale lining up to scratch it for him. Maybe it was some kind of fetish thing…or something to cross off his sexual bucket list…'have sex with a pregnant woman-check.' The mere thought of it should have pissed her off but somehow it only turned her on more. And she had to admit, it'd been a very long time since she'd had her itch scratched.

"This is a bad idea." Every self-preservational instinct she had was screaming at her in all caps like a bad blog and yet her words were breathy and lacking in conviction.

"Ace," he said, letting his hand fall to her waist. She tensed a little at the contact, a wave of self-consciousness passing over her, but it wasn't enough to overcome all the other feelings her body was experiencing. "Remember our first time?"

"Of course." She remembered every moment of it. She'd thought she and Dean had had a pretty good love life, but it turned out she didn't know what truly great sex was like until that night.

"I asked you if you wanted me to go."

"And I said 'no.'"

"Actually, you kissed me." She bit her lip at the memory of his lips on hers, but she didn't have to rely on her memory for long as he leaned in and pressed his mouth against hers, his tongue strong and demanding. He pulled back. "And then I asked you again." His words were barely registering anymore in her brain. She missed his lips already. She tried to guide his head back to hers but he resisted. "I need to hear you say it."

"Say what?" she asked dreamily.

"Rory, do you want me to go?" This was it, the moment. All she had to do was say 'yes,' to tell him she wanted him to go, and he would. But that would be a lie. She didn't want him to go. She wanted him to climb through her window and make love to her. She wanted to lose herself in him. To let him make her forget all the pain, and loneliness, and struggle she'd been lost in for the last five months. She was so tired of being lonely. She didn't want him to go.

"No."

AN: Hah! I bet you weren't expect that. Not with the way I usually love my slow burn. Do you think they'll really go through with it? Will Rory have a total freak out and run? Will Rory just magically accept that Logan loves her AND the baby and wants to have a family with them? But what about London? And what about the Gilmores? And has Logan ever forgiven Finn for the prostitute incident of 2005? Please leave a review and let me know what you think. I work hard on these chapters and feedback is the only payment I get-besides the joy of writing that is.