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Just...
AUTHOR: The Corruptor
Part 1:
Sometime over the course of the next month and a half, they had become friends. Real friends. Everyone had been surprised by the turn of events, but had not commented on it. One didn’t comment on anything Tristan DuGrey did. It had seemed a natural progression for these two, who had initially started out not necessarily disliking each other, but on less than friendly and smooth terms. No one was more surprised by the outcome than Rory herself. And everyday she came to school -- and everyday she related something interesting or funny to her mother regarding Tristan -- she found herself continually amazed by the change in both their attitudes. She found it especially startling that she always had something or other to laugh or remember fondly about Tristan everyday. But it was how friendships were supposed to be for her so she didn’t question it. Tristan, on the other hand, was not at all surprised, as if he had expected it to turn out this way all the time. When in fact, he had only hoped for it, and had expected it to take much longer than it really did. He was a good friend, as Rory was able to discover. There was nothing he wouldn’t do, anything he wouldn’t try to protect her from or keep her informed of. And he did everything in his power to entertain her, because for some reason, she always entertained him. She had discovered that while his actions continued to surprise her and leave her both in awe and puzzlement of him, he found her just as delightful as he ever did, even when she was upset with him. And he liked to spar with her. Actually, that hadn’t been much of a surprise, since she had also discovered she liked it as much as he did. What had surprised her was that Tristan genuinely loved to laugh and smile around her. The presence of a self-deprecating sense of humor and general good nature had seemed a far-fetched idea concerning him until she had actually become friends with him. He excelled in friend mode though he himself would have liked more. Would have preferred more. While he loved spending time with her, laughing and joking with her, and even hearing her problems as a friend, he was exhausted. It took all his control and power to fight the urge to envelop her in his arms and kiss her until they both fainted from exhaustion. But she had just broken up with Dean, and she needed time. And as a friend, he was willing to give it to her. Because frankly, he loved being her friend just as much as the idea of being anything more. And he loved spending time with her. Outside of school, where other people wouldn’t be staring. Inside the school, where other people would be staring. But always, alone with her.
Rory stood at her locker, staring at the flyer in her hand. It was a garish announcement on canary yellow paper. And it made her stomach turn. Tristan, having snuck up on her after class, laughed at her dubious expression. Her head snapped towards him, frowning. “What’s so funny?” “You,” he pointed out, pleasantly. “You look like you’ve just been asked to donate a kidney or something to someone you despise.” “I didn’t know you needed a kidney transplant,” she countered, pouting slightly. He shook his head, smiling ruefully at her jab. “Now, now, Miss Gilmore. That’s not very nice. I thought we were friends.” She frowned again. “I don’t see what’s so funny about me. And I’m still reconsidering the friendship thing, so don’t get too excited or cocky, Smirky Boy.” He smirked at her false threat. He nodded towards the flyer in her hand. “It’s no big deal.” She gave a curt nod. “You’re right,” she agreed, meeting his twinkling eyes. “It’s not a big deal. It’s not like the world as I know it will end if I choose not to participate.” “I thought you wanted to be more involved and to have a social life at Chilton,” he accused lightly. Her face fell because he was right. In some strange twist of delusional logic, she actually did want to be more involved in the Chilton social scene. But she would not admit such a thing to him. “But this is stupid. And I choose to participate only in intellectual extracurricular activities.” “Well, if you limit yourself to just that…” He dipped his head closer to hers, lowering his voice ever so slightly. “You’d miss out on a lot more fun activities…” She rolled her eyes at the innuendo and did not offer a response. She had a million retorts stored in her head for such an occasion, but knew that any one of them would set him off on a tangent in which she would eventually have no response. “You have to go,” he pointed out, straightening. “I do not,” she defied, sticking out her chin. “Where does it say I have to?” He grinned. “Did you read the fine print? Rory Gilmore and escort, Tristan Du…” She held up a finger in warning. “If you say yourself, you won’t live to regret it.” “Grey,” he finished, an expression of mock fright etched on his face. He was not afraid of her and the smirk told her as much. She shrugged, wondering exactly what it would take for him to stop teasing her for just one minute. “Well, I’m blind so if I can’t see it, it’s not there.” “How incredibly mature of you,” he smirked, rolling his own blue eyes. He shook his head slowly, and pulled the sheet of paper out of her hand, examining it thoughtfully. “It’s just a dance, Rory. What’s the big deal? It’s not like you haven’t been to a dance before.” He automatically fell silent, remembering the last dance she had attended. And his subsequent behavior during that dance. He averted his eyes in mild embarrassment. But she didn’t call him on it. “Difference is, I actually kind of wanted to go to that one. And I kind of had a date all ready for that one.” “Honestly, Rory,” he exclaimed, exasperated. “There’s no way you of all people can even use that excuse of not being able to get a date. How many guys here know you now? And how many guys have I introduced you to?” “Knowing guys and actually liking one… or having one like you enough to go to a dance with you… are two totally different things,” she pointed out, sulking. He chuckled. “Your mind has this amazing ability to differentiate between the smallest, most trivial details, you know that?” He was teasing, but his voice held a significant amount of awe. She threw him a dirty look. “You jest, but I’m sure you couldn’t name those guys.” He quirked a brow. “I could name one right off the bat,” he said, without hesitation, voice lowered to a near seductive whisper. She squinted at him, not appreciating his smirk, and trying to ignore the fact that her heart had just skipped a beat. She had to remind herself that it was just Tristan. They were friends. Just friends. But even that word sounded hollowly inappropriate and painfully inadequate to fully capture the essence of their unique relationship. “Really? Do I know him?” she asked, voice dripping with sarcasm. He sighed, trying to hide his exasperation. “Look, honestly, what guy wouldn’t love to go to the dance with you. And if you can actually name one, send him to me and I’ll beat some sense into him.” “Fighting and dances don’t exactly mix for you, Tristan,” she reminded, casually. His face fell momentarily. But he allowed her to see the hurt and indignation. “That was uncalled for,” he said quietly. She sighed, grabbing the flyer from his hand. She was unrepentant. As far as she was concerned, the entire incident at the winter formal had been his fault. Well, not necessarily entirely. Dean probably had something to do with it. But she did not want to dwell on it any longer. What was past was past. She was no longer with Dean, and Tristan had changed for the better. “Besides, it’s not about going with just any guy. It’s the principle behind this dance.” “The principle?” he echoed, shaking his head, confused. “ Did you even read the flyer, Tristan?” she asked, accusingly. “It’s a girl-ask-boy dance.” “So?” His eyes flickered to the announcement in her hand before raising a quizzical brow. “So… I thought you of all people would protest that aspect. You know, with all your old-fashioned, chauvinistic pig, romantic notions about a guy asking a girl, buying tickets, and stuff,” she huffed. “You know,” he lowered his voice, leaning in towards her, teasingly, his breath tickling the wisps of hair by her ear. “It’s very sexy when a girl decides to take charge…” She reached out and forcefully pushed him away with a hand, trying to ignore the tingles that had shot down her spine from his breath on her neck. He laughed at her frown. “What’s so wrong with my not wanting to go?” She meant for it to be a rhetorical question, but that wouldn’t stop him from answering it. “Do you truly not want to go because you don’t want to and don’t think you’ll have a good time? Or are you just scared of asking a guy?” His question was similar to the one Lorelai had posed to her once before. She was about to retort with a good sarcastic comeback, but one look at his face told her that he was being serious. She thought about it. “I don’t know. Both?” “Are you asking me, or are you telling me?” he asked, amused. “Both,” she repeated, firmer. She paused, contemplating whether or not she should tell him. Then, remembering that they were now friends, she continued. “I never had to worry about it before. I mean, I asked Dean, and I guess I was afraid he’d turn me down, but a part of me knew he wouldn’t. Who would I ask now?” “Rory…” He was giving her a look that told her she was being too close-minded. That maybe, if she thought about it hard enough, or not even hard enough, she could come up with a name. Specifically, one name. If only she hadn’t blocked her mind from it. If only she didn’t insist on being so oblivious. “I mean, I can’t know for sure that anyone will say yes. And it’ll mean asking someone from here.” She frowned. “Rejection is all part of the process. Just because most of the guys here are rich doesn’t mean they don’t hurt. No, seriously,” he said, chuckling, seeing her dubious expression. “How many times did you burn me by turning me down?” “I’m being serious, Tristan,” she said, brushing it off. He looked at her strangely, and the muscles in his jaw twitched. Then, the smile gracing his face once again, he shrugged. “Come on. I’ll help you.” “You’ll help me choose a date?” she asked, incredulously. That didn’t seem like Tristan at all. Help her for anything else, maybe. Help her humiliate herself, definitely. But for a date? She would just as soon expect him to try to force himself on her as a date. He shrugged again. “Sure. Name a guy and I’ll tell you how much fun you’ll have with him. Or, conversely, how bad a prospective date they would make. And the chances that they’ll say yes if you ask them.” “And whether they’ve already been asked and, subsequently, accepted another invitation,” she added, hesitantly. “Of course,” he grinned. “I wouldn’t send you out into the fray to be utterly humiliated.” His tone was gallant. “I don’t know…” She hesitated, as if not entirely convinced of his sincerity. “Rory.” He gave her a look, as if scolding her for even thinking he would send her out to fend for herself. Especially now that they were friends. “So who do you think?” She bit her lip and thought about it. He looked so serious. And so eager to please. And she had found it hard to turn him down once they had become friends. And really… what was the harm? It wasn’t as if she’d actually have to go through with the asking. She’d let him have his fun. Let him get it out of his system. And then he would leave her alone. “That it’s a scary thought, Louis. You helping me?” she teased, deciding the best tact to take with him would be to consider it as a fun diversion instead of anything of a serious nature. “Come on, Rick. It’ll be fun,” he assured, returning the joke. “Sure. For you, maybe.” “Well? Do you want my help or not?” he asked, pretending to be impatient. “Because there are other damsels in distress in need of my aid.” She scrunched her face, thinking. “I don’t know,” she admitted. “I’ll have to think about it.” He rolled his eyes. “Fine. Make your list, check it twice, and we’ll rate them later. When you’re prepared.” She was certain that he was mocking her, and she was suddenly reluctant again. “I’m seriously thinking about not going. What’s the point?” As if she had seriously considered going before. Only certain types of people never had to think twice about whether or not they would attend school social functions. Certain types of people like Tristan. Who just went. Without giving it a second thought. And had fun doing it. “The point,” he said, firmly, steering her towards their next class, “is that you’ll have fun. And you’ll meet more people. Come on, Rory, you can’t survive at Chilton just talking to a handful of people.” “I survived at Chilton for a few months without talking to anyone,” she reminded haughtily, couldn’t help but pointedly remind him of his part in that. “That’s not true,” was all he countered with. He had tried, in a weird and deluded attempt, to become friends with her and to get to know her better. And he was fully aware that he had been one of the very few who had tried to befriend her when she first made her appearance at Chilton. That had to count for something, didn’t it? Especially since he had just returned to school on her first day. And even though he would never have labeled himself as the Chilton welcoming committee, he certainly did acknowledge that he was one of the few genuinely friendly people at the school. Even if Rory didn’t believe that quite yet. “I thought being friends with you automatically made me popular,” she quipped, smiling now. He had suffered enough. “Please, Rory, do you know how hard I had to work to get to where I am?” he asked, rolling his eyes. “Not very,” she interjected. He ignored her tease. “I am not going to let you ride on my coattails. And your face… when you’re working so hard on something… it’s so cute.” He reached out, pretending to pinch her cheek. But her hand automatically came up and slapped his hand away before she pushed him away again. “You’re insufferable.” He shrugged, grinning. “Besides, I thought you liked the challenge. Isn’t that why you became friends with me? Because of the challenge?” “I’ve changed my mind.” “You know, I’m disappointed in you,” he started, the smirk returning. “We could just make this a lot easier for you. You could just ask me or something,” he suggested, offhandedly. He threw her a quick hopeful glance. “I don’t know,” she hesitated, but clearly teasing. She hadn’t caught the look he directed in her direction. “Wouldn’t that cramp your style, and mess up your order? Weren’t you going through the girls alphabetically by last name or something?” “Well, you’re in luck. I just finished with the F’s. I’ll make an exception and skip a couple of the G’s for you.” “I’m honored,” she retorted, in a tone that contradicted her words. “But don’t do me any favors just yet, rich boy.” He sighed and gave her a shove towards the door to their classroom. “Rory Gilmore, you are one of the meanest girls I know. And if you keep this up, you may just have to show up at the dance all by yourself.”
He stood in the courtyard, gingerly holding her copy of To Kill A Mockingbird, the newest addition to the Rory Gilmore book list. He had swiped it off her desk during their last class when she had bent down to retrieve a pencil that had fallen to the ground. And when the bell rang, signaling the end of the school day, she hadn’t noticed that it was missing from among the rest of the books that littered her desktop. He knew she would spend a good five minutes looking for it in her locker. Before retracing her steps for another five minutes. And then searching for it again in her locker. Before finally giving up, and ultimately missing her bus. It was almost too easy, and yet, she never did anything to stop him. She stepped into the bright afternoon sun, and immediately lifted a hand to shield her eyes from its rays. Tristan was waiting, and he held the book out in front of her as soon as she passed him. “You dropped this.” Her hand came down as she eyed the book suspiciously. “Where did you get that? I’ve been looking for it.” There was no malice in her voice. Only suspicion. Because he had done this before. Ever since they had become friends. And lately, her books had started disappearing more often than not, somehow always ending up in his possession. “You dropped it,” he repeated, nonchalantly, shrugging. He was having a hard time keeping the knowing smile off his face. “Aren’t you going to thank me for being your savior?” She scrutinized his face, trying to gauge just how sincere he was being. He would never confess to actually taking her book, but she knew better. It was an action she knew he was capable of, if only to annoy and exasperate her, before teasing her about it. “Well, thank you,” she said, taking the proffered book, and slipping it into her backpack. He watched as her long brown hair fell over her bent face, resisting the urge to reach out and brush it behind her ear for her. He glanced away, swallowing weakly. His eyes wandered towards the bus stop in front of the school. “You’re late,” he piped up, suddenly. “What?” Rory’s head snapped up from where she had been concentrating on zipping her knapsack. “Your bus. It pulled out a few minutes ago,” he pointed out, matter-of-factly. “What?” This time, there was a hint of upset and exasperation in her voice. “Great.” She threw up her hands in annoyance. “Come on,” he gestured towards the parking lot, chivalrously. “I’ll give you a ride.” He tried to suppress the grin that was threatening to overtake his face due to her predicament. And failed miserably. “How did I know that offer was coming?” she remarked sarcastically, though her eyes twinkled bemusedly. “Come on,” he repeated, firmly, pretending to be impatient. “Or you’ll miss this ride, too.” She rolled her eyes at his false threat and sighed. “The words ‘fat chance’ come to mind. I’m sure you did this on purpose. I just need a way to prove it.” He grinned. “You know, I’m beginning to think you’re not very appreciative of all I do for you. I’m disappointed. I never took you for an ingrate,” he mused, thoughtfully. “You’ll learn to live with the disappointment,” she retorted, following him. “Lead on.” Tristan driving Rory home from school was nothing new. He had taken up driving her home at the start of their fragile friendship, offering once or twice. But as their friendship progressed, and they had become more at ease with each other – or rather, she had become more accustomed to and stopped questioning the “new” Tristan – he always found a way of keeping her after school just late enough for her to miss her bus. Sometimes, he didn’t even wait for her to ask, or wait to see her crestfallen face as the bus pulled out without her. He would often offer without being prompted, even though he wished she would have just taken it for granted that he would drive her. Because he ached to be able to have that kind of informality with her. And she always accepted, though she hated his offering it. Because she could never say no. And because it was a long drive for him and she hated inconveniencing him. None of her objections would have mattered to him, but she had no idea about that. Nor would she have believed him if he had assured her. “You know, if you paid me a dollar for every time you missed the bus…” he teased, glancing over at her briefly as he pulled onto the highway that would take them to Stars Hollow. She rolled her eyes as she stopped fiddling with his radio. “Please. It was all your fault. Again. I’m starting to think that you’ve been doing it on purpose, too,” she accused. He gave her a shocked look. “I have not.” He would act childish and deny everything. She giggled. “Right. The innocent act. I don’t think it’ll work, Tristan. For some reason, when I think of you, the word ‘innocent’ never seems to come up.” He quirked a brow. “You think of me?” She sighed and gave him a look. “I’ll answer that question when you stop lying and admit to being responsible for my missing the bus all the time.” “Fine. Don’t believe me,” he growled. But he was grinning. “You know, I just feel really bad about you driving me all the time. It’s a half hour drive both ways,” she sighed, sneaking a glance at him. “Cars are made for driving, Rory,” he pointed out, as if this basic concept had eluded her. She responded by rolling her eyes. “You’re pretty funny, you know that?” she asked, sarcastically, rhetorically. His eyes were forward, but he was smiling. “Well, you could always pay me. Maybe then you wouldn’t feel so guilty taking advantage of me.” “I’m taking advantage of you?” she asked incredulously. “More like you’re taking advantage of the fact that I live half an hour away, am entirely dependent on the public transportation system, and you just happen to own a car.” “Rory, the fact that I have a car means nothing. If all I had was a bicycle and you needed to get home, I’d put you on the handlebars and take you that way.” He was serious, but tried to hide it under a teasing smirk. She scrunched up her face to resist the urge to laugh. When he saw her reaction, the smile on his face broadened. “That’s…” She couldn’t seem to get the words out. “What’s so funny now?” he asked, pretending to be offended. “You. For some reason, I’m trying to picture you riding a bike. And believe me, it’s not working.” She gave her head a little shake, smiling slightly at the visual that had entered her head. “I own a bike!” he exclaimed, trying not to laugh. “I’m sure you do,” she agreed quickly. “A really overpriced, useless thing that has a gazillion speed settings and gadgets that you never use.” “We can’t all have a Rory Gilmore bike,” he pointed out, pretending to be affronted by her obvious distaste in his choice of transportation. Her eyes flashed, sensing a challenge. “And exactly what do you mean by that?” She met his eyes defiantly, as he glanced over. “You know… like your pink one… with the straw basket in front…” “My bike does not have a basket,” she corrected, haughtily, crossing her arms over her chest. He continued, pretending not to have heard. “And the really sexy tassels dangling…” Her eyes flashed again, as her head snapped towards his. “I do not have tassels.” He chuckled. “No need to be embarrassed. I said they were sexy.” “Shut up,” she retorted, only because she had no other idea what else to say. The way he said ‘sexy’ seemed to suggest that he was not referring to her bike tassels, and she wasn’t sure how she felt about that. She looked out the side window, watching the scenery, opting to ignore the connotations associated with the word instead of actually contemplating his meaning. But the car was too quiet for her liking. Tristan hardly ever stayed silent for long, and this peace was not a good sign. She turned back to face him, and caught the self-satisfied leer on his face. “Now what are you thinking?” she asked, defeated, knowing she really didn’t want to know the answer. “I’m picturing you on my handlebars,” he replied, simply. She flushed brightly, before hiding her embarrassment with an exasperated groan. “Don’t talk to me anymore,” she ordered, slumping into her seat and refusing to meet his eyes. He rolled his eyes, but he was grinning. Like an idiot. “Well, you’d really be taking advantage of me then. Can you imagine biking from Hartford to your house? I can think of better ways to work up a sweat. Ways that are much more fun.” He threw her a sexy, come-hither look that only made her roll her eyes and laugh harder. It wasn’t exactly the reaction he was hoping for. Expected, yes. But hoping… Sighing, he gave up and concentrated on the road. Rory beamed, impulsively leaning closer to him. She could play that game, too. “I’m sorry. How can I ever make it up to you?” she purred, trying to keep a straight face. He grinned, trying to keep his rapidly beating heart from killing him. Rory Gilmore hardly ever played that kind of game with him, often leaving him hanging whenever she was faced with one of his blatant innuendoes. “I can think of a million and one things you could do to make it up to me. One of my favorites involves making hot, passionate love by the roar of a raging fire… followed closely by you giving me a sponge bath.” He wiggled a brow at her, giving her the famous DuGrey leer. She rolled her eyes, and pretended to be disgusted with him. “In your dreams, pervert.” “Oh, did you want me to give you the sponge bath instead?” he asked innocently. “Ugh.” She gave him an exasperated look, but he could see the faint smile playing at the corner of her lips. “Are you trying to make me sick?” He shrugged, noncommittally. “Do you know how many girls would kill to have the honor of doing either of those things with me?” “There’s nothing wrong with your ego, is there, Hotshot? Thank goodness I’m not like many girls.” “Thank God,” he agreed, under his breath, almost to himself. Then louder, he nonchalantly suggested another method of repayment. “Well, an exchange of money usually helps even things out.” “But that’ll make you like a chauffeur or something,” she teased. “Tristan DuGrey, car service. You’d need one of those limo driver hats to go with your uniform.” He laughed and looked at her, taking his eyes off the road for a long second. “Too bad you wouldn’t be able to afford me.” “Please!” she guffawed, laughing at his statement. She shifted in her seat so that her body was facing him, her left leg pulled onto the rich leather seat. “You’re pretty cheap.” Her tone suggested she was implying something other than monetary value. The way she said “cheap” made him laugh in mock indignation. “I’m offended. Insulting the guy who was kind enough to drive you home on more than one occasion.” And as if to further emphasize his point, he slowed the car considerably to pull into the Stars Hollow exit. “Oh, right. Today for instance. With my disappearing book that just so happened to miraculously end up in your possession. Then there was that one time you just had to ask me a long question about one of our classes. Then that time you had to copy my notes from class, but promised you’d be fast. Then that time you hid my book. And the time you…” She started to tick off the numerous occasions on her fingers. He reached out with his hand and covered her hands to keep her from continuing. She stuck her tongue out at him, ignoring the burst of warmth that seemed to radiate from his hand and down her body. “Great. Now you’re keeping track. That’s not very nice. It makes our friendship sound like a business transaction.” “I’m sorry,” she apologized, but managed not to sound contrite at all. He rolled his eyes as she chuckled. “You know, you’d do wonders to my self-esteem if you could just say it like you mean it,” he pointed out. Now it was her turn to roll her eyes. “Trust me, Tristan. Your self-esteem will stay perfectly intact no matter what insults I throw your way.” “Fine,” he growled, playfully. “Then pay me, or get out.” “While the car’s moving?” she asked, incredulously, quirking a brow. She glanced out the window and saw the beginnings of Stars Hollow. He turned his head towards her, his face a mask of seriousness. “No, I’ll slow down to about a crawl and pull over to the shoulder.” She laughed, startling the both of them. He grinned, hearing her reaction to him. He made her laugh. He made her happy. It made his heart do a flip, and he had to grip the steering wheel tightly to suppress the urge to reach out to her. To touch her. To thread his fingers through her hand closest to him. Or even just to tuck the strand of her hair that had come loose from her headband behind her ear. “Fine. You’re not cheap. I can’t afford you. Happy?” Yes. But not enough. Because there was always more he wanted. Wanted to tell her. Wanted to show her. Wanted to hear from her. “Hardly. I’m racking up mileage here, Gilmore.” He pulled the car to a stop at a light. She rolled her eyes. “Well, is there anything else you would take in exchange for money?” You. “Doubtful,” he said, instead, taking a brief second to clear his throat before answering. He didn’t meet her eyes. “I know. I can repay you in coffee,” she chirped. “There’s coffee beans, coffee grounds… what’s your drug form of choice?” He chuckled. “I’m not some kind of coffee fetishist. That’s you.” “Sacrilege!” she exclaimed, teasingly. “How can you not like coffee?” “I didn’t say that I don’t like coffee,” he corrected, pointedly. “I merely meant that repayment in coffee beans would be better suited for you. You’d have to drive me home in order for it to be worth it.” She crossed her arms around her chest, playing sullen, and plopped back in her seat. “Hmph. I still can’t believe you’ve learned to live without yearning for dark, rich, steaming hot coffee.” “Well, when you put it that way,” he teased. She groaned. “Now I know you’re definitely related to evil incarnate. Some kind of devil spawn or something. Tell me neither of your parents have a tail or horns, do they?” He laughed. “Rory!” He tried to picture her description of his parents and it made him laugh. She giggled, knowing exactly what he was doing. “Okay, fine. I’ll just have to think of another way to repay you.” “You better think fast,” he warned. “Because the light’s about to change, and you’ll miss your window of opportunity for getting out of the car safely before I push you out.” She resisted the urge to roll her eyes again, instead, stopping to seriously think about how she could repay him for his generosity in driving her home all the time. Then, just when he was about to say something to break the silence, she turned on him, triumphantly. “Hey, why am I so concerned? It’s not like I want you to drive me home all the time.” “Sure you do. You like it.” “I do,” she repeated, doubtful, unconvinced. “Yes,” he remarked, cheerfully. “Really,” she said, flatly, waiting to hear where this was going to go. He shrugged, nonchalantly, but he smirked with overconfidence. “Well, other than my scintillating conversation, we all know why you like having me drive you home, Rory.” He paused, waiting for her to ask him what he meant. She didn’t, but she did raise her chin towards him, looking at him questioningly. He threw his eyes towards her, as the light changed and he eased his foot off the brakes. “You have a thing for my car.” She groaned, rolling her eyes at his pleased expression. “What can I say? Leather interior always makes me hot,” she drawled, in an attempt to sound sultry and sexy, though it was tinged with a slightly innocent note that was all Rory. It would have sounded funny and wrong, missing its intended mark all together, had it come from any other girl. From Rory, it really was sexy. He gasped, pretending to be shocked. “Kinky. I like it. Rory Gilmore, dominatrix. It’ll add a new dimension to my fantasies.” She blushed. It was hard for her to tell when he was being serious and when he was merely teasing. And at times like these, she was almost positive that he was both. And that scared and excited her more than she would have liked to admit. “Didn’t I tell you to stop talking to me?” she asked, rhetorically, weakly. And of course, he never listened. Never, when it came to her. “If I knew you had a thing for leather…” he began. And she knew she wasn’t going to like where he was going to take it. And yet, she couldn’t resist. “Not just leather. Pleather… Vinyl… Anything that chafes when it gets humid,” she piped up, stringing him along. He grinned to himself. “Funny. I always took you for a satin and silk kind of girl. But in that case…I’m thinking about going with a leather theme for my bedroom.” He wiggled his brow at her. “Leather sheets, leather rug, leather…” “Hey,” she exclaimed, cutting him off purposely. She wasn’t sure she appreciated the look he had started to give her, or the grin, which had managed to make her nervous and flushed all at the same time. “You almost missed my turn,” she accused, trying to ignore the sensation of warmth that had overcome her from his look. “If you’re going to drive me home, could you at least have the common courtesy to keep your eyes on the road?” He could make the drive from Chilton to her house with his eyes closed, but he didn’t say anything. He hid his disappointment when she hadn’t played along. Still, he didn’t buy the innocent lilt to her question. And he had been tempted to retort with something along the lines of finding it hard to concentrate when she was sitting beside him. When he could practically smell the apples in her shampoo. When the intoxicating scent of whatever made her so wonderful would linger in his car for hours after she had vacated it. When all he had to do was reach out and breach the foot of frustrating space between them. But he didn’t think it would have been appropriate for friends. And they were just that. Friends. For now. “Sorry,” he mumbled, not at all apologetic. He turned onto her road, and a few minutes later, they were in front of her house. “Well, thanks for the ride,” she said. He reached a hand into the backseat and pulled her book bag to the front while she watched him hand it to her. She gave him a beautifully gracious smile. And for the umpteenth time that day, he resisted the urge to reach over and pull her to him. “So… what?” he asked, as she reached for the door. She turned to see the smirk on his face, residuals from the time before they were friends. And now that they were friends, she actually found the smirk somewhat charming on him because she knew he didn’t mean it in the way she had originally thought he had. When she had been intimidated by him. When he had indeed made her nervous. “That’s it?” he teased. “No ‘thank you’, no kiss, no hug, no handshake…” “Handshake?” she asked, knitting a brow, the grin spreading slowly over her face. He shrugged. “Hey, I’m a guy. You take physical contact whichever way you can get it.” He gave her an exaggerated innocent look. She laughed. “How about settling for a ‘goodbye’ and ‘thank you’ this time?” she asked, quirking a brow, teasingly. He groaned dramatically. “But that’s what I got the last time. And the time before that. And the time before that,” he started to drone on, letting her know he could keep at it for an unspecified time. Or until she gave in. But she wouldn’t give in. “Goodbye, Tristan,” she emphasized, managing to sound exasperated with him when in fact, she was only amused. He leaned out the open window, watching as she made her way up the path towards the front door. “Don’t forget to make your list. And to put my name at the top,” he reminded. She twirled around on her heels to face him, holding up a hand to silence him. “I have better things to do with my time,” she assured. He winked at her. “Daydream about me?” he suggested. She resisted the urge to groan. “Wash my hair… clip my toenails…” He didn’t even flinch. “Can I watch?” he asked, beaming, as if her list of things to do rated high on the sexy and romantic list. “Go home, Weirdo,” she waved to him, shooing him away. He grinned. “Bye, Rory. Have a great weekend.” He waited until she was inside the house and had turned to shoo him away once again before closing the door behind her. Sighing, he shook his head at all the missed opportunities, and pulled out of the driveway, ready to make the long trek home. By himself.
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