AN: This is not a continuation of the last chapter. I won't be making this into a full length story, sorry. This chapter is actually the same as the first chapter, only from Rory's POV. Some reviewers expressed a desire to find out more about what was going on in Rory's head during all of this so I decided to oblige. I hope you like it and it gives you a little more insight into our Girl Friday.

The applause died down and I was once again struck by the overwhelming sensation of being here at my first international conference. Getting to travel the world for work had always been my dream. Not to mention the fact that many of my journalistic idols were here. I would get to hobnob with the best of them. The keynote speaker that just finished, for example, was an up and coming superstar who'd broken the story on General Petraeus and his affair.

"He was good," my friend Kris said as the speaker left the stage and the audience started to gather their things.

"Yeah," I agreed, as I reached down to grab my purse. "He made some interesting points about the use of misrepresentation in pursuit of a story."

"I don't know if I agree with him though. We can't always afford to follow the rules. The people we're investigating don't."

I took my coat off the back of my seat and started following the crowd out to the aisle. "But we're the professionals. We need to be held to a higher standard."

"I get that, but we also need to be able to get the story. There are gross injustices out there and it's our job to uncover them. Sometimes a little subterfuge is necessary."

"True, but you need to exhaust your other..."

"Well if it isn't Rory Gilmore as I live and breathe..." I stopped mid sentence, looking up at the sound of my name. The voice was familiar, but it was hard to place in the din of the crowd. I looked around for a moment until my eyes landed on a man leaning casually against the back of a seat two rows up. His sandy blond hair was flawlessly styled, the hint of a five o'clock shadow framed his perfectly chiseled jaw, and his smirk was as knee-weakening as ever.

My heart sped up a few paces and a smile involuntarily took over my face. "Logan?" I practically squealed. "Oh my god, what are you doing here?"

My feet were moving before I could even stop them, and I threw my arms around him. I breathed in the scent of him. He was wearing the same Armani cologne he wore back in college; light and citrusy at first, but with undertones of spice and cedarwood.

I forced myself to pull away, wanting to avoid any sense of impropriety in a large crowd of investigative journalists. I'd read things; things that would make long, lingering hugs from ex-girlfriends indecorous.

"Oh, I came to Hamburg for the churches. You see, I've recently discovered religion," he answered mockingly.

I laughed despite myself, slapping him playfully on the chest. "Oh, stop it. You know what I meant. Besides, if you stepped into a church, you'd probably burst into flames." Logan Huntzberger had committed more than a few sins in his day.

"It's true," he replied and his eyes suddenly turned a darker shade of brown. "I'm a very naughty boy." His words came out low and husky, and they made me tingle in all the best places. I couldn't drag my eyes away from him.

"Ahem." Kris' interruption broke me out of my haze.

"Oh!" I replied, shaking my head as I was brought back to my senses. I was being rude. "Logan," I said, turning slightly to bring Kris into our conversation, "This is Kristin Alexander. She's a reporter for Vice. Kris, this is Logan Huntzberger."

"I know," Kris replied pointedly, holding out her hand to Logan. Of course she knew; any reporter worth their weight knew who Logan Huntzberger was. "It's nice to meet you, Logan. I'm a big fan of your work."

"The pleasure is all mine," he replied. His lips curled up into a smirk. Logan Huntzberger's smirk was the sexiest facial expression known to man. I felt a tiny pang of jealousy, until his eyes drifted to catch mine. My legs clenched together involuntarily.

"So how do you two know each other?" Kris asked. I could see in her eyes that she could sense our connection was more than platonic.

"Oh well, um," I stuttered self-consciously. "We um...we used date, back at Yale."

"Nice." I felt my cheeks heat up as I watched her eyes rake over Logan. Him being a Huntzberger would be reason enough for that comment, but he was gorgeous to boot. I didn't want to think about what assumptions she was coming to.

"I think we're holding up traffic." I pointed towards the exit. "We should..." I didn't really want to leave, but I couldn't stay in this crowd either. Was it me, or was it insanely hot in here?

"After you," Logan, ever the gentleman, held his hand out, indicating we should go first. I stepped past him and he placed his hand on my lower back, just a smidge lower than what was strictly appropriate, but far from being obscene. I felt my insides pool into a swirling puddle of mush.

We made our way out of the auditorium, into the hallway, finding a clear spot to stop and talk. Logan's hand stayed firmly planted on my back.

"So..." Kris said. "You two went to Yale together. Good school." It was an awkward icebreaker, but I could sense a hint of whimsy in her words, as though she were purposely trying to make this as uncomfortable as possible.

"The best," Logan agreed. Silence settled over us. If awkwardness was her goal, she'd succeed. I shot her a glare and the corners of her lips quirked up in amusement. She faked a yawn.

"You know, I'm really tired. Jet lag sucks. I think I'm going to head back to the hotel."

Logan gave her a strange look, like he was sizing her up. It came and went in a flash and was immediately replaced by a welcoming smile. "Are you sure? The night is young and Hamburg is hopping. We could head out for a beer. I hear Germany has some good ones."

I didn't quite know what to make of this. Engaging in night life was hardly an unusual trait for him, and under normal circumstances, Logan inviting people to party would be par for the course. But these weren't normal circumstance. Unless they were for him? I felt myself starting to panic. Could it be that he wasn't affected by seeing me? But his hand was still on my back and his eyes had spoken volumes. I couldn't be making that up.

"I'm not really in the 'hopping' head space, but you two should go. I bet you have a lot of catching up to do." Logan looked relieved, and so was I...for a second before the paralyzing fear kicked in.

"Are you sure?" I asked Kris. "Do you want me to walk you back?" I didn't know which answer I wanted to hear. I wanted to go with Logan, but I knew only badness could come from it. Him and me, alone together after all this time? What was going to happen? What did he want to happen? What did I want to happen? What could we allow to happen given our respective circumstances?

"No," she replied. "I'll be fine, I promise."

I hesitated, biting down on my lip anxiously. I shouldn't go with him. We should keep our interactions to safe places surrounded by colleagues. I turned to him, our eyes meeting. His were dark and lustful. That was it; there was no way I wasn't leaving here with Logan. "Get back safe," I told Kris without even looking at her. "Text me when you're there."

"Yes, Mom," she answered, her voice mocking. She reached a hand out to Logan. "It was nice meeting you, Logan. I hope we'll have a chance to chat sometime this week. I'd love to pick your brain on the developing role of social media on the future of journalism."

"That sounds great," he replied. Kristin just nodded and walked away, leaving Logan and I alone.

"So," I said, my stomach churning with anticipation. I was headed for something very bad, but I couldn't help myself. Logan had a way of making me lose all my inhibitions and do crazy, stupid stuff; stuff like jumping off seven story scaffoldings, stealing yachts, and putting myself in precarious situations with very off-limits ex-boyfriends. "Beer huh? I thought you were a scotch man."

Logan grinned impishly. "When in Hamburg, Ace..."

We made our way through the Bier Haus, following the hostess. It was a touristy place where the staff all spoke English, but the food was supposed to be pretty authentic, and they had an enormous selection of local beers. And it was close to the convention center so we'd been able to walk. We hadn't talked about anything substantial yet. Not really. Just chit chat about the convention and the keynote speech we'd just attended. Apparently, Logan was friends with the speaker. Not that that was a surprise. Logan was a big deal in the field, and he was outgoing and congenial; he made friends wherever he went.

Logan let me slide into the booth first. I skootched in a bit to make room for him to sit next to me. Instead he went to the other side of the circular booth and took a seat opposite.

The waitress handed us menus and excused herself in a heavy German accent.

I watched as she walked away, then turned my attention back to Logan. "So, I hear you're back in London," I said, trying to break the ice. I'd heard other things too, but I wasn't about to go there.

"Ah yes," he replied. "Land of rain, and stiff upper lips." Despite the outwardly negative words he was smiling. It reminded me of the first time he came back from London and started talking business, only now, in his thirties, his eyes crinkled slightly in the corners. It gave him an air of sophistication.

"You love it."

Logan seemed to ponder this for a moment. "Striking out on my own was the right thing to do," he finally responded. "It made me take responsibility for myself. And it also gave me a chance to prove to myself, and the world, that I have what it takes to be successful on my own merits. I needed that. But when Grandpa died..."

"I'm sorry about that," I broke in, as he paused. A wave of emotion passed over his face.

"It's okay," he said softly. He was hard to hear so I skootched a little closer. "Our relationship wasn't exactly warm and fuzzy."

"He was still your family."

"Exactly," he nodded. "And I wasn't there for it. As much as my parents are well...you've met them. But they're still my parents. It made me realize the importance of family. So when Dad tried to lure me back by buying BonMots, I caved. And eventually, well, I guess HPG really is my destiny. I'm actually happy there."

"That's great, Logan," I said, genuinely glad for him. It was amazing to see him fulfilling the potential I always knew he had.

The waitress came back and Logan ordered for us. He must have remembered my legendary appetite because he had the waitress bring us six different dishes and told her to bring a couple flights of beer—her recommendation.

We continued to talk. He told me a little more about BonMots, the startup he'd founded, and his current work at Huntzberger Publishing Group. He was vice president of marketing—with a focus on social media. Not that I didn't know that already, but it was good to hear him talk about it. I loved the way his eyes lit up when he spoke about something he was passionate about. He was still a work dork. And I, apparently, was still a work dork lover.

I told him about my career. It was a little less stellar than his, but I'd had some great experiences. My time on the campaign trail had introduced me to some inspiring people and helped me really bulk up my resume. After the election, I'd gotten a job as a features writer for a small paper in New York, The Brooklyn Page. It wasn't much but it was close to home which was a plus after two years on the road. And it almost paid enough for a studio apartment which, barring that one sticky wall, was pretty decent. But even the big papers were struggling in the new, internet fueled world and after three years there, The Page closed its doors. I'd searched for a permanent position somewhere, but while I was job hunting, I wrote pieces on spec and pitched them to magazines and papers all over. It turned out, I liked the freedom and flexibility of freelance journalism and eventually, I just stopped looking for anything else. It was a struggle to get by on a freelancer's salary, but I was making a name for myself and getting to write what I wanted to write. I knew it couldn't last forever, but my big break was coming, I could feel it.

I could also feel the sleeve of Logan's suit jacket brush against my arm as he reached out for a sip of beer. When had we gotten so close? And how much had I had to drink? I could barely remember anything from the last couple hours but the sound of his voice and the curve of his lips. Being around Logan was all consuming. My head was buzzing slightly and I couldn't tell if it was the alcohol, or Logan, but I didn't care. All I knew was that I was feeling utterly content there in that booth, next to him.

"Here, try this." He used his fork to cut into a breaded dish, scooping it up and feeding it to me. I opened my mouth readily to accept. It was crispy and buttery on the outside, tender and juicy on the inside with just a hint of tang from the lemon garnish. Deep fried and breaded—what more could a Gilmore Girl ask for?

"I am just drunk enough to say this sentence out loud," I admitted, "But I enjoy the wiener schnitzel."

Logan laughed. "Well that's not a surprise. I certainly remember how much you enjoyed my schnitzel."

I buried my face in my hands. I knew he was going to run with that comment before I'd even opened my mouth, but I just couldn't help myself. "See, this is why I don't say these things sober."

"What can I say?" Logan asked, grinning wickedly. "I like making you blush."

Oh yeah, that's why I said it. To hear his flirty voice. I felt my face blush brightly. There was definite flirting going on. I mean, if I was honest, the flirting had been going on since the moment he said my name in the auditorium, but it had mostly been veiled. Not anymore. We'd moved on to the big guns. "See," he said, his voice now tender. He brought his hand up, gently touching the backs of his fingertips to my cheek. I felt a rush of blood to my nether regions. "Just like that."

My breath quickened and our eyes locked. We stayed that way for a few moments until he pulled his hand away and sat back.

"So, how's Paris been?" he asked matter-of-factly.

I laughed at the randomness. "Excuse me?"

"Paris. Crazy ex-roommate," he clarified. It wasn't like I didn't know who she was, I was just a little confused on why we were suddenly talking about her.

"Umm, well, she finished medical school and went straight to law school. She graduated last spring and started her own surrogacy agency," I filled him in.

"Surrogacy?" he asked with raised eyebrows. "As in babies?"

"Yep," I confirmed. If he thought that was crazy this next part would definitely have him shocked. "And speaking of—she and Doyle are having twins."

Logan's eyes went wide and he pursed his lips together, trying to choke back the laughter I knew was there. Paris was the least maternal person you could imagine. "I'm sorry, could you repeat that?" he finally asked once he'd gained control over his diaphragm.

"She and Doyle are having twins."

"I..." a short chuckle finally escaped. "I don't even know where to start with that."

"Be happy for them. I mean, what are the chances that those two could not only find each other, but put up with each other for so long?" I asked, only half serious. It was a fairly absurd scenario. But Paris and Doyle were always good for some shock value.

"True," Logan agreed, "but that was before Paris was pregnant and hormonal." His attempts at holding back his laughter finally failed and he doubled over in mirth. I was mesmerized by the sound of his laughter—rich, and warm, and full of life.

"You're mean," I replied, playfully nudging him in the ribs with my elbow.

Logan stopped laughing, sitting up and suddenly looking very serious. His hand came to rest on my knee. "Because Rory Gilmore would never dream of mocking anybody," he answered, his voice low and husky.

My breath caught in my throat, once again taken aback by the intensity of his stare. "Never." I shifted my body even closer and felt my foot come in contact with his leg. Without thinking, it found its way to the hem of his pants and I allowed the soft suede of my pump to find the exposed skin beneath it.

"You're far too sophisticated for that kind of behavior..." he whispered, his fingers made gentle strokes just below the hem of my dress and I immediately had flashbacks to all the other amazing things those fingers could do.

This was wrong, on so many levels. There were factors to consider; circumstances. We couldn't only think about ourselves here. And what would sleeping with Logan accomplish? We certainly couldn't start dating again, even if we decided to...shirk our current arrangements. But god damn, I wanted him.

"Absolutely, I am a paragon of all things proper." I uncrossed my legs and hooked one over his, showing him just how proper I wasn't. I heard air woosh into his lungs. He reached out for a mug, gulping down the frothy brew within. He set the glass down and his hand came back to my leg, fingers sliding up underneath my skirt. I was tingling in anticipation, remembering exactly how it felt to have those fingers creep even higher. It felt like it was only yesterday. Like no time had passed and he was still the boy I'd fallen in love with all those years ago. The one who always knew just what to say, or how to touch me, to make me feel truly alive.

I leaned in further, wanting to be as close to him as possible. "You're just like I remember you," I whispered huskily.

"A lot has changed since college," he replied, tensing slightly. There was a war going on behind those eyes of his. I could see how conflicted he was but I was determined now. I needed Logan Huntzberger, consequences be damned.

"A lot," I told him, reaching up and running the pad of my thumb over his lower lip. I was going to taste that lip, so help me god. "And not so much."

"Ace," he breathed out. The way my nickname rolled off his tongue...I nearly came right there in that booth.

"God, I missed that." My fingers caressed his jaw and I couldn't help but imagine how that stubble would feel on other, more delicate places.

"What?" he asked.

"Hearing you call me 'Ace'." I leaned in and finally, we were kissing. Our lips melded together as though they were coming home. I rested my hand on his chest and his wound up into my hair, trying to pull me even closer. I opened my mouth and his tongue swept in, tangoing with mine.

Air was becoming an issue and I pulled back, just slightly. His pupils were dark and dilated. "Let's get out of here," I told him.

"I don't know if that's a good idea," he protested weakly, but I could tell he didn't mean it. Or he did, but he didn't care. Either did I. He wanted me, and I wanted him, and nothing was going to stop that now.

"I know it's not," I told him, my hand making its way between his legs to feel his desire. "But I also know you want to."

He grunted, his entire face scrunching up reflexively at the stimulation. He grabbed his phone off the table.

"What are you doing?" I asked. Though I had my suspicions, I wanted to hear it.

"Ordering us an Uber." He pressed a few buttons, then stood up. He threw some money on the table—more than enough to cover our bill and make the waitress very happy, I'm sure. He reached for my hand. "Let's go."

I grabbed my coat and followed him towards the exit, putting the outerwear on as I went. We made it outside to wait for the car. Our hands latched together, but we were otherwise not touching or even looking at each other. Anything more could result in some serious loss of control.

The car arrived and he opened the door for me, like the gentleman he was raised to be.

"Guten abend. Dugehst zum Fontenay?" the driver said.

"Ja," Logan answered, turning to look at me.

"You speak German?" I asked. Sure, he'd only said "ja." Even I knew that meant yes. But he'd also understood the driver.

"A bit. A very, very, tiny bit," he admitted modestly, though that was not a trait he was typically known for.

"Well, it's sexy."

"First of all, it was one word. Second, there's nothing sexy about German," Logan laughed. "But I appreciate you lying to me."

Maybe I was just so thirsty for him, I'd find anything he did to be sexy, but I'd always found language to be immensely provocative. "Foreign languages are always sexy," The way you could have a thought in you head, make a few sounds come out of your mouth and put that thought in someone else's head. And yet if you didn't speak the language, those sounds were nothing more than noise. Being able to communicate was powerful. It was sexy. I cuddled up to him, leaning up to place a soft kiss on his jawbone; the act a punctuation to my statement.

"I'll keep that in mind." He grinned wickedly, bringing his hand back to my leg like it had been in the restaurant, only this time he was well in to indecent territory. "It's officially filed under 'things that turn Rory Gilmore on.'"

I felt my pussy start to quiver with anticipation. My legs opened reflexively, inviting him to go higher. He took the invitation, his fingers making skillful strokes just inches from my center.

"How big is that file?" I asked, "because you're really good at this." I buried my face in the crook of his neck, licking and sucking at the sensitive skin.

"I remember a few things," he assured me. His fingers finally made their way to the apex of my legs. He fingered the delicate fabric of my panties. I was suddenly very grateful I'd decided to put on a pair of my nicer underwear. Nothing too fancy, but they were relatively new, and a dark, solid color. And while they weren't a thong, they weren't exactly granny panties either.

He was so close to where I needed him to be. I was on fire. "Please, Logan," I begged, my words muffled against his skin. He acquiesced, slipping underneath and touching me in my most sensitive of spots. He stroked once, twice, and then his fingers were gone. The loss of contact was excruciating.

"Sorry, Ace," He whispered huskily. "We better save the big finish for the hotel room. If I remember correctly, you were never any good at biting your tongue." He wasn't wrong. Logan could definitely make me scream. I pulled back reluctantly. He was staring right at me, his eyes still full of lust.

He brought his fingers up to my lips, painting them with my own arousal. He brought his head down to taste me. My lower lip was sucked into his mouth. I was lost in his kisses. I faintly heard someone say something in German and Logan pulled away from me.

"Danke," Logan said. The world around me came back into focus and I remembered we were in a car. We'd arrived at our destination.

Logan helped me out of the vehicle and led me into the hotel. We kept our distance again, until we reached the elevators. We stepped inside and we were alone again. Logan pressed a button, then immediately turned and pushed me up against the wall. My leg wrapped around his hips, pulling him closer, trying to get a little relief at my core which was throbbing with need. My need was left unfulfilled as Logan pulled back and reached for the phone in his pocket.

"One second," he told me, giving me a quick, unsatisfying peck on the lips.

"What are you doing?" I needed him to touch me, not his damn phone.

"Tipping our driver." Logan replied meaningfully and suddenly the reality of what had just happened came rushing over me.

"Oh god," I moaned, in utter humiliation. What had we done? I had let Logan finger me in clear view of another person. Sure, everything had been done under cover of my skirt, and the view in the rearview wouldn't have gone down that far, but the sounds. Dear god, the sounds I had made.

Logan laughed. "Forgot he could see us, huh?" I buried my face in his shirt and he held me for a moment until the elevator dinged and the doors opened. "This is us, Ace,"

He led me off the elevator and to his room. The second the door closed behind me, my embarrassment evaporated, the feeling overwhelmed by my lust. We were alone at last.

Our bodies immediately melded back together. He made some comment about my lucky dress as we divested each other of our clothes. Before long, I was in nothing but my underwear and bra, and he was completely shirtless.

I somehow managed to regain a little control of my senses. Just enough to slow down as I undid his belt buckle and pants. It was my turn to do the teasing. I let my hands stroke his hardness. His face looked almost pained. I relished in the power I had over him. I pushed his pants and boxer briefs down, falling to my knees as I did so.

Logan looked down at me, shock registering across his features. I knew he was surprised. I mean, sure, I'd gone down on him from time to time—it was only fair, but I'd never been one to volunteer to give blow jobs. But right now—the look on his face, the power I felt—I actually wanted to do this.

I massaged his balls with one hand while the other guided him to my mouth. I listened to the quickening of his breath and the way my name rolled off his lips like a prayer; I felt his muscles tense as his hands wound into my hair to pull me closer; and I knew he was completely at my mercy. The control I felt was intoxicating. And yet somehow, he fought against it, pulling away.

"Get on the bed," he demanded, taking the power right back. Somehow, that was even sexier.

"I like it when you're bossy." I admitted. I was at much at his mercy as he was at mine. Confidence was never something Logan lacked, but now, with the added bonus of maturity and the knowledge that he was used to commanding the attention of an entire room, his commands were exhilarating.

Logan scoffed. "Since when?"

"Since now," I told him, getting up from my spot on the floor and doing as he said.

Logan immediately yanked my panties off and situated himself between my legs. He used his own legs to push mine apart and, after all the teasing at the bar and in the car, his fingers finally entered me.

I moaned my thanks as my hips thrust upwards in relief. His fingers worked their magic and I squirmed in ecstasy beneath him, desperate for more. I felt the pressure mounting and just as my release was in grasp, his fingers slowed and I felt it slip away.

"Take off your bra." My arms were like jelly, but I somehow managed to maneuver them behind me as he continued his slower rhythm, keeping me just where he wanted me, just out of reach of nirvana.

I finally managed to undo the clasps and rid myself of my bra. His fingers immediately sped up again as he took my breast in his hand, working my nipple between his fingers. He leaned over, taking my other breast in his mouth, sucking and laving furiously. I writhed uncontrollably as my orgasm mounted again. He bit down on my nipple and I tumbled over the edge, screaming loudly. Thank god we hadn't done that in the car.

The room was fuzzy as I tried to catch my breath. And then suddenly, there was coldness, and the world snapped back into focus. Logan had gotten up off the bed.

"Where are you going?" I may have had my release, but I was far from ready for any of this to end. Was he having second thoughts? Was he thinking of... I couldn't bring myself to consider it.

"I'm just getting a condom, Ace." I relaxed slightly, but not completely. I tried not to think about why he had condoms. He had no need for them in Hamburg—at least none that he'd been aware of. Was he going somewhere after this? Paris perhaps?

My thoughts were finally dispelled as he rejoined me on the bed, condom in hand.

"Let me," I told him, taking the condom from his hands. The brief stint alone on the bed had left me feeling uncomfortably vulnerable and I decided it was time to take back some of that power.

I sat up, flipping us over so I was on top.

"Now who's the boss?" he asked with a laugh.

"I like to take turns," I responded playfully, leaning down for a kiss.

I lowered my whole body down, my core rubbing directly against his cock. It would have been so easy, just a little shift, and he would be inside me. But I fought the urge, knowing that we weren't in a committed relationship anymore. The condom was necessary.

I kissed my way down his chest until I reached that super sexy 'v,' like a giant arrow to the good stuff. I nibbled hungrily before carrying on.

I really wasn't sure what had come over me tonight but at the site of his throbbing erection, I couldn't help myself from taking him into my mouth once more.

"Ace...I need..." he grunted out.

I pulled back, looking at him lustfully. "I know," I told him. As much as I was enjoying having him in my mouth, that's not what either of us was truly longing for. I opened the condom and rolled it onto him.

I pushed myself back up so I was hovering over him, and then lowered myself onto him. He filled me, stretching me just past the point of comfort. Logan always pushed me just past my comfort zone. I stared straight into his eyes as my hips began their movement.

"You're just as beautiful as I remember," he told me breathily, his voice almost worshipping.

I felt a strange pang of uneasiness. Too deep, too intense. "That's funny, because age has not done you any favors," I replied, trying to lighten the mood. "You're kind of out of shape." I caressed his abs, then squeezed my muscles around him in an attempt to bring us back to the physical.

It worked. He grunted in pleasure, then flipped us over. "I'll show you out of shape," he growled.

I expected him to just start pounding away, but he surprised me by sitting back, pulling me with him. He lifted one of my legs over his shoulder before thrusting. I saw spots swim in front of my eyes as this new angle hit me in just the right place.

"Oh god," I moaned. No hyperbole; this was as close to a religious experience as I'd ever gotten. He continued to thrust, hitting my g-spot over and over again. In what seemed like no time at all I was shattering into the most intense orgasm of my life. I barely noticed when he dropped my leg and leaned down to kiss me. But I couldn't help but notice when he rolled off me.

As I finally started to regain control over my motor function, I looked over at him. He looked completely sated. Content.

The intensity of what had just happened was suddenly overwhelming. I couldn't breathe. I needed a moment to think. I noticed he was still wearing the condom and I seized on it as an excuse to get out of the bed. "I'll take it," I offered. "I have to pee anyway."

I rolled the condom off him and made my way to the bathroom, tossing the used rubber in the trash. I sat down on the toilet and started to hyperventilate.

What the hell had I just done? I'd had sex with Logan Huntzberger. Mind blowingly amazing sex. Our physical relationship had always been off the charts but this was beyond anything I'd ever experienced before.

There was just one problem. Two, actually. I wasn't Logan's anymore. And he wasn't mine. But damn—after that...the thought of never being with him again...That just wasn't an option. But what was the alternative? There were the obvious obstacles. And I still had my career to think about; I was on the verge of something big , I was sure of it. What would a relationship with Logan Huntzberger do to my chances? Would someone offer me a job just to get into his good graces? Would they avoid me like the plague due to conflict of interest? It was the same fear I'd had seven years ago when I graduated. And even if we wanted to risk everything to make another go at a relationship, we lived 5000 miles apart. And that was when I was at home.

A thought started to rise up in me. A very, very bad thought. I wasn't always at home. I travelled a lot. Sometimes to London. Maybe we could...No. I shook my head. There were other people to consider. We couldn't hurt them that way. But then again, hadn't we already? And besides, what they didn't know wouldn't hurt them. God, this was wrong. But why, then, did it feel so right?

I took a deep breath, getting up off the toilet and cleaning myself up. Right now, I would just enjoy the moment, I decided. I made my way back to the room and climbed into bed with him.

"That was good," I said, rolling onto him to snuggle the way we used to.

"It was amazing," he upgraded. That word still wasn't enough to describe it. We lay there for a bit, just basking in the afterglow. My eyes were heavy, but I refused to let them close.

"Ace," I finally heard him say.

"Hmm?"

"I'm seeing someone." I tensed, for a moment, then let it go. I almost laughed at the naivety of it. As tough I didn't know. As though I hadn't seen pictures of them together all over the internet. As though I hadn't spent hours staring at her in that copy of Us Magazine I'd found her in.

Not that he was the only one with a someone else. Paul was sweet, and kind, and smart. He was a little boring, sure, but that's part of what drew me to him in the first place. No muss, no fuss. No drama. I'd had enough drama in my relationships—or so I thought. And yet, here we were.

I opened my eyes and looked up at him. "So am I," I admitted as calmly as I could.

"So, this was just...a one time thing? Unfinished business?" he asked trying to make sense of what just happened. As though there was any sense to be had. I had no clue what this was, I just knew I didn't want it to end.

"We're here all week," I answered, the implication clear.

"So we're just supposed to..." I interrupted him with a kiss. This was too much to talk about now.

"This is..." I searched for the right word. "Vegas."

"Actually, it's Hamburg," he teased.

"Oh, so that's why I couldn't find any casinos," I replied mockingly, relishing the reprieve from the serious.

"Why? Were you looking for a little action at the craps tables?"

"Nope," I smiled, placing a teasing kiss on his chest. "Just looking to get lucky."

"Well then, it's a good thing you wore your lucky dress." Oh how lucky it was for me tonight.

The banter faded away and the tension returned. We were quiet for a minute before I spoke, feeling the need to explain myself further. "What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas," I clarified. "We enjoy our time together while we're here, and when we're gone we don't think about it." It's all I could come up with. A relationship was out of the cards. It had been too long. We were different people. Our lives didn't intersect anymore. It would be like starting from scratch. And a new relationship couldn't survive the rigors of long distance. And even if it did—then what? What future did we have? Logan was in London permanently. And I could never move that far away from home. Travelling was one thing, but living in another country? Was I going to risk my career? We were going to give up the relationships we'd spent the last year developing for something doomed before it even began?

"So...it's just a fling?" he asked, sounding somewhat hurt. "We spend the week together and then we go our separate ways? Go back to our someone elses and never see each other again?"

"I didn't say that."

He narrowed his eyes in confusion. "I don't get it."

"Well," I responded, propping up my head to look at him. "People can go to Vegas more than once. I mean, I travel a lot for work and I have some potential stories in London. If we happened to be in the same city at the same time again..."

He stared at me, his expression unreadable. It unnerved me. Logan always had very expressive eyes. How could I not tell what he was thinking? What if he said no? What if this was just a one time thing to him? What if he didn't want to see me again?

"Vegas..." he repeated, finally. The word giving me hope.

"Mmm hmm," I agreed, feeling myself relax back into his arms.

"I guess this is Vegas."

My lips curled up into a smile against the skin of his chest. It was far from perfect, but it would be enough. Just being here in his arms was enough.

AN: So, what do you think? Does the Vegas arrangement make anymore sense from Rory's perspective. Were you surprised she knew about Odette beforehand? And what about Paul? How about her career. She seems optimistic, but we all know how that turns out. She does get her break-in the form of The Talk of the Town, and then she fails to capitalize off it. Is it her fear that holds her back? Karma for her bad actions? I'd love to know what you think.