Title: She Can't Complain

Summary: Logan's attempt to justify his decision to cheat. Not for Rogan lovers. One-shot.

Disclaimer: Me. No. Own.

Notes: What to say? I've had this floatin' about for a while now, and it just poured out like word vomit twenty minutes ago. For all my fellow Logan haters! I know, I portrayed him as a 'typical guy' in this piece, but, then again, I think he is.

Thanks to Kat461 for the quick beta!

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We never should've dated in the first place. I told her I was not the Commitment Guy. She told me she was not the Casual Girl. But she tried things my way, so I figured I should at least try things hers.

(Turns out I'm still not the Commitment Guy.)

I met the first chick at a party. She was blonde, with huge tits and an ass cradled perfectly in a pair of low-rise Levis.

She came onto me, by the way. I feel like I should clarify that.

I could've told Rory. Hell, I should've told Rory. I had plenty of chances to. Come clean, Huntz. But I didn't.

Truthfully, I liked it better this way.

The next girl was a friend of Honor's. She was tall. All legs. We had a brief meeting in the living room of the Huntzberg mansion; she and four other women were there to discuss flower arrangements for my sister's upcoming nuptials.

Twenty minutes later she met me in the spacious hall closet, where she wrapped those legs around my waist.

The cycle continued. It was like, once I had started this downward spiral, I couldn't stop. Girl after girl, party after party, month after month.

Yes, months.

I strung Rory along for months.

I felt bad. I really did. She's a great girl. Different. Smart, funny. We had fun.

But she got old. I got bored. And it got harder to be with her.

She was doing community service 30 hours a week. Cleaning up roadside trash; the same trash that Finn and Colin and I throw out our windows every day. And she was picking it up.

The rest of the time, she was working with the fucking DAR. Scheduling luncheons, and fixing place settings. She had her own goddam assistant. And she was proud of it.

That's not why I kept cheating on her, though. I mean, sure, I didn't like who she was becoming. One of them. A clone of my mother, of her grandmother, the women I despised and wanted nothing to do with.

No, I cheated on her because she made it so damn easy. She trusted me. She believed every single word that came out of my mouth.

Then, it turned into a little bet. Not with Finn, or Colin (I'm not that much of a prick). Just with myself.

How long could I keep it going? How long until she found out?

Would she ever?

She was so preoccupied with this new life of hers. She submersed herself in it. And she was paying less and less attention to me. More and more attention to high-society gossip. It made me sick to my stomach to hear her talk.

I was initially attracted to her because she was independent. A free thinker. She had gotten out of this world at a young age, and she had no reason to want to be in it. She wasn't tied down to career path chosen for her before she was born.

She had dreams. A future.

But she quit school; she was living with her grandparents, for fuck's sake. And Emily was around all the time. We never got a moment to ourselves. Our sex life was almost non-existent.

But it was okay, at first. I did my best to understand, to be supportive. But she wasn't going anywhere. We weren't going anywhere.

I may not be perfect, but I had standards. I didn't mind the community service stuff; I'd been there. I could empathize. But the fact that I was dating an Ivy league dropout who lived in a pool house didn't do wonders for my reputation.

But the kicker is, before all of this, I hadn't really cared about my reputation.

I know what I'm doing. I fully aware of the fact that I'm grasping for reasons - legitimate reasons - to excuse the things that I've done. The way that I've been acting. The way that I've been treating her.

Nobody deserves to be treated like this. To be lied to. Repeatedly.

The truth came out last week. It was a stupid situation, really. Maybe it was my subconscious and my conscience working together to sabotage my evil ways.

We were in my apartment. She came over to cancel our date for that night. Not a big deal. But I was looking for a little slap-stick before she left.

She wasn't interested.

So I let it slip. Purposefully, accidentally, I'm still not sure.

I told her that I didn't need this. That there were plenty of other girls. That I'd been with a lot of them lately.

She didn't believe me. The nerve of her to think that I couldn't fuck whomever I wanted, whenever I wanted.

She asked for names.

I rattled off a half dozen. Just like that. Then I delved into times and places and realization dawned over her face.

It was then that I really started to feel bad.

But I warned her. And I'm a guy.

So, she can't complain.

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Notes: Good? Bad? I really don't know about this one!