Title: The Ever-Growing Itch
Disclaimer: Not mine.
A/N: There's really not a good way to preface this fic except to say it started out as a very innocent idea. So how it became what it was, well-LOL, you'll just have to see for yourself. I try to keep most of my stuff at a PG-13/T level because of personal preferences I have, but this one doesn't quite fall into that category as far as I can tell. For getting an R/M rating, it's actually kind of mild, but that's just the way it is. My main warning is this: this fic is about sex. There's not a lot of it going on, but it is discussed frequently and is the driving force behind the fic.
A/N 2: This is part of the redemptive!Dean verse, taking place a few months after "Sometimes You Do." Having read that fic in particular will be helpful to understanding some of this fic, and the Dean we see in this fic is very much the Dean that's developed over the course of the verse. Much love and thanks to geminigrl11 who beta'ed this one for me (even when I completely embarrassed her by the content in it). Also thanks to sendintheklowns who perpetually gets me to keep writing. Most of what I do is entirely her fault these days. Also, for those who are curious, this is a four part fic.
Summary: Rory liked to talk, but after a month of dating? She was a little talked out. More than a little talked out. So talked out, she might take a pledge of muteness if she could just get Dean to scratch her ever-growing itch.
"It's a nice night," she said, because really it was. Not because the weather was good, because, honestly, the weather was not that good-a little too cold and a little too cloudy so she couldn't even see the stars. And it wasn't a nice night because it was anything special, because there was a big negative on that one too. It was just a night, a typical Friday night, with work behind her and Dean right next to her.
Which, of course, was also why it was a nice night. Work behind her, Dean next to her, and they were walking to her place, hand in hand, and Rory felt nice.
Dean nodded benignly. "Yeah. I guess," he said.
Clearly he was not getting the same nice vibe she was. Not about the dinner, which had been bad, even for Al's. Not even about the great crepe controversy of the night, in which Kirk had come in with Lulu and tried to order it as a dessert, when the waiter clearly insisted it was a breakfast, which resulted in a fifteen minute argument full of some colorful descriptions of breakfast foods before Kirk decided he didn't actually like crepes and wanted a bison burger instead.
The fact that Al's didn't serve bison burgers had nearly made Dean choke on his soda in amusement.
So, no, that wasn't nice in particular. But her and Dean, hand in hand, touching, sharing warmth, getting closer-that was nice. Nice of the very nicest variety.
"I mean, like really nice," she tried again, moving her arm so it wrapped around his waist. She pulled closer to him, almost snuggling as she smiled up at him. "Nice to be here with you."
His face brightened and he rubbed his hand on her arm as he pulled her even closer. "Well, I can't disagree with that," he told her, all smiles and dimples, and leaned down to kiss her gently.
Rory couldn't help it. The feel of his lips on hers made the niceness just too much to bear. She returned the kiss with vigor and when he tried to pull away, she stood on her tiptoes to maintain the contact. He stiffened for a moment before melting back into her, stopping their trek and moving a hand to cup her face.
Rory couldn't be sure how long it lasted, but it was Dean who pulled away, laughing and looking uncomfortably at the ground.
She felt flush and breathless. "Something wrong?" she asked.
"No," he said, looking a little sheepish. "I'm just not sure everyone would see just how nice that is."
Everyone? On the empty Stars Hollow streets? It was currently past 10 PM. The only people out were a few daring couples, probably one gaggle of bored teenaged girls, and maybe the minister and the rabbi. Which, okay, so maybe they wouldn't appreciate such public displays of affection, but surely they could appreciate the niceness of two people sharing in the glorious God-given gift of one another?
And besides, modesty be damned! She felt nice; more than nice, nice was a not-so-nice pseudonym for really completely turned on.
Frustration was not the best way to express that, though. She would play coy, butter Dean up. Act sexy. Guys liked sexy because guys liked sex.
She smiled. "Well, maybe we should find a more out of the way location," she suggested suggestively, which was an odd way of thinking about it. How did one suggest things in a non-suggestive manner? But what did it matter unless Dean got the hint?
He shrugged a little. "It's getting kind of late."
It was never too late for sex, as far as Rory was concerned. "We get to sleep in tomorrow," she offered hopefully.
"I gave Gilbert the morning off."
Excuses, excuses. He was making this difficult. "But what about me?" she asked, letting herself pout just a little, because even nice girls needed to be nicely reminded of their worth and prowess.
"Well, I thought we could hang out more tomorrow," Dean said.
So much for worth and prowess. Hang out? Like they were two dudes or something wanting to play video games in their mothers' basements?
He shrugged. "I mean, I'd love to watch a movie with you or something, but I promised my mom that I'd look at the back door before I went to bed tonight."
His mother. She was making sexual overtures and he was talking about chores and his mother.
She would not be so easily deterred. Her libido could not afford it at the moment. Grabbing his hands in hers, she looked up at him with as much sweetness as she pleadingly could. "Maybe I could help you," she said. "We have a history with doors, you know. As we have gone through many of them together and there was that one time you hung a door and we almost kissed and that other time when we kissed against a door frame, which was wildly romantic but not very comfortable. So I could go with you, help you, then we could go upstairs, and I could help you some more with anything you need..."
Subtle, she was not tonight. She'd been subtle at Al's when she asked him if he wore boxers or briefs or that insanely attractive boxer-brief combinations that she did not quite understand but could not stop thinking about. She'd been subtle when he'd asked what she wanted to do tonight and she'd raised an eyebrow and asked if he was an option. But now? She felt too nice to be subtle.
But apparently, Dean was picking tonight to be dense. Full ride at UConn and all. "Nah, it's not worth it," he said. "By the time I get it done, it'll be too late to do anything."
Not too late to do anything. Not too late to do what she wanted to do.
"Are you sure?" she asked, pressing herself against him. She took one hand and pulled playfully at the zipper on his jacket.
He leaned down again, kissing her, quick and perfunctory. "I'm sure," he said. "I wouldn't want you to be bored."
Sweet, yes, and no doubt with good intentions, but she was going to need a whole lot more than that to make it through tonight.
After all, they had been dating for over a month and, as much as she tried not to think about it, there was still no sex. Rory was fine with waiting to establish themselves a bit, she really was, and it wasn't like she ran loose and sat with her legs open. She wanted to do it the right way with a guy who meant something to her and, check, check, that would be Dean right now. They were a couple, a bonafide pair and everyone knew it. She was sure half the town already suspected they'd consummated this new go at things, so, for the love of God, why hadn't they?
Rory wasn't quite sure.
Dean liked sex, after all. She knew that from experience. And Dean was rather good at it, she knew that, too. They were good at it together. After all, the sex had been about the only functional part of their previous attempt at togetherness.
And it wasn't like they were keeping things platonic. There had been kissing galore, even a number of intimate kissing sessions that left them both red faced, breathless and giddy. But Dean never pushed it, never tried to run his hands up her shirt and fiddle with the button on her pants and all Rory could think was why the hell not?
They were attracted to each other. They both wanted it; Dean wouldn't have to go get a cold glass of water for just nothing. Once, he'd even taken a shower to avoid the inevitable truth.
And tonight-was nice. She'd waited through the one month anniversary, let him build her up with a card and flowers and a book and a nice dinner and talk and kissing and then nothing. So tonight, the niceness of it; was more than good enough for her.
She wanted to get jiggy with it and Dean wanted to go fix his mother's back door. She wanted it so bad she was quoting Will Smith, which meant she wanted it pretty darn bad.
Surely this was irony or poetic justice or some weirdly cruel twist of fate.
She forced a smile. Because, really, what was she supposed to do? Strip him right then and there? As appealing as that was, it didn't feel right. He was respecting her so she had to respect him-didn't she? Even if she had no idea what was wrong with him? "Okay," she said. "That sounds...nice."
He grinned back, wrapping his arm around her again as they continued their walk. "You know what would be nice for tomorrow?"
Ripping his clothes off and tying him to his bed?
"We should help your mother clean up her backyard," he said. "She's been talking about that for ages."
Annoying asexual activities for 1000, Alex.
"Wouldn't that be nice?"
She was trapped in some painfully squeaky-clean sitcom from the fifties. "Oh, yes," she lied. "That would be very nice."
Her mother was with Luke on the couch when Rory dragged herself through the front door. Her attempt at an elongated make out session had been interrupted by a wild screech and the slamming of a door by Babette, when Apricot apparently remembered her youthful wiles and got out the front door.
They found the thing shacking up with a stray tabby cat under a bush in Rory's yard.
Even cats were getting more action than she was.
By that time, any mood was so long gone that Rory's niceness had faded to frustration and she let Dean kiss her goodnight without any more fanfare.
Her mother and Luke seemed surprised to see her, straightening and pulling away from each other, looking flushed and far too happy.
And the horrible truth came to her.
They'd been making out. And given the rumpled appearance of her mother's shirt and Luke's sheepish and jumpy expression, they were rounding second base and were well on their way to third.
Rory had mostly reconciled herself to the idea of her mother having sex-and lots of it-and even sex with Luke. She was okay Luke staying over here and her mother staying over there because it was just one of those things. Her mother was a grown woman, with needs, because women had needs, too, and she couldn't begrudge her mother that.
But tonight? Walking in on them?
Was just plain cruel.
She mumbled a reply to her mother's breathless greeting and trudged past them to the bathroom where she closed the door and turned on the shower, nice and cold. She stood under the flow for a long time, until she couldn't think about her mom and Luke, she couldn't think about Apricot and the neighborhood stray, and, most of all, she couldn't think about Dean and his dimples and his long, strong body, which was completely hers but not hers at all.
The morning wasn't much better. It was like a hangover, only without the alcohol. Or at least without any of the intoxicated pleasure that never made it worthwhile but at least made it seem like fair compensation for the misery after.
More than that, this wasn't an affliction that would be cured by a good night's sleep, or a cup of coffee, or even a breakfast burrito.
There was only one thing that could cure this and that was the source of the problem in and of itself.
Rory didn't lounge often, at least not in bed, or at least without a book open in front of her. But nothing could quite motivate her today, especially not the thought of seeing Dean, which at this point might be more counterproductive than anything else.
She had to admit it. She had a problem. She needed to get laid.
Not that Rory often thought about that kind of thing. Really, she didn't. She had gone a long time in relationships without even approaching the subject and her first two relationships hadn't resulted in anything more than passionate kissing and some tame feeling. True, she had consummated things with Dean, which was her first taste of it all, which made it somewhat easier, she thought, to go after things with Logan.
Still, it wasn't like she needed it. Not like Logan had and even during their time apart, she had pined, but not to the extent that she may have expected (though Paris' long distance sex advice had somewhat spoiled her appetite for such things because thoughts of her and Doyle were just not okay).
After Logan, there was a dry spell of course, which was only natural since she had been without a boyfriend and Rory Gilmore wasn't the kind of girl that slept around. And, if she were honest, it wasn't like there were many opportunities for it. She'd been on the road for awhile, which had made any kind of stability almost impossible, so meeting a guy and making a connection was not exactly easy. There'd been options, she supposed, but hooking up with random guys in bars seemed a bit too scurvy and way too desperate and she could never let herself get drunk enough to feel quite that stupid. Moreover, the clientele of such places? Highly questionable. And hooking up with other journalists was something she'd ruled out from the get-go. They were either too much like Logan or too much like Doyle (the horrors!), and she wanted something better than that. She wanted sex to be meaningful, part of something.
Not that there hadn't been anyone, but she'd be lying if she acted like it was a commonplace thing. There had been two maybe-boyfriends who had maybe-boyfriended their way into her bedroom, once in a hotel room just outside Phoenix and once in her apartment in Detroit. But one was a traveling journalist who apparently liked to follow Republicans, which was reason enough to keep to casual emails with him anyway, and the other had been a personal trainer at the gym Rory just joined, and the relationship had been so awkward that she had quit the gym after seeing him for a month in order to avoid him altogether.
Which was okay. This wasn't about the fact that she'd been deprived. It really wasn't. Rory didn't need sex, she just didn't, but now that there was Dean again, it just sort of seemed like she should have it.
Because, yes, they had a deep, intimate, intellectual connection and they had a quirky Stars Hollow vibe to bond them and they had a thousand other interests and points of discussions and emotional parallels and complementing traits that made things ridiculously fun and beautiful and fantastic so, no, it wasn't about the sex, but she wanted part of it to be. Was that really so much to ask? After all, it had been over a year since her last romp in the sack and over a month with Dean by her side and she was suddenly wishing that she hadn't denied him the one time he'd offered in his grief-stricken outburst.
Besides, this was all Dean's fault anyway, she reasoned to herself, staring at her ceiling. The man practically exuded testosterone and probably a number of other female enticing pheromones that she was simply powerless to resist.
So was he oblivious to his own power?
Was he toying with her?
Was he considering a career as a priest?
Because Rory knew all the working parts were there. She knew that he enjoyed the act, and moreover that he enjoyed the act with her, so what was the problem?
A loud knock came at her door. "Are you alive in there?" her mother asked.
Rory groaned and rolled over, burying her face in her pillow.
"Because if you're dead, then I'd really appreciate some notice, so, you know, I can do all my fun stuff now and pretend like I don't know yet because once I do know, it'd probably be in bad form to go grab a burger and some fries and enjoy myself."
With another groan, Rory rolled out of bed. Stalking to the door, she opened it and leveled her mother with a glare. "Do I look alive?"
Her mother wrinkled her nose. "In the classic zombie sense of the word, I suppose."
Rory just rolled her eyes miserably and tried to close the door.
"Aw, I made coffee," her mother said. "And there's cereal. And milk. Even fresh milk. From yesterday. So it doesn't have that stale milk taste that it gets right before it turns sour, but the cereal, well, I can't guarantee the freshness of that, but you pour it in the milk and the sogginess equals everything."
Her mother sounded far too happy and chipper.
Which made sense. Her mother probably got some last night.
Defeated, Rory slunk out. "Is the coffee hot?"
"Piping," her mother said. "So sit, relax. I'll pour you a cup and make you human again."
"I don't want to be human again," Rory muttered, sitting in a chair at the table.
"So is there a reason for this sudden desire to act like a sulky teenager or are you just trying to get your kicks in since you avoided them in high school?" her mother asked, pouring a cup and putting it in front of her.
Rory grabbed it greedily, taking a sip before answering. "I'm not a sulky teenager."
"No, you're a sulky adult, which, really, isn't that much better," her mother said, plunking a bowl of Cocoa Crispies saturated with milk in front of her. "In fact, I would argue that it must be worse, because people expect teens to be sulky, so it's more of a pleasant surprise when they aren't, but they start whispering about adults who do it on a regular basis and we don't need to give Stars Hollow anything else to whisper about. They're still not recovered from the fact that the paper actually printed your article lobbying to sell KY Jelly at Doose's. Which, really, I love and seriously admire you for, but half the town still blushes every time they see you and, I swear, certain little old ladies still glare at Dean whenever they pass the stereo shop."
Rory glowered a bit, picking up her spoon. She needed a whole lot more than KY Jelly at this point. "You're not helping."
"That's because I don't know what's wrong," her mother said. "Until I do, I can only ramble about anything that comes to mind. So sulking, KY Jelly, the many varied uses of peanut butter, the confusing health comparisons between real butter and vegetable oil spreads. And margarine. What is margarine anyway?"
Rory swallowed. "Did you plan on being quiet any time soon?"
"Good to know."
"Do I have to guess?"
Rory sighed. It was still too early for this and she still felt far too frustrated to even know where to begin. "It's personal."
Her mother's look of incredulity was to be expected. "Personal? Personal? What's personal?"
"Personal as in I don't want to share it."
Her mother actually gaped. "Well, I probably didn't really want to share my body with you for nine months but I did it anyway. Not to mention my house and my life and my money and my everything, including my clothes. Even my favorite red sweater than you inexplicably spilled taco sauce on in the ninth grade even though they don't even serve tacos at school."
"How do you know?" Rory said. "You didn't go there."
"But why would a public institution waste money on tacos? The shells, the meat, the cheese, the wilted lettuce. The sauce. Not a practical use of school district assets."
"The meat wasn't real," Rory pointed out.
"Well, then no wonder you used taco sauce," her mother said. "You're still not getting out of this."
It was a pointless struggle. Her mother would find out sooner or later, much to Rory's horror and frustration. Her mother was, after all, Lorelai Gilmore, or at least a Lorelai Gilmore, and Lorelai Gilmores were invariably skilled at getting things they wanted, especially when that involved information from other people named Lorelai Gilmore. At least the second and third generations thereof.
"Is it Dean?" her mother prompted. "I mean, you and Dean. Something happen last night?"
And that was the breaking point. Rory put down her spoon. "Something didn't happen last night," she said.
Her mother waited. "I think you're going to have to be more specific than that. Something like a meteor didn't fall out of the sky and destroy the gazebo? Something like Taylor didn't remember to card Mrs. Dawson even though he knows for a fact that she's been legally able to buy that bottle of wine she buys every week for the past fifty years?"
"Something between me and Dean," Rory said, trying to find the best word. "Something...sexual."
That made her mother pause, tentative. "I didn't think we needed to talk the bird and the bees, did we? I mean, the more complicated part. I know we got the basics, because you and Dean sort of forced that point years ago, but I mean, there are other aspects to it that maybe we need to discuss-"
Rory shook her head. "No-just. No."
"You mean I don't have to tell you about the varied ways of mutual pleasure-"
Rory just made a face. "I'm eating."
"Okay," her mother relented. "So what didn't happen sexually?"
"Anything!" Rory exploded. "Nothing happened."
"Well, even guys have an off night," her mother said gently.
"No," Rory said. "You don't understand. Nothing happened. Nothing. He won't even feel me up good and proper."
The wheels were turning in her mother's head. "You mean-wait-you-"
Rory just nodded and waited for her to put two and two together and come up with a big fat zero.
The incredulity was nothing but genuine this time. "You mean, you and Dean haven't done the deed yet?"
"No," Rory said. "Not even close."
Her mother looked perplexed, opened her mouth and shut it, brow furrowed, before she said, "Not at all?"
"Not even a hint," Rory confirmed.
"I mean, sometimes guys, you know, need a push," her mother said. "Have you, you know, tried anything suggestive?"
"Everything short of being obvious," Rory said. "And even then. I've joked about it. Cajoled him to stick around longer for prolonged kissing in closed rooms. Practically jumped him public and made mildly obscene suggestive overtures."
"Huh. And nothing?"
"Zip, zilch, nada, nothing. Except cold showers all around."
"So he's actively avoiding it."
"And I'm actively going crazy."
Her mother still looked befuddled. "No wonder you're sulking," she said.
"I was wondering about the shower."
"It didn't help."
"I can imagine," her mother sympathized. "I mean, all that Dean and no action?"
"It is disappointment on levels you will never grasp," Rory told her as a matter of fact.
"And he hasn't said why?"
"He hasn't even talked about it!" Rory said. "All my hints, and he just wants to go home to do dishes or something else utterly inane."
"Well, I know from experience, doing dishes is a great way to kill the mood."
"Um, not helping the problem," Rory said.
"Um, I didn't realize this was something I could help," her mother said. "I mean, lots of things, sure. You get drunk, I'll pick you up. You get arrested, I'll bail you out. You lose yourself in copyediting a feature piece about the controversy surrounding the cheerleader's uniforms that Lyman can't quite keep himself serious for, then I'm there with bells on."
"And a red pen. The bells are to distract you."
"That's just the way I am." Her mother shrugged. "But getting your boyfriend to have sex with you? Seems to cross the bounds of appropriate motherly intervention."
Rory made a face. "I don't want you to be my pimp," she said, disgusted by the mere thought. Of her mother as a pimp at all, much less her pimp, and what did that make Luke? "I just want some advice!"
"Um, research how nuns do it?"
"Okay, okay," her mother relented, holding up a hand. "Just...calm down. Or try to. As much as you can while in your condition."
Rory continued glaring.
"If your advances aren't working, have you, I don't know, considered just talking to him?"
"I talk to him every day," Rory said. "Less talk, more action!"
"No, I mean talking to him. You know, asking him about sex?"
That was a thought that hadn't quite occurred to her, and it made her pause. "Asking him?"
"Yeah, you know, sitting him down and holding his hand and looking in his deep eyes and running a hand over the muscles just lurking beneath those layers-"
"Is this going to be advice or a bad porno?"
"Sorry, got distracted."
"By my boyfriend."
"Hey, I'm just a woman. Hell, I'm only human-have you seen that guy?"
Rory narrowed her eyes. "Does Luke know about this obsession you have?"
"And if I told you he shared it?"
Pushing her cereal away, Rory said, "I may just throw up."
"You were giving me advice?"
Her mother seemed to remember her train of thought. "Yes. Right. So you sit him down and you just say, hey, Dean, you remember all those years ago when we were having sex? I was sort of wondering if we could, you know, relive it a bit. Just for the sake of posterity."
"That's your argument?"
Her mother shrugged. "Or some approximation thereof."
"You know, for someone who talks a lot, you're a surprisingly bad conversationalist."
"Only with people other than myself."
Rory chewed her lip. It wasn't a bad idea, and she believed in honesty, she did. She wasn't even opposed to kinky talk but the way Dean was acting-it might just be too forward. Besides, she didn't want to look like a sex-crazed idiot, did she? No matter how she was feeling at the moment. "But-I don't know. It seems, kind of forward?"
"You're the one pining here, not me."
"But isn't there another way?"
Her mother looked thoughtful. "Well," she said. "I may have a few other tricks up my sleeve, though I do not want to be responsible for the seduction of a very innocent man."
Rory stared. "You're kidding right?"
"Just because a guy is seven feet tall and has the chiseled chest of a superhero does not mean he's not innocent!" her mother protested. "It's his puppy dog eyes. They are killers. That's his superpower. He just guilts people into submission. One look, and bank robbers give up their loot, just like that."
It wasn't his eyes that were the problem. "You're still not telling me the plan."
"And clearly you're not appreciating the finer points of Dean as a comic book hero."
Rory would not be distracted. Her gaze was leveled and deadly. "The plan."
Her mother sighed dramatically. "All work and no play makes Rory a very grumpy girl," her mother said. "Just know, I'm not doing this for you. I'm doing it for me, so I don't have to live with your intolerable mood."
"You think that matters?"
"Very persistent," her mother observed. "Okay. It's not that complicated. You invite him over. You make him some food-like, seriously, make it. Maybe even get a recipe from his mother or something."
"I have to talk to his mother?"
"Honey, it's about the sacrifice here," she said. "You have to stick with me."
"Need I remind you of my situation here?"
"Right, right," her mother said. "It's a good thing you didn't consider becoming a nun."
"Since that was even an option?"
"You did have a small obsession with Sister Act."
"Well, yes, but it was funny."
"And you were seven and you didn't have problems of this nature."
"Plus, when I tried wearing a pillowcase on my head, it kept falling off," Rory said. "Really not very flattering."
"It makes your face fat, too."
This was going horribly off topic. "So since I'm not a nun, how am I going to get Dean into bed?"
Her mother shook her head, refocusing. "Right, so you make him dinner. You do salads and meat and potatoes and those little cooked carrots in brown sugar sauce he likes so much and you make dessert and you make sure there are candles and music. You two eat alone, giggle a lot, bat your eyes, the whole shebang. Flirt him up but good and be sure to wear that little blue dress, you know with the v-neck and the open back."
"I thought you said that one made me look like a slut."
"Um, hello, are you not picking up on the method of seduction here?"
"Oh," Rory said. That did make sense. Cook for him, giggle with him, get all his senses aroused and see what happened.
"Now you're getting it," her mother said. "How can you really be my daughter and have no seduction skills?"
"It's never been an issue until now," Rory said, feeling cross.
"Yes, before, men were always wooed by your inherent nature. One look at you and they were throwing themselves all over you."
Rory shook her head. "You're not helping."
"Yes, I am."
"The entire plan, hello? Was mine."
"Yes, but what about you?"
"I think me being there would defeat the purpose."
"No, but won't you come home sometime? I mean, what if we're getting there and you come in? With Luke? What would Luke do? He might actually hurt Dean!"
Her mother sighed. "The lack of sex is affecting your brain's capacity to reason."
"How can you insult me?"
"Babe, I'll stay at Luke's that night," her mother said. "We'll plan it out, make sure Dean has the night off and the next morning off. Then we'll get the house ready for the grand seduction."
Cliche, perhaps. But desperate times? Called for desperate measures. And Rory was more than desperate at the moment.
"I still think you should talk to him," her mother said. "He's a reasonable guy. Sweet even. I'm sure there's a reason."
But Rory had talked long enough. It was time for action-and a lot of it. And if it didn't work?
Well, then talking was always a practical back up.
After all, if it didn't work, there wasn't much else she could do besides talk.
Which, wow. Rory liked to talk, but after a month of dating? She was a little talked out. More than a little talked out. So talked out, she might take a pledge of muteness if she could just get Dean to scratch her ever-growing itch.
Though, how did one take a pledge of muteness? Didn't that just defeat the purpose?
Well, was one seeming dichotomy that Rory was more than willing to find out.
"So," she said, picking up her coffee. She always did better with a focus-a focus and coffee and a mother to serve as the Rocky to her Bullwinkle. "Let's plan this project."
With a quirk of her eyebrows, her mother's smile was as sinister as it was reassuring. "Consider project Get Rory Laid underway."