Who Do You Love - Dean Ambrose

Chapter 47: Working For The Man

In the near five week stint I had been working on commentary as the first full time female to be handed the role, I had learnt that there were both pros and cons to it and so had mentally been making myself a little list. Positive points included the receival of fan mail, including lots of letters from tiny little girls who suddenly wanted to grow up to be commentators and which honestly made the feminist in me kind of swell. Downsides were the letters from the lonely male viewers whose thoughts were often explicitly less pure and were sometimes even sent through with certain pictorial evidence that for the most part the mail room managed to get to first.

Not always though.

Ick.

Men were pretty weird creatures but on the plus side no one was following me home and so it turned out that the single biggest pitfall of my position was having front rows seats to whenever my boyfriend got beaten up and then having to try and talk my way through it.

I said boyfriend again.

Fiancé.

Damn it all.

From over in the ring there was a sudden loud clatter and I startled in my seat as my senses snapped back and perfectly in time with the packed crowd exploding and a ladder toppling over and hurling a performer from its rungs

I blinked.

Dean?

Michael Cole hastened to fill the gaps in with Jerry 'The King' Lawler not too far behind in the weirdly high pitched shriek that he ever seemed to favor and which made him sound like a housewife chasing birds from her lawn,

"Eek – ,"

"Kofi Kingston off the top rope and taking on the men outside of the ring."

Peering across the ropes and surveying the chaos was the man who had pushed the tall ladder from its feet and who was clad in a grubby and sweat stained grey wife beater and a pair of fantastically too tight blue jeans. Dean was up and evidently uninjured and that was a very good thing for me.

Jerry Lawler chuckled in amazement,

"Did you see that?"

I had been trying not to see, since the entire match seemed like a recipe for disaster to the point that I couldn't believe the thing was real. Because frankly putting more than two wrestlers in the ring together was always a pretty horrible idea and so therefore having six of them brawling with one another and with ladders no less felt like playing with fire.

I resisted the urge to hide behind my fingers.

Go Dean, go.

Evidently he heard my plea, because the next thing I knew he was hauling the ladder upright and hustling it back to the center of the ring and beneath the swinging suspended golden briefcase that they were bickering over –

I still wasn't too sure why.

Dean had grumbled something at me earlier about being able to cash the thing in for a title shot, but had then talked about having to wait for the right moment and keeping it close which had left me a little lost. In my eleventh month stint in sports entertainment, it was safe to say that I had learned a ton of stuff but watching grown men scooting up and down ladders for a garish looking briefcase reminded me of how new I still was and also of how crazy wrestling could be.