Book One: The Viper's Bite

Four

It seemed like forever before they pulled apart. Just watching them made my heart beat pick up, because as they seperated, a look of discovery crossed Damien's face, and a look of wonderment adorned Mickie's.

I thought now was as good a time as any. Ambling over, I sort of inserted myself into the situation, giving Damien a cursory pat on the cheek. He started, obviously too immersed in the moment to have noticed my arrival. I looked at Mickie, who's cheeks were burning crimson. With the entirety of my charm, which was admittedly limited, I picked up a ten pound ball and swung it, turning back to them with a devilish look. "Let us begin."

*********************

I didn't drink. I don't smoke. I don't do drugs... usually. Ok, never.

But that was my point. Last night, I'd had good, clean fun with two of my best friends, and the next morning, I feel drowsy, sluggish, incompetent.

It was probably psychological. I knew what I had to do with Randy today. Just the thought made me nervous, and I thought about calling in sick. 

But then I thought about it, again. Remembered the lines, the part I had to play. And got excited in the most scandalous of ways.

By the time I was finished, I'd made the situation into an adventure. I was ready.

I found the slip of paper he'd handed to me the previous day. 456. Ha. Straightening my black sweater, I stepped out, locked the door. The hall was empty, just as I'd hoped it would be. I counted the doors, realized the one I was looking for was only twelve away from me. Shook with anticipation.

When I knocked, I heard slight shuffling on the other side, before the door was thrown open and my heart nearly stopped.

Shirtless, and wet, and oh so edible. Dear Foley, what was wrong with me?

Orton pulled a towel from around his neck, rubbing it over his eyes before they focused on me. He smiled, and I stood there, not even trying to hide my base appreciation.

"Good Morning to you, too. Give me a minute," he said, then walked away, leaving the door wide open. I reached into my satchel and pulled out the papers Vince had given me. I was hesitant going into his room, thought better of it, and strode in, kicking the door shut. His bed was a mess, underwear, shorts and T-shirt laid over it. I tried not to stare at the briefs. It seemed wrong.

But not wrong enough, apparently. Randy came back through a doorway, towel still hanging loosely from his hips. He went to the dressing table, swiped on deoderant. Walked back towards me, and, looking me straight in the eye, whipped off his towel, holding it out to me. "Do you mind?" he asked innocently.

"No," I whispered, struggling to maintain eye contact. Then I gave up on that completely and looked straight up at the ceiling, biting my lip, trying not to smile. Or cry. Or both. Randy started humming to himself, a tune I couldn't recognize through the haze of excited embarrassment in my head.

I dared to look back down, sighing in a mixture of relief and disappointment to see he was donning the smooth black underwear that curved around his body like a second skin. "Ready to rehearse?" he asked.

I looked at him blankly, tipping my head back as he came towards me. He pulled the sheets I loosely held in my fingers away, leaned down. I made a moaning sighing sound, completely captured. His fingers skimmed the underside of my chin, sending thrills through my body.

"Rehearse," he whispered against my lips, "for RAW? When you reject me?"

I pulled in a breath. "Nobody will ever believe it," I mumbled, my eyes focusing on his lips, before I launched myself at him. My arms slid around his neck, pulling him close, but not close enough. His hands slid onto my waist, clamped. I gasped as his fingers dug into the sensitive skin of my pelvis. Nothing could pull me away.