Book One: The Viper's Bite

Nine

Excluding rehearsals with AJ, a soda with Cody and a shared look across a crowded elevator with Randy, I'd avoided the rest of the group for three days. Holed up in my room watching a variation of Spongebob and Vampire Diaries, with the odd splash of Cops, I kept looking nervously at the script across the room placed haphazardly on a footstool. It was Monday morning and I hadn't looked at them once since they were handed to me, simply because I knew that it was something risqué and outrageous. The storyline hadn't even run for an entire week and already I was pulling in the top catches by being a standoffish bitch, which wasn't even my character. The scariest part was that guys seemed to actually be attracted to that, or at least the guys I associated with.

Maybe it was a wrestler thing. I turned down the volume, getting out of the bed to flip through the pages. I had to at least have a general idea of what was going to happen. The newest ones came into view; sliding them out, I went and perched myself on the edge of the bed, folding one leg under me.

Monday night's match: Continuation fight with AJ, will enter ring and await in ring. Before AJ's music, Orton's music will play. As he enters, in ring wrestler shocked, outraged. Move to exit ring. Orton's hands fly up, in mock surrender. Slings belts over shoulders, walks to announcer table, takes a seat. Watched Suspiciously. Enter: AJ - music begins. Lee skips out, -

The papers fell from my fingers at the sharp knock on my door. I stood, leaving them lying scattered on the carpet, and went over to swing open the door. I wasn't prepared to see Triple H standing there, dressed casually in a Hard Rock Cafe T-shirt and black board shorts. I giggled.

"Afternoon, Hunter." I glanced down at his pants again, biting my lip to hold in more laughter. "Aren't you a little underdressed for a C.O.O.?" His eyebrows rose and I snapped, bending over, clutching my stomach in unbridled laughter. There was something about awkward fashion that got to me.

Hunter leaned against the door frame, waiting for my gasping to die out. When  I finally composed myself, I saw that he was chuckling to himself and looking down the hall. "Glad to see you're so smiley, Sparks. You ready for tonight?"

I had known Triple H for the entirety of  the two years I had been here, and over that time, we'd gotten to know exactly what made each other tick. Me commenting on his Casual-Friday-To-Monday look, for example, or putting Coke in his Pepsi and Sour Patch Kids in his fries. And in return, he knew exactly how to ruin a perfectly good mood.

As he'd just done.

My smile slipped and was replaced with a sneer, me crossing my arms over my 50 Cent T-shirt as I shook my head at him. "I could just kill you sometimes."

He laughed outright at that; I don't know why. It wasn't a joke. He mock wiping a tear from his eye, then shook his head. "Seriously though. I went over the plan with Vince - and he told me what's been going on. I jus figured it might be a little weird for all of you. Except maybe AJ."

"It's gonna get pretty weird for her too, if anything shifty happens," I said under my breath. However, Hunter had superior dog-like hearing. Avoiding the impending inquiries, I checked my watch. "I've gotta go down to the gym and loosen up before the show. It's already five-thirty. I'll see you later?" I asked, half-turned to go back into the room.

"Sure, go get smelly." He laughed, started down the hall. "I'll tell Steph you said hi."

"But I didn't," I called, smirking.

*********************    

The Universe was especially raucous that night, the crowd stomping and yelling, posters with neon scrawls and amazing drawings being waved back and forth by enthusiastic fans. Boulevard of Broken Dreams caressed the arena, and I sprinted, completely caught up in the sounds and sights that flashed in the darkened crowd. My neck had been covered in a thin bandage that went from my clavicle to my shoulder blade. I got up onto the mat, spread my arms across the top rope and flipped myself over it, the usual way I entered most matches. I landed squarely on m feet, before I walked to each corner and held my arms straight up, 'rock on' signs made with my fingers. A pack of guys at the front, college boys it looked like, hooted and whistled and yelled crude and flattering remarks, getting me to crouch down, poke through the bottom ropes and blow them a kiss.