Book One: The Viper's Bite

Fifteen

I kept my eyes closed, listening to Randy climb out of the bed and walk around the room. Drawers opened and closed, clothes rustled, and the bed jerked at least twice as he hit his foot trying to maneuver his way in the dark. Finally, I threw off the covers and crawled off the bed, struggling not to laugh. My pants were halfway underneath, and I had ducked down to feel for my boots when the light clicked on and hands gripped around my hips, yanking me back.

Randy tossed me on to the bed before climbing over me. "How long were you awake?" he laughed, warm breath tickling my nose. I gave up the struggle and set my hands on his biceps. 

"Since before you, I think. Where are you going?" A dress shirt hung half on his body, and he'd already put on the pants and shiny black shoes I'd grown accustomed to seeing.

"A meeting," he started, then brushed his lips over mine. "It was sudden, so nobody knew until like, half an hour ago."

My nose scrunched up and I braced my good hand against his chest, pushing him back slightly. "A meeting with who?" I watched as his cheeks tinged a light pink, before he pulled away and finished buttoning up his shirt.

"A meeting with the Creative team and probably Vince. Don't get upset," he said when my mouth fell open. "You know they wouldn't call you in so soon after... you know." He turned around and walked into the bathroom, leaving me to sit a little butthurt in the middle of the bed.

Three days had passed since the 'incident' on Monday night, hours after RAW. Three days since I'd been to the hospital, three days since I'd sat down with a handful of corporate lawyers and company reps to get the full story, three days since filing an official report.

And already, it was three days too many. Instead of the handful of weeks I had originally meant to be off, the new injuries took me out for another month and a half, possibly two. The attack had been bastardized and pasted on the front of every popular magazine, and the WWE had already started to pull me in and under their protective wing.

The biggest example of this was moving me out of the hotel and secretly into Randy's - an hour away. While that was good protection for me, I couldn't stop wondering how the media would react if they found out we were sleeping in the same bed.

I watched now as he stepped out of the steamy room, pulling a tie snug around his collar. He avoided eye contact with me, even though I watched as he went to the dressing table across the room to dab on aftershave, and slip on a shiny Rolex. Finally, I caught his gaze in the mirror, and his face fell. 

"Don't give me that look." My fists clenched by my sides and I hoped that whatever 'look' he saw on my face intensified. "C'mon, you know you can't leave the hotel. And you know you can't leave it with me."

"Is it really so terrible if people know I'm staying here with you?" I pouted childishly, knowing fully that I shouldn't even had pursued the topic.

His gaze fell away and I saw as the phone on the night-table started to blink. It was Randy's... but apparently he hadn't noticed it. The screen read 'WWE Conference - 11 AM.' As my heartbeat picked up, I felt movement behind me, before a single "Shit," was muttered and the phone was snatched out of my view.

Instead of turning to him and demanding answers, I sat on the edge of the bed and waited for him to leave. When I finally felt fingers wrap around my good wrist, I sat shocked for a second, and then tugged my hand free of his grip. He sighed and left, the door slamming behind him.

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

Naturally, the Press Conference was to air on the Network, which I got through the app on my phone. I waited as impatiently as the reporters, as impatiently as the wrestlers in the back. A string of familiar faces strode out and lined up on the back panel, including AJ and Natalya, Sheamus, both the Usos, Brie Bella and, of course, Randy, all of them dressed in their finest.