Who Do You Love - Dean Ambrose

Chapter 31: Bitch Slap

Right from the very first moment I had met them, the guys had been attack dogs and real company men, who had pretty much done what their bosses had ordered and so therefore had never been in the place to make heaps of friends.

It hadn't really bothered me greatly back in the early months since I'd been new to everything and essentially flying high. Because not only had I had a squeaky new boyfriend but I'd also had a squeaky new dad, which had made it feel like I'd had more than I had dreamed of –

I didn't need the wider roster to fall in love with me as well.

I mean, not saying that I wouldn't have liked it but Dean and the guys had never seemed fussed and since I had taken my cue from them in most things, I had never set about bombarding the talent with my charm.

Wow.

Had that been a mistake of epic proportions? Because as it turned out, hanging with other brawlers was fun and something that was evidently open to the boys now, thanks to their new mindset and anti-establishment line of attack. No longer were they out on the cold fringes of the locker room and stalking the halls scattering people left and right. Instead they were pretty much fully accepted, albeit with a hint of caution since they still tended to bite.

Dean especially –

Particularly down there.

I blushed a little and then snorted into the bottle of my condensation-covered beer, which then promptly almost shot the liquid from my nostrils and sent me coughing clumsily. My boyfriend frowned across,

"Princess, you alright?"

I wiped my lips and nodded, still giggling a little because the thought of that had made me bite back a laugh and besides which I kind of liked the thought of him being all dog-like, growling at his reflection and scratching the door to go out.

"You would make a really good puppy."

He blinked at me and his bewildered blue eyes swept up and down, lingering a little on my scorching hot cheekbones and then raised an amused looking brow,

"Are you drunk right now?"

"Noooo."

My protest was far too outrageous however and not helped by the fact that I also waved my hands, in what I hoped would totally prove my sobriety but instead simply managed to slop beer across the seat.

Oops.

Dean grunted back and then blew a short breath out, which lightly ruffled the bangs of his hair, which he had been starting to wear longer and pulled forward over the last months but were still a little damp from the match they had won and from which he was still glassy eyed and vaguely limping.

Not that it surprised me.

He had been hit in the head and not just with a fist or spinning heel kick either, but with the hard metal top of a sledgehammer no less and one which had been wielded by the deeply estranged father that had kidnapped and held me captive nearly three long months back. During which time he had tried to make me give Dean up and his bastard of a prodigy had very nearly –

Nope.

I took another chug from my bottle and fought the memory down, not even realizing that I had said the word out loud until Dean looked across at me with brows knitted in confusion,