Katie Lea Burchill lifted my limp body up, my neck in an inverted face lock. She called out to the crowd, telling them that she was going to finish the match right then and there. Half the crowd booed her, the other cheered. It was actually her home town crowd of London, England. It's also my home town, but I was just the 'local talent', or 'jobber'. There was gonna be no big Cinderella start to my WWE career; hell this was just a one-off match for me. Swiftly, she pulled my body down, striking my neck and upper spine with her knee.

I was released and I fell limply to the ground, face-down, selling her finisher like the pro I am and acting as if I was knocked out from the blow. In actuality, all I felt from the finishing move was a small numb pain, among various other pains from the two minute match-up. She rolled me over, hooked my leg and the referee counted to three.

I could hear, somewhere in the distance Tony Chimmel announcing, "here is your winner, Katie Lea!" The crowd cheered crazily, because either way, a home town hero had won the match tonight. The mat bounced beneath me as I felt Paul Burchill getting into the ring to celebrate with his sister, and I started to move, acting as if I was in far more pain than I actually was.

I rolled over, towards the two referees who were standing on the outside, with faux concern on their faces as they urged me to get out of the ring. All the fans immediately started booing, and as I let the referees pull me out of the ring I got a glance of why. The usual faces in the feud, DJ Gabriel and Alicia Fox, were in the ring having a stand-off with the Burchill 'siblings'. Tonight the roles were reversed; although I did notice DJ got a bit of a pop from the crowd when he landed a punch on Paul's face, after all DJ is British too.

My two referees led me down the side of the ramp as various fans tried to reach out to touch me. I made no move to return their affections, but I smiled and waved weakly as I hobbled into the backstage area. When we were out of the sight of fans, the referees instantly let go of me and scarpered off together. If I had seriously been injured, a lot of fat good they would have been! They didn't even ask me if I was okay or not. Bastards.

I straightened myself up and walked proudly towards the production area, but I was stopped midway by the woman I had just been in the ring with. She had a smile on her face, but looked a little flustered from her exchange with the dancing duo.

"Good work out there, Hope," she said with a pat on my back. I looked into her eyes, expecting to see cynicism or sarcasm. We are both British, after all. All I saw was sincerity; so I smiled widely back at her.

"Thanks, you too," I said, winking at her. America must have changed her, I hear people are much nicer over there and much more sincere than us Brits. I think I'd hate that, actually. I can't stand people who are too nice, it makes me think they're really an evil person whose trained themselves very well to come across as 'nice'.

Without another word, Katie left to go get showered and changed. I didn't have that luxury yet, I had to get paid for my work. On I continued, towards production where I knew Stephanie McMahon would be, watching the goings on of the show like an eagle for any and all mistakes made.

I soon spotted her, shouting furiously at one of the production crew. He was huge, at least six feet tall, but he still cowered before the might of a McMahon. I tried not to laugh, really I did, but a giggle managed to escape my lips and Stephanie's ears somehow picked it up. Her furious glare soon turned to me and I gulped.

"You!" she snarled, pointing her finger at me. I looked around, to see if she could possibly be pointing at someone else, but no one was in my vicinity and the only people around were watching me in horror. "Come here," God she sounded angry. I tentatively took a few steps closer to her, so I was close enough to have a conversation but not close enough for her to swipe at me. She reached to the clipboard she had held in one hand and unclipped something, then shoved it towards me.

I looked down to see it was paper. Money paper. A lot of money from what I could tell. I gently took it and muttered a 'thank you' to her. There was £400 here, which really wasn't bad at all for one night's work!

"Now go see Vince McMahon," she ordered, obviously still furious but thankfully not at me. "He wants to see you in his office. Do you know where it is?" I nodded 'yes', and with another quick 'thank you, Ms. McMahon', I hurried off to go see Mr. McMahon.

And that, is how I became a WWE (developmental) Diva.

.&.&.&.

So, I guess I should tell you about myself, because after all you are reading my story, and obviously I'm an integral part of it. My name is Hope French, I'm twenty years old and a professional wrestler. I usually wrestle under my real name, but I have been known to make a few changes to it. I've been in the business for three years, and I've been training since I was fifteen. I was born in London, England and raised not far away in Essex.

Have I bored you yet? If so, tough titties, there's more to come. I have long brown hair, which has red undertones dyed in and I'm told I look a bit like Lucy Pinder, but younger. And I'm not as boring personality-wise as she is and I think my chest is bigger than hers (and natural, I'll be a bit of an oddity in the WWE, won't I?)

I like long walks on the beach and to be wined and dined. Wait, this isn't a personals ad is it?

Anyway, that's me, Hope French the newest WWE (developmental) Diva. And now two months after signing my contract I'm in Florida, where the sun is shining and it's boiling hot even though it's still in the middle of winter. At least, I thought it was winter then but in actuality it was just coming up to summer time, I'd thought since it was across the world, it would have to be a completely different season. I was wrong and I must be bloody retarded or something, because I thought with it being winter, I'd need my big wool scarf, big coat and hat as soon as I got off the plane. How wrong I was.

I was sweating like a pig, which is never a good thing, all because I hadn't been bothered to research my new home to see what the weather was like. Stupid, stupid, stupid. I picked up my luggage, slightly shocked. In England it would have surely been lost. We're rather incompetent that way, I think. I know for sure I'm always getting things wrong and losing things, and I know for sure most of the British people I know are the same in varying degrees.

Quickly I took my extra layers off, and managed to somehow stuff them in my packed suitcase. I only had one suitcase for now, the rest of my stuff was being flown over to me later in the week. This suitcase had the very essentials though. Toothbrush, clothes, one of my wrestling attires, teddy bear from childhood (I don't sleep or play with it still, but I need to know it's always near; it makes me feel safe) and some money.

I left the airport and was soon outside, with the warm Florida sun beating down on my face. God it's hot here. I searched the cars lined up outside the airport because I'd been told that there would be someone waiting to meet me there and drive me to my new home, which I was apparently sharing with another of the wrestlers for a small fee.

Then I saw him for the first time, sitting on the hood of a silver car (I'm not good with cars, I couldn't tell you what make it was if my life depended on it) with no shirt on as his perfect six pack glistened with a little sweat. He was obviously sun bathing and I licked my lips as involuntary filthy thoughts that my mother would be ashamed of ran through my mind. His eyes were closed, I could tell as I approached him, but a sign lying next to him told me he was my welcoming party, as it said "Hope French (WWE DIVE)". I think it was supposed to say Diva, but maybe it was a prediction of how my career was to go. I bloody hope not.

I finally reached him and just watched him for a few seconds. I had thought he was a hunk when I'd seen him on my TV screen, but he was so much hotter in the flesh. So much. Sex on legs.

"Wow," I said loudly, startling him and causing him to jump as his eyes snapped open and he stared at me in bewilderment. "I must be in someone's good books already if they're sending me Evan Bourne as my welcome wagon."

His shock quickly turned into a goofy grin as he looked me over, nodding to himself and thinking God-knows-what. "And I must be in someone's good books, too if they're letting me share an apartment with a total babe like you."

I faltered for a second, a little shocked to hear I'd be sharing my new home with a man. A man I'm not sleeping with, or dating. I'd never done that before, I'd only shared with my best friend Christine and my ex before. I briefly wondered if he wanted to share an apartment with me for sexy times. I know I wanted sexy times with him.

"But I'm sure my girlfriend won't be very happy about it," he said as he slid off the hood of the car and took my suitcase. Damn, of course he'd have a girlfriend. He took my case to the boot and hefted it in, then slammed it shut. "Call me Matt, by the way," he chuckled as he held his hand out to me.

I took his hand and shook it. He felt good, a little sweaty, but good. "I'm Hope," I replied with a smile to match his. He simply nodded and slid over the hood of his car, grabbing the sign with my name on as he went, and unlocked his car.

"Get in, I'll take you home with me," he winked at me and I couldn't help but blush like a silly school girl with a crush. Well, I kind of do have a crush on him, he is pretty hot after all. But I'm not a silly school girl.

Anyway, I got in just as he turned the engine on and the sounds of a local radio station blasted out at me from the speakers. He sheepishly turned the volume down and muttered a 'sorry' to me. I didn't mind, I like my music loud enough to burst my ear drums. It's relaxing. And if I'm honest, I was getting rather nervous now. I was in a new country, about to start work for the company I'd dreamed about being a part of since I was a little girl and I was going to be sharing a flat, sorry, 'apartment' with a guy I'd fancied since I'd first seen him on TV.

"So, roomie," he said with his goofy grin back. "Let's get to know each other."

And we did. I won't bore you with details, it was mostly stupid stuff like 'What's your favourite food/colour/TV show/sex position'. Okay, maybe not the last one, but I was definitely thinking of a few moves me and this athletic God could do together. I wish he'd put a shirt on, I didn't like thinking about another woman's man.

I wish I'd known then just who's man it was, because maybe that would have saved me a lot of trouble the next day.

.&.&.&.

Disclaimer: WWE owns all copyrights, etc. within this story. I'm just using them for fun, not for profit.