The majority of the roster went out drinking and partying after a particularly exciting RAW.
But Kevin decided to leave early - his match with Cena had been brutal and painful so he crashed, thankful he'd changed and showered at the arena. And soon he'd finally gotten to the hotel room he and his mentor shared, it was cheaper than renting two separate rooms. Plus, Alex is Mike's V.P. of Corporate Communications.
It was maybe three in the morning – Kevin couldn't be sure – when he was woken up by a shifting in the mattress.
"Mike, wrong bed."
The Miz made an annoyed sound before saying; "Don't be stupid, Kevin."
It wasn't normally easy for Kevin Riley to get confused, but Mike seemed to be quite the expert at it. Kevin rolled over to try and lock eyes with his boss before asking; "What?"
"I said 'Don't be stupid, Kevin.'"
Riley rolled his eyes through the dark at Mike. "I heard what you said. I just don't get what you meant."
From the other side of the bed, Mike kicked off his dress shoes then made himself more comfortable on the bed.
"Just guess, Kevin. Guess at how many times I have 'drunkenly' crawled into bed with you."
Kevin almost sighed, but caught himself. He was tired of Mike's weird way of explaining things. And he was getting a little cranky. "I don't know, Mike. I haven't really been counting."
Mike scoffed. "Well, apparently, I haven't done it enough for you to get the message."
"What the hell are you talking about, Mike?" Kevin rolled over again, this time trying to distance himself so he could think. He was still a little asleep, he couldn't even keep his eyes open for very long. And Mike is playing head games.
"Don't be so stupid, Kevin."
And there is that stupid phrase again, but he didn't have much time to think about what the hell it could mean, because Mike was making the mattress dip again, and Kevin figured that meant that he had pissed Mike off, somehow.
He opened his mouth to apologize, but he found that he could only taste Mike's lips on his, and could feel what had to be all two hundred and thirty-one pounds of Mike's perfect, perfect body pressed against his.