Tennis Balls & Tequila Shots

There was a high altitude wind blowing in from the ocean, keeping Shannon's brain awake. It swept her hair off her shoulders as the last fingers of sunlight seeped into her pores. It was nice. Peaceful, even.

She sighed contently and ran her fingertips over the rough, jagged stone of the wall she was sat on, her Doc Marten-clad feet dangling over the edge. There was nothing but sand under her, which was fine by her. She looked down the stretch of beach and was relieved to find that there were only a handful of people; a few Oldies feeding pestering seagulls and a young couple, sauntering down the water's edge, hands intertwined, heads together.

Shannon had just wanted to escape for a while and she guessed she had got it, even if it was just for a day. The past few months had been rough on her and with each new stress – money, University, friendships – she had felt like her sanity was slowly be chipped at. She was sure that in time she would be nothing but shadows. And so, she had hopped on the half-eleven train to Ayr and here she was. She wondered idly if her mum had read the hastily scrawled note she had left on her pillow, stating that she was going to her best friend's house for a while. Of course, Cat knew nothing about Shannon's day-trip so she was counting on her mum buying her note. But it didn't really matter now. She wasn't even regretting leaving her phone at home, either.

She pushed some chocolaty coloured hair out of her eyes, slipped a paperback from her bag and settled in to finally finish the book she had started reading months ago. Cat would have been proud. Plus, she really wanted to read the ending.

Apparently, the universe had different ideas.

She'd read about four paragraphs when something soggy hit her squarely on the side of the face. Too late, she flipped her hair over her face in an effort to protect herself. Regardless, she was hit and it hurt. She just knew she was going to have a nasty bruise tomorrow – not to mention the spray of unidentifiable liquid that flecked over her face and onto her book. She looked up to see a ginger Labrador barreling towards her at full speed, tongue lolling and dripping saliva onto the sand. Glancing down at her lap, she saw that there was neon-green tennis ball lodged into the pages of her book. So, she thought listlessly, I was hit with this slobbery ball. Perfect. Well, that certainly explained the moisture on her cheek. She rubbed at it with her sleeve then, grimacing slightly, flipped the ball onto the sand below her. It landed with a hollow thump and the dry sand immediately clung to the wet cloth. The dog came to a stop in front of her and stood staring at her with big, adoring eyes, its tail rapidly whipping through the air.

Despite the fact that her face smelt like dog breath and she had sand in her eyes, she couldn't help but smile at the dog as it bounced around on its paws. It was a very cute dog.

She was so distracted by the dog that it didn't occur to her that the dog must have had an owner – or else, who threw the ball that hit her? It had slipped her mind. That is until a tanned hand reached out and snatched the tennis ball from the sand – a hand that was attached to an equally-tanned and toned arm and then connected to thick, defined shoulders and—

Oh, my God. Omigodohmigodohmigod.

So…it was a guy. A guy wearing very familiar knee-length jean shorts. It was…yeah. Shannon's heart was hammering against her rib cage and she knew her eyeballs were in danger of falling right out of her skull by the amusement palpable on the guys' face. She exhaled in a loud, shaky gust and snapped her open-mouth closed.

"I'm sorry," the guy said, smiling sheepishly, and flashing deep, matching dimples in his smoothly shaven cheeks, "About the ball, I mean. I guess I'm stronger than I thought." He chuckled to himself.

Shannon just stared at him for a while – God, he was beautiful – before she realized she was acting like a total fan. Which, of course, she was but whatever. She cleared her suddenly dry throat.

"No…it's—it's f-fine." Her voice sounded weird, even to her own ears.

"I feel bad now," he admitted, rubbing at the back of his thick neck. "Is your face OK?"

"What?" Shannon was having a hard time focusing and she didn't think it was because she had a possible concussion, either. But it was…him.

Be cool, Shannon, she told herself inwardly, be cool.

"Your face," he repeated good-naturedly, "Is it OK?"

"Oh," Her hand went up to her hot cheek. The skin felt tight and tender but she was fine. She told him that much. "Don't worry about it," she added.

"Well, I'm sorry again. And so is Beth." He gestured to the dog beside him. "Oh and my name is J—"

"John Cena," she breathed, cutting him off.

He flashed his – literally in this case – franchise-worthy smile. "That's me." He saluted her with his right hand.

She almost died then and there.

Letting out a weak laugh, full of disbelief, she said, "Sorry, I'm not being rude but…what the hell are you doing here? In Scotland? In Ayr?"

He shrugged casually. "It's Drew's birthday this week and he was feeling homesick so we brought him home for the weekend. But right now, I'm walking my friend Heath's dog. He's had a little too much to drink." He laughed to himself.

Shannon held her hands out in a wait-a-fudgin'-minute gesture. "Do you mean Heath Slater and Drew McIntyre?"

"That's them. Wrestling fan, then?"

"Religiously," she admitted, her voice sounded weirder than before, if that was even possible. God, what the hell was even going on? Had she blacked out and somehow ended up on this parrel universe where John Cena and company casually ended up in Scotland every now and then? If she was she didn't want to ever leave. Fudge University.

He flipped his nondescript baseball hat off and rubbed his hand over his short buzz-cut. The gesture was so familiar to her – she'd seen his hands make that exact movement so many times – that she had to blink a few times to check she hadn't just imagined the whole encounter.

John-effin'-Cena raised a light eyebrow at her and smiled again.

Yup. It was him alright.

She focused on not fainting and tried to smile. She knew she was acting like an idiot but she really couldn't help it. It was her John!

"So, erm, do you mind if I ask for, like, an autograph?"

He grinned at her. "Not at all. But, do you have a pen or paper?"

"Um…" She didn't.

"That's alright, I think I can do better than an autograph."

She laughed nervously. "What do you mean?"

He scrubbed his scalp again, looking thoughtful and maybe a little bit skeptical, too. "Do you trust me?"

"'Course." She said without any hesitation.

He smiled up at her from her spot on the high wall above him. "Then jump."

Shannon peered down at the sand so very low beneath her. It had to be at least ten feet. "I can't." She wasn't good with heights, even if it was her John asking.

His mouth curled up at one corner and the dog – Heath Slater's dog – wined up at her. "I thought you trusted me?"

She threw her bag, book inside, at John's feet then steadying herself, jumped off the stone wall, expecting to at least break a limb or two. Strong, warm arms caught her and suddenly she was in the arms of John Cena.

Dear God.

She stared up into his kind, baby blue eyes and she never wanted to look at anything else ever again. But, of course, Beth started to dig up sand, covering them both. Shannon protected her eyes from the spray of sand. John laughed, good-naturedly. She forced a smile but she was annoyed at the dog for running her perfect here's-the-part-where-you-fall-in-love-with-me moment.

John ruffled the dog's orange mane then bent down to grab her bag and, despite the fact that there was no-doubt beautiful sunset happening behind her, Shannon knew she had the best damn view in front of her. That ass…

He straightened up, oblivious to her eye stalking, and handed Shannon her stuff. She blushed slightly and looked down at her Docs – that's when she noticed John's choice of footwear. She grinned to herself.

Noble trainer's, she thought, that's my John.

"So, what's your name?"

"It's…Shannon."

"Well, come on, Shannon," he said, smiling, as always – unless The Rock was somehow involved. "You won't want to miss this."

"Miss what?"

"All will be revealed…"

He grinned boyishly and started back down the beach, Beth trotting along beside him obediently. She stared after him, appreciating the view of him from behind, before she hurried after him. And, so she found herself walking down the beach at sunset with her favourite wrestler and guy – except for her family, obviously – in the whole world with The One Man Band's dog licking her fingers.

For the first time that day she really wished she had her phone with her. Her friends would kill themselves if they saw this on Facebook.