I know I shouldn't be posting a new story when I have barely updated my others. However, the beginning of this story has been sitting in my saved file for awhile and I finally was motivated to write some more. I hope you guys like it.

Whoever said "God will never give you anymore than you can handle", obviously has never lived in day in my shoes. I swear from the first day I was spanked on the ass, my life was destined to be fucked. From the abusive father to the drunken mother to the things I had to do in order to pay bills, my life is a bad Lifetime movie rolled up into one. Just when I think I could finally catch some sort of break, life finds a way to fuck me in the ass again. Guess I should back track a little and let you understand how truly pathetic my life is.

I was a tragedy dating back to when my mother decided to give me a name. The name was Gia Rannala. Gia was a model from South Philly who died tragically from HIV and that type of despair prompted my mother to give me that name. South Philly: that's where I'm from, home of Rocky, Gino's Cheesesteaks, Little Italy, and Gia. My mother was black and my dad was Italian. For as long as I can remember, abuse and noise was more common than family dinners and outings. I'm not really sure if my mom's drinking caused my father to hit her or if my father's abuse caused my mother to drink. In any event, during my senior year of high school, my crazy father decided to kill my mother and himself. So instead of preparing for college and prom, I was getting the 101 on how to bury parents. Since both of my folks didn't have a lot of money, all I had to stand on was a measly settlement after I sold the house. I was on my own, broke and confused. The only thing I have been able to stand on was the fact that I am smart. Some might say I'm too smart for my own good. I was able to get a full ride to Drexel University to study Business.

Problems started the first day I walked in and looked at my roommate. See, I am not big on the female species. I don't know if it is maybe because jealousy is a bitch or just that most girls I have encountered are. Anyway, she made sure to tell me about her boyfriend and that I should make sure to keep my hands off. It's not my fault that genetics have cursed and blessed me. I have long, thick hair, big breasts, small waist and a big ass. Everyone says the most exotic thing about me is my lips. They are really big and really full. I try telling people it's a pain in the ass to keep these things moisturized. They don't seem to understand that some of us need more than just Chapstick. Anyway, by the third day, I had kicked that bitch's ass all over the dorm room and was forced to move out or go to jail.

So I moved. Found myself a little studio apartment in Cokehead Row. Hard to study when the lady next door is getting fucked and dumped and decides to display her business all through the hallway. Being a college student doesn't pay the bills, so I had to look for employment. I ended up finding the only place where I could be able to study, keep my clothes on and drink for free. That's right: I'm a bartender. Not just any bartender. I work at the Bamboo Bar. It's one of the hottest bars in town for the simple fact that it reminds you of one of those seedy joints that you can just sit back and chill without having to worry about sporting the latest fashions. The bar itself is pretty simple: pool tables, music and beer. No fancy shit and it's just the way I like it. I was able to get a pretty decent apartment in the Northeast part of the city and I even bought a pretty reliable car.

Or at least I thought the fucker was reliable. That was before it decided to go to sleep halfway to work. So now I am stuck trying to catch a cab in the middle of Center fucking City wearing a halter top, jeans and biker boots. Real fucking attractive to all the business men and women trying to get home to their homes and 2.5 kids. I walk through the door fifteen minutes late. My boss Heather cuts her eyes at me and I'm half tempted to tell her what tit she can suck. Instead I grab the bottle of Jack and pour a shot. I've come to realize that Jack always helps to take that slight edge off. Once I pull my hair down and get ready to clean the bar, I noticed him out of the corner of my eye.

This is not the type of bar where strangers frequent. We all pretty much know each other so when new faces show up, my suspicion is always raised. He didn't look like a cop and trust me I would know. I've seen enough of them in my day. He seemed pretty tall and from what I could tell, his body was definitely sculpted. He looked familiar though, real familiar. I decided to go check out mystery man a little more. I stood in front of him and took in his features.

Damn, he is fine. Now I know he is not from here. There has not been a man that has stepped through this bar that I have wanted to take home. But this one makes me want to hand him panties instead of serve a beer. He looks up as if to look through me. His eyes looked like mine normal do on a daily basis. They held pain. The type of pain that wouldn't go away in just a day. I have lived with those eyes for five years now, I know what they look like. Knocking on the wood to get his attention, the man finally looks at me.

"Looks like you could use a drink."

The stranger smiles at me and I have to stop myself from reaching over the bar and kissing him. "That obvious, huh?" I smile wordlessly and pour him a shot. I put the bottle down and hold out my hand.

"Gia Rannala."

"Randy Orton."

Maybe my day will look up.