Disclaimer: This is a non profit fanfiction. I do not own anything associated with the trademark WWE and am purely writing this fic out of fan-appreciation and respect for the hard work all those people put into giving us a great show each week. In other words: Please don't sue! Oh, and guess what? I neither invented the iPhone nor Zumba... But I guess you already knew that, huh? ;-)

It was for certain now. Stephen was going to go to jail for murder. He looked at the pieces of plastic, glass and circuitry that had once been a properly functioning cell phone and stared at Claudio in disbelief. His friend was still immersed in his role as Cesaro and grinning at him derisively. He was going to wipe that stupid grin right of his face.

"What the feck do ye think yer doin'?!" Stephen roared. "That was me phone."

"It's 'my' phone. My phone," Cesaro corrected and grinned complacently. "Don't you know how to speak English properly? Get those pronouns right."

"Yer goin' te care less about 'me' an' 'my' once I brogue kick yer head clean off yer shoulders, fella. This was one step too far! Yer gonna pay fer this!" he threw another gaze at the remains of his cell phone and then glared at Claudio again.

The camera crew was elated and so was the director. "And that's a wrap. Brilliant work, you guys! Especially Steve. Really credible anger! Good job!" he gushed. Contrary to Claudio who was beginning to suspect that the Irishman's meltdown wasn't a brilliant, method acting-like immersion into his character Sheamus, the camera crew wasn't aware that Stephen was actually really seething with anger and therefore left the scene without being any the wiser.

"What's up with you, man?" Claudio decided to investigate after the others had left. "That cell was just a mock-up, right?"

The Irishman focused his gaze on his soon to be deceased colleague. "It was not jus' a mock-up," he said darkly. His anger had evaporated by now and he was now staring down at the pieces of his iPhone with a vacant expression on his face, so he did neither hear Claudio's apology nor his promise to get him a new phone. He was trying to figure out what to do and more importantly how to get in touch with her. Coming to some kind of conclusion his head shot up and he looked at Claudio again.

"I need a piece of paper an' a laptop. An' ye better pray to God I'll manage to trace her down again or that next brogue kick connects, fella," he pointed his index fingers in the face of a surprised Claudio and stormed off.

What has just happened, that little scene between two colleagues and potentially former friends, is somewhere in the middle of the story, or better yet, shortly before the end. It's usually good to start at the beginning, progress chronologically, but sometimes a single moment is so crucial to what happens before, after and at any other point that it has to be mentioned first.

To better understand Stephen's reaction we have to travel back in time, to a point where that mysterious 'her' Stephen spoke of was just as mysterious to him as to the readers…

That Irish people like betting is something everybody assumes about them. In Stephen's case it was very much true. He had had a betting pool going with his friends over all sorts of things, like sports events, the World Cup and football results in general. Now that might sound like he was a gambler. He wasn't. Their bets were about beer money. Nothing serious. Just for fun.

It just so happened that Stephen and his friends Stuart and Drew were reunited once more at their regular gym in Tampa. Reunited because Stuart was out of commission thanks to a shoulder injury and Drew, well, Drew had it especially rough. He'd been sacked from his job with the WWE a couple of months earlier. So with Steve being constantly on the road, this was actually the first time all three of them got together after a longer period of time and naturally they were in the best of spirits, joking around.

"Aaaah, Drew, will ye look at that? How cute. Stuart can lift a hundred pounds. I think I saw Nikki Bella bench press more last week."

Drew cackled evilly at Steve's joke, whereas Stuart shot him a phenomenally evil glare after he had set down the weight.

"Mock all you want, Farrelly. I'm still recovering and I'm making progress, whereas the same can't be said about you. Didn't you want to crack those 20 reps with 550lbs like half a year ago? How's that going for you, mate?"

Steve made a face. Apparently not so well. But his in-ring-name wasn't the Celtic Warrior for nothing. He wouldn't back down from a challenge.

"Okay, tell ye what, Stu. Ye do a 20 reps with those 100lbs an' I'll do the same with those 550lbs. Sound like a plan?"

"What's in it for me?" the Brit asked getting to his feet. They squared off in front of the weightlifting bench. Unfortunately Steve was doomed to always lose height-wise since Stuart had a couple of inches on him, but he made up for those inches with an extra dose of ferocity.

"Guys, guys, guys, cool yer horses," Drew pushed his two friends apart with a grin. "How 'bout we sweeten the pot with a little wager? See that over there," the Scot pointed in the direction of the room with the glass walls that was reserved for aerobics classes and other women's stuff like, for example, Zumba. All three men had agreed at some point or other that while those classes were nice to look at, those kinds of sports were for sissies and a complete waste of time.

Stuart and Steve nodded, of course they saw that room.

"Get to the point, Galloway!" Stuart barked. He wasn't the patient type.

"Whichever one of you loses, takes part in the next class in there," Drew grinned like the proverbial cat that had just swallowed a particularly tasty canary. "Regardless of what it is."

Steve frowned. He didn't like that particular wager. There was a chance he might lose and then there would be hell to pay, but there was also a good chance his British friend would end up losing and would consequently end up making a complete arse out of himself inside aforementioned room. His frown eventually gave away to a smug grin. "Count me in."

"Really?" Stuart raised an eyebrow and eyed his friend over with something akin to contempt on his face.

"Yeah. Cold feet, Stu?" The Irishman held out his hand to his friend and waggled his eyebrows at him. "Not up fer the challenge? We can get ye one of those girly weights if ye wanna. They come in all kinds a nice colors, like pink an' purple."

Stuart clasped his hand a little more tightly than strictly necessary. "You're on, pasty."

So the competition started. Stuart was confident that he wouldn't need a spotter, so Drew stood behind Steve as the two men started their face-off, huffing and puffing on their way to 20 reps. By rep no. 10 Steve already knew that he had bitten off more than he could chew. He made it to a respectable 15 until he had to call it quits. Unfortunately Stuart soldiered through his 20 reps, which made him jump to his feet with a smug smirk and raise his out-stretched fists in the air in a victory pose.

"In your bleeding face!" he grinned and scooted down next to Steve's bench to mock him appropriately. The Irishman was still stretched out on it, breathing heavily. Drew slapped him on the shoulder sympathetically, but even the Scot's camaraderie ended somewhere. The look of glee on his face was hard to miss.

"Oh, look! The instructor of your class is already arriving. Don't wanna be late for it…" the Scotsman mocked him.

Steve sat up slowly praying that it wouldn't be none of that Latin-American dance-work-out nonsense. He let out a frustrated growl when he read the back of the instructor's clothes. Her colorful tank top and her gazillion of wristbands were actually proclaiming just that. His eyes quickly racked over her figure. It wasn't a bad figure to look at: athletic, toned arms, nice arse. She wore simple jersey slacks and her hair was… What? Well, it looked like she had allowed an infant to pick the color for her hair. It was some sort of washed out pink, like candy floss. Ridiculous. He let out an incredulous huff.

He had no time to protest. His friends practically pushed him through the door of that dreaded glass room, while they remained standing outside and waved at him through the glass. He flipped them the bird, of course discretely, and trudged further inside the room in the direction of the instructor who was standing with her back turned to him and presently busy with hooking up her iPhone to the stereo.

She didn't see him approaching despite the large mirror that made up one wall of the class, because she wasn't looking up. "Ah-erm," he cleared his throat behind her and she turned around. She was several inches shorter than him and probably a bit younger too. Her facial expression quickly changed from surprised to smiley and friendly as she looked him over. She had quite nice teeth, he noticed. All white and straight. Behind them other participants of the class were starting to file in the door. "Hi Charlie!" she leaned slightly to the left and looked around him to wave excitedly at a woman in her mid-forties.

Steve hardly noticed. He was staring at her. There was something about her face that was quite familiar. He felt like he had seen her somewhere before, he just couldn't place her. Odd. He didn't get to contemplate that thought for very long, because the woman's green eyes were soon back on him.

"Sorry," she grinned up at him. The grin was a little on the cheeky side. "That was Charlie. Haven't seen her in a while. She and her husband were on holiday in France for two weeks. She looks phenomenal don't you think? Looking good!" the last sentence was shouted at aforementioned Charlie accompanied by a thumbs-up sign. That instructor lass was really quite a bubbly person.

"Hi, my name is Ally. What's yours?" she held out her hand to him. He clasped it after a moment of surprise.

"Stephen…Erm… Steve."

"So, Erm-Steve," she grinned, "What brings you to this class?" apparently she had already spotted Stuart and Drew waving at her from the other side of the glass wall. They weren't exactly unobtrusive.

He rubbed the back of his neck and tried his best sheepish and what he hoped was also charming, smile on her. "I lost a wager."

"You lost a wager," she repeated with a sweet grin. "Of course… Are your friends just going to stand there or are they going to come in?"

"I suppose they will keep standin' there an' at some point they're goin' to get out their phones as well an' start taking pictures an' recording videos te commemorate this brilliant moment fer all eternity," he said, clearly nonplussed by the prospect of that happening.

"Really?" her eyes narrowed. She looked past Steve, at Stuart and Drew. "Will you excuse me for a sec, Steve?" He nodded. She was already halfway across the room when she turned around towards him again, that million-watt smile back on her face, which had briefly disappeared when she had glared at his two friends that were busy pressing up their noses against the window pane of the room. "You're Irish, right?" He nodded again. "Cool," she grinned before she turned back around to strut towards his two friends purposefully. Apparently she wasn't quite as friendly when she interacted with them. In fact they soon looked properly chastised. Their mocking smiles disappeared and they retreated from the glass wall. She pointed at the weight lifting benches and looked at them expectantly. Finally they trotted off grudgingly, shooting back looks at Ally over their shoulders.

She came back in, rubbing her hands together contently. On the way back to him she stopped to chat with half a dozen women, that smile of hers varying in extension and intensity, but never wavering. He felt a little odd standing there, because the class consisted mostly of women of varying ages. On the plus side maybe nobody would recognize him in here. He didn't need word getting out that someone had spotted the Celtic Warrior at a Zumba class.

Ally made her way to the front of the class again. As if on cue, the other women had started distributing themselves among the room. As Ally strutted past him confidently, she threw him a grin. "All right, I suppose you're a Zumba virgin…"

He knitted his brows together at the expression, but nodded.

She chuckled. "So here's what you can expect from this. This is neither cardio nor dancing, but you're sure as heck going to sweat a lot. Most people come here for a fun workout and to dance off some calories. I know you're only here because you lost a bet, but please don't be a spoil-sport…"

"Wouldn't dream of it. So I'll jus' get out a yer hair an' take me place at the back of class an' quietly make a complete arse outta meself there," he told her.

She raised an eyebrow. "Word of advice? Don't. Stay in the front row. If you're going to make an 'arse out of yourself', you'd better make sure you see everything. It's only going to be worse in the back."

Her eyes landed on his shoulder, probably taking in the still rather prominent scar from his shoulder surgery last year. "Any medical problems I should be aware of before we head into this?"

He shook his head with a grim expression on his face and she laughed. "Cheer up, Steve! You're going to like this." With that said, she turned away from him and clapped her hands together, addressing the rest of class. "All right everyone, I don't know about you, but I'm up for a little booty shaking and sweating."

Several hollers of approval and even a cat whistle were heard. Surprisingly it came from a woman in her mid-sixties. Steve shot her an odd look and she smiled at him and shrugged her shoulders.

"We've also got a first-timer here. Give it up for Steve, everyone!" He raised his hand with a sheepish smile on his face and waved at the other class participants as they gave him a little applause.

"Okay! Enough with the talk. Let's get started! You know the drill make sure you have a bottle of water at hand and your towel, because I wanna make you sweat!" Ally called out as she pressed play on her iPhone. The speaker instantly filled the room with up-beat dance music and the class immediately kicked off. Squats, curls, large movements, anything to increase the heart rate. Okay, he was down with that. Actually, to his great surprise for the first couple of songs he got his feet sorted and even his arms. Perhaps he could do that after all. Not too bad.

His hopefulness of successfully surviving this class, however, was thoroughly quenched when they got to the third song. "Reggeaton!" Ally shouted out enthusiastically. "Shake your booooooooootaaaaaaaay, ladies… and gentleman," she added with a smug grin. They started out fairly slowly, so the class could ease into the movements. But there was no easing Steve into all that booty shaking and bum wiggling. It just was unnatural. His Irish hips weren't supposed to move like that.

He supposed that had he actually had the time to properly look at Ally, he would have probably enjoyed the show she put on. She was dancing, shaking her hips and all those other body parts with a smile on her face and managed to look graceful in the process. Whereas he had a hard time looking at the reflection of his dancing self in the mirror without blushing or grimacing as it was. "Come on, let's have a little fun with this!" she shouted and for some reason he thought she meant him with that. Right, fun. He could have fun with this. He just had to assume another mindset and not take himself quite as seriously anymore. Maybe the next song would be better. On the up side, his stamina was quite good, so he was able to keep up quite well. Seen from a cardio perspective this workout was surprisingly intense. It sure drove up his heart rate.

Next a Salsa tune started playing. Ally guided the class into a basic salsa step, back and forth. Something Steve was confident he could master. Obviously he did because the instructor grinned and gave him a thumbs-up. They did that step for a couple of more seconds and then switched to another.

"See, we're having fun without a dancing partner?" she grinned at the class. "But even if you wanted to hit the club with those moves it would work out…" When the next basic step came around she directly positioned herself in front of Steve, which was slightly disconcerting to him, because of the way her body moved right in front of him and especially her bum was swaying left and right. He had trouble not stumbling over his feet as it was and not spending too much time staring at her arse like some kind of lewd creeper. Mercifully she soon stepped away from him. So she was teasing him, he concluded. Or maybe not. Maybe she was just outgoing like that.

He was still hung up on those thoughts when they were supposed to do a turn and unfortunately he nearly collided with his neighbor, a middle aged woman who was obviously equipped with a solid sense of humor, because she just brushed the whole incident of with a smile and an amused shake of her head. For lack of a towel, he wiped his forehead with the back of his hand and tried to get back into the dance routine.

"Don't forget to drink, you guys," Ally called out before she launched herself into the next up-beat song. Something to drink. Yeah, good idea! Only that Steve had forgotten his water bottle back next to the weight bench. He made a face. He would kill for sip water right now. But he would have to survive for the next 30 minutes without it.

"A little trip to the orient, you guys. Belly-dancing! Yeaaaaah!" The class was cheering and clapping hands, Steve wanted to be able to make himself invisible at that point. Was there a chance he could pry away some of those floorboards, he would try with his bare hands by the way, just to hide underneath them? The song started. He tried not to focus on his own reflection in the mirror. He set his sight firmly on Ally, which also turned out to be a mistake. "Now, ladies… and gentleman," she grinned at him again before she directed her attention back to the rest of class, "next up: shoulder shimmy. We don't want to shake those puppies," she covered her breasts with her hands and made a surprised face. Quite predictably the class laughed. "But move our shoulders individually. Like this." She demonstrated by slowly moving first the right and the left shoulder. "Got it?"

Unfortunately by that time Steve's eyes were firmly settled on her cleavage, which wasn't a good thing. He didn't want to have any more collisions with the woman next to him. He pried his eyes away from Ally's breasts and tried to focus on something more PG-friendly.

Apparently Ally had developed an appetite for torturing him because a couple of minutes later she made the following announcement. "Okay, guys, last fast song for today. Since Steve here is such a good sport and from Ireland, I thought we'd do a little something we haven't done since Saint Paddy's day. An Irish jig." The class clapped hands excitedly.

Ally walked over to her iPhone and quickly browsed through her songs. There was a very brief moment of silence that allowed the class a little breather. Most chose to fill that time with taking a drink from their water bottles or wiping themselves off with their towels. Steve had to use the hem of his shirt for that, because you guessed it, he had forgotten his towel back next to the weight bench. Well, not exactly forgotten. He and his friends had just arrogantly assumed he wouldn't need it in here. They had been wrong about this not being sweat-inducing. And it clearly was more difficult than it looked like.

The first couple of notes of the jig played out. He hadn't done this for a long time and he had never been sober when he had chosen to dance back at home. Usually he needed a couple of pints to lower his inhibitions far enough to actually attempt anything remotely resembling dancing. So what following a whole Zumba class meant to him, was not only a little venture outside his comfort zone, it was more like a daylong hike. At least those steps had something familiar. Not that he was anything near Michael fecking Flatley, but he quickly got the hang of those steps.

After the song Ally gave him an approving nod, this time without the usual teasing grin being thrown in the mix. And quite irrationally he felt proud, like he had really accomplished something.

They proceeded to cool-down and stretching. She was quite flexible, he had to admit. Naturally when it came to flexibility his mind deviated again. He just couldn't help it. Maybe it had been those 60 minutes of watching women shake their bums up close that had reduced him to the point where he had a one-track mind just about everything.

The class ended. Everybody applauded for Ally who bowed with a little smile on her face. "See you all next week! I had a blast with you tonight! Hope you had one too!" There were calls of assent. Ally went back to her routine of chatting a little with the class's participants. For some reason he decided to hang back. He wasn't sure what he wanted to talk with her about, but he felt like chatting a little with her again before he left.

Eventually she made her way back to the front of the room to pack up her things. There was a thin sheen of sweat covering her forehead, her pink hair sticking to her skin in some places. Surprisingly that ever-present smile of hers was still in place. "So you're first ever Zumba class," she summed up. "Did you like it?" she grinned at him, rocking back and forth on the balls of her feet. Heavens, that woman really couldn't stand still. She was like a live wire.

"It was…" he was looking for a word there to describe the experience.

"Fun?" she supplied. He laughed a little and nodded.

"An' educational," he added. "An' a good cardio work out. But…" he wrinkled his nose, not sure how to put it, "as fun as it was, ye won't see me back next week."

Her smile fell a little. "Really? That's a pity."

"Well, unless ye haven't noticed, lass, I'm not exactly Patrick Swayze." For some reason he felt under the obligation of cheering her up with that admittedly lame joke. "But if yer so determined to have me back here, I suppose could make another wager next week," he grinned.

"What was the wager about any way?" she asked interested stuffing her things into her duffel bag in the meantime. When she turned around she brushed back her hair from her face and swept it back into a ponytail.

"About who could bench press more," he told her.

"Figures," she grinned and looked at his biceps pointedly.

"Do ye do any weight liftin'?" he asked, which made her put down her bag and strike a pose like Arnold at the height of his bodybuilding career. "What do you think?" Her upper arms were toned a little and also her shoulders, but only slightly. It didn't look like she was doing a lot of weight lifting he concluded.

"Those look like little breadsticks," he made a show out of looking her over while he rubbed his beard. "Let me see," he pinched her left upper arm. "Naaaah!"

"Hey!" she swatted away his hand and pouted a little. Both of them were laughing. The atmosphere was relaxed which probably stemmed from the post-workout endorphin outpour.

"Okay," she said slowly. Her smile disappeared there for a second as she eyed him over pensively. It was back when she spoke again. "Tell you what, Steve, now that you were at my mercy for 60 minutes how about you show me how to bench press? It would only be fair. That is if you're up for it and have some time on your hands…"

Sound interesting? Let me know and drop me a few lines! In other words: Hit that review button, please!