Chapter 1
Disclaimer: I do not own anyone from the WWE.

Author's Note: I'm baaack!! After what, almost three years? My return's completely random if you ask me, but if anyone still actually reads and reviews my shit, I may be back for good. Enjoy guys! :)

John's POV

Allison. More than 365 days had gone by since the last time I saw her. The tone of her voice, the smell of her hair, and the softness of her skin was just a part of distant memory. Little did I know, a single mention of her name would change everything.

"Cena!" Orton yelled.

I half opened my eyes to see the hotel clock read 5:30AM. I shuffled around the bed, desperate to mask out Orton's voice.

"Cena!" he called again.

I stayed still hoping he'd give up and leave.

"Listen, I'ma need your help pla-," he started but stopped as I threw the pillow across his chest.

"You stupid son of a bitch," I grunted. "You woke me up at 5 in the fucking morning because you need my help? Five o'clock in the morning?!"

Randy sighed and reluctantly sat down on the foot of the bed. "I totally forgot it was mine and Tiff's anniversary tomorrow. Man, I need help."

"And you decide to tell me this now because…?" I sat up, curious to see how desperation looked on him.

"She's driving here with Allison right now and I have nothing planned," he explained. It took a couple seconds before I realized he said Allison. Yeah, that Allison.

"What are we supposed to do?" Randy asked rubbing his head.

"We? Since when was I a part of your relationship?" I asked sternly. I got up and went to the bathroom before he had a chance to reply. I stood in front of the sink and splashed my face with cold water. I looked up and sighed. Allison? Why did that hit me so hard? I went through a whole year at ease without thinking about her. Now I hear those three damn syllables and it stuck like a thorn in my heart.

"Ceennnnnnaaa…" Randy banged on the door and I laughed.

"I don't understand how hard it is to get stupid reservations and some flowers," I said as I walked out of the bathroom.

"For our one year? A dinner and flowers for our one year? Damn no wonder you're single," Randy said.

"Are you here to insult me or do you need help?" I asked, still unclear of my use. We stood in silence for a good minute before Randy shook his head and walked out the door. "Unbelievable," I muttered under my breath. I was too tired to contemplate what the hell just happened. I tried going back to sleep but that Allison couldn't get out of my head. She's a thing of the past and I swore I'd leave her there. I swore she meant nothing. And you know what, I still swear. I still do. I still do. I still do...

Allison's POV

"Oh great," I sighed heavily as I watched my best friend, Tiffany, and her husband suck the air out of each other. I swear, every time they do that, I feel my throat fill up with vomit.

I tapped my fingers against the steering wheel to focus my negative energy elsewhere. Apparently, I'm that good of a best friend to be some three-hour cab driver; except I didn't get paid. Why did I let Tiffany talk me into this? Because one, I am a good best friend: a hell of a best friend if you ask me. And second, I have nothing better to do so what the hell.

"Hey, son!" Randy greeted, with that pathetic nickname, as he got in my car. I would've greeted back except Tiffany joined him in the backseat, leaving me all alone in the front. Yeah, way to make me feel like a true cab driver.

"So where to?" I asked nonchalantly. All I heard were giggles so I asked again. "Where to?"

More giggles.

"Where the fuck are we going!?" I turned around, half-content I finally had gotten their attention. They stared at me with blank faces like I talked in some foreign language or something. "Where are we going?" I asked for the fourth time.

"Plaza Hotel," Randy answered shortly.

I took a deep breath and blasted the music hoping it'd make up for this third-wheel, icky feeling. I drove the next fifteen minutes in silence while the two did God knows what in my back seat.

"Randy, you're paying for my room right?" I asked as we walked into the hotel lobby.

"Actually, I already got you a room," he said. "It on the 14th floor, room 453."

He handed me the keys and I rushed up there, hoping to get some peace and quiet. I was already in the elevator when I decided against going to my room just yet. I did not spend three hours driving to Hollywood to sleep my time away. Besides, I deserve a little fun after all that mushy shit my best friend and her husband put me through, like they always do.

Later that night

Room 453. Or was it 435?

I helplessly shuffled my feet, desperate to lay my tired body on some fluffy hotel sheets. It was two in the morning and damn did those guys at the club know how to keep up or what? I've never danced so nasty in my life; for that long and in public. Nonetheless, I had a great night and have a great hotel room waiting for me. Orton better have gotten me a master suite, I swear.

Finally reaching my room, I swung the door open surprised a faint flickering of lights bounced from the walls ahead. I was too tired to make a big deal so I kept inching myself closer to the bed. As I finally got a full view of the room, I gasped.

"Whatta-" I stared blankly at the two beds already occupied. It was Randy and Tiffany on one, with some sleepyhead on the other.

"I thought you said you got me a room, Randy?" I asked, immediately snapping out of my tiredness.

"This is a room," he answered without looking at me. His eyes were glued to the television because of some ridiculous infomercial. My mouth literally dropped.

"I don't even have a bed," I protested looking around with scrunched eyebrows.

"There's one right there," he said looking casually at the bed beside him.

I stood still, in disbelief.

"It's a big bed, there's still room sweetheart," he continued.

"Ugh! Are you serious? There's someone alrea-" I stopped mid-sentence upon realizing that someone woke up from my talking. It was John. Yeah, that John, John Cena. He rose from his sleep, and locked eyes with me the second he had the chance to. I swear, his stare pierced right through me. Just looking at him, for a second, gave me the biggest lump in my throat. The kind I get every time I'm angry, sad, depressed, and all those other emotions I have trouble dealing with.

We only looked at each other for a few seconds but I could've sworn a whole year passed by. I felt frozen. I couldn't blink, I couldn't think, I couldn't speak, and I sure as hell couldn't help but wonder what the fuck just went over me.

Seriously?! John Cena's still has this hold on me?

Nah. I refuse to believe so. It's the alcohol. Yeah that's it, it's the alcohol.

And with that, I finally snapped out of it. I smiled.

"You know what Randy, never mind," I stated. "I'll get my own damn room, myself."

I walked out without looking and saying anything else. Truth is, I just had to rush out of there as soon as possible. I had to regain composure and decide whether I'm more upset I had no bed, or because John Cena still had that affect on me.