Disclaimer: I don't own anything except my characters. The rest are the respective properties of the WWE and themselves.
Chapter 1"Come on, little girl. One more."Talia pressed the heavy barbell, forcing her breath out as she heaved the weight. She set the two-hundred-pound barbell down in its cradle with a, clank! "I'm done, Mark." She sat up on the weight bench, the defined muscles in her chest and biceps burning with exertion.
He gave a sigh and patted her shoulder. "You're doin' good, kid, but you've lost the drive. You don't push yourself like you used to."
She hung her head between her knees. "I can't focus anymore. Life's just a blur."
"He's not comin' back, ya know."
Sighing with irritation, she stood, twisting the end clamps off the bar and lifting the big forty-five pound free weights and setting them in the rack with the rest. "I don't give a damn about him anymore. You should feel the same about her."
He stood in silence for a minute, his thumbs hooked in the two front belt loops of his jeans. "As far as I'm concerned, the two of them shoulda hooked up." He shrugged, turning away. "Come on, you got another half-an-hour on the treadmill."
Talia felt bad for bringing up his ex. She knew it cut him to the quick to even think about it. Personally, she'd love to knock the ignorant woman's teeth out. To cheat on a man like Mark Calaway could be considered nothing but pure, unadulterated, blinding ignorance.
She stepped onto the treadmill, picking up the jogging pace he'd set it at. Ten minutes later, she sped it up, determined to push herself a little harder. After the half-hour was up, she stepped off, dripping with sweat.
Mark was lounging in the upright seat of a lat machine. "Go take a shower, then we'll go grab something to eat." He tossed her a towel and a bottle of water.
Talia wiped the sweat from her face and neck, downing a big gulp of water as she climbed the basement stairs.
She took the next set of stairs two at a time, anxious to feel the scalding warmth of the shower on her tight, worked muscles.
She pulled a pair of jeans and a black WCW Monday Night Nitro t-shirt out of the tall armoire in her room and went into the bathroom.
She stayed under the spray longer than necessary, soaking in the heat, before reluctantly stepping out and drying off. After she dressed, she slipped on a pair of black biker boots, tied her hair back with a licensed Undertaker bandana, and tugged fingerless gloves over her hands.
She heard the hallway floor creak and she looked up in time to see Mark standing in the door, one hip leaning against the door jamb. "Wanna take the bike and go find a diner?"
She nodded, grabbing her leather motorcycle jacket from the closet. On second thought, she slipped the bandana from her head, anticipating the feeling of freedom she got from the wind in her hair.
Mark wheeled the low-riding Harley-Davidson Fatboy out of the garage, using the electronic start to bring the engine roaring to life.
Talia slid on behind him and they sped down the gravel drive that led to the highway. They drove around for a bit, enjoying the ride, before he stopped at a little restaurant.
He seated them in the back, though it didn't help. After all, he was a seven-foot-tall giant of a man and she wasn't exactly tiny at six-feet-three. The both of them had on enough leather to look like cult followers of Daytona Bike Week.
He ordered a steak, looking surprised when she did, too.
She shrugged. "What?"
"I expected salad or something," he said, grinning.
She dragged a hand through her hair. "Please, Mark, that's almost insulting. What do I look like?"
He appeared to be thinking on it. "A girl?"
She narrowed her eyes playfully, pointing a finger at him. "I owe you for that one."
He lifted a brow and smirked. "We'll see."
Staring out the window, Talia's hand went to the braid that lay behind her left ear. Ryan's braid.
"Why do you wear that?" Mark asked, startling her.
She looked over at him, dropping the plaited lock of hair. "It's a heritage braid," she explained. "I wear one for my fathers lineage," she lifted the braid behind her right ear, "and one for the line of my future husband." She left out the fact that she'd braided that one for Ryan.
She looked down at the table. "Theoretically, they're supposed to care enough to wear one in return, and the left one is like an engagement ring."
He nodded, opening his mouth to speak, but being interrupted by the arrival of their food.
She dug in, desperately wanting to change the subject. "How's the elbow."
One shoulder lifted nonchalantly. "Not bad. Still aches in the mornings. My knees, too." He chuckled at his own misfortune.
Grinning, Talia reflected on her own training. "When I first started, I thought I was going to die. I could barely get out of bed."
He smiled back at her, catching her off guard by how genuine it was. "What kept you going?"
"I watched wrestling twenty-four hours a day. I would wake up grumbling and complaining and then all I had to do was watch a good match and I was ready to hit the gym again."
"Maybe that's all ya need to get your drive back."
Talia bit her lip. "You don't have the nerve capacity to put up with the way I used to enjoy wrestling. Besides, I've seen all the matches on my computer a hundred times."
"I've been in this business for a long time and I'm a bigger fan that you think. My library is very extensive, sweetheart."
She nodded, then frowned. "You just called me sweetheart."
He looked at her with those intense green eyes. "It fits."