A/N: Happy Monday. Thanks to those who read and reviewed Part One. Hope you all enjoy. :)
Part Two
Autumn 2014
"This place gives me the creeps."
Paul looked up in shock at the familiar voice, grinning at the sight of an old friend in the doorway. "What the hell are you doing here?" he asked. Grateful for the interruption, he closed the file of pending contract renewals and rose, meeting his friend halfway in a quick hug.
"Contract extension with the old man," Chris Jericho explained. "Look at you, all respectable and shit." He shuddered dramatically. "I better keep my distance before it rubs off on me."
"Smartass," Paul muttered. "It's not that bad."
"You're in a monkey suit, plugging away the nine-to-five, and you have an office with your name on the door." Chris made a face as he settled in one of the chairs in front of the desk. He looked around, and nodded in approval. "Looks nice, though. Is that the Performance Center feed?"
Paul looked to the screens that took up a portion of one wall. "Yeah. I can see each ring, the gym. All the public areas. And the trainer's room."
"I remember when it took ages for the higher-ups to know what was going on in developmental. And if you screwed up you had plenty of time to come up with a good story. But man, that is a nice setup. I spent some time down there last week. But you probably knew that already…" Chris was watching the action on the center screen, expression thoughtful. "Does it record, too?"
"It can, but I never use that. They can record down there, too, so if one of them wants to study what they're doing wrong they have the ability." Moving the folder to one side, Paul glanced at the clock.
"Any new faces coming in anytime soon?" Chris asked, attention turning to the small stacks of papers and files on Paul's desk.
"We've got a few feelers out." An enigmatic answer, but the best one he could manage.
"Regal was telling me about a new girl getting signed this week."
"Regal's got a big mouth." Paul loosened his tie. "What else did Regal say?"
"Nothing, really. She's a spitfire in the ring but a sweetheart out. No, that wasn't the word he used. He called her a flower." Chris chuckled. "Have you seen her?"
"Not in person. I'm going down Friday. We're signing her tomorrow." Before Chris could question, he held up his hands. "Regal insisted she be allowed to do one last show with the promotion. He didn't tell me that, but I know he put that little clause in the contract revision."
"Well if Regal's taken her under his wing, she must be good."
"I've watched her tapes. She is."
Chris regarded him for a long moment. "How are things?"
"Things are good. The girls are growing like weeds, Aurora and Murphy made the honor roll. Vaughan's taking ballet classes. We're having the pool area redesigned. I got a new car." Aware of Chris' unwavering gaze, he cleared his throat. "Things are good."
"And Steph?"
He felt the muscle in his jaw twitch. "Stephanie's good."
"You know," Chris said brightly, leaning back in his seat and looking to the ceiling, "I think secretaries are very underrated."
The sudden change in topic was transparent. Paul leaned back as well, stretching his legs out with a sigh. "Really?"
"Yes, really. They sit in on important meetings, they keep up with files and appointments and scheduling… Do they still make coffee?"
"I don't know about all secretaries, but Marie does," Paul answered, speaking of the woman that kept his office life running smoothly. "And before you ask, once in a while she'll go out to get lunch for me."
"Exactly. Not to mention how careful they have to be. Marie probably knows your schedule better than you do."
"Well, probably," he admitted with a shrug.
"If she wanted to, she could blab about contract details. And she knows who's coming to see you."
"True." Paul made a mental note to get something for the somewhat motherly woman. She kept him on his toes if he showed signs of laziness in the office, but she was a warm, kind person. She always had something for the girls when they came to visit. She sent birthday cards to the family, and cards for all the holidays. When she'd heard that Aurora and Murphy had made honor roll, she'd sent them letters with enclosed gift cards to their favorite stores. Yes, she deserved a little treat. She liked flowers. He'd have a nice arrangement sent to her.
"Not to mention that she can hear any arguments you happen to have in here," Chris pointed out gently.
Fuck. Paul's chair tipped forward abruptly and he scowled at his friend. "What did you con out of her?"
"I didn't con anything," Chris defended, returning the scowl. "She asked after the wife and kids, so I was showing her pictures. And I may have said something about how Steph and the girls probably interrupted her workday whenever you were here. And she might have mentioned being ready to leave when she heard the mother of all fights start up in here last night…"
Paul groaned. Damn Marie. "Chris—"
"How long have you been sleeping in the spare room?"
All the bluster left him in a breath. Unable to stand the penetrating gaze, he stood and crossed to the window. Outside, the carefully chosen trees that dotted the landscaping trembled in the breeze. Bright yellow leaves skittered across the pavement. "Long enough."
"Paul, I know we haven't always seen eye-to-eye, but I'm worried about you."
"It's just a little hiccup." Paul watched a leaf break free of the tree. It was airborne, the breeze sending it in several loops, a spot of yellow against the gray sky. Then it crashed to the ground, where he lost sight of it among so many others that looked alike. "You know us… By Halloween everything will be back to normal."
"If you're sure…" Chris sighed. "Look, it's almost noon. What do you say we get lunch?"
"Sure."
The echoes of blows followed Paul down the corridor leading to the locker rooms. A step ahead of him was Charles Lacey, the owner and head trainer of the tiny promotion that was based in Orlando. He knew it occasionally toured in Florida, and had attended a show here and there with Regal if his schedule allowed, usually to watch potential talent at work. Tonight was a rarity, considering the talent had already been scouted, tried out, and signed, but he had to go through the motions.
"Here we go," Charles said, stopping at a closed door. The placard affixed to the wall next to it designated it as the visitor's locker room. Taped to the door was a sign that read 'Girls' and had several lip prints in various shades. "They always do that. Says it's good luck," Charles explained. He raised his hand and knocked. "It's Charles."
A chorus of female voices called for him to enter and he pushed the door open, motioning for Paul to go in first.
He did so, only to freeze in the doorway. A dozen young women in varying stages of dress were inside, and each head turned to stare at him. One in the far corner had obviously just come out of the shower and was holding a towel in front of her. others were standing in t-shirts, some in only the briefest of panties and bras. And, in the middle, holding a bottle of whiskey to her mouth, was the newest signee to the WWE.
Barefoot, wearing only the tiny green shorts of her ring gear. Her hair, which he remembered as being in a ponytail, hung in a wild torrent of curls almost to her waist. It was only when she lowered the bottle that he realized she was topless. He felt the faint stirrings of desire and forced his gaze back to her face. Light green eyes focusing on him, she handed the bottle to the blonde beside her. Cheeks flushed, from embarrassment or the whiskey he wasn't sure, she belatedly tucked her arms across her chest.
Paul cleared his throat, propping a shoulder against the wall as he looked to the ceiling "I can wait until you've showered and dressed."
"Five minutes," she said, turning her back to him. She hurried into the showers, hair bouncing, and Paul was amused to see the other women rush after her. As soon as the locker room was empty he heard an explosion of giggles and excited whispers.
Four minutes later, he stood in the corridor waiting. Hands in his pockets, he looked up at the sound of the locker room door opening. Sophia exited, hair damp and hanging down her back. One hand clutched the handle of a suitcase, the other arm was hugging several packages to her chest. A backpack hung from one shoulder, and she was wearing gray sweatpants and a black hoodie. Before he could offer to carry something for her, Charles was making the introductions. Paul opened his mouth to speak, but she was walking down the hallway.
When she reached the door, she glanced back at him. "Knock-knock."
"Huh?"
"You have kids, right?" She waited until he'd nodded, then said again, "Knock-knock."
"Who's there?" he asked warily.
"Needle."
"Needle who?"
"Need a little help getting through the door."
Snorting on a laugh, Paul reached around her to push the door open. "Cute."
"Always," she replied breezily, heading down the sidewalk then crossing the pavement. Paul followed, opening his mouth to tell her he'd meet her at the coffee shop a few blocks away, only to say nothing as she stopped next to a little silver sedan. "Hey," she said, shifting the packages in her arm. "Can you grab my keys out of my backpack? They're in the top pocket."
He did so, then opened the trunk for her. Instinctively he reached for her suitcase, pausing when his hand brushed over hers.
"I've got it," she assured, pushing down the handle before tossing the suitcase into the trunk. "So is this an official meeting? Or were you just scoping out the new talent?"
"Both. But it's not really official. I thought we could grab coffee or something and have a chat."
"Ohh, a chat," she murmured, slinging her backpack in beside her suitcase once she'd set the packages to one side. Paul noticed they were wrapped, and realized they must be going-away presents from others in the promotion.
"Nothing too major. Just going over your training schedule for the first couple weeks."
"Mr. Regal already did that." She closed the trunk lid then leaned against it. "But, I suppose coffee with the boss is a good way to start. Did you want to meet at Starbucks?"
Thinking of the one he'd stopped at on the way to the show, the busyness of it, and the lack of anywhere quiet, he decided against the popular shop. He shook his head. "Do you know of a place?"
"There's a nice mom-and-pop diner three blocks from here. I could do with a greasy burger. Ralph's. Turn left out of the front parking lot. It's down on the right. Can't miss it. Meet you there?"
Ten minutes later, he was seated in a corner booth with cracked vinyl seats. A tired looking waitress had just brought their drinks – coffee for him, sweet tea with lemon for Sophia – and had shuffled off to put in the rest of their order. Sophia sat across from him, shaking four sugar packets.
"Ralph's idea of sweet tea and my idea of sweet tea are on opposite ends of the spectrum," she explained, tipping the packets so their contents poured into her glass. She stirred it vigorously with the long-handled teaspoon the waitress had given her, then took a tentative sip. Her head bobbed in satisfaction and she tossed the empty packets onto the table. "So, what will be my training for the first couple of weeks?"
"Your first week will—" he cut off when she tapped the spoon against the rim of her glass, then waited for her to set it down so he could continue. "Will be a review of your current skills. I've watched your tapes, so I know what to expect."
"Will you be there?" she asked, one gray knee appearing above the edge of the table. She rested her elbow on it. "I thought you'd be busy with Raw and Smackdown."
"I won't be there until Wednesday, but the trainers will be making notes. Plus, there's a feed from the Center. All it takes is a word to my assistant and I can watch what's going on from anywhere."
"Bet that keeps everyone on their toes," she mused.
"If they're serious about training and working, they forget. It's the ones who only want their fifteen minutes that can be problematic." He looked into her eyes for a long moment. "Which are you?"
"You've watched my tapes. You watched me tonight. For all I know, you've had people spying on me for months. I did recognize Mr. Regal, though, so he was a bad choice. And I know that you never spied on me."
"How do you know that?" he asked.
"I would have noticed you." She smiled around the straw in her mouth. "You kind of fill up the room, Trips."
"Paul," he corrected.
"Hmm?"
"Call me Paul."
"Paul." She set her drink down. "So, Paul, am I after my fifteen minutes, or am I serious about my training and work?"
"Well, let's see." Paul leaned back slightly as the waitress returned to plunk a pitcher of tea in the center of the table. As she shuffled off again, he shook his head slightly. "Amazing service."
"That's Melissa. She just turned fifty. Lost her husband to cancer back in January, two days before their thirty-second anniversary. She was a housewife, and medical bills took up all of his insurance. She works here four nights a week now, and is taking online courses so she can get promoted from secretary in the real estate office she works at during the day. Two sons, both in high school."
Paul immediately felt like an asshole. "I had no idea…"
"Sorry. I was here for dinner one night alone and we got to talking. She's a really nice woman, but life gets her down a lot." Sophia frowned briefly, fingers sweeping the sugar packets into a neat pile. "Anyway, you were saying?"
"You're serious," he told her, mentally reminding himself to leave a large tip for Melissa. "From what I found online, you started training at sixteen and by the time you were twenty you were doing tours in Japan. You were offered a contract with New Japan but declined, and came back to the States. Since then, you've gone from promotion to promotion, and you showed up in Florida two years ago."
She was nodding as he spoke, and he wondered if she would divulge the reasons behind the blank spot on her wrestling career. A year of no matches or appearances usually meant a serious injury, but Charles had told him that the only injury she'd ever had was a sprained ankle.
"Then last summer you signed with Charles, and here we are," he finished, eyeing her carefully. She made no mention of her year off, and he wondered if she had taken the time to work non-wrestling jobs to save up some money.
"Here we are," she echoed with a smile.
The house was quiet when he let himself in. He nudged the door shut and locked it, instinctively reaching to reset the alarm before it could chirp at him. Weary after a long day at the Performance Center followed by a flight cursed with turbulence, he left his suitcase and coat by the door and mounted the stairs. He peeked in at the girls, not daring to enter their rooms in case he woke them.
He hesitated at the closed door of the master bedroom. Then, muttering a curse, he entered. The TV was on but muted, its glow providing enough light for him to see that Stephanie was asleep. He crossed the room, glancing to and from the TV when he saw an old movie was playing. One he was in the bathroom he closed the door, leaving his clothes in a trail while he made his way to the shower, pausing to set his phone on the counter next to the sink. He heard it buzz while he leaned to turn on the hot water.
Not recognizing the number, he almost ignored the text, but the words leapt at him.
Sorry this is so late, but I just wanted to thank you again for today. I've still got new kid nerves. And you really helped me. I look forward to learning more from you, and from the other awesome people here at the Center. – Sophia
Weariness forgotten for a moment, he smiled. He loved spending time with the group at the Performance Center, and thought the term "new kids" was a bit misleading. Surely he learned as much from them as they learned from him. He wasn't sure how he'd helped her that day. They'd just chatted about nonsensical things during breaks.
Anytime. Keep up the good work. I'll see you next week.
Once under the sting of the water, he felt the fatigue and aches start to melt away. He washed then stood under the water for a long time. Just when he was about to get out he heard the door open. Head jerking up, he spotted Stephanie as she entered. The door closed with a snap, and he watched her blurred figure move towards the shower.
"When did you get in?" she asked after he turned off the water.
"About thirty minutes ago." A clean towel appeared above the door and he took it. "I didn't wake you—"
"No, I just woke up."
He breathed a sigh of relief while toweling off. Opening the frosted glass door, he stilled at the sight of her.
She gave a toss of her head, the tendrils of hair that concealed her breasts moving behind her shoulders. Then she was stepping forward. Her hands, cool and insistent, landed on his biceps and began to rub. She leaned up, murmuring his name gently, and then her lips were on his.
He recognized the kiss immediately. The tilt of her head, the rippling of her tongue over his, the way her hand slid up to hold onto his neck. He knew it well after so many years of marriage.
Sex. She wanted sex.
And he realized as she pushed her chest against his, she wanted it now.
His body responded before his mind could tell it not to. It had been too long. Months of sleeping in the spare room had gotten to him. He knew he could have, because there were always women willing to, but he hadn't been able to take that plunge. So it had just been him and his hand. And his very stunted imagination.
He dropped the towel and grabbed her waist. She gave a pleased little sigh as he guided her towards the bedroom. On autopilot, he returned her kiss. She broke away, turned her back to him, and leaned to push the covers back. Then, to his surprise, she stepped away from the bed, muttering something under her breath while turning off the bathroom light. He reached for her when she returned but instead of reaching back she picked up the TV remote and switched off the TV.
"Okay," she said in the darkness. She moved, causing his hand to fall from her hip, and he sighed. "Come on."
There was something brisk and businesslike in her voice. As though he was an unexpected appointment that had to be dealt with quickly. Approaching, he reached out with one hand. It brushed her thigh. He felt around in the dark, biting his lip when he found her slick folds. Something rankled in the back of his mind but he pushed it away, other hand dropping to stroke himself as he began fingering her.
"Paul," she said impatiently.
He pulled his fingers out and knelt behind her on the bed. Just when he was about to enter her, she stopped him with a hand on his wrist.
"Don't come inside me," she instructed. Her hand fell away, and he felt her wriggle.
He didn't like the impersonal aspect of it. She was acting like… Gripping her hip, he tried not to think of his wife acting like a bored hooker. She wriggled again, slick heat sliding over the tip, and he drew in a ragged breath, fingers digging in as he swiftly entered her.
A soft, breathy moan. That was the sum of her reaction and he felt disgusted with himself. She didn't move. She didn't respond when he began to thrust. She didn't even speak; she merely stayed on all fours. He tried to be as impassive as she seemed to be, but the disgust won over the desire for fulfillment. Closing his eyes, he managed to keep going for several long moments, then stopped, pulling out with a sigh of regret.
She said something but he didn't hear her, already off the bed and halfway to the bathroom. Once inside he closed the door behind him, dragging a hand down his face. Still repulsed, he snatched a washcloth off the shelf after turning on the light and, avoiding his reflection in the mirror, turned on the water in the sink.
His dick, still hard, straining, twitched and he groaned. Doing his best to ignore the deep longing to come, he washed himself with the cloth, hissing at the sensation. Then, because the desire wouldn't go away, he closed his eyes and began to stroke his cock gently.
He heard his phone buzz and jerked his head up, having forgotten it was by the sink. One glance and he saw it was a text from Sophia. No, he told himself, pushing the phone away. Better not to go there. Closing his eyes again, he focused on fisting his cock.
But he pictured her, sweaty. Her eyes gleaming with delight as she lay in the center of the ring. Her hair an untamed cloud of auburn curls. Spurred on, his hand moved faster over his dick, and he forced his thoughts in a different direction. His mind betrayed him, though, and just before he came he recalled her firm breasts and the way her curls had bounced against them.
"Fuck," he moaned, hand moving slowly as his body tensed.
Breathless, he grabbed the edge of the sink with both hands. His shoulders rose and fell as he gave his body a few moments to recover. Then, grabbing another cloth, he washed himself again, making sure to wipe down the sink as well. He turned off the water then, not caring that Stephanie hated when he did it, he swiped the steam from the mirror with one hand. Staring at himself for a long moment, he shook his head.
"No better than her," he muttered under his breath. Disgust renewed, he turned away, reaching for a towel to tuck around his waist. As an afterthought he grabbed his phone.
Stephanie was asleep when he crept through the bedroom. The TV was back on, casting shadows across her peaceful expression. With another shake of his head, he left and made his way to the guest room, where he slept fitfully.
