A/N: So. Edge.

My drive home was silent, giving me time to reflect. Adam's first session went extremely well. Most of the people I've personally trained were out of shape when they came to me, so I had to start them off easy, then work my way up. With Adam, it was different. He was already in tip-top shape - the best I've ever seen, at least where I work. He went at the machines full force, and ran on the treadmill for a solid hour. I barely had to spot him. He knew how to do everything.

Including asking me out on a date.

I said no. Not flat out, of course. I didn't want to hurt his feelings. But I didn't want to fuck around with someone I just met, you know? He was a great guy, I knew this already, but he was my client, and I really had a thing about mixing work with pleasure.

He gave me his number, though. "Just in case," he said, with a smile and a wink. That alone made me want to say yes. He was so confident, yet subtle. He could've went for the gold, and try to talk me into going out to dinner with him, but he didn't. He wasn't ostentatious - I almost felt like he knew I was going to give in eventually, so why push my limits?

That's why I said no. He needed a little reality check.

I pulled into the driveway of my house. It wasn't the biggest place on the street, but it was right on the bay, so when the storms rolled in, the waves would practically hit the windows. I loved thunderstorms for that exact reason, and that's why I bought it.

I decided to leave my car out, to bask in the last rays from the setting sun, and headed up the front walkway to my door. My neighbor was outside, sitting on his deck with his wife, and I waved to them, but they didn't see me. They were usually friendly, but it looked like they had just gotten into a fight, because the woman had her magazine up to her face and the husband had more than one beer bottle on the glass table between them.

I shut the heavy door behind me, shivering from the air conditioner. I probably left it on too high again. The floor was like ice when I finally took my shoes off, kicking them next to the front closet.

My enormous gray cat, Von, was sitting on the kitchen counter, licking his paws. His golden eyes spotted me, disinterested, but he hopped down, and started meowing by his food bowl.

"Are you hungry, Von?" I bent down and ran my hand from his head to his tail, pulling some stray hairs off his pudgy body. He purred and closed his eyes and smiled. That's what I loved about him the most. When I went to get a cat at the pound, he was the only one who smiled. It was adorable.

I opened up the refrigerator and pulled out a Corona, searching through the white cupboards for a can of cat food. As I twisted the container open and dumped the mealy chunks in his dish, the phone rang, shrilling through the quiet house.

I picked up the wireless receiver, set on the counter from that morning. "Hello?"

"Eligia, my darling, why didn't you call when you got home?" My mom, born and raised in a tiny town just south of Napoli, Italy, only spoke Italian. I mean, of course she spoke English, but she taught all of her children her native language, and that was what she usually talked in.

"I just got home," I said, fluent as an indigenous speaker. "I was working late because I got a new client today."

"What's his name, child?"

"Adam Copeland. Dad might actually know who he is."

"Why, does he work at the newspaper?"

My father worked for one of the local posts, as a sports editor. He loved wrestling, but I just never got into it. "No, he's a wrestler," I said, popping the top of my beer on the cupboard handle.

"A wrestler? Which one?"

"How should I know? His name is Adam Copeland. Ask dad."

"Beppe! Beppe, your daughter wants-a talk-a to you," my mom yelled in broken English. I heard the phone being transferred between hands.

"Eligia, dolce mia, how-a you doin'?" My dad rarely spoke in Italian, unless he was mad. He was easier to talk to him than my mother.

"Wonderful, papa. Do you know who Adam Copeland is?"

He paused, thinking. "Does he work-a for the newspaper?"

"No. He's a wrestler."

"Adam Copeland? I have a-no idea."

"He works for the WWE. I don't know if that's his... ring name, or whatever."

"What's-a he look-a like?"

So incredibly handsome, but I couldn't tell my father that. He'd track the poor bastard down and kill him with his bare hands. "He's pretty tall... with blond hair."

"Blond-a hair... " I heard him scratch his scruff. "He on-a Smack-a-down or the other one?"

"Smackadown?"

"It's-a brand."

"There are brands? Jesus. I don't really care, papa. Sorry to bother you."

"Are you-a sure? I could-a figure this-a one-a out - "

"No, no, papa. Just give the phone back to mamma."

"Okay. You come-a for da supper this-a Sunday?"

"Always, papa."

"Buono. Ciao, bambina."

"Ciao, papa."

I heard him hang up the phone, and I smiled. He never listened to anything I said. I ended the call and put the receiver back on the counter, leaning next to it with my beer in my hand.

Von looked up at me and meowed loudly. He was always a talker.

"I had an okay day." I smiled and held my foot out for him to sniff. The phone rang again, sending Von out of his skin and into the other room, shooting under the couch. I heard him growl. "It's okay, Von, it's just my mom." I pressed talk, grinning. "Ciao, mamma!"

Silence.

"Mamma?"

Nothing.

Von was still hissing under the couch, fighting with the dust-covers, so I turned to the window, staring out into the darkening night. "Hello?"

A shallow breath ruffled the other end.

I swallowed the spit in the back of my throat, checking the Caller ID. It said Restricted, but I was still connected. "Hello?" I said again, and I hoped I didn't sound as nervous as I felt.

The only sound I heard was the line disconnecting, that tinny bump echoing in my ear.

I suddenly felt very alone.

I cradled the phone quickly, looking around as I hit the end button. Von had just poked his head out, covered in lint, gazing at me curiously. "Don't stare at me," I hissed, turning so I could fumble to get the receiver back on the counter. I didn't dare look outside.

Von twisted himself around my feet, purring loudly, but I barely heard him. I was too busy biting my nails, weakly telling myself that it was just a prank call, and that I had nothing to worry about.

I did scream when my purse flipped over, onto the ground, when Von hopped up next to me. My belongings scattered across the floor, the chain straps clinking noisily against the tile.

Then everything was silent again.

"Von, you bastard," I said quietly, not liking the way my voice carried. I glanced into the dark living room, shaking as I bent to the ground and hastily started picking things up. I kept my eyes moving, just in case.

As I messily grabbed at lipstick, my wallet and check book, my eye caught the small piece of paper settled on top of a pile of bobby-pins. It was ripped, like someone had taken a receipt and torn it in half. I reached for it, looking over into the dark living room again.

Nothing.

I sighed with relief and snatched it, smiling softly at the messily scrawled number. I wasn't thinking straight. The overwhelming eyes-on-the-back-of-my-head feeling was enough to drive me to snag the phone from the counter and dial it.

"Hello?" His voice sounded wonderful, low and growly.

"Adam?" I sat back against the cupboard doors, feeling helpless. "It's Eligia."

"Eligia. How's it going?"

"I, uh... " I looked into the dense room again, casting my eyes down shakily as I played with a stray string on my pants. "I was wondering if you were still up for dinner."

A/N: Ah, the plot thickens. PS - Beppe is a pet name for Guiseppe. Pronounced BEH-PEH, and JIS-EPP-EH. Also, Eligia is pronounced EH-LEE-JUH. Oh, and I felt like Santino writing that broken English. But that's-a how-a my grand-a-mother talks-a, so I'm-a not-a stealing Santino's-a dialect. Review.