Author's Note: Thank you for the reviews and the interest! It's my first supernatural story so please bear with me. I'm doing a lot of research on vampires and the like.

And for any of you thinking this story is going to be nothing but sex scenes…sorry. The first chapter will be one out of two…maybe three. And yes, they'll be spaced very far apart. This story will be based more on the supernatural and how humans interact with each other than sex scenes. Like I've said, there's more to a good story than smut. And if that's all you read and look forward to….well, that's just sad.

Enough babbling, here's the chapter!

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Her long, blonde hair swayed as she tossed bottles and poured beers. She had all 100 beers memorized and could recommended one by flavor, texture, taste, and color. She was known to make the best Hurricanes in all of the city.

She was the most popular bartender not because of her sexy demeanor and kick-ass smile. She was also funny, coming up with a new turn-down for every male patron that flirted with her. Rumors flew that she was gay, to which she always replied with, 'Whatever, you'll still want to hit this.'

And everyone knew she was right.

Standing just a little over five feet tall with a killer body and breasts that seemed too perfect to be real, Trish Stratus had it going on. Saving up money to afford real estate school and having a career for a change, Trish was too focused serving up Cape Cods and margaritas to notice her manager boring holes through her body. "What do you want, Orton?"

"Good evening to you, Stratus." Randy smirked.

A young business entrepreneur at 25, Randy opened up The Wood with every intention of the title being a double entendre. Brash, cocky, and arrogant were understatements describing Randy Orton.

He was incredibly gorgeous with baby blue eyes, tanned skin and an undeniable swagger that commanded one's attention. He often held wet T-shirt and amateur night stripper contests. And there was never a doubt that by the end of the night, some drunken lush was going to get the Orton experience—and be forgotten about the next day.

And it was no secret that Randy had his eyes set on Trish. At first, his goal was to conquer her. With several female bartenders submitting to Randy, it was only a matter of time before Trish dropped to her knees and serviced him as well.

And he's been waiting for a year.

"What is it, Orton? I'm working." Trish said as she poured more beers.

Randy folded his arms. "I'm just checking to see how you're doing."

"I'm doing just fine, Orton."

Randy eyed Trish's figure. "I see that."

Trish rolled her eyes. "Is there anything I can help you with?"

"No, nothing." He said. "Oh, by the way, can you work on Saturday night?"

Trish grabbed money off the counter and quickly wiped it down as she shook her head. Randy making her work six days a week was not an accident. It was an overworked form of sexual harassment. She would complain but her tips were helping her pay for tuition. "Do I have a choice?"

"Not really. So I'll see you at six?" He grinned.

"Yeah, sure." She replied.

"Oh and Stratus?" He asked.

"What?"

"Smile for me, Sugar." He grinned.

Trish whipped her head towards Randy. She leaned down, stuck her middle finger in her mouth and sucked on it. "Better?"

Randy had to go back to his office before he ran into someone with his erection.

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Closing up The Wood at three in the morning, Trish counted her tips. Three hundred dollars. Not bad, Stratus. Now I can actually afford two books this semester. She wiped the counter again and grabbed her helmet. Walking towards the parking lot, she had one hand on her gun and one on her helmet.

"One day you're going to shoot yourself with that." Randy commented as started his BMW.

"I hope it's you." Trish smiled.

"So mean to me, Stratus." He shook his head.

Trish got on her Fat Boy Harley-Davidson. "Because you deserve it, Orton." She then put her helmet on.

"Why ride a bike when you can ride…"

Trish pointed the gun towards Randy. "It's loaded, Orton. I will use it on you."

"Night, Stratus." Randy then sped off.

Trish watched as Randy hurriedly left the parking lot. Thanks for watching me get home safely, jackass. She then tried to start her bike. Oh shit, not now, baby. She tried to start it again. After a few attempts, she concluded that her bike was dead. Fuck!

Taking off her helmet and getting out her cell phone to call her roommate, Trish was interrupted by a stranger who appeared out of nowhere. "Need help?" He asked.

Trish turned and was startled to see a muscular man wearing a dark coat standing just a few feet beside her. "I got it." She said sternly.

"Doesn't seem like you got it." He replied.

"Look, if you think you're going to pull any shit on me, I carry a gun on me." She replied.

"Um, okay…" The stranger said as he began to examine the bike.

"I do." Trish then pulled out a Smith and Wesson and clocked it. "See?"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa…" The stranger said. "I believe you. Can you please put the gun away?"

Trish shook her head. "No. This is my guarantee that you're not going to be stupid."

The strange nodded. "Fine. Keep the gun on me. Just don't shoot."

As the stranger was working on her bike, Trish started to notice him a little. She has seen all the locals from her years of being a bartender, but she's never seen this particular person before. But he didn't look like he was from out of town or a new resident, neither.

Not to mention he was easy on the eyes. Even with a little elbow grease, he was a wonderful specimen to admire. After a few minutes working, the stranger started up Trish's bike. "All set and ready to go."

Trish put the gun to her side. "What? That's impossible! The engine was dead! How did you do that?"

"I just did." He smiled.

Damn, that's a beautiful smile. "Um, thank you."

The stranger walked up to Trish and caressed her face. "You're welcome."

Caught up in the moment, Trish closed her eyes waiting for a kiss from a wonderful stranger. She lost all coherent thought and almost dropped her loaded gun. But as a few seconds progressed to several, Trish opened her eyes.

Her stranger was gone. He practically vanished into thin air. And that was when Trish knew something was amiss. She shook her head and put her helmet back on. I need to stop working so much damn overtime.