A/N: Thank you so much for the reviews on Chapter 1! Sorry that this is so late, I've just been super busy. I'm glad that so many people enjoyed the first part, and I hope this doesn't disappoint.

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Chapter 2

"Nice," a ghastly voice muttered from behind her. Harley had been leaning forward, touching her toes, by the gorilla to warm up for her upcoming match. It was her first night on the night job at Dragon Gate USA, and although most people would probably be skittish about initial match-up's, Harley Mitchell wasn't like most people. Perhaps electrified and concentrated would be the better way to describe it. She was prepared to prove herself, and was focused on accomplishing said goal. So, needless to say, she was more than vexed by the interruption, because it was sure to divert her focus. When Harley twirled around, she gave the commentator an eye-roll.

"Can I help you?" she inquired, giving the man a once-over. He wreaked of Newports, whiskey and mistakes. Harley had heard about him, though. The ladies locker room swooned over how unconventional he was. Complaints about his savage behavior always ended with girlish giggles. He was notorious for making his rounds around the locker room — wooing just about every appealing woman he took a liking to. Harley had yet to have the privilege of encountering him, but that swiftly changed.

With a little shit-eating grin, he warned, "Watch your tone. What's with the attitude?"

"I'm a little busy, if you couldn't tell," spat Harley. "I have a match in about five minutes, and you're fucking me up."

"I ain't fucking you yet, but I won't pass on the opportunity," he muttered. The icy stare he gave her, paired with that devilish tone of his, sent a chill down Harley's spine. He was bad news and there was no doubt that. However, his outlandish ways were intriguing, so she could see why he had so many ladies enamored. They had never encountered a man who could objectify them out of their panties. Harley, on the other hand, although still enticed, was hipped to the twisted games of men like him. The concrete jungle managed to teach her a thing or two about them, so she wasn't all that impressed.

"I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but you would never receive such a privilege."

"That's a little dramatic, no? I mean, you're an OK looking rat, but I wouldn't say you're a privilege. Perhaps 'catch of the day' would suffice."

"I think you're a tad bit entitled, too. You seem to think that if you undress me with your eyes, and display this aura of, 'I don't give a fuck,' that I'm going to lay on my back for you like every other miserable, feeble-minded slut that waltz's through here. I don't have a thing for men who treat me like shit, so you're better off talking to Becky over there with the good hair. Now, they're about to call my name, and you're being nothing but a distraction." Harley twirled so that her back was facing him, and as if on cue, her music, 'Lil Kim's Whoa, began. While she stretched her arms out, a palm gripped her elbow and whipped her back around. He pulled her figure towards his own, their chests pressed up against one another's, while he leaned down to her ear.

"I'm Jon," he murmured before letting her arm go, and drifting off down the hallway, leaving her with hopes that they'd bump into each other again.

•••

A Newport hung from her plump, crimson lips while Harley leaned against the concrete wall that bordered the parking garage connected to Boston's TD Garden. She took lengthy drags from her cigarette in hopes that it'd aid in calming her down. There was so much on her plate that she could barely function. It was her first night on the job, and initially, she was both confident and secure in what was to come. Regardless of the circumstances with her former flame, she figured things would be smooth. Bumping into Jon was inevitable. However, the way it all had panned out made her antsy. Her slender arms crossed around her chest while she threw the cigarette onto the ground, and stomped on it with her Louboutin pump. No amount of nicotine could aid in bettering the blow of not amounting to anything in Jon's heart. She was bitter and envious. Hell, she couldn't even pretend to be happy for him. That was next to impossible after everything they had been through. There were countless cute, little squabbles and overly intoxicated rendezvous that the two of them shared. But beneath it all, they had a bond that seemed infinite.

As cliche as it sounded, they understood one another better than anyone else had. They were two lunatics in love, and with how guarded Jon was with her, she couldn't begin to fathom how he was prepared to marry some bottle blonde. Visibly irritated, Harley headed inside through the back door, and looked at the signs to direct herself to the ladies locker room. She didn't have a match-up that evening, but perhaps surrounding herself with a few of her colleagues would get her mind off of the obstacles at hand. Her strut down the hallway was chorused by the impact of her heels on the concrete floor. Needless to say, her stroll caused a few heads to turn in her direction. For a while Harley was all about business in the wrestling industry. Friends for her were few and far between because of her focus on her goal, but now that she had captured that goal, she figured her standoffish nature could go awry. She looked towards those who had peered over at her with a small smile to acknowledge them, before Harley stumbled upon the women's locker room. While she was pushing through the double doors, however, a palm on her arm stopped her in her tracks. After twirling around, she was face to face with one of her male colleagues.

"I've never seen you around before," he remarked while giving her a once-over. Harley recognized him as resident playboy and comedian, Dolph Ziggler.

"Do you always grab onto ladies you don't know, Dolph?" she inquired, her brow rising.

"Call me Nick," he corrected immediately, a smirk resonating across his mien. "Only the ladies whom I like to formally introduce myself to. And you are?"

"Harley Mitchell, your newest colleague. Are you the welcoming committee?"

"I'm as good as it gets, babe. A little word of advice? Don't go in there," Nick instructed while pointing his thumb at the women's locker room door.

"Why not? You think I can't handle myself?"

"Well, do you want me to be honest? Absolutely not." Chuckles ensued while Nick brought his arm around Harley's shoulders, and lead her away from the door. "The girls don't take to newcomers all too well. I'm just trying to help you out."

"I can take any of those little girls on my worst day. I ain't worried," the always self-assured Harley retorted with an eye-roll. Nick's giggles continued while the two strolled down the hallway.

"Feisty, huh? That's another reason they wouldn't take to you all too much." Before she could respond, however, the two were interrupted by the clearing of a throat from behind them. Together, they turned, only to be in front of the one person she hoped to only see in passing from now on.

"What are ya doin', Nemeth?" Jon inquired while leaning against the nearby wall. Harley could tell from the glare that Jon gave both of them that he wasn't all too happy about Nick being so friendly with her, but who was he to be mad about it?

"Just showing the new girl around. Have you met Harley?"

Jon moved his icy gaze from Nick's to Harley's, muttering, "We know each other. I think I can take the tour from here."

"It was nice meeting you, Harley," Nick stated, his brow slightly rising from confusion, but he offered the woman a small smile before heading off in the opposing direction. Once he was out of hearing range, Harley narrowed her chestnut orbs at Jon.

Scowling, she spat, "Why would you do that? I want to actually make some friends around here."

"Nemeth ain't the kind of friend you need," Jon grumbled before nodding his head behind her. "Walk. We gotta talk."

"Don't tell me what to do like I'm your child or something. There's absolutely nothing we have to talk about. Perhaps you should just stay away from me all together."

"Is that really what you want?" asked Jon. Clearly, the question was rhetorical. He gave her a nudge before strolling in front of her to lead the way. Curiosity killed the cat because Harley opted to trail behind him. The fact that he wanted to talk resonated with her. She, too, felt like a conversation was needed, but she damn sure wasn't going to initiate it. He steered her out back where the buses were parked, before garnering a spot that was out of viewing distance. This, too, caused her vexation to rise.

"Are you ashamed to be seen talking to me?" Harley inquired once they had made it outside. Jon seemingly felt like that question wasn't worth a response, however.

"I get myself a hot blonde, and you go and try to do the same?" was his cocksure retort instead.

"Are you jealous?"

"Are you?" countered Jon, that smirk of his reemerging.

"I oughta smack that little shit eating grin off of your face," Harley hissed.

"I don't know what's up with you, Harls. You run away when ya see me, ya get mad at me when I try to be your friend. Jesus Christ, what do you want from me?"

"I want you to leave me alone. I thought that was pretty obvious."

"Ouch," Jon stated, feigning concern as he placed his palm across his chest, before he laughed directly in her face. "If you wanted that, you wouldn't be here." Clearly, Harley took that as a challenge, because she twirled on her heels, and headed back towards the vicinity. If Jon thought she needed him, he had sadly mistaken. He had caught up with her with ease, though, and blocked her with his muscular frame. However, he should've known better than to think that that would've stopped her. Harley clawed and pounded on his chest with her palms while she attempted to get past him. "Cut the shit," he ordered, his tone slightly rising while he coiled his arms around her figure to keep her palms down by her sides. Jon stood over her and kept that grip of his tight. An aroma of his whiskey hit her nostrils when Jon stated in a low tone, "You're gonna tell me what your problem is, Harls. I know you. I know when something is bothering you. After everything we've been through, there's no way you'd want me to leave you alone."

"You don't get it, Jon. It's because of everything that we've been through that I'd rather not be around you," murmured Harley, her tone softening. He always had a way with words that'd make her calmer. "Things are different now, and the only way I can accept that is if I only see you in passing."

"I don't wanna see you in passing. I wanna be able to talk to you like we used to. Romantic or not, we were friends first and that's what I want to get back. How 'bout we hit up our spot after the show tonight? Catch up a bit? And you can tell me what your issue is in full."

"Our spot?" repeated Harley. As much as she tried to fight it, a faint grin crept out onto her features. "You talkin' 'bout 21st Amendment?"

"Are we goin' or what?" Jon asked, mimicking that smile of hers.

"I don't know. We'll see," was Harley's equally insolent response before she shoved him yet again to get out of his grip, and head back inside. Although, in reality, she truly didn't know what to do considering Jon, her and booze were a lethal combination.