Chapter 8 – Too Many Drinks

By Evilution

Disclaimer: The reference to Linus Caldwell comes from the movie Oceans Eleven and is the name of Matt Damon's character.  Also, I don't know if Rob Van Dam has ever worked as a bouncer, but it had to be one of them.  Enjoy!

            Miami Moon turned out to be a very swanky nightclub over on East Simcoe.  Paris wasn't sure what Matt's idea of packed was, but it seemed pretty busy for a Monday night.  Being that he was her date, Rob paid her cover charge.  The bouncer let everyone in without question—except Paris.  As expected, she got carded, which seemed to amuse Rob to no end.  He was still teasing her even after they had entered the club.  Of course, Paris had a fake ID because she was only twenty, but she wasn't going to let on that she was underage.  After all, she had just met these guys.  She had gotten her ID from her dad's friend, Linus Caldwell, who was one of the best forgery artists in Vegas and it had never been questioned.  Paris spotted Evolution across the club, surrounded by women.  Much to her relief, she didn't think they saw her come in.

            Matt and Jeff were playing pool toward the back of the club and had saved a buddy bar for their friends.  Rob asked everyone what they wanted to drink and disappeared toward the bar.  He returned a few minutes later, followed by a waitress, who set a pitcher of beer and some glasses on the table, as well as a margarita for Amy, a Smirnoff Ice for Trish, and a Crown Royal and Diet Pepsi for Paris.  Rob paid the waitress, gave her a generous tip, and eyed Paris with amusement as she sipped her drink.

            "What?" she asked, playfully, when she noticed him staring.

            "Let me see your ID," Rob joked.

            "Why?"

            "Just because."

            Paris sighed as she handed her driver's license to Rob.  He examined it thoroughly before handing it back to her with a grin. 

            "Just as I thought," he said, matter-of-factly.  "But I have to admit that's a pretty kick ass forgery."

            "What do you mean—forgery?" Paris squeaked, almost choking on her drink.

            "That thing's a fake," Rob laughed.  "I used to be a bouncer back in Battle Creek--I can spot 'em a mile away.  I'm surprised that dude at the door didn't notice."

            Paris flushed slightly, but didn't reply as Rob carefully scrutinized her face, his left cheek dimpling with mirth.

            "So I'm not going to get arrested for contributing to a minor or lewd acts with a minor or anything like that," he teased, leaning close to her.

            Paris smiled, blushing once again, as Chris, who had been listening, joined the conversation.

            "So exactly how old are you, Paris?" he interjected.

            "I'm old enough," she stated, a little defensively.  "I've been clubbing since I was seventeen.  Most of the time in Vegas, I didn't even have to show my ID.  Everyone knows my father and they just let me in as long a I promised not to gamble.  The NGC is stricter than the cops."

            "Rico used to be a Vegas cop," Jay commented.

            "Rico Constantino?" Paris asked.

            "Yeah, do you know him?" Jay replied.

            "More like I know of him," Paris stated.  "He's one of the most decorated officers in Vegas—and he was the first American Gladiators winner.  Is he a wrestler?"

            Trish nodded.  "You remember Jackie Gayda?  She's his valet."

            "Speaking of the hooker herself," Amy remarked as Jackie strutted by in an extremely revealing outfit.

            Even though Jackie was a very pretty girl, Paris had to agree that it was a bit risqué the way she dressed and acted, although Jackie didn't seem to care much as long as there was a plethora of guys around to hit on her.  Paris was about halfway through her drink when Amy and Trish, who were bored with they guys ignoring them for a game of pool, decided it was time to do some shots.  Paris followed them up to the bar and after a round of Lemon Drops and a round of Panty Droppers, she had to admit that she was feeling pretty good and all thoughts of Amanda had drifted out of her mind.

            The girls went back to the pool table, hoping the guys would be done and the dancing could begin, but the pool tournament was far from over.  Jay, believing the direction the night was taking and using fatigue from his match with Jericho as an excuse, begged off and went back to the hotel.  Matt and Chris were now locked in a best of seven doubles game with Rob and Jeff.

            "Chris," Trish whined in her best little girl voice.  "You promised you'd dance with me?"

            Chris, who had gotten over his earlier irritation with Trish's tardiness, glanced back and forth between his friends and his girlfriend.

            "Aw, baby, we're right in the middle of a best of seven," he reasoned in a boyish tone.  "We're almost done and then, we'll dance.  Is that cool?"

            Now, it was Trish's turn to be irritated.  "Well, what did we even come along for if all you guys are gonna do is play pool?"

            "Quit bothering us!" Jeff exclaimed in a perturbed voice as he tried to focus on sinking the five ball in the corner pocket.  He didn't have a girlfriend that he had to worry about offending.  "Wasn't there enough excitement up at the bar to keep you occupied?"

            "By all means, keep bothering him," Chris joked, trying to lighten the mood.  "Trish, honey, I promise we're almost done, OK?"

            "Go dance with each other," Matt told them with a knowing smirk.  "Girls do that all the time."

            Amy rolled her eyes and put her hands on her hips.  "Well," she said, glaring at Matt.  "I guess since you guys are PLAYING with each other…"

            "Give it a rest, Ames," Matt said, annoyed.  "I'm trying to relax with my friends—I don't need you to bust my balls about it, OK?"

            Amy flushed, recoiling slightly at Matt's rudeness as Trish and Chris raised eyebrows in unison at the shock of Matt's insensitive tone.  Obviously, he had other issues going on and decided to take it out on Amy.  Nevertheless, she was still pissed that he chose that moment to humiliate her in front of their friends.

            "Fine!  I'll just go dance by myself!" Amy spat, angrily.  "That way I won't be accused of busting anyone's balls!"  She turned and stomped toward the dance floor with Trish hot on her heels.

            "Well, good luck," Paris said, cheerfully, trying to lighten the dark look on Matt's face as he watched Amy disappear into the crowd.

            "Matt, it's your shot," Chris urged, finally able to deter Matt from staring after his girlfriend.

            Paris hung around to watch Matt totally blow a very easy shot, allowing Rob to sink the eight ball and take the game.  Rob gave her a dimpled smile as he high-five Jeff while Chris tried to console Matt and psych him up for the next game.  She gave them a quick wave and rushed off to find her friends. 

            Paris managed to push her way through the crowd and finally found Trish and Amy sitting at a buddy bar on the edge of the dance floor.  Trish gave her a warning look as Amy tossed down a shot of tequila.  Paris was beginning to realize that things might not be as rosy as they first appeared when it came to Amy and Matt's relationship.

            "That fucker!" Amy cried.  "He does this to me every time we go out.  I don't know why I even bother!"

            "Because you love him," Trish offered.

            "Do I?" Amy shot back.

            "Look, forget them—we can have fun without a bunch of stupid men.  Or should I say overgrown boys?" Trish commented.

            "Trish, you don't have to pretend you're mad at Chris just because I'm mad at Matt," Amy said, smiling faintly at her friend's loyalty.

            "Well, I have to admit, Chris was a lot nicer about it than Matt was," Trish pointed out.  "But that doesn't mean he's completely off the hook.  The only reason I'm not mad at Chris is because I know I'll be getting some extra attention later if ya know what I mean.  Chris can't stand it when there's even an inkling that I might be mad at him.  I say screw them—let's just hit the dance floor and have fun, which is what we came here to do in the first place—what d'ya think?"  Trish looked hopefully at Paris, willing her to say something positive to get Amy out of her black mood.

            "Trish is right," Paris declared, taking Amy by the hand.  "I mean, look at Rob—he's supposed to be my date and all, but what's he doing?—playing pool with the boys when he could be exploring Paris."

            Amy laughed, despite her tears, and was about to follow Paris to the dance floor when a huge shadow fell across their table.  Paris, Amy, and Trish all looked up to see Batista standing before them, his huge biceps practically bulging out of his tight T-shirt.  His dark eyes flashed with concern as they remained locked on Amy's tear-streaked face.

            "Excuse me, ladies," he said in a soft, polite voice.  "I couldn't help but notice that you seem pretty upset, Amy.  I don't know if I can help, but could I interest you in a dance, maybe to help lighten the mood a little?"

            Amy's mouth fell open as Trish stared at Paris in shock, obviously stunned at how articulate the man was.  Amy wiped her eyes quickly and threw a disdainful look over her shoulder at Matt and the others.  Seeing that Matt was still engrossed in his pool game and not making any move to apologize, she took the hand Batista was offering and smiled.

            "Sure, what the hell," she said, jumping off her barstool, a tad unsteady.  "It's not like my boyfriend wants to dance with me or anything!"  She held onto Batista's hand and followed him into the crowd. 

            Trish and Paris stared in amazement as a slow song began and Batista engulfed Amy in his gigantic arms.  Being that she was 5'9" in heels, Amy wasn't completely dwarfed by him like most women would be.  They watched as she put her cheek against his heart, her red hair spilling across his massive chest.  Paris nudged Trish and inclined her head toward Evolution's table, where Randy Orton and Paul Levesque had been watching the ensuing scene with keen interest.  Trish returned Paris' look of skepticism, both of them wondering exactly what Batista was up to.

            Meanwhile, only moments earlier, Paul elbowed Randy, nearly causing him to spill the beer he was drinking, and pointed dramatically at Batista, who was leading Amy onto the dance floor.

            "What in the hell is he doing?" Paul exclaimed.

            Randy rolled his eyes.  Was the man blind or just stupid?  "It looks like he's dancing with Amy Dumas," he replied, lazily.

            "Yeah, but why?  He's supposed to be seducing Paris."

            Randy didn't really know why Dave was dancing with Amy, unless…of course, it had to be!  Amy must be the 'someone else' that Dave liked.  Randy couldn't believe he hadn't seen it until now.  Naturally, he didn't say a word to Paul, pretending to be vaguely annoyed with Paul's comments.

            "How should I know?" Randy snapped.  "I missed the part about it being my turn to baby sit Dave this week."

            "What's up your ass?" Paul shot back.

            "Nothing," Randy replied.  "I'm gonna go take a piss."

            "Thanks for sharing that," Paul said, dryly.  "I think I'll go ask Paris to dance."

            Randy shrugged indifferently as he set his beer down and rose to go to the bathroom.  Inside, his mind was racing.  He couldn't let Paul get a dance with Paris, if not to protect his own interests, there was still the bet.  Waiting until Paul wasn't looking, he turned away from the restrooms and doubled back across the upper level.  Keeping an eye on Paul, he noticed that the crowd was working to his advantage.  Randy smirked as he took a quick right, descended three steps, and came up right next to Paris' table just as Paul pushed his way through the crowd.

            "Hey, Paris," Randy greeted, casually, as he placed his arm around her chair.

            "Randy, what a surprise," she lied.  She had seen Evolution when she walked in the club and despite her earlier doubt that they had seen her, she knew differently.  She had a feeling that they had known all along that she was there.

            Paris looked up as Paul approached the table, giving Randy a cold stare that indicated that he knew he had just been tricked.  'You little son of a bitch,' Paul thought, competition getting the better of him.

            "Oh, hey, Paul," she replied.

            "Good evening, Paris, Trish," Paul said, still glaring at his young teammate.  The air was thick with the undertone of a challenge.

            Randy shrugged nonchalantly, choosing to ignore the tension.  He didn't waste a second getting to the point.  "I just noticed the two of you sitting here and since you're the hottest chicks in this place, I figured I better ask you to dance before some lowlife came over and started hitting on you," he explained.

            "Which one of us?" Trish asked with an arched eyebrow.

            "Well, both of you, of course," Randy stated, smiling winningly as Paul continued to glare at him.

            Randy stepped aside allowing Paris and Trish to jump off of their barstools.  He began to guide them toward the dance floor, giving Paul a mockingly innocent shrug over the girls' heads.  He cocked his eyebrow, daring Paul to pick up the gauntlet.

            "Do join us, Paul," he offered, sarcastically.  If the challenge hadn't been on before, it was definitely go time now.

            "I think I'll do that." Paul remarked, putting his arm lightly around Trish's shoulders.  "What d'ya say, Trish?"

            Trish eyed him suspiciously, but then, relented.  "What the hell," she retorted, smiling.  "At least, you're trying to be semi-charming."

            Paul chuckled, leaning closer to Trish.  "You know me, Trish.  Of course, I wouldn't dream of treading on Jericho's territory, but I have a feeling you and I may have to do a little babysitting if you know what I mean."  He indicated Batista and Amy, who were still plastered up against each other even though the slow dance had ended minutes ago.

            Randy high-fived Batista over Amy's head as Paris nudged her slightly, causing Amy to pick up the tempo of her dancing since it was obvious that the effects of her tequila shots were taking hold.  However, the space between her and Batista remained just as narrow even though the song was faster.

            One hour and more than a few drinks later, the girls were still dancing with Evolution, their dates long forgotten, noses still buried in their game of billiards.  Amy was utterly intoxicated and Paris was well on her way down that road also.  Deciding to maintain some semblance of sobriety, Trish had switched to club soda and was sitting at the buddy bar with Paul, choosing to dance only when things appeared to be getting out of hand.  Indeed, she did feel like a babysitter, glancing regularly at her friends on the dance floor, making sure all was kosher.  For the most part, Amy and Paris were sticking with Batista and Randy respectively.  Paul seemed content to keep Trish company, but every so often, he would foray onto the dance floor and take over while one or both of his fellow Evolutionaries would rush up to the table for a swift drink of beer and then, it was back to the action.  Usually, when Batista and Randy came back to the table, they managed to persuade Trish to join the party, pulling her enthusiastically into the crowd.

            Paul had to admit to himself that he was having a reasonably good time, even though he was still slightly pissed off at Randy for monopolizing Paris.  But he let it slide, figuring that this was only her first night.  He planned to bide his time until he could convince Shane to have Paris coordinate for Evolution.  At least, he was getting to dance with her a few times.  Much to his surprise, Trish Stratus turned out to be a relatively pleasant companion and Paul flirted unashamedly with her, noticing the mounting tension every time she glanced back at the billiard area.  Obviously, her irritation with Jericho was growing by the second.  Paul was about to ask her what she intended to do about it when she suddenly stood up.

            "I think we're on babysitting duty again," Trish remarked, pointing towards the others, a look of contempt on her pretty face.

            Paul's gaze flickered towards the dance floor and he did a double take.  There was Amy, bent over in front of Batista, rubbing her butt against his crotch in time to the music as her vivid red hair flew in all directions.  Batista didn't seem to be too overly upset about this and Paul couldn't say that he blamed him.  Paris had unbuttoned Randy's shirt and she had her back to his chest, grinding sensually against him.  Randy had his arms around her waist, a look on his face that switched from blissful ecstasy to immense smugness when he saw Paul watching.  Periodically, his hands would travel across her bare stomach, up to her chest where they would graze her breasts ever so slightly.  Much to Paul's chagrin, Paris seemed to be enjoying this, closing her eyes and smiling seductively every time Randy did it.  One time, he even went so far as to brush his hands upward, causing her little half-shirt to lift up and giving Paul a glimpse of two ample, flesh-colored half moons, indicating that Paris chose not to be encumbered by a bra.  He wondered if she had the same mentality about panties.

            "You think we should go break it up?" Paul suggested to Trish.

            "You know what?  I'm sick of playing mommy tonight," Trish declared.  "You wanna dance?"

            "I'd love to," Paul replied, taking her hand and allowing her to lead him out to the dance floor.

            However, Paul and Trish's presence did nothing to quell the display that was going on between the other two members of Evolution and their dance partners.  Paul had to take a second glance once again as Amy finally broke away from Batista and pulled Paris into a girl-on-girl dance.  You couldn't have fit a piece of paper between them as they continued to bump and grind to the music, eventually culminating in a quick kiss, a la Brittany and Madonna, much to the delight of Randy, Batista, and several other nearby male patrons.  Trish rolled her eyes and turned away from the scene, refusing to deal with her inebriated friends anymore.

            Paris couldn't believe what a great time she was having, even though she couldn't say the same for her friends.  Amy appeared to be having fun, but in all honesty, she was so impaired that she probably didn't even realize what she was doing.  Batista was being a good sport, dancing with her and practically holding her up at times.  Trish had stopped drinking about an hour ago, her anger at Jericho's insensitivity changing into an uncomfortable feeling of indifference.  Although she was trying to maintain a semblance of casual relaxation, it was obvious that she was keeping a vigilant watch to make sure Paris and Amy didn't cross any lines.  Paris had noticed that Trish wasn't drinking and was casually keeping an eye on their behavior and their surroundings.  Normally, Paris would have been mildly uncomfortable at the thought of someone keeping tabs on her, but on second thought, she convinced herself that it was probably a good thing that Trish was looking out for her.  After all, she was intoxicated and she didn't know any of these people very well.  In fact, it had only been a few hours ago that she was trading insults with Evolution and they had gone to Shane and tried to have her fired.  Now, she found herself having more than a few fairly indecent thoughts about one Randy Orton.  Blushing, Paris had to admit to herself that Rob Van Dam, who was supposed to be her date, hadn't crossed her mind for quite some time.  She was also betting that Amy hadn't given much thought to Matt since his previous outburst and Trish's only notions of Jericho right now were of how she was going to make him suffer for ignoring her and lying to her about how long he was going to be occupied with his friends. 

            Paris pushed these thoughts out of her mind, unable to focus on anything too cerebral at that point.  All she could think about was how attracted she was to Randy.  True, he had been a jerk earlier, but one would have to be blind to not see how amazingly hot he was.  As if to read her mind, Randy turned her around to face him, locking his arms around her waist and pinning her against him.  Paris sighed, gazing into his sparkling blue eyes, as she felt his warm hands slide up the back of her shirt and move around to lightly brush the sides of her breasts.  Instinctively, she reached up and linked her arms around Randy's neck, inhaling the scent of Obsession and trying to get as close to him as she could.  This action caused her shirt to ride up slightly and her soft skin met his bare chest.  Randy gasped, reveling in how good her skin felt against his.  He bent his head, moving in to capture her barely parted lips in a kiss, but they were interrupted as Amy collapsed onto the floor, laughing hysterically.

            Paul was relieved that Amy had chosen that moment to lose all semblance of control.  He had been sharing a slow dance with Trish, mindful to keep a chaste distance between them, when he glanced over at Paris and Randy just as his young teammate was moving in for a kiss.  Amy had been passionately kissing Batista as they slow-danced, oblivious to the fact that Matt Hardy was less than ten yards away, when she suddenly lost her balance.  Trish immediately broke away from Paul and helped Batista get Amy to her feet.  Paris remained in Randy's arms as she giggled giddily at her friend's apparent incapacitation.  But Paul was happy nonetheless.  The kiss had been stopped.

            Batista and Trish began to guide Amy toward their table while Paul hung back with Randy and Paris.  Another moderately slow song started and before Randy could capitalize, Paul stepped in and asked Paris to dance.  She accepted, much to Randy's consternation, and allowed Paul to sweep her into his huge arms.  Paul smirked pimpishly at Randy over Paris' head, earning a baleful glare in return as Randy stalked off toward the buddy bar where he asked Trish to dance.  It looked like Trish was trying to beg off, using the excuse that she was helping Amy, but Batista dismissed her with a wave of his hand, apparently taking charge of Amy's care.  Paris winked playfully at Trish, who forced a smile, as she and Randy began to dance.

            Paul held Paris tightly against his chest, careful not to take the liberties that Randy was, but still commanding her attention.  Paris looked into his dark eyes, trying to detect some iota of warmth, but there was none.  His eyes didn't captivate her, like Randy's deep blue ones did.  For just a moment, she felt afraid, but she pushed this fleeting notion away, silently scolding herself that she was being ridiculous.  Paul was the world champion and a high-profile wrestling star.  She had no real reason to fear him.  Nevertheless, she couldn't help wishing that it was her in Randy's arms instead of Trish.  Frankly, Trish appeared to be wishing the same thing, her mind elsewhere as she kept glancing at Amy, a mixture of disappointment and concern crossing her beautiful features.

            As quickly as the dance had started, it was just as quickly over and an upbeat tune took its place.  Amy seemed to recover from her previous malaise and was unsteadily pulling Batista onto the dance floor.  Paris continued to dance with Paul, but also made a point to revert her attention to Randy from time to time.  Randy, in return, smiled suggestively at her, giving her the impression that he wished they were alone.

            About halfway through the song, they were all startled by a loud commotion over by the pool tables.  Apparently, two guys were having a heated argument about some girl, who appeared to be standing nearby being consoled by her friends.  Out of nowhere, there was the sound of breaking glass as a table overturned.  The crowd on the dance floor began milling around, trying to see what was going on.  Paris glanced up and noticed Chris, Matt, Jeff, and Rob surveying the situation with interest.  Jeff leaned over and whispered something to Chris as they both looked toward the entrance where four police officers were making their way through the crowd.  Paris felt a rising sense of panic.  She was underage and new to the WWE.  The last thing she wanted to do was be a participant in any scandal involving the wrestlers and the locals. 

            "We need to get out of here," she told Trish as she leaned across the buddy bar and grabbed their purses.

            "There's no way we're gonna get to the front door in this crowd," Trish replied.  "We just have to sit tight until it breaks up."

            "No!" Paris shouted.  "We have to leave!"

            "What's the big deal?" Trish exclaimed.

            "I'm not twenty-one!" Paris hissed.

            Realization dawned on Trish, her eyes wide and her mouth forming a tiny O.  What if the situation got out of control and the cops busted everyone?  Taking her and Amy's purse from Paris, she grabbed Paul, immediately commandeering his attention.

            "Can you get us out the back door?" she demanded.

            Paul looked around, studying the scene.  "That shouldn't be a problem.  Why?"

            "We need to get out of here."

            "Why?" Randy put in.  "It's just a little disagreement."

            "Little disagreements can turn into big brawls," Trish stated, glancing at Paris.  "We're all high profile—we don't want to be in the wrong place at the wrong time, especially you, Paul."

            "She's right," Paul agreed.  He pointed at Batista.  "Dave, you and I'll lead the way.  Have you got her under control?" he asked, indicating Amy.

            "She's fine," Batista replied.

            "Good.  You two stay in the middle," he ordered Paris and Trish, taking charge.  "And Randy can bring up the rear."

            The fight had yet to be broken up as they made their way toward the rear exit.  Words were still being exchanged as cops tried to separate the two men.  The noisy crowd was getting restless, wanting to see a fight.  Paris gripped Randy's hand and linked her other arm with Trish as they followed Paul, Amy, and Batista out the back door.

            Meanwhile, only moments earlier, Rob and Jeff had been celebrating their win over Matt and Chris when shouting erupted at the neighboring pool table.  Two guys, who were obviously drunk, were having some sort of a row, probably about a girl.  Before the guys knew what was happening, a table was upset and glass had shattered everywhere.  Soon thereafter, Jeff pointed out that the cops had arrived and were making their way toward the billiard area.

            "We need to leave," Chris said, calmly, his eyes scanning the crowd.

            "We didn't do anything," Rob replied.

            "Those cops take one look at us and they're gonna think we were involved because we're wrestlers," Chris explained.

            "Where are the girls?" Matt questioned, focusing on the dance floor.

            Chris also glanced in that direction as Rob and Jeff nonchalantly replaced their pool cues and began to make their way toward the front door.  The ensuing fight had not broken up and the crowd appeared to be trying to push its way forward to get a better view.  Chris' eyes narrowed in annoyance as he spotted a small group of people heading toward the rear exit.  It was Trish and Paris being led by Triple H and Batista, who was holding Amy up.  Randy Orton was following them, holding hands with Paris so as not to get separated.  Matt had seen them as well and Chris noticed his dark eyes flashing as a muscle twitched in his jaw.

            "Let's go," Chris said, tapping Matt's shoulder as the girls disappeared from sight.  "I'm sure we'll run into them outside."

            Matt followed Chris to the front door where they exited the club and met up with Rob and Jeff, who were standing casually outside.

            "Where's everyone else?" Rob asked as Chris and Matt approached them.

            "He means the girls," Jeff put in.  "Do they even know we left?"

            "Oh, apparently not," Matt replied with sarcasm.  "They were too busy sneaking out the back door with Randy, Paul, and Batista."

            "Evolution?" Rob said with a puzzled look.  "What're they doing with those clowns?"

            Matt and Chris both shrugged.  "I'm sure we'll find out soon enough," Chris commented.

            Matt shook his head.  "Yeah, fuck 'em—let's go back to the hotel," he said with a feigned air of machismo.  His regrets about his earlier behavior with Amy were tempered by his anger at her departure without him.

            Jeff hailed a cab as Rob slapped Matt on the arm to let him know they were leaving.  Matt kept staring toward the alley as if he were hoping the girls would suddenly appear from somewhere.

            "Matt, they're obviously gone.  Let's just go," Chris urged as Rob and Jeff got into the cab.

            "How can you be so goddamn calm?" Matt exploded.

            "Because I have no choice," Chris replied, quickly.  "My consolation is that I know Trish.  She'd never do anything to compromise our relationship, even if I was being an ass clown earlier."

            Matt clenched his fists, part of him wanting to hit something until it felt as bad as he did and another part trying to punish himself for being in this situation in the first place.  He wanted to tell Chris that he had heard the same song and dance about Jessica at one time and look how that turned out.  But he held his tongue.  Chris was his friend and didn't deserve such a low blow.  It wasn't Chris' fault that he and Amy had fought.  Chris held the cab door open, waiting for Matt to climb in and after he did, Chris shut the door and got into the front seat.  Within minutes, they were back at the hotel, congregated in Chris' room.  There was nothing else to do besides wait.  Feeling restless, Jeff turned on the TV.  He didn't really have a vested interest in the situation being that none of the girls were with him, but he wanted to hang out with his friends and be supportive of his brother.  On top of all that, he was just plain nosy.

            Earlier, back at the club, the girls were ushered out the back door by Evolution and into a waiting limo that was parked in the alley parking lot.  Paris ended up sitting between Randy and Trish, Randy's arm swung casually over her shoulders.  Amy laid down on one of the seats with her head on Batista's lap, eyes closed and a small smile on her lips.  Paul suggested going to another club, but Trish nixed the idea, stating that they needed to get back to the hotel and meet up with Jericho and the others.  Trish couldn't speak for Matt, but she figured that Chris was probably wondering where she was and he was undoubtedly concerned with the whereabouts of his coordinator, being that it was Paris' first night on the job.

            The limo pulled up in front of the Hilton and Paul got out to hold the door for the girls.  Trish gently shook Amy awake and with a little help from Paul, pulled Amy out of the car and into a standing position.  Batista exited the vehicle next and held out his hand in an attempt to assist Paris, but Randy slid his arm around her tiny waist, reached over, and pulled the door shut, so that it was just him and Paris inside the limo.  He touched a button on the console, locking all the doors, as Paul and Trish knocked on the tinted windows--Paul insisting that Randy continue partying with him and Trish wanting to call it a night and protect Paris' interests.  Batista finally managed to get them to stop disturbing the young couple by reminding them that Paris and Randy were adults and it was time for all of them to move on. 

            "I just wanted to say goodnight to you in private," Randy told her, pulling her close.

            "Oh," she replied as little tingles raced up and down her spine.

            "Is it OK if I kiss you?" he asked, respectfully.

            Paris nodded, unable to speak as Randy cupped her face in his hands and brought his lips to hers in an explosive kiss.  Tiny gold stars flashed behind her closed eyes as his tongue gently stroked hers and his hands tangled in her soft blond hair.  Very slowly, Randy moved his hands down to her sides until his fingers were tracing over the bare skin just above the waistline of her jeans.  He then let his hands roam up her back and under her shirt, his fingertips like little flames licking her skin.  Paris ran her delicate hands up Randy's bare chest, his shirt still unbuttoned from the club, and twined her arms around his neck as the kiss deepened and he grasped her back, pulling her tightly against him.  Very deliberately, he ended the kiss, but continued to massage her back as Paris threw her head back, allowing him to trail light, feathery kisses along her jaw line and down to the hollow of her throat.

            Meanwhile, outside the limo, Paul was fit to be tied that Randy had managed to seclude himself with Paris.  Noticing the confused stares from Trish and Amy, he abruptly shifted modes and tried to appear inconspicuous as he casually announced that he was going to the hotel bar.

            "You coming, Dave?" he asked Batista over his shoulder when he saw that Batista was making no move to follow him.

            Batista glanced at Trish and Amy, a final reassurance that they were OK and didn't need him to wait with them.

            "I'll be right there," he said, somewhat annoyed as he started to leave, not really enthralled with the idea of spending anymore time partying with Paul.

            But he couldn't quite walk away without leaving some sort of a lasting impression on Amy.  Turning quickly, he seized her arm and pulled her against his chest, his muscular arm snaking around her waist.

            "I know you're really intoxicated," he whispered.  "And you probably won't remember any of this, but—what the hell…"

            Throwing caution to the wind, Batista twined his other hand in Amy's fiery red hair and bent her head back as he captured her lips in a passionate kiss.  Amy stood on her tiptoes and laced her arms around his neck, deepening the kiss as Trish stood by with her arms crossed, tapping her foot impatiently and trying not to stare, although there wasn't much else to occupy her attention.  Paul put his hands on his hips and rolled his eyes, sighing loudly with irritation.  Not only that, but Paris and Randy still hadn't come out of the limo.

            The kiss finally ended, but Batista continued to hug Amy tightly, lifting her a few inches off the ground. 

            Amy giggled in his ear.  "Do it again, do it again," she urged, laughing.

            Batista set her down, his eyes flickering warily over her head at Trish, who shook her head and shot him a thoroughly disapproving look.

            "Maybe some other time," he offered as he glanced sideways and got an equally perturbed look from Paul.

            "Promise?" Amy pouted.

            "Guarantee," Batista said, giving her a quick kiss on the forehead before walking off in Paul's direction.

            Amy unsteadily made her way over to where Trish was standing and leaned up against the wall, all the while receiving a scathing look of reproach from Trish.

            "What?" Amy finally shouted, sick of the pretty blond staring at her.

            "Do you really think that was appropriate?" Trish replied in a crisp tone.

            "Shut up," Amy told her, trying unsuccessfully to push a lock of stray hair out of her eyes.

            Trish was about to retort when the limo door flew open and Randy Orton jumped out, his designer shirt still unbuttoned and flapping in the light breeze.  He offered his hand and helped Paris out of the car as she nonchalantly tried to smooth her hair and her shirt.  Trish cocked her eyebrow knowingly as she eyed Paris' flushed cheeks and the boyish smirk on Randy's face.  Obviously, there had been some heavy-duty snogging going on in the limo.

            "Where'd Paul and Dave go?" Randy asked, looking around.

            "They went to the hotel bar," Trish informed him.

            "Another bar?" Randy replied, incredulously

            He paused, apparently giving serious thought to whether he wanted to join his friends or not.  After all, he had spent the last few moments making out with Paris, so he didn't really think his night could get any better, especially if it meant getting the third degree from Paul.  When he heard that Paul and Dave were at the bar, he really wanted to ask Paris to come up to his room with him, but on second thought, he didn't want to push the envelope too far with her on the first night.  Finally, he shook his head.

            "Fuck it—I'm going to bed.  Can I walk you ladies to your rooms?" he offered with a suggestive wink at Paris.

            That was the final straw for Trish.  All she wanted to do was get herself and her friends back to their rooms so she could concentrate on finding Chris.  She hoped he hadn't seen her leave with Evolution, but there wasn't much she could have done about it.  They had to get Paris out of there.  She just wished that if Chris had seen her that he would understand.

            "No, thank you, Randy, but that won't be necessary," Trish commented, taking Amy by the arm.  "I think we've all had a somewhat eventful night to say the least.  I'll see that Paris and Amy get to their rooms safely."

            Paris shrugged, smiling, and Amy rolled her eyes.

            "I guess it is pretty late," Paris conceded as Randy took her hands in his.  "I need to be up early."

            "We'll go out again?" he suggested, hopefully.

            "Definitely," Paris assured him as he bent to give her a chaste kiss on the cheek.

            "I'm in Room 186 if you change your mind," Randy whispered, sexily, in he ear.

            He gave her another quick kiss and hurried inside, making an obvious effort to turn in the opposite direction of the hotel bar.  The girls also went inside and rode the elevator up the third floor without saying a word.  Paris shifted nervously, uncomfortable with the awkward silence.  It appeared as if Trish was upset with her for kissing Randy.  The last thing she had wanted to do was make a bad impression on her first night.  The elevator doors opened and Trish had to nudge Amy, who was sleeping against the wall.

            "I feel like shit!" Amy complained, loudly.

            "Just wait until tomorrow," Trish warned, sarcastically.

            "I probably look like shit, too," Amy went on.  "Thank God I'm not back on TV yet."

            They reached Amy's room and Trish unlocked the door, having taken Amy's key card from her purse.  The room was dark and empty, no sign of Matt anywhere.  The redhead immediately went for one of the beds and lay down, fully clothed on top of the covers.

            "Amy, are you OK?" Paris asked, trying not to giggle.

            "I'm fine," Amy mumbled.  "Just gonna pass out, dream about Dave…"

            "OK," Paris replied as Amy's voice trailed off and Trish pulled her out of the room.

            Trish suggested first checking their room to see if the guys had come back to the hotel.  As they walked down the hallway, Paris decided to test the waters.

            "Trish?"

            "Yeah?"

            "Are you mad at me?"

            Trish sighed.  "No, Paris, I'm not mad at you, but I am worried, especially since you're new to the company.  I didn't realize how young you are.  What in the hell was your dad thinking sending you into an environment like this just for the purpose of teaching you a lesson?"

            "I don't know," Paris replied, truthfully.  "I guess he figured Vince would be looking out for me.  I don't think he realizes that Vince doesn't have time to concern himself with things like that."

            "Well, my best advice is that you take care of yourself and don't look at it like you're being punished--you decide why you're here and make the best of it," Trish sagely suggested.

            Paris nodded in understanding, but in her slightly tipsy state, she quickly changed the topic.

            "So," she smiled, nudging Trish playfully.  "Randy's hot, isn't he?"

            Trish laughed softly, amused at Paris' youth.  "I have to admit he is, but all I can say is be careful—I'd hate to see you and Amy become the flavors of the week."

            "Yeah, what was up with her and Batista?  I mean isn't she with Matt?" Paris inquired.

            "You know, she does this every time we go out," Trish went on, a tinge of disappointment in her voice.  "I don't mean she makes out with guys all the time—in fact, that kind of threw me for a loop tonight.  It's just that there's always some issue between her and Matt and then, she ends up getting wasted."

            "Well, Matt was kind of being a dick," Paris put in.

            "He's always like that.  When we go out, Matt likes to hang with the guys and play pool or darts or whatever.  He doesn't like to dance and get crazy—he just likes to kick back.  But not Amy—with her it's party, party.  They're like fire and ice.  I don't even know why they're still together."

            Paris had been concentrating so much on what Trish was saying that she didn't even realize that they were now standing in front of Room 313.  Trish fumbled in her purse for the key card as Paris leaned against the door and yawned loudly.  Apparently, Trish was also staying in the same room with her and Jericho.

            "What the fuck—I swear if I had one more lipstick in this freaking purse, I could open my own business," Trish complained, still digging for the card.

            Suddenly, Paris felt the door give away and before she could stop herself, she had fallen across the threshold as Chris had opened the door.  She now found herself lying on the floor, staring up at Trish, who, despite her earlier mood, couldn't help but laugh, and Chris, who looked slightly less amused.

            "Jesus Christ!" Paris exclaimed, noticing Matt, Jeff, and Rob in the background and immediately becoming embarrassed.  "Give me a little warning next time!"

            Chris bent and helped Paris to her feet as Trish tried to stifle her laughter upon seeing the dark look on Chris' face.  By now, Paris had also dissolved into an uncontrollable fit of the giggles as she flopped on her bed next to Jeff, who was watching TV, apparently uninterested in the drama surrounding him.

            "I'm glad to see you had such a grand old time with Evolution," Chris stated, somewhat caustically.

            "It wasn't like that," Trish insisted.

            "Tell me, what was it like, Trish?" Chris asked, impatiently, hands on his hips.

            "We were only dancing with them because you guys were ignoring us," Trish began.

            "You guys were being dicks," Paris interrupted, giggling tipsily.

            "Anyway," Trish went on, trying to explain.  "When that fight broke out and the cops showed up, we had to get Paris out of there because she's underage.  We couldn't get to you guys through the crowd.  Chris, I swear nothing happened with Evolution—they just gave us a ride to the hotel.

            "Speak for yourself!" Paris teased, rolling around on the bed and earning a jealous glare from Rob at her suggestive comments.

            Chris' demeanor softened somewhat as he ignored Paris and focused solely on Trish.

            "I knew it had to be something like that," he declared, pulling Trish into a hug.  "I'm just glad you're OK, but why'd you let her get so wasted?" he asked, indicating Paris.

            "She was fine when we left," Trish said.  "It must be just hitting her now."

            "Where's Amy?" Matt suddenly demanded.

            "We walked her to your room and she passed out," Trish told him.  "Don't go wake her up and start more issues."

            "I'm going to bed," Matt stated, disregarding Trish's comments.  "You coming, Jeff?"

            Jeff hesitated momentarily, not really thrilled with the idea of sharing a room with Matt and Amy in their current state.

            "I think I'll crash in Rob's room tonight," Jeff replied.  "You and Amy probably need the privacy to sort out your…um, issues."

            "Whatever," Matt said as he curtly bid everyone goodnight and left the room.

            Jeff and Rob were the next ones to rise and move towards the door.  Before they left, Rob glanced at Paris, the disappointment in his eyes evident.

            "Thanks for a not-so-memorable first date," he remarked in a sharp voice.

            Paris detected the hint of sarcasm and jumping off of the bed a tad unsteadily, she followed him to the door.

            "Are you like, pissed or something?" she questioned, flippantly.

            "Why would I be pissed?" Rob retorted.  "You were only supposed to be on a date with me, but instead, you leave holding hands with Randy Orton—now, why would I be pissed about that?"

            "Look, I'm sorry, OK?" Paris replied.  "I guess I wasn't too keen on spending my first night in jail."

            "If you're not twenty-one, you shouldn't be in a bar in the first place."

            "Umm, OK—thanks, Dad!"

            "Look, Paris," Rob said, trying to control his anger at her overly cavalier attitude.  "It's not my place to tell you what to do—we just met and all.  It's not like I'm your boyfriend or anything.  I guess I shouldn't be surprised—you being so young.  I just don't appreciate being led on."

            "I didn't lead you on!" Paris exclaimed.

            "Bullshit!  You were flirting with me left and right in that locker room—wasn't she, Chris?"

            "Don't get me involved," Chris said, holding up his hands.

            "I guess if I'd have known how young you were," Rob continued.  "I wouldn't have taken it so seriously.  But hey—that's cool.  I guess we'll just be friends."

            "I wish everyone would just shut up about how young I am!" Paris shouted.  "I'm almost twenty-one and I don't appreciate being treated like a child.  I'm only here because my father is a sick, twisted person, who apparently, has gotten so bored with being the richest man in Vegas that he thought it would be fun to torture me by sending me here to co-exist with people like you and Triple H and your asshole brother!"  She paused for a breath as she pointed at Jeff.  "I'm sorry if I bruised your ego, Rob—but I'm free, white, and almost twenty-one, and I'll go home with whoever the fuck I want, OK?!"

            "Cool," Rob replied, regarding her outburst as if he could have cared less.  Paris was hot, but he wasn't interested in playing games with a spoiled brat.  Let her amuse herself with someone more her age, like Randy Orton or Mark Jindrak or someone like that.  Rob didn't have the time or the patience for it.  "Well, goodnight," he said, casually as he turned and strolled down the hall with Jeff.  Now, whose ego was bruised?

            Paris stared at their backs for a few seconds before slamming the door.  Ignoring Chris and Trish, she stomped into the bathroom where she showered and changed into her pajamas, all the while still perplexed by what had happened.  Rob's devil-may-care attitude had thrown her off course.  Men usually fawned over her.  Being treated like shit wasn't something she was used to and she definitely didn't like it.  Fuck what he said—it don't mean jack, she thought rebelliously.  After all, she still had Randy.

            And moments later, while Trish and Chris were sound asleep in the other bed, Paris crawled under the covers and dozed off with one subject still fresh in her mind—Randy Orton.

            Evolution definitely was a mystery.

Sorry it took so long to update—this was a long chapter.  Please review and let me know if I should continue.  Thanks for your patience.

--------Evilution