Here we are again folks. Wednesday night, which means more Lauren time!
xXBalorBabeXx, She does definitely need to tell Dean. Don't worry, he's going to find out eventually. But there's a bit more fun to be had before then!
Skovko, Dean being hot and annoying is definitely a problem. Although luckily it's a good kind of problem and Lauren doesn't seem to mind too much!
Mandy, You're always very welcome my love. My mum is doing okay. All clear but needs scans every six months just to make sure. Hopefully this chapter will be adorable too, although not for quite the same reasons!
Wolfgirl2013, Well, it's definitely not Dean, but other than that I'm not giving anything away because I want the reveal to be a surprise! (And also because I'm kind of cruel!)
Minnie1015, Haha. Glad you liked it. I figure that Dean would have picked up a few little tips of his own over the years...probably while drunk and with some random girl, but at least now he gets to try them out on Lauren. Another one for the sexy notebook I think!
Okay, who missed Roman?
Brotherly Advice
"Okay, so basically I play a character whose father is in business with a bunch of crooked cops — ,"
Matty frowned back at me,
"Dean?"
"No, he plays the hero."
"Naturally."
He pulled a small white towel from the shelf and then handed it over to where I was busy folding them and building them slowly into a haphazard pile which would then hastily be chipped into once the cameras were turned on and the never ending conveyor belt of sweat plastered wrestlers stank up the halls. It really was a luxurious business.
"Okay, so then what?"
"They shoot my dad in the chest in the first five minutes of the film."
Matty hissed back at me in horror,
"Ooh, spoiler tab."
"Sorry, but I'm not in that part so — ,"
"Not important. I concur."
He waved his slender hand in a rolling over motion that he clearly intended to spur me on and I beamed in response and even shook my head momentarily because I liked when the two of us found the chance for a catch-up, even if it was in the laundry room folding towels up like I had in the first few months that I had been working on the shows and back when he had been my superior and not my work soulmate and much treasured friend.
Huh.
In twelve short months I had worked a lot of roles there, from carrying water bottles and sweaty towels back and forth, to hopping the barricades as a valet for the Shield boys before finally being tasked with talking my way through what was happening, which I was still pretty much spellbound had ever come my way.
"What happens then?"
"Um — ,"
"When is the love making?"
I bit my lip to hide the bubble of a chuckle that was trying its hardest to bust out loose, since frankly there were so many bizarre similarities between my two kooky best friends it seemed a shame that they had never properly met. Although at least I had the chance to make that right next week, because the company was finally rolling into my home state and only one hour from the town I had been born in, which meant that at last the two parts of my world could be combined. Matt and Kelly were made to be buddies only neither of them knew it. By which I meant knew it yet.
I shook my head,
"Sorry no sex scenes this time, but we share a pretty hot finale smooch if that helps?"
"Please tell me at least there is sexual tension?"
"Lots and lots of it."
It was a point on which I felt confident promising since pretty much the whole movie — beyond the introductory killing scene and then the part that fleshed out the basic character of my hunky man — had simply been Dean and I together running through hallways and trying to slalom bullet fire as his traumatised cop persona tried to protect me from the men who had brutally murdered my father and needed to prevent us from rumbling their crooked scheme.
I remembered the near-kiss scene in the corridor and then shivered,
"Lots and lots and lots of sex vibes."
"Good."
For a second we fell into a comfortable silence not helped by the women who briskly stepped into the room then bustled about briefly behind us for a second, therefore killing our sexual tension talk. Although it had already moved on by the time she was finished since I had a brand new topic,
"Dean wants to move house."
"Oooh, where to?"
"Back to my hometown so I can have friends at the weekends."
"He is so cute."
I beamed back proudly because my man was a cutie, but beyond that I knew there was a second reason for the move, since in the previous few months there had been some break-ins in our neighborhood which had made him even twitchier about having to leave me on my own. Even with our furry teddy bear of a rescue pooch to protect me. But my hometown would be safer.
"He mentioned having kids."
"Well, I mean, that is the next step here, since you two have the house and the pet locked in already."
"Well, we have a house."
But if we moved lock stock and barrel then we would totally have to start that complex process for the second time, or maybe it was only the first time in essence, because while I might have moved in that was not that same thing and so therefore picking out our first marital home together would be new for the both of us.
Potentially hazardous too perhaps.
"What if we clash?"
"Huh?"
"I mean what if he wants modern and I want cosy and traditional?"
"Um, sweetie — ,"
"Or what if he wants the hills but I want the lake?"
Not that the last one was too much of a problem, since honestly I would have probably been perfectly happy perched up on a hill with the blue cool water blinking back up towards me and the town set way below us. But then that was not the point, since the point was I felt like there had to be something to run interference on my happy moving mood and what else could it be besides bickering with my husband?
Matty flicked me with a towel end and I squeaked at him,
"Hey — ouch."
"Sorry babe but you completely tuned out."
"Huh?"
"Dean of course mostly kisses you out of your daydreams, but frankly that was never an option for me here."
I blinked at him,
"Wow, okay. Should I be offended?"
My camp work bestie threw up his eyes and then scooped up the towel pile I had been busily creating before handing me half of them and prodding me back out towards the white washed halls.
"Sweetie you know if I woke up straight tomorrow then I would totally call you."
"Even before Lady Gaga or Beyonce?"
"Okay second."
"Then I'm still hurt."
Matty tried to slalom a packing crate of boxes and then blinked at me,
"Would you say no to Queen Bey?"
"Um, would anyone?"
"I rest my case then."
Matty nodded back and in response I tried not to bust loose an unsexy chuckle, because I was suddenly sorry that my sex mad husband wasn't there, since hearing me talk about sleeping with a woman was the type of thing that most male fantasies were made of and therefore would have probably made him barricade us in a locker room for some impromptu love making.
Mmm.
I may have imagined it a bit, which is probably why I then walked into a pillar and pulled my ankle again,
"Oh god damn it. Ow."
"Honey?"
"I'm okay, I tweaked my sprain, but I'll live this time."
Generally speaking — well, up until that point —my injury had actually been healing up well, and I had been able to feel it knitting back up again like my body was thanking me for taking things easy and for not living at my usual one million miles an hour. Dean was probably liable for some of the credit though, since he had carried me through hotels, or to the bathroom, or to the car and especially in the first week after it had happened when he had basically treated me like an oriental hand painted vase.
"Do I even want to know how that happened?"
"It was totally innocent."
"Uh huh, oh sure."
"I fell, but only because he mentioned us moving and I may have freaked out a little."
"Convenient."
"It's the truth."
Matty snorted but set up a pace once more as I nodded then carefully put the weight back on my foot, which protested mildly but not with the brutal knife pain and therefore made it seem like I would be okay to walk? Except possibly a little bit slower than we had been and with my incorrigible work bestie trying his hardest to make me laugh.
"Bet you two were at it like rabbits in the bushes."
"There was a man with a chow chow."
"Threesome huh?"
"No — ,"
"Do furry animals turn you on?"
Rolling my eyes I mimed locking my lips up and then bumped the towel pile a little higher in my arms as the top three were starting to slope a little violently and no way could I have ever have picked them back up if they fell. Besides which my mind was then totally preoccupied by a bizarre sort of program I had seen a few months before, about people who liked to pretend they were animals and had full costumes made and liked to eat from bowls on the floor and sleep in pet beds, or in crates in the kitchen, which I watched in pure astonishment with my actual real-life pooch who had turned his head back and forth in a confusion that my own face had matched perfectly.
Matty carried on,
"Besides, I think we both know that your husband is so laid back he would probably live in a box. So I'm pretty sure that Deano is going to be happy as long as you are. So pick whatever house you want."
He had a point.
Dean probably would have lived contentedly in most places, since nearly everywhere was better than the place he had been raised, or the room he had rented back throughout developmental which I thankfully never seen but which had been explained, with the words cockroaches and boat parts featuring so heavily that I had physically shuddered and then pushed back my food, because naturally he had launched into it when I had been inhaling a bowl of popcorn on one of our cosy romantic movie nights.
Ass.
But then the plus side of the horror of some of the places he had lived in meant that he was happy with limited perks, like non broken roofs and a fully functioning kitchen and a wide king size bed and a total lack of bugs and so therefore whether that came in an uber modern format, or in a traditional cosy cottage made no nevermind to him.
I bit my lip.
Dean and I would be house hunting and crap it was so exciting that I could have bust out in song and possibly would have had my cell phone buzzed suddenly in the pocket of the floral dress I had picked out to throw on.
I panicked.
Oh crap. Was it my phantom not stalker? Was he calling me again? Why wouldn't he just leave me alone?
I pushed the towels up onto a packing crate then plucked my handset loose.
Roman Cell.
Oh thank the lord.
I pointed to the towels in an elaborate motion which thankfully Matt seemed to understand at once and then threw him a wave as I headed back up the hallway, because it seemed nearly impossible to have two conversations at once and also because it was nearly time for the taping, meaning that it was best I tried to slap on some makeup or at least pretended to be a variation of ready. I hit the call button and then grinned,
"Hey Roman,"
"Hey yourself baby girl," his honeyed tones came back, in the low notes that had come to mean love and protection, not to mention hellacious biceps and a brutal right hook which hid his much sweeter more cuddly nature and the loyal protective streak I missed even more than most.
"How are you feeling?"
"Better by the hour. When my kid isn't trying to turn me into a damn play frame."
Awww.
From over the phone there was a childlike little giggle that I figured had come from his cute as a button little girl, who was probably thrilled that her beloved father was laid up a bit since it let them have some probably much needed family time. Even though that seemed to comprise of her bundling him and probably trying her hardest not too hurt him too much.
I chuckled,
"Think of it as her way of keeping you match ready."
"Talking of which, how are things?"
"Okay I think."
"Uce?"
"Other than moody because he misses his best friend?"
Roman snorted.
But I was being completely honest, because my husband had been in kind of a funk, which was probably because he had never liked backstage much and the perpetual mill of people and the panicked buzz before the show. But he seemed to cope better when his brother was there with him, not to mention that our enemies basically ran the show and so two pairs of eyes were better than one by a long shot, since my own tended to be rose colored. Or kidnapped.
But not for four whole months now.
Woo.
Roman rumbled on,
"Tell his crazy ass I'll be back before he knows it, but before that tell me how things are with you."
"Oh, um — ,"
It was far from the most confident start in existence and so therefore I could kicked myself for letting it out, since my plan had been to reassure him that everything was easy breezy. Except possibly not in those precise words. But instead I had managed to pull my too honest bit and clue him heavily into the fact that something in my world was blue, which was frankly the last thing that I had wanted to talk about and so therefore naturally what he leapt on in true older brother style.
"Has someone upset you?"
"Uh — no?"
"Hey now listen, I can't make it better it you won't tell me what it is."
Damn his parent mode.
Not to mention his comforting warm tones which would have probably compelled a hardened terrorist to talk and made me wish fiercely that my own father was more like him, because he truly was the most incredibly even tempered man and precisely the sort of role model I would have wanted when I was little, like the big old teddy bear he was. Not to mention that he would have scared the heck out of bullies or else any prospective boyfriends that had tried to come and call.
"Lauren?"
"Um, so I may have been receiving a few sort of messages — ,"
"What kind messages?"
"Text."
"Saying what to you exactly?"
"Uh — ,"
I turned a corner and then lowered my voice because the corridors were beginning to fill with hulking wrestlers, frowning and trying to pump themselves up, because heaven forbid they went out anything less than murderous. I shrugged my shoulders, which was totally useless because no way could he have seen it,
"Um, one may have kind of said that they — uh, you know — sort of loved me,"
"What?"
"Then the first one said something about me being beautiful, but I'm not sure — ,"
"Who sent them?"
"Um, yeah, soooo about that, because that might be part of the problem I'm having."
Roman caught on fast,
"They're anonymous you mean?"
"Yep."
For a couple of seconds there was a silence between us that I used to tuck myself into a quiet little spot, because I was only a few steps from the hair and makeup hotspot and the last thing I wanted was to be brushing on my blusher talking about my not stalker over the phone. Especially since it would then probably reach the stepmother that I still had not been fully convinced was not involved.
Randy too.
In fact I could pretty much picture them huddled like a coven of witches around a phone, tossing their heads back and cackling wildly as they typed out the poison missives and then sent them on, hoping to somehow ruin my marriage, or potentially my psyche.
"Lauren?"
"Oops sorry, I was thinking about witches."
Roman bypassed that part easily,
"Does uce know?"
"Um — ,"
Evidently that was fast becoming the question of choice from people, which therefore made it harder that the answer was no since it made me seem like I had been keeping things from him, which was both true but also not true as I tried to explain. Although not before my brother blew a long breath out which I figured was a complicated worried and wearied blend.
"Oh baby girl."
"But I mean, I have a good reason, because I'm nearly completely certain that my stepmom is involved."
"Dean still needs to know babe,"
I carried on blithely,
"I mean, we both know how much she loves to cause trouble and — ,"
Roman repeated himself,
"Lauren, hey. You have to tell uce in case something bad happens, or someone else tells him."
I felt myself slump back,
"Yeah I know."
I thought it was best if I left out the titbit about me nearly having told him the whole truth the night before, but then being thwarted by Dean pulling a pack of cards out and the sexy time that had followed pretty lustily after that, since even though the foreplay had been a hit and miss moment it had succeeded nicely in putting us both in the mood.
Huh?
I blinked as a narrow looking shadow fell in front of me and then felt my body tense up in fright, because even though my commentary work handed me some protection, being backstage on my own still made me nervous and particularly when people popped out of nowhere like spooks.
Luckily it was a runner.
"We need you ready for the show in five."
I nodded back.
Okay.
Roman however clearly heard the order, since he blew a long breath out and then cleared his throat a little before then letting an expectant pause fill up the space. Throughout it I could positively hear his face creasing to knit his brows together in the worried way he had and which was probably pretty close to how he looked at his own kid when she had made a poor choice and was being scolded by him.
I hurriedly tried to make it right,
"I promise I'll tell him the second the show is over."
"I'll hold you to that."
He probably would and knowing it made me then promise him a second time and potentially even a third beyond that. Because naturally I knew that I had to tell my husband, since a problem shared was a problem halved and all that and besides which I knew that it would make me feel better.
Not that there was anything to really worry about though.
Right?
Next week, Lauren has had enough and decides to confront the culprit...it has...interesting results (and yes I am totally being a tease!)
