I swear, these chapters always end up being way longer than I expect. But hey, no one's complaining ;)
Have I told you all that you're AMAZING because you are, and particularly so for the last chapter. Sorry I killed you with the ending, but I think you'll be satisfied with this ;) I'm super excited about the turn the story is starting to take and I can't wait to see what you all think, so please review once you finish the chapter!
Disclaimer: I own nothing but Hannah and the plot.
Chapter Ten
Feb. 18, 2013
Hyatt Regency New Orleans
New Orleans, Louisiana
The first thing Hannah felt was Jon's body against hers. Her back was snuggled up against his side, her head resting on the bicep of his outstretched left arm. She could feel the rise and fall of his chest as he slept; hear the soft sound of his breathing. He was warm, and the bed was comfortable. If she were being honest with herself she wouldn't object to staying there just like that for a while longer.
The second thing she felt was the excruciating pounding in her head. It was like a jackhammer was going away at her skull. How much had she had to drink last night? A lot, way more than she should have, but not enough to make her forget what had happened. Quite the contrary—she remembered every moment of the previous night. Every single kiss, every touch, every caress, every gasp, every heady moan that had escaped her swollen lips. He had teased her viciously and pleased her entirely. He had been gentle so she could get used to him, he had been rough when she asked for it, he had seemed to know just what to do to get her to curse and say his name and she had enjoyed every single second of it. Even now her skin tingled and her toes curled just thinking about it.
She had wanted it—there was no use denying it. Somewhere deep down she had wanted Jon, and last night she had allowed herself to have him because the alcohol had freed her from all her inhibitions about being with him. But now in the haze of the morning after, now that the alcohol had worn off she was thinking again. As good as it had been, as much as she knew she had genuinely wanted it she was waiting for the other shoe to drop.
She couldn't help but wonder if she had made a big mistake.
Jon stirred next to her, and the next thing Hannah knew her head unceremoniously hit the bed as he stretched both his arms into the air. Her temples throbbed harder; did he really have to do that? But then, unexpectedly, he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her body close against his. Her eyes fell closed. Somehow he still smelled wonderful.
"Good morning," he breathed, and her breath hitched in her throat—his lips had found that spot right behind her ear that drove her absolutely insane. Her neck was still tender from the night before but she didn't care. It felt too good. It made her forget about the pain in her head.
His fingers moved under her shirt—his shirt—and traced their way up her torso. His hand cupped her bare breast, his thumb brushing over the already erect nipple, and she couldn't help herself anymore; she maneuvered onto her back and his lips met hers. She ran her hands over the muscles in his arms and shoulders—fuck, she loved his arms—and wound her fingers into his hair. The kiss became hungrier, more passionate, and his touch roamed down to the top of her panties. She quivered underneath him, anticipating his next move, and when he pushed past the fabric and gently ran his fingers over her most sensitive spot she let out a moan—but then he suddenly stopped.
He smirked devilishly down at her. "Someone's eager."
Her expression immediately went from flustered to irritated. "You're an asshole."
That only made him grin wider, and he went right back to his ministrations. He sucked and nibbled at her neck. He pushed up her shirt and kissed his way down her stomach, leaving a trail of goose bumps along her skin. She was thinking again, wondering about the consequences, but she didn't want to stop him. He hooked his fingers in her panties and inched them down her hips, slowly—too slowly. She wanted to feel him again and she didn't want to think about it.
But then her phone blared from the nightstand. It was her alarm, and suddenly she remembered there was somewhere she needed to be.
"Shit." She reached for the offending device and quickly silenced the alarm—her headache was back. "I have to get ready to go to the WrestleMania 30 press conference."
"Oh right," Jon said. "I almost forgot you were a McMahon."
Hannah laughed wryly to herself. Sometimes she forgot she was one, too.
She shimmied out from underneath him and the covers and climbed out of the bed. Jon looked up at her with those penetrating blue eyes and smirked.
"I like the way you look in my clothes."
Prior to last night a comment like that would have caused Hannah's cheeks to burn pink, but not anymore. Deliberately she pulled the shirt up and over her head and tossed it at him, leaving her topless in front of him. He drank in her svelte body as she turned and walked toward the bathroom. She stopped in the doorway and shot him a coy look over her shoulder.
"I'm taking a shower. You can join me if you want."
That was all the invitation he needed; he rolled off the bed and followed after her into the bathroom.
Hannah would worry about the consequences later.
Monday Night Raw
Cajundome – Lafayette, Louisiana
"Seriously, Hannah, what is wrong with you? You've been zoning out all day."
Hannah shook her head, snapping herself to attention. She sent her sister a glare. "I told you, I didn't get any sleep last night. I stopped for one of those energy shots and it didn't do shit."
Stephanie's brows lowered at her snippy attitude. There was no mistaking the curiosity in her expression—she could tell something was up. It certainly wasn't the first time she had questioned her behavior that day. Hannah had been in her own little world at the press conference, so much so that Stephanie and Paul and even John Cena had commented on it. Stephanie had pried and prodded trying to figure out what was up, but Hannah had put up her defenses and blamed a lack of sleep; it wasn't, after all, a total lie. She had barely gotten any sleep last night.
But now that her sister was staring so inquisitively at her, Hannah worried she would have no choice but to come clean with the truth about what she had been up to last night. More than that, she was completely paranoid that someone somewhere somehow already knew the truth.
The possibility unsettled her. There wasn't any privacy in the WWE family; if one person knew it would only be a matter of time before another knew, and then another and another, and as the game of telephone goes the truth would become embellished and distorted and all of a sudden she wouldn't have only slept with Dean Ambrose but with Brad Maddox too, and so-in-so heard that she slept with this guy in NXT and, oh, this guy in Ring of Honor. Hannah likes fucking the prospects, don't you know? It's why she loves her job so much, because she gets to use her last name to be a filthy, dirty slut.
If anyone else could see inside her head it would be extremely easy for them to write off Hannah's paranoia as completely irrational. Hell, Hannah thought she was being irrational. But she knew there was more than enough reason to worry—she had already witnessed that very game of telephone befall other people in the business. It had happened to Kelly Kelly. It had happened to Mickie James. It could certainly happen to her, and the kicker of it all was that she had slept with someone else. If word got out that she had been with not one but two of WWE's biggest stars there really was no telling what rumors would be spread—or, more importantly, how it would affect her career.
"Did you drink last night?"
Again Stephanie ripped Hannah out of her worrisome thoughts. "Yeah," she admitted with a weary sigh. "Way more than I should have. My head was throbbing during the entire press conference."
"Do you feel okay now?"
"Yeah. Just tired, like I said."
She hoped like hell she would just leave it at that, but she should have known better. Stephanie McMahon Levesque was her father's daughter—she needed to know everything.
"Who were you with?"
"A bunch of people," Hannah deflected. "AJ and Kaitlyn, Nick, Daniel, Colby."
Ever so slightly Stephanie's eyes narrowed in suspicion—but Hannah decided she had had quite enough of the interrogation. They were supposed to be discussing that night's script.
"So are we gonna talk about what you called me in here for, or what?"
Stephanie pursed her lips, none too pleased with the smart-ass comment, but thankfully she moved on. "Tonight your fiancé will finally get his contract," she announced.
That was news to Hannah. "How? Is he finally gonna win a match?"
"No. He's not getting a wrestling contract. Vince McMahon has named him the Assistant to the Managing Supervisor of Raw."
Hannah paused. Brad Maddox, assistant to Vickie "Excuse Me" Guerrero. If he didn't grate her nerves already…
"Wait," she pondered. "How in the world are you explaining how he got that job? He's my fiancé, and the only person Vince McMahon hates more than me is Heyman. It would be completely illogical for him to grant Brad that position."
Stephanie's blue eyes suddenly twinkled with something mischievous. Hannah cocked her head dubiously. There was something up her sister's sleeve.
"Oh, trust me—there's a condition."
That couldn't have sounded more ominous if she tried. "Okay… what is it?"
The corners of Stephanie's mouth turned up in a portentous grin. "Vickie will bring you out to the ring tonight. You'll find out then."
Hannah's brow lowered. This didn't seem good. This didn't seem good at all. Paul was definitely behind it.
"That's all," Stephanie finished. "You should probably get to makeup. They're gonna need some industrial strength concealer for those bags under your eyes. You look like Phil."
"Oh that was good," Hannah sarcastically returned. "You must be real proud of yourself."
Stephanie's grin remained intact. Yes, she was proud of herself.
With that Hannah abruptly got up and made for the door—she was thoroughly done with this entire conversation—but just as she was about to set foot in the hall Stephanie stopped her.
"Oh, and Hannah. Whatever you do, just don't break character."
That was a warning if Hannah had ever heard one.
This wasn't good. This wasn't good at all.
"Excuse me!"
The Cajundome positively erupted with boos as Vickie Guerrero stood in the middle of the ring. Of course, the fans' hatred only encouraged her.
"EXCUSE ME! I am Vickie Guerrero, and I am the Managing Supervisor of Monday Night Raw!"
Hannah rolled her eyes. Her arms were crossed stubbornly over her chest as she glared at Vickie—this was the absolute last place she desired to be. Not only had she been bothered to come out to the ring for this announcement, but Paul Heyman was there too. Apparently Vickie's news pertained to them both.
The self-proclaimed cougar went on. "Now Paul, Hannah—let's not waste any more time. I said I had a huge announcement to make tonight, and this announcement could drastically change your career and your whole life, Paul. And Hannah," she turned a saccharine smile on the Chairman's daughter. "I'm sure it will affect you, too."
She chortled into the microphone. Hannah glowered at her. She wondered if she was in on Stephanie's little "plan" too.
"Tonight," Vickie continued, addressing the crowd more than she was the two people she had dragged out there, "I am going to be naming a new assistant for myself."
Paul was unimpressed; how was that supposed to "drastically change" his career and life? "And?" he charged. Vickie ignored him.
"Ladies and gentlemen, the Assistant to the Managing Supervisor of Monday Night Raw is… Brad Maddox!"
Vickie was grinning from ear to ear; Heyman's face was twisted in pure annoyance. Hannah, on the other hand, was nothing short of pissed.
"What?" she hissed. What the hell was Vickie playing at hiring her fiancé as her assistant? "What do you mean Brad Maddox is your assistant?"
Vickie's only response was that maniacal laugh of hers. Hannah could ring her neck—but then she saw Brad himself emerge from underneath the TitanTron, microphone in hand, and suddenly it was his neck she wanted to ring. He had agreed to this without telling her?
She snatched Vickie's mic from her hands and glared up the ramp at her fiancé. "Brad, what do you think you're doing?"
Brad was entirely nonchalant in the face of her fury as he strolled down the ramp to the ring. Of course he wouldn't have told her about this new position; he cared about absolutely no one but himself. It disgusted her.
"Please, babe, don't get your panties in a jumble; save that for later. I can explain. You see, Vincent Kennedy McMahon himself—dear old Dad—he made me an offer I simply couldn't refuse."
His smirk was so smug that it made Hannah physically sick. Her jaw hardened. This "offer" had to be what Stephanie had been alluding to.
"And now," Brad paused as he climbed the steel steps and ducked through the ropes into the ring. The pompous grin never once left his lips. "He's named me Assistant Managing Supervisor."
Hannah was deadly quiet. She was fuming as she stared back at him with darkened eyes. But before she could say or do a thing Vickie rudely and abruptly snatched the microphone back from her.
"Uh, excuse me, Brad," she started with a bit of a laugh, "it's Assistant to the Managing Supervisor."
"Right," Brad nodded. "Assistant Managing Supervisor."
"Assistant TO the Managing Supervisor."
"That's what I said."
"Is this my cue to vomit?" Heyman interrupted—but then Hannah took charge again. She grabbed Brad's hand and pulled his microphone slowly toward her mouth. Everything about her body language was a threat.
"What exactly was the offer dear old Dad made you, sweetheart."
Her tone was low, venomous, demanding. But before he could answer her, the man in question answered for himself.
"Oh I'll tell you what the offer was, Hannah."
Vince McMahon's gravelly voice sounded throughout the arena. Hannah looked up to find him staring down at her from the TitanTron. It was rather intimidating seeing him looming above her like that, literally larger than life. The only things that took away from his absolute dominance were the crutches he was holding.
"Correct me if I'm wrong, but last week you and Brad got into a little argument about, well, his work situation. You told him it was his fault he didn't have a WWE contract because he failed to win any of his sanctioned matches, did you not?"
"Mr. McMahon," Brad interjected, "with all due respect, I was the victim of poor officiating in every single one of those—"
Hannah snatched the mic from him before he could finish that statement. "Yes," she answered outright. "I said that, but only because he was trying to put the blame on me. It is his fault he doesn't have a contract."
"Uh, didn't have a contract, dear," Brad corrected. "Past tense. I have one now."
"Whoa, whoa," Vince spoke up and all their eyes were drawn to the TitanTron once again. "Not so fast there, Brad. I'm not done yet, and you know what our deal was.
"You see Hannah, that wasn't a very nice thing of you to say to your fiancé, now was it? I mean you love him, don't you? You should want to help him in any way you can! You should want to him to succeed! You do want him to succeed… don't you?"
Hannah's lips were drawn into a thin, agitated grin. That was the same exact thing Brad had asked her last week. "Of course I do," she sweetly returned.
Brad wrapped his arm around her shoulders and pulled her against him. "I love you too, sugar pants." It took all of Hannah not to gag.
"Well then I would say it's about damn time you helped him out!" Vince proclaimed. "It's about time you made good on your promise to get him a contract, and seeing as how you don't believe he can get the job done himself maybe you can. Maybe you can succeed where Brad has failed so many times."
Out of her peripheral vision Hannah saw Brad roll his eyes, but her attention was locked on her father's cruel, twisted grin. If this was going where she thought this was going…
"You see, the position I've given Brad Maddox as the Assistant to the Managing Supervisor is conditional because, well, it's on one condition that he'll get to keep his position: You have to win a match next week on Raw, Hannah. I'll leave your opponent up to Vickie."
A ripple of excitement rushed throughout the crowd. Vickie cackled. Hannah's jaw dropped. She was going to murder Stephanie.
"What?!" she erupted. She turned her anger on Brad. "You knew about this?! You agreed to this?!"
"Only because I believe in you, babe," he coolly returned. She could have punched him.
"I'm sorry, but what does any of this have to do with me?"
During the entire exchange between Hannah and Vince, Paul Heyman had been standing quietly aside. But now his agitation had spilled over. His bulging, incredulous eyes landed on Vickie. "You called me out here for this? This is my surprise? I mean, come on! I don't care that Brad Maddox is your new assistant, I don't care if Hannah gets her ass kicked next week—although I'm sure it will be highly entertaining—and I definitely don't care what any of you have to say. Thank you and goodnight."
He abruptly turned on his heel and started toward the ropes—but Vince had other plans.
"Whoa, whoa, whoa, Mr. Heyman! That's not your surprise! This is your surprise! Me, Vincent Kennedy McMahon, Chairman of the Board!"
Heyman froze, petrified. He swallowed a giant lump in his throat. But as soon as his pipes were clear it certainly didn't take long for him to change his tune. "And… and what a pleasant surprise it is, Vi— Mr. McMahon! You look fantastic! Two weeks—"
"Just close your mouth, Mr. Heyman. Because when your mouth is open, you're lying."
He might as well have taken Heyman's voice; he fell completely silent. There wasn't much he could say to that.
"If I do recall," Vince went on, "last week I granted you a wish for a special stipulation in your championship match, did I not?"
Still, Heyman couldn't speak. He was too worried about what exactly it was the Chairman was trying to accomplish with this interrogation.
"Not a trick question," Vince prodded. It was more than enough to get Heyman to answer.
"CM Punk and I requested that you add a stipulation to CM Punk's match against The Rock at the Elimination Chamber for the WWE Championship. And, might I add, Mr. McMahon, out of the goodness of your heart you granted us that stipulation."
Like the two-timing, swindling slime that he was, Heyman had resorted to a familiar defense mechanism: Ass kissing. It had worked for him plenty of times in the past, and he was certainly hoping it would work tonight. But his luck had run out.
"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Vince said. "First of all, everybody knows, you know, I know… I don't have a heart. If I did it'd be black. It'd be cold. But nonetheless, Mr. Heyman, let's take you back and show you some footage of last week."
Vince's image faded away to reveal a scene from the previous week's episode of Raw. Heyman and Vickie were in Vickie's office. Heyman was begging to Mr. McMahon on the other end of Vickie's phone. He would do anything if Vince would give him the requested match stipulation. Anything.
The footage ended and the TitanTron faded back to Vince. Heyman shut his eyes tight. He already knew he was about to eat his words.
"Hm," Vince started. "There was a key phrase there, what was it? Oh that's right: It was 'anything.' 'Anything,' Mr. Heyman. And if you'll recall, I had 'anything' put in writing."
Heyman was backed into a corner with absolutely nowhere to go. The video footage had completely taken away his ability to talk his way out of Vince's trap and he absolutely knew it. "Well, when I'm confronted with the video tape of course I'm gonna tell the truth here, and—"
"No, no, no," Vince interrupted. "You're incapable of telling the truth. But 'anything' means 'anything.' 'Anything' as in... I could fire you, right now."
A wave of excited cheers swelled through the stands at the threat. In start contrast to the fans' elation Heyman looked like he was about ready to piss his pants.
"That might be a good idea. Mr. Heyman…"
It seemed like Heyman's time was up, but then Vince trailed off. He shook his head. He was toying with him.
"No, firing is too good for you, quite frankly. Tell you what's gonna happen. I'm two weeks removed from hip surgery thanks to Brock Lesnar… and you."
Heyman's chubby jaw dropped open in protest. "I—I had nothing to do with that, Mr. McMahon! I—"
"Shut your mouth!" Vince snapped. It silenced him immediately. "So next week, Mr. Heyman, I'm gonna walk to the ring on my crutches. I'm gonna step into the ring and you're gonna be there too. And you and I… are gonna have a fight."
The only sound was the muffled thud of Heyman's mic as it fell to the mat; even the crowd was shocked into silence. Yet again, Vickie started to laugh. Brad smirked. Hannah, however, wasn't paying much attention to any of it. She was still brooding over the very real surprise of her match.
The show cut to commercial, but that certainly didn't mean the show stopped in the arena. Heyman had crumpled into a heap in the turnbuckle, and after Brad was through mocking him he turned to his fiancée. He tried to pull her toward him again, to appease her, but Hannah vehemently shoved him away.
"Don't touch me," she seethed.
She sent him a cold, hard glare, and he could only watch as she left the ring. "Babe, come on," he tried, but she wasn't listening. She clicked angrily away on her heels down the steel steps and up the ramp, and the second she returned behind the Gorilla curtain she made a beeline for her brother-in-law.
"What the hell, Paul?" she proclaimed. Everyone around stopped to watch but she truly didn't care. She was far too mad to care. "A match? You put me in a match and that's how you tell me?"
Just as Brad had been on camera, Paul was awfully casual for how absolutely heated she was. "It garnered a genuine reaction."
"Ugh!" she let out a groan and punched his arm. "I have a week! A week to learn how to wrestle!"
Again, Paul was all too nonchalant. "Well then I suggest you get to training."
"Come down to FCW for the week. I'll train you."
Hannah's hands curled into tight-fisted balls at the sound of Brad's voice. She didn't have to look to know he was smirking. She looked anyway. She wanted to slap him.
"How generous of you, Brad," Paul lauded. "Looks like you're all set, Hannah."
He flashed her that shit-eating grin she had become all too familiar with over the years. Her fists clenched tighter. Sometimes Paul infuriated her even more than Brad did.
"Hannah, Brad," a production assistant broke into the conversation. He seemed in a rush. "We need to film a backstage segment with you two now."
Hannah let out a huff; she was far from done with Paul, but this would have to continue later. She pointed an ominous finger in his face. "One day I'll make sure you get yours."
He just chuckled as she stalked off. "You'll thank me later!"
She was too mad to even dignify him with a response. Between Jon, Brad and the news that she would be wrestling on next week's episode of Raw, Hannah might just need another drink before the night was over.
"So I'm gonna take a wild guess and say you had no idea about your match next week?"
Hannah gave Colby a roll of her eyes as she tossed her things into the back of her rental. The show was over and everyone was heading off in a million different directions that night; some were going back home, some were traveling to Mississippi for tomorrow's SmackDown taping, some were even headed across the globe. She herself was more than ready to get back to the hotel and catch up on some desperately needed sleep.
"No, I had no fucking clue. I found out the exact same time as the entire world. I've never set foot inside a ring in my entire life—well, you know, to actually wrestle—and now I have a week to prepare for a match? I'm gonna make an idiot of myself."
"I'm sure it'll just be a short little ridiculous thing," Colby dismissed. "Don't worry about it. Do you have any idea who you're up against?"
She shook her head. "No. I'm thinking it'll be Layla, though. I mean, it has to be a face and I don't think it'll be Natalya or Kaitlyn. Something tells me I'm gonna win."
"Oh, I'm sure of it. Your fiancé has to keep his job."
Hannah ignored his cheeky grin. "So yeah, I'm flying out to Tampa tomorrow morning instead of Connecticut. I've already told Chris. Hopefully he'll have some time to teach me a thing or two. How early is your flight tomorrow?"
The Shield was among a group of Superstars heading to Doha, Qatar in the morning for the Raw World Tour. It was a 17-hour flight. Hannah could only imagine they had to be up at the crack of dawn.
"I don't even know," Colby sighed. "Too damn early. We're driving back to New Orleans tonight and crashing at the airport. I'm fucking excited, though."
"Yeah, I'm sure it'll be amazing. I wish I was going."
Colby just nodded, and then something happened that never happened between them—it got awkward. Not awkward because he didn't know what to say, but awkward because there was something he wanted to say and he wasn't sure how to do it. Hannah could tell just by the look on his face.
"What?" she asked, and his eyes darted around like he was looking for someone; like he was making sure no one was around who could hear. It worried her.
"I know it's none of my business but, well, Daniel and I saw you leave the bar with Jon last night."
Hannah's heart dropped into her stomach like a sack of rocks. Her pulse sped up and her entire body heated up with nervousness. She had been right to be paranoid. Someone, two someones, already knew what had happened last night. At least, they knew part of it.
"What did he tell you?" she asked. There was no doubt in her mind that Jon had told him something—of everyone on the roster he was the closest with Colby. He was the nearest thing Jon had to a best friend. Hannah's cheeks involuntarily turned a shade of crimson; knowing Jon, he probably would have divulged everything if asked.
Colby opened his mouth—but, of course, at that very moment exactly the wrong people interrupted them.
"Yo, Colby!" It was Roman, and he and Jon were walking toward them laden down with gym bags and suitcases. "We gotta hit the road."
"Alright," he answered, but then he turned back to Hannah. "He just said he was with you. We'll talk about it later." He got it out just before the others reached them. Hannah did her best to act casual, but she could feel her cheeks still burning. She was sure Jon would notice.
"So you're making your big in-ring debut next week, huh?" Roman said with a bit of a grin. "I'm sure you'll demolish whoever you're up against."
Hannah couldn't help her laugh. She relaxed a bit. "I don't know about that. The trainers will have their work cut out for them down in FCW this week, that's for sure."
"You'll be fine," Colby assured her. "Like I said—you're a natural."
Hannah did her best to smile. She could only hope.
"Well, we gotta get back to New Orleans," Roman said. "Our flight leaves at six which means our asses have to be up at four."
She winced. "That sucks. Good thing you can sleep on the flight."
"Yeah. Good luck training," he said as he reached out to give her a hug. "We'll see you next week."
"Have fun." She pulled away from him and gave Colby a hug goodbye, as well.
"Later, boss," he said, and he ruffled her hair as he and Roman started off toward their car. Hannah was left behind with no one but Jon. Her nerves started going again.
He looked down at her with those piercing blue eyes, his customary smirk in place. She fidgeted underneath his gaze. It was like he could see right through her.
"Do you regret it?"
It wasn't necessary for him to elaborate on what "it" was. She was already well aware—and, surprisingly, she had no qualms with answering the question.
"No. I don't." That was the honest to God truth. She didn't regret it, not one bit. She'd do it again. She was only worried what would happen if—and when—everyone found out.
"Do you regret it?" she asked. It was the scenario from his bedroom all over again, only reversed. Jon's smirk widened.
"I don't do things I would regret."
Her face burned red again. God, she really needed to stop doing that—but it certainly didn't help when he wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her body against his. He leaned down and placed a lingering kiss on the corner of her mouth, just close enough to tease her, to make her want more. Her eyes fell closed; part of her wished he had kissed her lips, but another part was thankful he hadn't.
He pulled away, and those blue eyes burned into hers. "Goodbye, Hannah."
"Bye." She could barely get the word out. He sent her a wink and a grin, and with that he left.
Her skin tingled where his lips had touched and her stomach pleasantly flip-flopped. Was it butterflies? She wasn't sure. It had been so long since she had felt them last. But then, from across the parking lot she saw someone who made her stomach do something else entirely.
Phil. He was staring right at her, and she could tell by the look on his face that he had seen everything.