On time this week. Yay. Go me!

xXBalorBabeXx, If only! There's still more Kaylee to come I'm afraid. But at least I'm giving you a couple of chapters without her! Consider it a Kalyee vacation.

Rebel8954, Aww, thank you. Felt nice having a birthday (mostly) out of lockdown. I almost didn't know what to do with myself!

Idcam, Yeah, as much as Lauren hates Hunter, he's still her dad. And you're never too old to get jealous over your dad!

Minnie1015, What is it with me and comparing things/people to animals? Also, not the first time I've included a squirrel. Maybe that's an obsession too!

Mandy, How are you doing? Sorry that the company interested in you is being unprofessional. That sounds so frustrating. Any luck on finding a travel partner for your big trip? Glad my stories can cheer you up when you're feeling down. Hope this chapter makes you smile too. Big hugs as always.

Wolfgirl2013, Yep, wherever there is a nefarious plot…there's Stephanie!

Crazyredhead2005, Glad it made you laugh. I felt it was about time for a chapter with all kinds of crazy (beyond the usual amount that is!)

Phoenix lord of rebirth, Thanks for the birthday wishes! Nice to have you back onboard the crazy train (lol!) Hope everything is okay in your world (at least it's not as wild as Lauren's, right?!)

Time to find out what Dean's mom is involved in…

The Writing's On The Wall

"Great show tonight, don't you think?" Stephanie asked me brightly as I stepped into Gorilla position an hour later, feeling both emotionally and physically drained. Since between the tag match and the trampoline session, it had been a pretty full on kind of day.

Not that Stephanie cared about that part.

"I especially liked how well Dean and Kaylee worked together," she carried on tauntingly as I stared daggers at her head, and mentally pictured it suddenly exploding and spawning a million miniature Stephs—which I also may have imagined myself stamping on like cockroaches, "It was like the two of them hadn't missed a beat. But then again, when you have that kind of chemistry with someone, I guess it's just like riding a bike. Although oops, perhaps I shouldn't say riding, it might make you jealous."

"Look Steph," I snapped back, before stopping and forcing myself to paste a smile on rather than getting angry and giving her what she wanted. Not that I wasn't mentally stepping on her tiny mini me's and listening to them screaming, "You can say whatever you want, because unlike you, I'm not so insecure about my marriage that I'm worried about someone else taking my spot."

In response, my stepmother narrowed her eyes so violently, that for a second I thought she'd squeezed them closed.

But nope, my mistake, there they were.

Glaring at me.

"Well, I'm glad to hear that Lauren," she sneered, "Because I've got some ideas for their tag name moving forward and I wanted to run a couple past you."

"Their what?"

"Their tag team name," Steph shrugged like it was obvious, before letting out a fake sounding, tinkly little laugh, "I mean, you heard the audience out there. They loved it. Which means we'll have to make it a regular thing. So, what do you think about The Real Ambroses? Or—my personal favorite—Love's Young Dream?"

Instantly my earlier resolve not to get angry went straight out the window,

"You want to know what I think?" I snapped, which heightened the excitement of a nearby group of runners who were trying to pretend they weren't listening in. Trying and failing, but that wasn't my problem, "Because I think you should take your idea, and shove it up your—,"

"Mrs McMahon Helmsley?" one of the producers interrupted with a wince. Which was probably well placed, since Steph rounded on him and practically made him scramble back,

"What?"

"Uh, the security company would like to speak with you. They say they have fans acting suspiciously outside and trying to find out names and addresses."

My stepmother rolled her eyes skywards,

"Fine."

Standing up from the catering table she'd been using as a makeshift desk, Stephanie shot one last narrow eyed sneer at me, then turned and flounced away on her heels, convinced she'd had the last laugh of the evening.

Which she might have done.

If she hadn't accidentally left her phone.

The urge to reach out and take it was overwhelming. But I couldn't do, right? I mean, she was the boss. And besides, what if someone needed to call her and tell her something was wrong with the show, or that something was wrong with her father, or—I don't know—that her house was on fire?

Although, she had been the evil mastermind behind the tag match, so on balance I figured that making her panic for an hour or two was probably okay. Especially since she had once tried to kill me, and blamed Dean for a crime he didn't commit.

So yeah, I was definitely taking her cell phone.

"Be cool Lauren," I muttered under my breath, before realizing it was probably cooler to not stand around and talk to myself.

Luckily, seeing there wasn't going to be a bitch fight, the runners had moved off to get on with their jobs, which meant that apart from a couple of crew members winding up cables, gorilla was quiet.

Not that it stopped my heartbeat from pounding as I snatched up the phone and snaffled it away up my sleeve, feeling like some notorious robber. Bonnie Parker perhaps, but without the murdering bit. Or Belle Starr minus the horse thefts and bootlegging.

Turning around, I went to skitter away, but ended up kicking the leg of the table and nearly falling flat on my face,

"Ooh crap."

In response, the two crew members stopped and looked up at me, which made me turn crimson.

And ramble.

"I'm fine," I chirped brightly, holding my hand up, before realizing it exposed the phone shaped bulge in my sleeve and whipping it back down as if I'd been scalded, "Just, uh, you know, not looking where I was going. But I guess we've all been there, am I right?"

Based on the unimpressed looks they both shot me, I figured I wasn't.

"Well, anyway," I announced, taking a cautious half step towards the hallway that led to where the locker rooms were, and then thumbing backwards over my shoulder, "I'm just going to, uh, you know, go. But um, great show tonight. Keep up the good work."

Before they could answer—not that they were going to, considering that neither of them seemed to be the chatty type—I turned and skittered away from gorilla feeling elated and nauseous all at once. Which I guessed was only natural since I was a thief now. On the run from the law. Ducking and diving. Always one step ahead of the—

"Lauren?"

"I didn't do anything," I yelped, probably making Belle Starr and Bonnie Parker simultaneously roll over in their graves. Because who was I kidding? I wasn't an outlaw.

Fortunately however, instead of the police, or Stephanie and her pack of flying monkeys, the only people stood in front of me were Roman and Dean, both of whom were looking at me suspiciously.

Dean's frown narrowed in concern,

"Did you hurt your arm?"

I blinked at him,

"Huh?"

"Your arm," he repeated, nodding towards the one I had clamped to my chest. The one I had my stepmother's cell phone jammed up. He moved forwards to look at it, "Do you need to see a doc?"

"Um, nope, I'm fine," I sung back at him, moving away as a runner bustled past, which made me look more guilty than ever.

Dean raised a brow at me.

"I'll tell you later," I whispered more loudly than was probably necessary. More than likely because of the nerves.

In response, Dean screwed up his face in confusion, and for a second he looked like he was going to ask more, but then Wade Barrett walked by in the background and his attention shifted like a laser focussed cat.

He patted my arm,

"Okay Princess, you do that. But in the meantime, how 'bout you go start the car?"

"Why?" I asked, feeling suddenly suspicious, despite the fact I'd been acting pretty suspiciously myself, "What are you going to do to Wade Barrett?"

He looked at me,

"What have you got hidden up your sleeve?"

Damn.

"Meet you in the car?" I conceded.

"Be there in five minutes," Dean growled back, sliding past me after the Englishman who had rounded the corner, unaware he was being stalked.

Beside me, Roman shook his head fondly,

"Come on baby girl, I'll walk you out."

"Do you know what he's up to?" I asked him, since Dean had told him about the handcuffing thing, and so I figured it stood to reason that he may have shared his latest plan. Although calling it a plan may have been slightly generous.

Roman held his hands up,

"Nope, not this time. In fact, I don't know what either one of y'all are doing. And that's the way I'm aiming to keep it."

I reached over and patted his shoulder,

"Yeah, I think that's probably for the best. Because that way you have plausible deniability if the police have to come and ask you questions later on."

"Well, let's just hope it doesn't come to that," he chuckled, pushing open the backstage door and then holding it ajar so I could step out before him. Because aww, he was such a gentleman and—wow it was cold. Sucking a sharp breath in, I pulled my jacket closer and then started to root around for my keys.

Luckily the bags were already in the rental, since thanks to Dean's insistence on peeing people off and my predeliction for getting into trouble, he liked to keep things ready to move. Besides which, he tended to travel light anyway, and since I wasn't a diva or a Kaylee, I only had one suitcase and my purse, which, okay, was one of those really big slouchy ones, but it fit a lot of stuff in and I could carry it everywhere, and stash it under the desk during showtime.

Or behind the desk if the desk got smashed.

"So, how are you feeling about the whole Kaylee tag match thing?" Roman asked as the door banged shut. I waited for him to fall into step with me, then shamelessly ducked around to stand on his other side in the hopes that his muscles might block some of the wind out.

They didn't.

"Well," I shrugged, "I wasn't feeling too bad until Stephanie told me they were going to make it permanent and then basically assaulted me with a bunch of team names."

Roman winced,

"Damn, uce is gonna hate that."

"So what with everything that's going on with his mom—,"

"Wait, what's going on with his mom?" Roman frowned at me, because, oh right, no one knew about the blackmail phone thing apart from me and Magnum P.I. Kelly.

I paused,

"Um, I just meant her staying, that's all. And the part where she's drinking Dean's favorite whisky."

"The hickory smoked Jack Daniels. I heard," Roman nodded back, looking remorseful, since he knew how much Dean treasured his Jack. Ugh, Roman would have totally made a better houseguest, why couldn't he have invited himself to stay instead? "But that's why you're staying at uce's old place tonight, right? To try and find a reason to get her to leave?"

"Uh, yep, something like that," I offered vaguely, before changing the conversation by unlocking the car and then turning and throwing out my arms for a goodbye hug, since I wasn't going to see him for six whole days now.

"Alright baby girl, bring it in," he chuckled back, drawing me into his multiple layers, because if the weather was cold to a native Midwesterner, then it must have felt Polar to a sun scorched Floridian.

"Stay out of trouble," I grinned in response, levering myself up into the driver's seat with Stephanie's hidden cell burning a hole through my arm.

Roman lifted a quizzical brow at me,

"Isn't that what I should be saying to you?"

"Good point," I nodded, looking down as my phone buzzed with a photo message from Kelly, "I mean, not that I've done anything bad. Well, not too bad anyway. I just stole Steph's—,"

"Nuh uh," Roman put his hands up, "Plausible deniability, remember? And besides, I'm too beautiful to go to jail."

"You got that right," I grinned as he pretended to toss his hair, which was tied back and stuffed under his hood and a beanie, presumably to stop it from turning into ice.

In the pause, Stephanie's cell started ringing.

From inside my jacket.

"I still don't wanna know," Roman responded, keeping his hands up as he slowly backed away from the car with a wink and melted into the late night darkness to meet up with Seth, who was giving him a ride, since the two of them were heading back to the airport and not to Dean's old house like we were.

Which left me alone with Steph's ringing cell phone and the beginnings of what were possibly some sort of guilt based heart attack.

In a panic I flapped the cell out of my jacket sleeve and winced at the call screen, expecting it to be Steph. Which meant she had already noticed it missing and was calling it to try and hear where it was. Which also meant she might call the police next, or hire a detective, or—

Oh, it was just Kane.

Calming down slightly, I cancelled the ringtone and then looked at my phone to check the picture Kel had sent.

Before almost immediately wishing I hadn't.

"What the heck?"

Someone had parked a motorhome on my drive. A brand new motorhome that was the size of a house and still had the warranty sticker in the window. And by someone I meant my sneaky mother in law. Wow. Kelly really hadn't been kidding about the spending spree. But where had she got the money from? Tim? Tim who couldn't afford his own clothing?

I opened the message box to send a text back, then nearly completed my earlier heart attack as Dean flung open the passenger door and launched in like the cops were chasing him.

Wait, they weren't, were they?

"Okay Princess, let's roll. Before anyone figures out this thing is missing."

"What thing?" I asked, obediently starting up the car while simultaneously narrowing my eyes at his hoodie, which seemed to have a large bulge in the front. Not that Dean actually noticed me looking, since he was too busy checking the rear mirror out. Presumably in case anybody was chasing us.

Stephanie's cell rang again.

Damn.

"What's that?" Dean frowned, suddenly noticing the iPhone wedged in the cup holder.

I winced,

"Ummm, I may have kind of borrowed something."

"Me too," he shrugged, waiting for the barriers to close and safely spit us out onto the freeway before revealing what was hidden beneath his hoodie.

"Dean," I gaped, as a familiar white strap and shiny brass name plate fell into view, "You stole Barrett's belt?"

"You stole Stephanie's cell phone?" he countered.

"How did you know it was Stephanie's?" I frowned. In response, he lit up the lock screen and turned it round to me, which showed a background photo of Hunter and Steph that looked too cutesy to be my father's. Not to mention that fact he hadn't been there tonight, and someone else having that background would have been super creepy.

"Okay, so both of us borrowed things tonight," I offered, preferring the word borrowed to stole. Not that Dean would have listened to either.

"What do you think her pin code is? Wait, what date did she an' Trips get hitched on?"

"November fourteenth, nineteen ninety nine," I replied absently, since back when I had been Hunter's daughter I had memorized it so I could buy them a card, "But don't think for one second you can change the subject here mister. Because I get that you want to get Barrett riled up, but you just stole, uh, I mean borrowed company property, which means that Vince could call the cops. And you know that Hunter and Steph are going to want him to. So maybe—,"

"Alright, I'm in," Dean chirped, holding up the cell phone in triumph before turning towards me, "Were you saying something just now?"

I blinked,

"Yes. No. Hold on, you're in her cell phone?"

He grinned at me,

"Yep. So, what's the first thing we should do? Add a couple of dick pics to her gallery? Change her old man's number to unknown?"

"Or we could send a text to everybody in her contacts saying something embarrassing," I suggested with glee. Because yep, being in the wrestling business had changed me. Well, either that or the past nine months of being tormented by my wicked witch stepmother had. Yeah, in hindsight that was probably the reason.

Not that Dean helped,

"Fuck. That's a great idea. Although we should probably leave out Vince an' Hunter, because they'll know right away that it isn't from her," as he spoke, he was already scrolling Steph's contacts and adding the name of every wrestler he saw, as well as JBL, Michael Cole and Jerry Lawler, "Now we just gotta figure out what to write."

"Would I'm a terrible person be too obvious?" I mooted to a snort from my husband,

"Uh, yes. An' besides, everybody already freakin' knows that. Which means we gotta think outside the box here."

Furrowing his brow, he thought for a second, then abruptly broke out into a simple faced grin that almost made me drive off the freeway and up the embankment in a love struck haze. Well, that and a flicker of sudden apprehension.

"What? What is it? What are you typing?" I asked him, trying to simultaneously see over his arm and not veer across three lanes of traffic, "Does that say I like it cowgirl style?"

"Yep," Dean smirked, hitting the send button before I could argue and then rolling down the window and tossing the cell out. Which made my voice rise several octaves.

"Dean noooo. What did you throw it away for? Steph's going to kill us if she finds out."

"Exactly," Dean shrugged like it was obvious, "If she finds out. Which she won't if it's in a ditch instead of in our rental car, or at my mom's house."

"Oh," I blinked, calming down, "Good point."

Seeing the signs for Dean's old neighborhood, I hit the indicator and peeled off the freeway onto an industrial looking four laned road that was lined with small, rundown looking dive bars, assorted gas stations and three fast food joints. None of which looked all that wholesome.

Dean's mom's apartment was down on the left, and hadn't changed much since the first time I'd seen it. Except for the couch that had been abandoned out in front. Or else placed there for passing hikers. Although that seemed unlikely.

"Here we are then, home sweet home," I chirped, pulling the rental up behind a battered Nissan, and trying hard to sound a whole lot brighter than I felt, "Will passengers please take all their belongings, and remember to tip their driver on the way out. Thank you for riding with Lauren International. We hope you have a pleasant stay."

"What, here?" Dean asked, jerking a thumb at the window as a group of teens suddenly rounded the bend. And then stopped so one could pee on the sofa.

"Maybe he has bladder problems?" I hedged, making a mental note not to sit down on it, or go within a twelve foot radius of where it was. Which was going to be hard since it was right by the front door.

"Well he's goin' to have an even bigger fuckin' problem if he's still got his dick out when you walk past," Dean grumbled, shooting a glare through the windshield.

Aww.

Reaching over, I grabbed hold of his hand and then gave him the best wink in my arsenal.

"Don't worry. I promise I'll still like yours the best. Now come on, let's go in and root through your mom's stuff to try and find a reason to throw her out of our house."

Thankfully, by the time we hauled out our cases, the overly hydrated teens had moved on, so we were able to make it into the apartment without Dean punching anyone in the face, or having to tie a knot in their penis, which I took as a victory after the evening we'd had.

Inside, the cigarette smoke smelt stronger than ever, despite the fact that Dean's mom had been away for two weeks. Although at least there was a pile of mail on the doorstep which I swept up eagerly and began to leaf through as Dean went around and turned all the lights on with the Intercontinental belt fixed around his waist.

"Are you going to wear that thing all night?" I giggled, disappointed to see that most of the letters were bills, and not notes explaining what Dean's mom was up to, or what she'd done wrong and who was threatening her.

"Why? Is it gettin' you in the mood?" Dean grinned back, waggling a deeply suggestive brow at me before starting to swagger towards me across the room. As he came closer, I put down the letters and wound my arms around his neck instead. Rising up onto my tiptoes, I kissed him, completely forgetting about the reason we were staying, and about the motorhome parked on our driveway, and about Kaylee, and everyone else, since suddenly all I could see and think about was the blue eyed hunk stood in front of me.

"Mmhmm."

"Then how about we go into my mom's room an' make ourselves at home in her place?"

"Only if we can change the sheets first," I whispered, dragging my lips down over his chin and then beginning to follow his neckline.

"Fuck," Dean grabbed my hand, "Come on."

By the time we reached the door, we were already stripping—and kissing, since neither of us wanted to stop that—which meant that it took us a couple of seconds to notice the broken window and the billowing drapes, and a split second longer to notice the message scrawled in red paint right across the bedroom wall.

Or at least, I hoped it was red paint anyway.

Last chance bitch.

Give me my money or else.

Next time, Dean, Lauren and their houseguests have a little talk...