It's Thursday and I remembered! Yay me!

Skovko, Yep, Seth made his bed and now he has to lie in it. But I do enjoy him being desperate to ingratiate himself again. It kind of makes him less annoying!

Mandy, I'm sorry you've had no luck on the job search, but I'm really pleased that you're taking time out to recharge and put yourself and your health first. As someone once said to me, 'you are your own biggest investment,' so you absolutely owe it to yourself to feel as good as you can. Hopefully this chapter will make you smile for a bit too!

Rebel8954, I'm not sure Lauren wants to take on anymore Divas…but I'm sure I can arrange for the Bellas to get what's coming to them at some point (*evil laugh*)

Wolfgirl2013, Hmm, well, there's a definitely a bit of a twist coming, but for once, it isn't Randy shaped (although I did toy with adding him to this story at one point).

xXBalorBabeXx, Kaylee is definitely in over her head. Although she doesn't quite know it yet. She will do shortly though… (hinthinthint)

Idcam, Interesting that you should mention Hunter, because he does pop up in the next chapter. I won't say why or what for though, so you're definitely going to have to tune in to find out!

Minnie1015, I realised how much I'd missed writing all three of them together, just bantering and being friends. It was nice to go back to that. Even if I did give Seth a minor injury because he still needs to pay for breaking up The Shield in the first place (lol!)

Final calm before the storm chapter…

She Who Must Not Be Named

In spite of my newfound resolve to beat Kaylee, I was spared having to see her in person on Smackdown the next night. Although unfortunately she had still made an appearance.

And it had still made me angry,

"I mean, seriously?" I barked, throwing my hands up in the air for the twelfth time since the pre-taped segment had flashed up on the screen and been beamed around the world to millions of viewers, "An interview from her hospital room? She was literally fine five seconds after it happened, and yet now she needs to be hospitalized?"

"My favourite part was when she flicked her hair over her shoulder and then suddenly remembered she was supposed to have a bad neck," Matt pitched in from where he was smoking beside me by the chain link fence around the backstage parking lot.

The show had ended half an hour beforehand and I was waiting for Dean to finish getting showered so we could head back to the comfort of the airport hotel, and hopefully do something to take my mind off my nemesis.

As in something sexual.

"Honestly, I was kind of surprised that she could flick her hair in a bright pink neck collar. Or that they made bright pink neck collars at all," Matt continued, sounding borderline impressed, "You know, sometimes I think that if she wasn't your mortal enemy, and therefore my mortal enemy as well—,"

"Aww," I grinned, appreciating the solidarity, which he pretended not to notice,

"I could almost, almost admire that bitch. Because I mean, she certainly knows how to be sneaky."

"No, Stephanie knows how to be sneaky," I clarified, "Kaylee just knows who to hitch her wagon to."

"And how to pretend to be injured," Matt supplied, in case I'd forgotten her earlier performance, and how choked up JBL had been at having to see her, quote, suffering so badly. He'd even called her an inspiration at one point, which may have made me laugh in derision.

Or okay, snort hysterically, which was near enough the same thing,

"Seth says The Authority is going to use Kaylee's injury to demand a rematch if she doesn't win against me on Sunday night. Which means that even if I actually beat her I might have to do it all over again, and what are the chances of me winning both times? Stupid Kaylee," I muttered, kicking a stone in frustration and then almost face planting as it point blank refused to budge. Which convinced Matt that we needed to switch up the conversation. Preferably before I accidentally concussed myself and ended being the only one of us at Fastlane who really was injured,

"Easy sweetie," he cooed, putting his hands up like was talking to a tiger. Or maybe something less ferocious. Like a disgruntled chipmunk, "How about we bring a new rule in and refuse to talk about her outside of the show?"

"Do you think that will work?" I asked, screwing my face up. Although frankly, it wasn't the worst idea I'd ever heard. Especially since I didn't even like talking about her.

Or thinking about her.

"Sure," he nodded back, stubbing the last of his Marlboro light out and then turning towards me, "We'll start right now and make a vow to not mention that harlot, or even discuss her-,"

"Hey, you two," a voice growled, not even letting Matt finish his sentence, "Do you know where we could find Kaylee Starr?"

I almost let out a groan.

Oh come on.

"That depends on who wants to know," Matt sassed back, as both of us turned towards the newcomers. Or newcomers plural to be exact, since there were not one, but two men peering in through the chain link that separated our cars from those belonging to the fans. Which I assumed these guys were. Although they didn't look like it, since they weren't wide eyed with excitement about being there, or clutching figurines still in their boxes, or replica belts, or even autograph books.

In fact, they looked more like debt collectors, and okay, was it wrong that I kind of hoped they were?

Yep, okay, that was definitely wrong of me.

Bad Lauren.

"We're her biggest fans, right Mick?" the first guy-who had a shaved head, and a tattoo of a heart with a knife driven through it nestling just underneath his left eye-said to the man who was standing beside him, looking equally as fearsome but not quite so bright. Not that either of them looked like members of Mensa, "And so we were just looking for a way to get in touch with her and tell her what a positive impact she and her husband have had on our lives."

I could already feel myself regretting the next question, although I still asked it anyway,

"Her husband?"

"That's right," guy number two sneered, stepping in closer. He was thinner than his buddy, but clearly what he lacked in girth he more than made up for in terms of raw attitude. In fact, he wasn't unlike Kaylee, "The wrestler guy? The one who wears the cool leather jackets. Dan Ambrose."

"It's Dean," I managed to huff, before realizing that Seth had been right at the diner. It seemed that Kaylee really did have fans. Even if they were a little on the creepy side.

"Uh, that's what I said. So, can you tell us where she lives?"

Okay, scratch that.

Her fans were very creepy.

Matt snorted,

"Oh please, as if we'd tell you. And besides, did you two not just watch Smackdown? Kaylee Starr is in the—,"

"Plaza. Room four-ninety-one," I interrupted before I had the chance to overthink it, or focus in on Matt's stunned looking gape, "She always stays there when she visits Los Angeles. But you'd better go quickly, because she's leaving tonight."

The first guy—nameless, eye tattoo sleazeball—smiled back crookedly, which made my skin crawl to the point that I had to hold back a shudder.

Because had I mentioned before how creepy he was? I had, right?

"See now? That wasn't so hard, was it?" he chuckled in triumph, not catching onto the ruse. Which was probably just as well, since I doubted he'd have taken it kindly, "The Plaza. Come on Mick, let's go."

In response, Mick—the skinny looking sleazeball, who had his fingers curled tightly around the links in the fence, like a prisoner staring out through his cell bars—took a step back and then spat on the ground in the universal sign of, yep, I'm a douchebag, before reluctantly turning around and sloping off back into the shadows after his buddy's considerable bulk.

At which point I let out the breath I'd been holding without even knowing it,

"Okay, that was weird. Hands up everyone else who was seriously creeped out by that," Matt observed, pointedly raising his own hand and then nodding in approval as I did the same thing,

"Yep, I concur, that was definitely weird."

"Speaking of which, what was that response just now? The Plaza?"

"Sorry, but I panicked, okay?" I shrugged, "And besides, do you really think they would have believed us if we'd just said, um, I don't know? I figured it was best to just try and get rid of them."

"And the fact that they referred to Dean as Kaylee's husband had nothing to do with that decision I suppose?" Matty offered angelically, like he didn't already know the answer for himself. Although since he did, I decided not to answer,

"So much for our plan not to mention her tonight. Ugh, I swear she's worse than a bad smell."

"Ooh, and speaking of bad smells," Matt whispered, as the backstage door to the arena banged open, revealing Kane, my father, my bitchy stepmother, and Seth.

This time I didn't even bother to bite my groan back.

"Oh come on."

Which in hindsight was a mistake, since it all but guaranteed them saying something mean to me.

And by them, I meant Stephanie. Obviously.

"Good evening Lauren. Random producer whose name I don't know," my stepmother sneered, nodding in turn at me and Matty, "I'm glad to see you looking so well. Especially compared to Kaylee, who's still suffering terribly after last night's show."

I shrugged,

"Well, if she wants to forfeit our match at Fastlane, then—,"

"No one is forfeiting," Steph snapped back, swiftly moving from smug faced and sing-song, to I'm about to murder you both with my bare hands, which probably would have scared me to death eighteen months ago, but now just made me bolder.

And only half scared to death

"Oh, by the way, I've been meaning to say to you how much I enjoyed the staff meeting this afternoon. I found it very," I paused to find the right word, "Informative."

Instantly, Stephanie turned bright red, although not from embarrassment like any normal person, but instead from some sort of inbuilt McMahon rage. Which was probably because the meeting in question had been called so she could publicly renounce the cowgirl thing, but had mostly been ten minutes of people sniggering childishly while she attempted to convince the roster it wasn't real and that she was the victim of a vicious smear tactic. Although looking back, she probably shouldn't have used the word smear, since that had only made the sniggering louder.

Behind her, Seth tried to smother a snort, and so did Hunter, which was pretty surprising.

Kane meanwhile was busy staring at the ground, which I guessed meant he hadn't quite gotten over the embarrassment of having imagined his boss in the act.

"If I find out you had anything to do with that," Steph hissed suddenly, stepping in close. Although thankfully someone in a nearby huddle of crew members chose that exact moment to yell out yeehaw, which made her snap her head to the side like a barn owl, and luckily saved me from dropping myself in it.

"Who said that?" she screeched in falsetto, as if she thought one of them would actually own up. Instead they shuffled closer together and stared back at her innocently, "You know what? I don't care. You're fired, you're all fired. So you can get your belongings and—,"

"Steph, easy honey," Hunter interrupted her in babying tones, which was presumably the only way to not get his head ripped off, "Come on, let's just go back to the hotel and have some of that expensive champagne you like, huh?"

"Well I still want someone to be fired," she huffed, although some of the fight from earlier had vanished.

"They will honey, they will," my father cooed in response, taking her arm like he was handling fine china and then gently leading her towards their chauffeured car.

Just as she was about to climb into the backseat, Dean appeared through the backstage door, with a rucksack flung casually over one shoulder and his acquired title belt clutched in his other hand. On seeing Steph, he grinned mischievously, which filled me with both girlish butterflies and dread, since on the one hand, it made him look super adorable, but also meant he was probably about to say something bad.

Or funny and bad, which wasn't much better.

"Yo Trips, I hope you packed your cowboy hat and chaps."

Instantly, Matt and the huddle of crew members erupted in a chorus of amused sounding snorts, which nearly made Stephanie get back out of the car again, although thankfully Kane sidestepped to block her way, which allowed my father to slam the door shut on her before turning to fix my husband with a glare.

"What?" Dean shrugged back, "I thought you guys were into that stuff."

Fighting hard not to snicker, Seth climbed in on the other side of the car, followed by Kane, and eventually Hunter, who clearly decided to pick his battles for once and focus on making his wife less homicidal.

Which was probably best for everyone.

"Did I say somethin' wrong?" Dean asked, turning around to face us wearing a shit eating, ear to ear grin, which made it almost impossible to stay mad at him, even though I pretended to,

"You know exactly what you did. And for your information, it wasn't even funny," I paused, "It was hilarious. But that's not the point."

"Wanna go back to the hotel an' see my point?" my husband asked with an even wider grin, which made Matt push off the low wall he had been leaning on and blow out a sigh,

"Well, that's my cue to go. Enjoy your evening my little sex bunnies."

I blushed,

"We're not really—,"

"Come on Princess," Dean smirked, putting a hand on my ass super obviously and then using it to propel me towards our rental car.

Someone in the crowd of crew members wolf whistled, and suddenly I knew how Steph must have felt. Only worse, because she had totally deserved it.

"Dean," I hissed, frantically batting him off, before remembering that I had the perfect revenge tool and raising my voice to a bellowing shout, "Yes, let's go home to our flock of baby chickens that you love sooo much you have them saved on your mmph—,"

The last part came out slightly muffled as Dean moved his hand from my butt to my mouth, but based on the snorts that rang out across the parking lot, I decided it still counted as a victory on my part.

"What? You do," I shrugged back innocently, as Dean flung his rucksack into our car and then passed the belt to me for safekeeping, as if it was our first born child.

Or, you know, a much loved chicken.

"So," Dean started, hopping up into the driver's seat, and uh oh, I sensed a change of topic approaching, "I saw that interview with Kaylee earlier on. It looks like they're really goin' in on this whole hurt deal."

I groaned,

"Tell me about it. And we just met two more of her fans, which means two more people who'll be cheering her on Sunday. Although," I blinked, thinking back to the tattoo, and the way that Mick had leered in through the chain link, "On second thoughts, she can keep them, because they were pretty weird. Even though I'd like her not to have any fans. Or my dad as her trainer. Or designs on my man. But apparently 2015 hates me."

To demonstrate my frustration I threw up my hands, then accidentally caught my knuckles on the metal plate of the title belt as I dropped them back down again,

"Ouch. See? I told you," I repeated, "This year hates me."

"Hey, first of all, no one hates you," Dean grunted, reaching over to take hold of my hand. Probably to keep me from somehow reinjuring it, "Except for Kaylee, an' Stephanie. An' possibly Bray. An' the Bellas. An' I'm pretty sure there's this one girl in caterin'—,"

"Um, was there a second of all by any chance?" I asked, before he bummed me out even further, or—, "Wait, which girl in catering?"

"An' second of all," Dean carried on, ignoring my question, "Ain't no point in you gettin' banged up as well. Which is why I got somethin' the two of us can do together to release some of that anger when we get back to the hotel."

I rolled my eyes and tried to bite a smug grin down,

"Sex. I know."

"Nope," Dean popped back, "Or at least, not first, 'cos we're totally doin' it after."

"After what?" I pressed with a frown, wondering what we could do in a hotel room other than sex that would work some anger out. Unless, "Ooh yay, are we going to do manicures?"

Dean threw me a look like I'd drunk his favorite hooch, then smirked. Which was cute. And also annoying.

"Trust me Princess. Have I ever let you down?"

"Only when you don't load the dishwasher properly. Or put your shorts in the hamper, or—," in response, Dean threw me yet another look. The one that promised sexy time revenge later. I giggled, "Okay, fine. Never when it matters dear husband. I trust you totally and with all my heart."

Which is how I found myself fully dressed and blindfolded in the middle of our hotel room half an hour later, clutching a thick feather pillow to my chest and trying to make sense of what we were doing.

As well as why we were doing it.

"Sooo, just to recap," I offered hesitantly, turning towards him. Or at least, an approximation of where I thought he was, "We blindfold ourselves and then try to have a pillow fight? Is that—is that the plan? Dean, helloooo?"

For a second, I debated pulling the scarf down, just to make sure he hadn't somehow left the room, only to be suddenly swiped by a pillow.

Or nearly swiped by one.

"Hey," I squeaked, jumping sideways as I felt the air rush past me and then turning and flailing my own weapon around.

I missed, but as a floorboard creaked somewhere over by the bathroom, I shot into action with a loud shout,

"Aha."

I missed again, but annoyingly Dean didn't, since the next thing I felt was his pillow whacking my butt, which nearly planted me onto the carpet.

I flailed and missed again,

"Ugh, I hate this game. I thought you said it would make me less angry? Because if anything, I'm feeling even more annoyed right now."

"Princess, quit freakin' talkin' an' focus," Dean grumbled back from behind me.

Huh?

Instantly, I swung back around and tried to hit him, but missed. Okay, since when had he developed ninja skills? Taking a chance, I sneakily pulled down my blindfold, figuring that was the best way to catch him unawares—

Only to find him beaming back at me broadly.

Not actually wearing his own blindfold at all.

"You cheat," I gaped, feeling borderline scandalized, "That isn't how you're supposed to play the game."

"An' how the fuck would you know Princess?" Dean grinned, clearly feeling proud of his ruse, "You hadn't even freakin' heard of it until like, thirty seconds ago."

"Okay true. But now I have, I want to play properly. Or win, so hi-ya, take that," I barked, swinging my pillow around like a hammer and catching my husband square in the chest, which made him curse and bend over double, coughing and spluttering to try and get his breath.

Oops.

"Oh god. Are you alright?" I gasped guiltily, scuttling over to see if I could help, "Do you want me pat you on the back? Or get some water? Or—,"

"Got ya Princess," Dean suddenly smirked, whipping the pillow out of my fingers before I had the chance to react, and then smugly starting to whirl both weapons like some sort of Star Wars inspired double headed sword.

"Ugh, I can't believe I fell for the cough thing," I groaned, resisting the urge to slap my own head, "The oldest trick in the blindfolded pillow book."

"So does that mean you give up an' like, bow to my brilliance?" my husband taunted me, wiggling his brows.

"Ha, dream on you big cheat," I responded, poking my tongue out to show the game was still on, whilst simultaneously trying to figure out how to get my pillow back. Dean's cell phone beeped somewhere under the bed covers and as he turned to look at it, I decided to take my chance.

Which unfortunately, didn't turn out too well for me.

"Sneak attack," I yelled at the top of my lungs as I suddenly launched myself headfirst towards him. Which in hindsight, probably clued him in to my advance, considering how easily he sidestepped away from me, and slapped me on the ass cheek as I shot past like a dart, then tripped on his discarded boots—yes, both of them—and ended up in a heap on the bed, "Okay, that did not go like I had planned it."

"Worked out perfectly for me," Dean growled, dropping the pillows and diving towards me with that same look from earlier that had promised sexy time revenge.

Instinctively, I scream-giggled and put my hands up, although I needn't have worried, since Dean hadn't squashed me yet, and as a wrestler, his ability to land with precision was thankfully a whole lot better than most. If my ex had tried it, he probably would have killed me. Not that he would have tried it.

"You're such an idiot," I grinned, reaching up to wind my arms around his neckline as he bench pressed up over me, trapping me in on all sides and flooding my senses with innate Deanness. From the scent of his shower gel, to the mintiness of his breath. Blue eyes, crinkled around the edges from smiling, gazed down at me above a stubble faced grin. All of which made my downstairs tingle and my heart skip in happiness.

"I love you husband."

"I love you back," Dean smirked, dipping his head down closer so he could plant a scratchy chinned kiss on my lips. And really, who would have thought that being scraped at by beard hair mid-smooch would be as wildly sexy as it was? Because was it ever. Dean had made me a convert. I was beard hair or nothing. Except for when he shaved that was, "Even though you suck at blindfolded pillow fights."

"Uh, only because someone broke the rules," I countered, pulling him down for another kiss and then gently tugging on his lip, which made him growl.

"Wanna break some more rules Princess?"

"As in state rules?"

"I mean, I was thinkin' more common decency rules, but I guess we can break a few state laws while we're at it," Dean shrugged, like he was giving it some serious thought.

Oh god. He was, wasn't he?

"Just shut up and make love to me," I giggled, pulling him down again, but this time with no plans to let him back up for at least thirty minutes.

Hopefully more.

Because even if Kaylee won at Fastlane on Sunday—fake injured neck, dislocated boob, or otherwise—I would still have the one thing she could never win. No matter what she did.

I still had Dean.

And some chickens. I had those too.

Next week, it's the night of the big fight. And yes, I do mean next week, because I've decided not to keep you hanging for two weeks for that one.

See you then!