AUTHOR'S NOTE: Well, after reading all those complaints about how every other romance fic you see is a Steph/Y2J one, or how there's no original pairings, or how it's always the same couple over and over, I've decided that, for my first ever attempt at writing a serious romantic WWF fic, I'm not going to risk getting accused of writing about the same pairing, and took a wild gamble by pairing up a WWF diva with someone who's not even in the WWF! -_- Hope you enjoy, anyway. And for those of you who can't guess who it is after this first chapter, I'll reveal his identity by the second installment of the ficcy. ^_^
AUTHOR'S NOTE NO. 2: This is in no way, shape, or form a Hardy Boyz fic! I just happened to like the name Twist Of Fate, that's all. That, and it all ties in with what will happen later on in the story. I don't even like the Hardys; I don't have anything against them, but you won't exactly find me running around calling myself Jeff Hardy's Babe, or Matt Hardy's Gurl, or Mrs. Matthew Moore Hardy, or whatever! They're fun to watch in the ring, and I suppose to some girls they're sort of eye candy, but seeing as how every romance fic seems to be either Steph/Y2J or Hardy/Mary Sue, I figured this section didn't need yet another Hardy Boyz fic.
Chapter One
She wears a coat
of color
Loved by some,
feared by others
She's immortalized
In young men's
eyes...
Trish Stratus hurried through the hallways of the arena, making a beeline for the temporary creative office that Stephanie McMahon had set up to go over some last-minute script changes. Contrary to popular belief that the two shared real-life heat (it must have been that famous feud leading up to their 2001 No Way Out match up; the two beautiful divas had done such a convincing job that they hated each other, a lot of clueless fans had actually believed the two were always down each other's throats), Trish was actually very good friends with the curvaceous princess of sports entertainment. The twenty-six-year-old blonde bombshell had a match up later that night against the reigning Women's Champion, Jazz--something she was both looking forward to and dreading at the same time--and she was anxious to know how the match was supposed to go. Specifically, how many hard bumps she would have to take. It was always a thrill wrestling with Jazz; she was one of the most athletic wrestlers--not just woman, but wrestler--in sports entertainment. But she also had a way of inflicting pain on her opponents. Hell, the way she dished out a beating, Jazz made Jacqueline look all sweet and innocent in the ring--and that was saying something. Needless to say, Trish was reasonably worried about how her match up with Jazz was supposed to go. Did Stephanie expect her to take most of the beating? She sure hoped not.
Trish
glanced at her watch, and noted anxiously that there were only three hours
left till showtime. Three hours until the Superstars went live with WWF
Raw. That didn't give her a lot of time to speak with Stephanie, go over
her match with Jazz, and warm up before the show, so Trish increased her
speed. Since she had her eyes fixed on the crystal face of her watch, and
since she was practically sprinting through a fairly crowded hallway, it
wasn't long before Trish collided with someone. She let out a grunt, as
she smacked full force against a man's chest, and was knocked back a couple
of feet. She would have probably fallen rather unceremoniously on her sequined
behind, too, had someone not reached over and quickly grabbed her wrist,
helping her regain her balance.
"Whoa,"
a rich male voice spoke up, "are you okay?"
Trish's gaze was fixed on the floor as she rubbed
her forehead with the heel of her hand.
"Yeah,"
she started to say, her eyes traveling upwards to meet the young man's
face. She promptly froze, as she took in the sight of his chiseled physique,
long brown hair, and boyish good looks.
"Wow,"
Trish murmured, speaking more to his magnificent shoulders and chest packed
into a classic white tank top, "you're fine." She suddenly realized what
she had just said, and quickly shook her head.
"I
mean, I'm fine," she quickly corrected herself, a blush beginning
to stain her cheeks. "I'm fine. As in me. Not you. I mean, not that I'm
saying you're not fine. I mean..." What the hell am I doing? Trish
thought to herself in dismay, as she quickly clammed up to prevent any
more embarrassing blabber from escaping her lips. The young man responded
with a charming smile, an amused glint in his beautiful brown eyes, as
he said, "Glad you're all right." And he started to leave.
"Wait!"
As soon as he turned around, Trish started mentally
kicking herself, wondering why she'd even called out to him.
"Yeah?"
he asked pleasantly, and waited patiently while Trish tried to think of
something intelligent.
"Um...I
don't think I've seen you before. Are you, like, from the developmentals
or something?" Because with that physique, you can't possibly be a cameraman,
she
added silently to herself.
"Oh,
I don't work here," the young man replied, much to her disappointment,
although she didn't quite know why. To take her mind off her thoughts,
Trish extended one hand, and said, "By the way, my name's Trish Stratus.
Sorry for bumping into you like that." The young man shook her hand, a
pleasant smile on his handsome face.
"I'm
Scott," he spoke. "And it was nice meeting you, but I've really got to
go."
Trish realized that she'd held on to his hand
for a little longer than necessary, and quickly let go, a blush staining
her cheeks.
"Sorry,"
she mumbled.
"Bye,"
Scott waved, and walked away.
As
soon as Scott had disappeared from sight, Trish reluctantly resumed her
trek toward the creative offices. Just what exactly was she doing, looking
at other guys, anyway? After all, it wasn't exactly like she was on the
market, she added to herself, when she saw Matt Hardy approaching.
"Hey,
Trish," Matt spoke cheerfully, giving his girlfriend of nearly eight months
a quick peck on the cheek.
"Hi,
Matt," Trish replied, feeling guilty about having checked out Scott with
her boyfriend right in the arena.
"Sorry
I can't stay with you; me and Jeff have to warm up for our match tonight,"
Matt apologized, and jogged off. "Bye."
"Bye,"
Trish whispered in a tiny voice, and continued on her way to the temporary
writers' corner and Stephanie. That's it, she told herself. No
more checking out other guys, and no more thinking of Scott. But who
could blame her for having noticed that Scott was perfect eye candy? Over
the months, she and Matt had begun drifting apart from each other. It wasn't
entirely their fault; the two were so busy with their work. That, and they
lived in completely different states: Matt and Jeff were neighbors in a
smart gated community in Cameron, North Carolina, while Trish had just
recently moved from Toronto to Orlando, having followed in Edge and Christian's
footsteps in moving from snowy, wintry Canada to Florida warmth. But still,
just because they were apart so often didn't create any excuses for Trish
to start checking out other guys, no matter how gorgeous they were. All
right, Trish told herself firmly, as she rounded a corner and saw with
relief the temporary office that the booking department had set up in the
arena, from this moment on, I'll forget I even met Scott, and concentrate
on Matt--and only Matt. She reached the office and, out of politeness,
knocked first. Someone--the person closest to the door, she guessed--opened
it for her, and Trish came in...and promptly found herself face-to-face
with the same stranger from the hallway.
"S...S...Scott,"
she stammered.