Trish

I shiver slightly in the cool Nevada air, and pull my jacket closer to my body as I slip my gloved hand into Jeff Hardy's, glad that he's taken the time to wash off all of that crazy glow-in-the-dark "2xtreme" body paint of his. This is one of the things I love about Raw in Las Vegas--after the show, the entire roster--or at least everybody who's not too broken--is set loose upon Sin City to tear it up as much as we want to. I'm not a particularly wild party girl or anything of that type, but you try hanging out with Jeff "I'm 2xtreme For Regular Sleeves, And Lather On Layers of Body Paint Onto My Arms Instead" Hardy and not get dragged into all the casinos and nightclubs and see all the shows. Not that I mind too much--Jeff is a really fun person underneath all that glow-in-the-dark body paint and hair dye, and besides, what's the use of being in Vegas if you're not going to go crazy and party the night away?

Either way, by three o' clock in the morning, both Jeff and I are way done with partying and gambling and doing crazy stuff (I'd actually won three hundred and fifty dollars, he'd won two grand and then lost it all, and then lost another five hundred on top of that, but didn't seem to care one way or another), and are now strolling leisurely back to our hotel. It's rather nice, actually, and since Vegas is full of flashy, extravagant people, very few passers-by have stopped to hound us for pictures or autographs. We're passing by one of those glitzy Vegas wedding chapels where couples get married by Elvis impersonators, and I stop and laugh, remembering the particular storyline about Hunter and Steph's drunken Vegas drive-thru wedding. Jeff stops as well and shoots me a questioning look, then catches sight of the Vegas chapel and laughs with me, realizing what I'm so amused about.
"Wouldn't want to get hitched off there," he mutters, absently tucking a stray lock of dyed turquoise hair underneath his purple felt baseball cap. I smile and playfully punch him in the arm, kidding, "Gee, and here I was thinking all you Southern yanks would adore getting married by an Elvis Presley impersonator!" Jeff rolls his eyes at me, but I can see that he's nevertheless amused by my little joke, and it's not long before he lets out a guilty laugh.
"Okay, I'll admit it--it does sound pretty cool," he cracks, offering a lopsided grin. "Still, call me a hopeless romantic if you want to, but I'm one of those guys who wouldn't exactly mind a traditional white wedding." I smile.
"Aw, isn't that just too adorable of you," I tease him, purposely putting an exaggerated baby-talk voice, and Jeff rolls his eyes at me again. "But seriously, I really do think that's very sweet of you--"

"Congratulations!" At that moment, the chapel doors open, and a newly hitched couple emerges, stumbling drunkenly about. My mouth nearly drops open, as I realize that this newlywed couple is no older than college age, the groom dressed in ratty ripped jeans and an old gray CBGB shirt, the bride looking like she'd stepped out of the pages of the poor man's Playboy in what actually appeared to be a Britney Spears-esque Catholic schoolgirl uniform, complete with pink pom-poms in her pigtails and all. I know my jaw's on the ground as I stare after the newlyweds, who giggle and hiccup and drunkenly totter their way down the streets. Jeff himself is shocked as well, but he manages to shake off the bizarreness of the impromptu marriage and lightly squeezes my hand.
"Talk about a Kodak moment, huh?" he whispers in my ear, and I only nod mutely.

"Congratulations!" The chapel doors open again, and a second pair of newlyweds step out, laughing obnoxiously about everything and nothing. Since I'd already seen the first couple, I normally wouldn't have been surprised--except this time, the newlyweds are none other than Raw's own Stacy Keibler and Test.
"Oh, my God! That's--that's--" Jeff squeaks out in a strangled tone beside me. I can only nod stupidly, as I stare after the two tall blondes totter their way out of the chapel and off toward wherever drunken newlyweds celebrate their honeymoons in Vegas.
"Well...they have been going out pretty long...I suppose this was bound to happen," Jeff shrugs, trying to justify the situation.
"I wouldn't be surprised if the marriage ends on Jerry Springer," I mutter, more to myself than to anyone else, and quickly blush when Jeff catches my words and arches one eyebrow. I lower my head, mumbling, "Sorry--Lita's on this whole WWE relationships never work rampage, and I guess I'm finally starting to pay for being her roommate and all." Jeff shrugs again, but then laughs it off.
"So long as you don't come to me one day and start your greeting with, "Say, hon, don't you think it would be fun to go on Ricki Lake, especially since I can tell you my big old secret there on national TV for the whole world to see," I'm going to pretend you never said that," he jokes, and I laugh good-naturedly.

"Congratulations!"
"Oh, no!" Jeff and I exclaim jokingly at the same time that the chapel doors open. However, as soon as the third set of newlyweds steps out, we quickly realize that it's no laughing matter, as we stare in dismay at this familiar couple.
"Trish--please tell me those were not Ivory and Hurricane who just got hitched!" Jeff squeaks out beside me.
"Let's just pray that the bottle of champagne we shared back at that casino is getting to us, and we're just too drunk to realize we're hallucinating," I moan, placing my head into the palms of my hands. Jeff swallows hard.
"That must be it," he mumbles. "And even if it's not...Well, annulments are pretty easy to get nowadays, especially if your wedding chapel was in Vegas." I nod enthusiastically, to the point where my hair ends up flying around my face and I look as though I'm headbanging.
"Of course. Of course," I hear myself repeating, like some broken old record player.

"Congratulations!" Before the couple can even step out of the chapel, Jeff has grabbed my hand and pulled me away with him as we both take off like mad to get the hell away from this place.

Lita

I let out a groan as I wake up and roll over in my bed, gingerly stretching my creaky-feeling limbs and swearing under my breath about my killer hangover as I let my arm flop over the bedsheets. I instantly sit up, wide awake and hangover forgotten, rubbing my eyes as I whip around to make sure my fingertips had really touched a pair of wrestling boots messily tossed onto the comforter. They had. I squint and push my tangled hair out of my face, wondering how the hell they'd gotten there--I am far from actively returning to the ring, and unless Trish's feet have suddenly grown several sizes, then I seriously doubt she wears such clunky wrestling attire. Absently, I tilt my neck to blow my hair out of my eyes, as I mutter to myself, "Ugh, these better not be a childish break-up present from Matt!" when I'm hit with the so very brilliant idea to check the sides of the boots to see if the wrestler's name is written on them. Eagerly, I reach over the bed and turn the black boots around, and I think you can imagine my shock when I catch sight of the three letters painted in loud green on the sides of the boots. R. V. D. I don't know whether to scream or to faint--or do both; however, before I can decide on which reaction I should go with, I force myself to try and remember what had happened the previous night. My main concern is whether something...ah, let's just say, intimate had happened between us--why else would his clothing be strewn all over the bed beside me? (Okay, so technically it's just a few odds and ends from his wrestling gear, and it's not like there's a pair of his discarded jeans thrown across the bed beside me--but still!) I feel like breaking down into tears when I realize I can't remember a thing that had happened between us, but somehow, in my frantic and frenzied state, the sound of the showers running breaks through my wall of despair, making me realize that RVD's risen before me and has gone to take his morning shower. I throw off the bedsheets, which I'd pulled up tightly to me while fretting over the wrestling boots, and feel an immense rush of relief when I realize that I'm fully clothed in a white babydoll tee and black jeans. As I stumble gingerly across the room and take a swig from the first water bottle I see, I lean back against the wall and try to recall what had happened, all the while attempting to block out the sound of the showers running behind the closed bathroom door.

Through the haze in my mind, I manage to piece together bits and pieces of whatever flashbacks I can recall of the infamous night before. Let's see...I remember Trish setting me up on the dullest, most painfully boring date of my life with an orthodontist (great, the part that I'd love to forget, I can remember with utmost detail!). I'm pretty sure I had ditched him while he was still babbling about that one time in the third grade when somebody stole his pencil, a story he'd told and retold at least three times before, and making a break for my hotel as soon as I'd managed to scrounge up enough money to hail a cab. How RVD figured into my dull as dishwater evening I'm not sure I can figure out for the life of me...Oh, no wait! Now I remember--he'd spotted me trying to forget my painfully boring date downstairs at the hotel bar, and struck up a conversation about bad dates. And then...I scrunch up my face, trying to remember. Oh, yeah--And then I'd dispatched of two ring rats and and taken him up on his offer to go out as each other's dates for the evening to make up for both our bad dates. The rest of the evening is a blur; all I can remember is that we were basically like two kids let loose in a candy shop when we hit the streets of Vegas.

At that moment, RVD steps out of the showers, this time thankfully wearing something...although that skimpy little towel doesn't exactly leave too much to the imagination. But hey, if he doesn't seem too embarrassed by it, then I'm not going to complain.
"Hey, the bathroom's free if you want to go take your shower now," he offers, looking surprisingly at ease--unless, of course, he actually does remember what had happened over the course of the night.
"Thanks," I murmur uncertainly, as I try to construct the most tactful way of wording my question. Finally, I just give up and blurt out, "Listen, Rob, nothing happened between us last night, did it?" He shrugs, and runs a hand through his still wet hair.
"Honestly, I can't remember," he admits, offering a guilty smile. I shrug, and force a grin on my own face, even though I'm beginning to feel worried inside.
"Well, don't sweat it--I mean, I'm sure nothing really happened...you know, between the two of us," I mumble dejectedly. I'm about to step into bathroom to take my own shower, when I notice a crumpled piece of paper lying on the dresser. Curious, I inch closer and pick it up, reading across it. By the time I'm done, my eyebrows have nearly flown right off my forehead.
"What?!" I screech, in a voice that could have easily rivaled Stephanie's infamous shrill shriek. RVD, meanwhile, grimaces as he rubs his ears, before speaking up, "What's wrong, Lita? Whatever it is, I'm sure we can work it out without your screaming around like that." In response, I numbly turn around and hand the paper over to him, waiting for his response as he reads over it and finds out just exactly what we'd been up to the previous night. RVD finishes reading, and the paper promptly flutters out of his hands. I watch the marriage certificate--our marriage certificate--land on the carpet, and this time, RVD's the one who's doing the fainting.