A/N: It's been great reading all of your reviews! Hope y'all will be able to give equally great feedback for this chapter, as it is you guys that inspire me to write. Thanks!
Chapter 5: Wandering Eyes (Stacy's POV)
My head was swimming in a pool of thoughts the day after.
Where did he learn to kiss like that?
No, wait...that's wrong. I shouldn't even be thinking this! Just 'cause he's a good kisser---okay, a REALLY good kisser---doesn't make him any less of a jerk.
But that kiss was really something else...oh, lord help me.
I may be blonde, but of course I'm not dumb enough to let one little kiss make me forget what a huge, egocentric BASTARD Randy Orton is!
"Well, I dunno, Stacy...maybe it's letting such a good kisser like Randy Orton slip through your fingers that's dumb. Don't you think you're being a little prejudiced here? I mean, you hardly even know the guy," my best friend Lita reasoned as she brushed her wine red locks in front of the mirror.
I stomped my clad-in-designer-Manolos feet brattily. "Come on, Li, you know how he acted back in our---" I shuddered as I mentioned this word--- "dressing room! He was being such a total jackass! He's worse than Trash Stratus herself."
Lita laughed. "There's someone in this world who's actually worse than that harlot? That's not humanely possible, hon."
"You know what I mean, Li."
"Hey, I was just playing. Anyway, if you hate Randy that much even after that breathtaking, scintillating kiss he gave you on Raw TV---"
"Oh, please." I rolled my eyes at her.
"---then I guess you're gonna have to stick through it 'till the angle is finally over. No romance storyline lasts forever, you know. And that very thought is the only thing that motivates me to stick to this awful storyline with Kane."
Yeah, that poor girl Lita. But at least she's got that secret admirer guy of hers to keep her spirits afloat (you should have tried the chocolates he sent her a couple of days ago---they tasted absolutely divine!). Who have I got to save me from the evil that is Randy Orton? Nobody.
I checked my outfit one last time in the mirror: a sleeveless white turtleneck top and a black miniskirt (yes, I am tired of wearing miniskirts all the time, but hell, it's a job requirement for poor old Stacy Keibler) before plunging into the depths of hell, a.k.a. my shared dressing room with Randy, once again. Hello, Satan.
We were unusually quiet today, which is quite shocking if one would recall last week's---er---verbal altercation. Either we weren't in any mood to fight today, or that taped backstage scene made everything between us a little awkward. Even arguing with him felt more comfortable than this uneasy silence. I couldn't take it anymore.
"Cat got your tongue, Randall?"
He finished taping up his wrists before turning to face me with that familiar smug grin on his face. "So you want a rematch, eh, Keibs?"
"Oh, how on earth did you guess?" The sarcasm was absolutely dripping from my tone of voice. "And don't call me Keibs."
"Alright, then. Let the battle begin." Still keeping his death glare locked on me, Randy took a step closer. But before even a single insult came out of his mouth, the chubby backstage coordinator had barged in again. He's got a knack for doing that.
His face was flushed and sweaty, probably from running his fat ass from room to room backstage. And yet he was smiling---I hated it when he did that. A smile from that guy normally meant that he liked this stupid storyline I'm stuck in. That's not a good thing. "Congratulations, Stacy, today is officially your first day as Randy Orton's valet! You'll be accompanying him at ringside later tonight."
My translation: Your eternal punishment for all the sins you have committed begins tonight. Please proceed to the torture room now where you will be hung upside down over a pot of boiling lava.
I felt all the color drain from my face as I nodded silently, and the pudgy man exited the room not too long after.
"Guess we'll have to hold off that yelling contest 'till next time. I have a match against Batista to get ready for. See ya later, Keibs," Randy said and left the room as well.
"DON'T CALL ME KEIBS!" I screamed, but the door had already shut on me.
Batista winked at me before squaring off with Randy. What a creep. Anyway, it was your usual match, nothing really special. I did my best to act like I actually didn't enjoy seeing Randy get hurt, which was one hell of a tough job to do.
It was a real challenge for me to act all worried as Randy was on the losing end of this match. I got up on the apron as Batista hurled Randy towards the side where I was standing, when Randy reversed Batista's move and made Batista run towards the ropes, right into the four-inch heel of my red stiletto shoe (I had lifted my leg to introduce my heel to his face---no chauvinist pig hits on Stacy Keibler and gets away with it!). Oh my God...is Randy peering under my skirt? THAT TOTAL PERV! I quickly lowered my leg and jumped off the ring apron. Note to self: slap Randy Orton's face off the moment we step backstage.
Randy scored the pinfall victory (thanks to me), and I joined him the ring where he hugged me and held me really close to him (EWW!). He didn't let go of my hand as we walked towards the back, and he let go of it as fast as he could once we were out of the fans' sight. "Ugh, finally," he grumbled.
I was walking away when he called out to me. "Hey, Keibs...nice move there."
"Make no mistake, I did not appreciate your staring up my miniskirt during the match."
He shrugged. "Come on, don't tell me you weren't askin' for it with that tiny shred of cloth you call a skirt."
Damn it, I don't have any time for this, I thought as I turned around and stormed away huffily. "For your information, I'm FORCED to wear miniskirts every Raw taping," I yelled at him without looking back.
The backstage coordinator (he seems to be everywhere!) caught up with me. "Hey, Stacy! You guys did a real good job back there, I'm impressed. If you both keep it up, this angle could last a good five to six months," he said cheerily.
Wonderful. Six more months putting up with that lame excuse for a man? Gee, that sounds like fun.
A/N: By the way, I'm still debating to myself on who Lita's secret admirer should be, but I was able to narrow the choices down to six: Shane Helms (a.k.a. the Hurricane), Chris Jericho, Jeff Hardy, Matt Hardy, Shawn Michaels (although I kind of agree with Melissa on this one) or Edge. The man with the most votes wins the spot as the beau of the lovely Lita! Get to voting, and check back next week for another installment of They Stuck Me With You!