It took a lot for Dave to get drunk, and he had been determined to do what it took to get to that state. This was his night, his time to shine and celebrate. The next night would bring more drama than he cared to think about and he knew that without a drink or ten, that's exactly where his mind would have ended up. He'd have spent the entire night wondering what Triple H was going to do on Raw. He would have worried over what Orton and the McMahons were going to do on Raw. He would have dwelt far too long on the curiosity that filled him with each second that he spent with Trish.
She was hiding something. Of that, he was absolutely positive. She went off on her own, occasionally, but that wasn't what triggered his suspicions. As far as Dave was concerned, Trish was just like anyone else. She needed some time to herself just as much as he did. They were around each other so much since the night he saved her from the McMahons that it only made sense that they needed to get away from one another. The time she was away wasn't just her alone time, it was his as well.
No, what most raised Dave's suspicions was the quickness with which they had gotten close. On the surface, he supposed it wasn't too bad. They rode together and, with the people they had at their backs, they shared a room. Much speculation had been made about that arrangement, but if anyone were to come into their room in the middle of the night, they would find a scene that was so chaste that it was to the point of being ridiculous. Trish slept in her bed. Dave slept in his. Never would the two meet unless one had a habit of sleepwalking and climbing back into the wrong bed.
That in and of itself made Dave curious. That they were still sleeping in separate beds despite the obvious attraction they shared. It seemed as though Trish were doing all she could to make sure that nothing happened between them, and for as much work as she put into it, Dave was sure there had to be some kind of reason. He'd seen the lust in her eyes each time that he walked out of the bathroom in a towel. Already once, they'd come close to kissing, only for Trish to push him away, claiming that this couldn't happen. Not that it wouldn't, or even shouldn't, but that it most definitely could not happen. "Not right now," she had said, which only made him wonder when. What was she waiting for, and what did it have to do with him?
And so… he drank. He drank a lot. He did shots until he was falling over and Trish had to enlist the aid of Benoit and Benjamin to get him upstairs. Dave was lucid enough, though, to see the looks pass between Shelton and Chris when Trish pulled the room key out of her pocket. "I know what you're thinkin'," he slurred, "and thanks to the padlock on her chastity belt, you're completely wrong."
Trish sighed. "Shut up, Dave, you're drunk." She pushed the door open, then stepped to the side. She had them drop Dave on the bed, then ushered them out, saying, "Thanks for the help, glad you were around, all that nice stuff people are supposed to say. Now, goodnight."
Trish closed the door then turned to the bed with a sigh. Dave laid on his stomach in wrinkled clothes, the cuffs of his stark white shirt folded up, the sleeves pushed halfway up his forearms. His right arm hung over the side of the bed and his knuckles brushed the floor. He groaned and Trish started walking towards him.
"You're insane, you know that?" She sighed and stopped at his feet. She took his shoes off and tossed them to the floor. "I bet you want me to get you a puke bucket, too."
"That would be nice," he muttered. His eyelids fluttered. "It'd be nice if you gave me a kiss before I puked, too."
Trish let out a harsh bark of a laugh and shook her head. "Not happenin', bud." She walked up the side of his body and stood beside his head. "We had this chat, remember? And I said…"
"Not now," he muttered. Dave reached out quicker than Trish thought he was capable of doing and grabbed her arm. He jerked her down to her knees, then gave her a lazy smirk. "That was not then, but now is then's later, so not now really doesn't apply, now does it?"
"You…" She rolled her eyes. "You are so drunk that it's probably against the law." She sighed and tried to pull back from him. He just pulled her closer. "Dave…"
"Come on, Trish." He moved as much as he could onto his side and his eyes fluttered at her. "You know you wanna. You wanna strip me down and have a party."
"Dave…"
"Just be honest about it, Trish." He slid towards her and was just able to catch himself from toppling off the bed. He pushed himself back on the bed, but still held her arm. "Two hot, red-blooded adults sharing a room but not a bed… Something's wrong with that Trish."
"There's nothing wrong with that, Dave. Friends do it all the time, and we're friends, aren't we?"
"I don't know." Slowly, his grip on her arm loosened and his arm started to fall to the floor. "You're up to somethin' and ya know… that's cool. Be up to somethin', 'cause everybody's always up to somethin' and good or bad, it's cool 'cause otherwise, we'd be up to nothin' at all, and that would be boring as shit."
Trish stood up and stepped away from him. "You're nuts, you know that? I swear, tomorrow, you won't even remember half of what you said tonight, if that much."
"Probably, but that doesn't mean I didn't say it. I'm halfway on to you, Stratus. And as soon as I figure it all out, we are gonna party like it's 19-fuckin'-99 all over again."
"Uh huh." She controlled the slight tremor in her voice, but Dave could still hear it. "Just lay there, alright? I'll get you a bucket."
"And then?"
"And then, you can take your trashed ass to sleep and in the morning, we can pretend like none of this ever happened."
Dave peeked an eye open to watch her as she sauntered into the bathroom. He didn't have the strength to move his head, but even if he did, he wouldn't have. Prone on the bed gave him far too good a view of the seat of Trish's jeans as she walked. "Yeah, I'll probably forget," he muttered as he drifted into drunken unconsciousness, "but I'll remember again later. You can bet on that one."
