Her Head v. Her Heart
A/N: So far, the vote is three for Trish ending up with John at the end of this story, and two for Batista. Let me know what you think before I get to chapter 14, because it's over at fifteen. Also, thanks for all the really kind reviews. I don't own anything, but I do enjoy playing with their emotions. Enjoy!
"Stace, you're killing me," Trish groaned, leaning her elbow on the table. They had been to four different bars, and she was starting to feel a little less-than-sober. Things had started out really well, and they'd had a lot of fun. Until they came to this bar - and the ceiling fell in on their heads. Well, not literally. But Trish was kind of hoping that it would – after they walked in, anyway.
She saw them, immediately, over Stacy's shoulder. Orton walked in, sizing up the female population in the room first, followed by Jericho and Christian. The three of them started throwing out winks and waves as they moved toward the VIP section. Trish could only hope that Stacy wouldn't turn around before the threesome got out of sight. But, to no avail. When it came to Randy Orton, Stacy Kiebler had a sixth sense.
"Well, I'm sorry, Trish, if I'm not just jumping for joy at the prospect of watching my ex-boyfriend bump and grind with not one or two half-dressed skanks, but with three. I'm sorry if that bothers me a little more than it should," Stacy declared, a little louder than she had intended. "I'm sorry if I still love him."
Trish rolled her eyes and leaned her forehead into her hands. "Alright, fine," she sighed. Stacy had two settings when drunk: laughing or sobbing – uncontrollably. "Why don't we just get out of here, so you don't have to watch it anymore?" she suggested.
Stacy started to respond, but a shadow fell over their table. Trish thought his over-gelled hair, too-tight tee shirt, and arrogant smirk were downright ridiculous, but he was right up Stacy's ally. With a devious grin, the taller of the two women batted her eyelashes at the man and then ran a finger over the rim of her empty shot glass. "Hi."
He cleared his throat. "You wanna dance?" the guy asked her. She winked at Trish and stood, smoothing her teeny-tiny skirt over her round behind.
Great, Trish thought as she sat alone at her table, drinking an apple martini and wondering what she was doing. She had a super-fun boyfriend at home, and she was sitting here alone, watching Stacy wriggle and writhe all over two guys in the middle of the dance floor. The only redeeming quality of the evening, as far as she could tell, was that Stacy's little "seduction" seemed to be working wonders on Orton's jealousy. It was apparent on his face, as he tried to keep up with his three ho's. She was anxiously awaiting the angry dance-off that was bound to break out soon.
And then he walked in. Tucking his keys into the pocket of his dark dress pants, Trish watched as Dave's eyes scanned the crowd. He located Christian and Jericho by the bar and made his way over to them. And try as she might not to watch, Trish found she couldn't peel her eyes away from the man who had, just hours before, made it crystal clear that he had no interest in her anymore.
"Hey, guys," Dave said, a hand on Jericho's shoulder.
"Dave. Hey!" Christian said loudly, patting his friend's arm with great vigor. "Let me buy you a drink, my friend," he turned back to the bartender and ordered a beer for Dave. "Dude, the women are fine tonight," Christian said, when he turned back around and handed the beer off.
Dave nodded and sipped at the bottle, scanning the room. He almost laughed when his eyes fell on the latest episode of "The Randy and Stacy Show." "What's goin' on there?" he asked, following the other two men back to their table. It was near the back of the club, in the VIP section, which Dave took as a good thing. From here, he couldn't see Trish, sitting alone at that table, looking so pathetic and lonely.
"Randy was just bein' Randy, and then Stacy kinda stepped it up," Jericho explained as they reached their seats. "Of course, that leaves poor Trish over there all by herself," he winked at Dave, who just shook his head. "What's that mean?" he asked of the gesture. "It doesn't leave Trish by herself?"
"Don't," was all Dave said in response.
She felt the vibrating of her cell phone at her side, and Trish dug it out of her little purse. "You're not supposed to be calling me," she scolded with a hint of laughter.
"I am gonna kick yo ass fo real if ya don't stop that shit," he laughed.
"Excuse me?" Trish asked, running her little finger around the inside of her glass before sucking it between her lips.
He cleared his throat and laughed. "Sorry, baby. Trademarc's tryin' to pull some bull shit move," he explained. "Are you busy?"
She let her eyes roam the room again. Stacy had drawn a crowd of nearly ten guys now, and she was eating up all of their attention. Randy, while only clinging to six girls, was upping the ante on the PDA, letting them claw, rub, lick, and nip at his chest, fingers, and back. "Um, depends on what you call busy," she rolled her eyes. "So, what do you need?"
There was more beeping on his end of the phone before he answered. "Um, nothing. Why?"
Leaning back in the booth, she crossed her legs and rolled her eyes. "Because you called me, jack ass," she laughed. "Not that I'm complaining."
"Awe, does somebody miss me?" he asked.
She loved when he called her for no reason. What she didn't love was when he called her while doing something else. He wasn't the master of splitting his focus. "Probably," she nodded. "I'm sure your momma misses you."
"That's cold, baby," he informed her.
Another shadow fell over the table, and Trish looked up to find the same guy who had originally asked Stacy to dance, now hovering over her. "Can I help you?" she asked.
"Why don't you come dance with your friend out there?" he motioned over his shoulder.
Trish rolled her eyes as John asked her something. But she wasn't listening – not while she was busy leveling this jackass with a gaze. That metrosexual pretty boy might be Stacy's idea of beautiful, but Trish wasn't buying it. "I'm kinda on the phone here," she told him.
"It's a club," the guy said, as if she should know better than to use her cell phone in a night club.
"Thank you, Captain Obvious, for that," she rolled her eyes again. "Look, I'm busy right now, and even if I wasn't – I'm not dancin' with you. So go away," she stated simply.
John's voice was growing in volume, and deepening in tone. "—I'm gonna fuck him up," he threatened. "Trish!"
She jumped at the sound of her name, but kept her eyes on the guy who looked like he had no intention of leaving her alone. "Baby, I can take care of it," she assured John.
That's when she noticed Dave, holding his phone to his ear and approaching the table from behind her intruder. "Don't worry, okay?"
"Call me later," John said, his voice clipped and irritated. Even though he wanted to be there, to sink his fist into anyone's face who made her uncomfortable, or pissed her off, he knew Trish. And he knew that she could take care of herself.
Trish heard the line go dead, and she smiled as she snapped it closed and watched Dave put his hand on the guy's shoulder. "I'm not worried," he answered, as though he had been the one talking to her all along. "Sorry I'm late," he winked at her as he "gently" pushed the pretty boy out of his way to slide into the booth beside Trish.
She accepted the kiss he placed on her cheek and noticed that her suitor had backed away with wide eyes. "Thanks," she whispered when they were alone, noting that his arm was still around her shoulder, resting against the back of the booth. "I don't think he'll be back," she laughed nervously.
Dave wanted to move. He wanted to run back to his seat and try to forget the searing heat that the mere touch of her skin was igniting against his arm. But something was holding him there, keeping him from moving an inch. "You probably didn't need my help," he said, staring at the top of the table.
She shrugged. "I've missed the look on their faces when you show up to save the day," she admitted softly.
His fingers, of their own volition, trailed up and down her bare arm, affecting them both with identical chills at the contact. She knew it was wrong, but her manicured hand found his thigh under the table and began to echo the touch of his fingers. The muscles beneath his silky dress pants jumped and twitched, but the look on his face was stoic. And he said nothing.
"Can I get you guys another drink or something?" the waitress asked, interrupting their moment.
Trish was at a loss – she couldn't think of anything but the warmth that was enveloping her as she sat so close to him again. She responded only when he moved his arm and reached into his pocket for his wallet. "Um, I'll have another martini," she stammered.
The waitress nodded and took her empty glass, turning to Dave for his order. "Just an Corona?"
She turned, her little skirt swishing, and left them alone again. Trish tried her best to keep her eyes on the top of the table, for fear that a glance back at him would break her heart into a thousand pieces. She had left her relationship with Dave for a reason. She was with John now for a reason. And yet, for the life of her, she couldn't remember what any of those reasons were at the moment.
Dave tried to distract himself from her hand on his thigh as he opened his wallet and extracted a twenty dollar bill. He had meant what he said to her at the gym. Even though he knew that he loved Trish more than Cena was prepared to love her at this point in their lives, he was not willing to take anyone else's girlfriend away. He still didn't know what he had done to ruin their relationship, and he wasn't really anxious to have the failure of another on his hands, too.
"I love that picture," Trish's voice broke his reverie. Glancing down, he smiled in spite of himself. He loved it, too. They were standing outside of a children's hospital, both toting their championship belts. There were smiles on their faces and Dave's arm was protectively wrapped around Trish's waist. Stacy had said that they're coordinating, professional attire made them look like the President and First Lady of the company.
"Me, too," he answered, handing the twenty to the waitress as she sat their drinks on the table. "You were beautiful that day," he muttered under his breath, looking again at the conservative, black dress she was wearing. Sure, her ring attire was sexy. And the lingerie that she had sported when they were together had been pretty damn amazing, too. Hell, if he was honest, she was beautiful in sweat pants or jeans or anything at all.
Trish couldn't think of anything to say in response. He had never, in nearly a year together, told her that she was beautiful. He looked at her with great affection, respect, or admiration. He had nodded, and laughed, in agreement when his daughter told him his new girlfriend was smokin' hot. But he never said the words. She blushed wildly as she realized that they tickled her eardrums. It sounded different, in his deep bravado, than it did coming from John. She wasn't sure it was better, or worse – just that it was different.
"What?" he asked when she started to laugh.
Shaking her long locks, she turned her body toward him slightly and leaned on her elbow, not even realizing that her hand was still on his thigh. "Nothing," she assured him. His eyebrow shot up, skeptically. "No, I just," she stopped when his lip twitched in amusement.
He forgot, for just a moment, that he was supposed to be getting over her. He forgot that she had broken his heart. It was impossible to think about the pain when they were sharing an unspoken inside joke. Of everything he missed about Trish Stratus, what he missed the most was her ability to understand everything he was thinking without him having to say a word. He missed staring into her eyes for hours at a time, neither of them speaking, but both of them knowing exactly what the other meant.
Cena wasn't just another guy on the roster. He had been a friend, and a respected teammate, for years. To make a move on his girlfriend would be wrong. But her eyes were begging him to dip his head and taste the apple sweetness of the alcohol on her lips. Her fingers tightened on his thigh as she braced herself for contact.
Trish felt her heart accelerate as Dave captured her bottom lip between his and sucked it gently into his mouth. Her tongue jutted forward and pleaded for entrance into his mouth. Moving his hand from her shoulder to the back of her head, he tilted his body as she leaned back in the booth. She frantically pulled at his shirt, trying her best to subtly lift the hem from his waistband. She needed to feel the heat that she could sense radiating from his body through the fabric.
He trapped her hand against his body as she raked her fingernails over his chest. "Not here," he breathed, looking to where so many of their friends and coworkers were either seated, or dancing. "Let's go to my house?"
Trish nodded and grabbed her purse, following him out of the booth and out the back door. She knew that getting into his car meant blowing right past the point of no return. She had a boyfriend – one who was better for her than she ever deserved. But there was a magnetism to Dave that she just couldn't deny. She knew she was wrong, and her body didn't care.
This chapter's challenge quote is actually just two words: "Captain Obvious." I finally used it, Liv, so leave me alone about it. Also, if you want to see the pictures that I refer to in this chapter, the ones of Dave and Trish with their belts at the hospital? I found them at Batista Online, in the "appearances" section of the gallery.