Trish paced beside the bed of the hotel room she was sharing with John for the evening. The bus ride had been good, and by the time she got to New York, she knew that she had made the right choice. John was the guy she wanted to be with. He was the guy that made her laugh, and fascinated her with every story and theory that he shared. He was beautiful and he had more charisma than anyone she had ever met. He was her boyfriend, and she was lucky to be able to say that.

But now he was in the gym with Randy, Chris, and Dave, so she was left to ponder her sins once again. A knock sounded at the door and she jumped. She let Lita in and then stepped away from the door, continuing her pacing, as her friend sat on the bed and watched her with a raised eyebrow. "What the hell, Trish?" Lita finally asked.

"I think I'm falling in love with John," she said, biting her lip.

With a roll of her eyes, Lita flopped back on the bed. "You called me away from the last of my alone time with my beautiful man to tell me that?" She sat back up and threw her arms up in the air. "I could have told you that on the phone." Trish sank to the bed, her eyes focused on the floor. "What's really going on?" she asked.

She wanted to tell her best friend what the real problem was, but saying the words felt wrong. She couldn't get them to move past her lips. "I'm. . . I just think. . . Dammit, Lita, I can't say it," she sank a clenched fist into the mattress at her side.

It wasn't the first time Lita had watched Trish hem-haw around whatever she was thinking or feeling. But what had once been an eccentric quirk was quickly becoming a pain in the red-head's ass. "Well, why don't you try to get it together by show time tonight, and we can talk about it then?" She headed for the door.

"I slept with Dave last night," she spat before Lita could get outside the room.

Lita's face reflected a shock that Trish hadn't expected. For as long as she had been in the WWE, she and Lita had been friends for one reason. They got along for a lot of reasons, but they were friends because neither ever stood in judgment of one another. And what could Lita say in this situation anyway? Hadn't she started her relationship with Edge before she ever ended the one with Matt?

Letting go of the door handle, the South Carolinian diva moved back toward the bed and sat, shaking her head. "How?"

"I don't even know. Stace and I went out last night and she was dancin' with all these guys, and then Dave showed up, and the next thing I know, I was at his house and we were all kinds of naked vertical in the hallway," she shook her head and stopped short. "Sorry," she flinched.

There was an awkward moment of silence as Lita studied her friend's conflicted face and tried to come up with some sort of feasible advice. "What do you want me to say, Trish?" she asked. "I'm not exactly the queen of fidelity, ya know?"

Trish nodded and flopped back on the bed with a heavy sigh. "I don't know what I want. I just, maybe that's the problem." She blinked at the ceiling, trying to get the intensity of Dave's lust-filled eyes out of her head. "I don't know what to do about Dave?"

"Why do you have to do anything about it?" Lita shrugged and noted that Trish didn't seem to understand her question. "Why'd you leave him, Trish? For real?"

Her gaze was unwavering and her tone said that she didn't have the patience for any bull shit answers. Some people found Lita's assertive, somewhat abrasive, nature unattractive and disconcerting. Trish knew that it was something she needed, someone to anchor her when she tried to justify and rationalize everything in her life.

"I loved him," Trish said sadly. "It was real, Li." Her voice started to fade as she stared blankly at the ceiling. "But it was so serious. I mean, we talked about buying a house together, and about kids. We talked about marriage, Lita," she huffed and shook her head. "I'm twenty-nine. I'm not old enough to be worried about being tied down yet," she stated.

Lita laughed. "You're totally having a mid-life crisis, Trish," she accused. Her friend flipped her off. "Seriously. You freaked at the thought of being a responsible, mature adult. And you totally rebounded with one of the most immature and irresponsible guy in our business."

Trish felt her stomach sink. Was that it? "He's not immature or irresponsible, Lita. I mean, he can act like it sometimes, but that's cause he's a guy. A lot of it's his character," she reminded.

But Lita shook her head. "Alright, fine. Whatever, Trish, it's not a bad thing. I mean, if you weren't ready to get serious with Dave, you didn't have to get serious. I've never blamed you for ending it, have I?" Trish agreed. "I'm just sayin' that you walked away because it's what you thought you needed to do. It's not your job to make sure that he gets over it."

"I'm not –" Trish started.

Lita stood from the bed and stretched her arms over her head. "You are, Trish. You still love him, at least a part of you does. And you don't want to see him missing you, so you're trying to help. But you can't." She moved toward the door again, but threw a final warning over her shoulder. "The only thing you're gonna do is make sure that everyone – Dave, John, and you – gets hurt."

With that, she stepped into the hall and secured the door behind her. She had spent an hour listening to Stacy cry about how she knew it was wrong, but she couldn't get over Randy, and then another twenty minutes consulting Trish about Dave and John. Lita laughed to herself as she walked toward the elevator. Did either of them realize that she didn't have a clue as to how to make a relationship work?

She waited as the elevator dinged and then smiled as the answer walked out, smiling at her and offering a little wave and greeting. As she pressed her floor number and waited for the doors to close, she watched Stacy and Dave making their way down the hall, laughing about something he was telling her.

As she descended toward the lobby to meet Edge, Lita formulated a plan. It felt a little bit incestuous, weaving the ex's together, but desperate times called for desperate measures. And the salvation of her own sanity was a desperate time, as far as she was concerned.