His Head v. His Heart

A/N: I'm about half-way through this story now, so I thought I would update you all on the current standings. As you know, I haven't decided who Trish is actually going to end up with when this thing is all over. I'm writing the final chapter based solely on the popular vote. According to the reviews I've received to this point, the score is 9 to 4 in favor of Batista. Feel free to vote every time you submit a review - some people have been persistent and adamant about their opinions, and I assure you that I'm listening. I'm formulating two different endings, and I'll just post the one that is most requested after chapter fourteen goes up.

The music was pumping through the speakers of the sleek, silver Hummer as John steered his car along the deserted Illinois highway, headed toward the arena at Northwestern University outside of Chicago. He was tapping the beat on the wheel as Trish's sweet voice carried the lilting hook, her head bobbing with the bass line as she waved her hand out the window.

"Do you have any idea how adorable you are right now?" he asked, laughing to himself as she turned a giddy grin his way.

"Do you have any idea how bad I have to pee right now?" she asked in return.

John swept his eyes over the road and checked the signs. "Gas station in two miles," he pointed off to the side. "Can you hold it?"

Rolling her eyes, Trish reached across the center console to rest her hand on his thigh, nodding. "I'm a big girl now," she told him.

The two miles seemed more like twenty by the time he directed the vehicle into the parking lot of a rundown roadside gas station/gift shop combo. She tapped her feet impatiently as he headed for a parking space, her hand poised on the handle. Without waiting for a complete stop, she ran to the front door and disappeared inside while he pocketed his keys and shook his head.

The look on her face in Missouri, when he suggested stopping at Sonic, had been priceless. Apparently, her travels across America had introduced her to the drive-in chain and the Canadian had developed an extreme fondness for their patented Cherry Limeade. Now, though, it seemed that the drink had spent enough time in the land of Trish and was ready to make a speedy exit.

He moved toward the door she had gone through and noted the hand-written sign taped to the glass. 'We Sell Live Bait.' Classy. It was the kind of place he always loved when traveling with Randy and Chris. They had an entire box full of ridiculous souveniers they had picked up in places like this over time, and he hoped to one day show his children howinteresting his life had been by showing them that very box.

He was eyeing a shelf of generic bumper stickers when he felt fingernails on his back. "I think I may have contracted an STD in that bathroom," Trish whispered into his back.

Turning, he raised an eyebrow and pushed her back slightly. He started to retort and then smiled, grabbing a trucker hat from the rack behind him and setting it on the top of her head. "You know what the worst part about that is?" he asked. She turned and puckered her lips, grabbing the bill of her hat as she struck a pose for him. "I don't even fuckin' care," he laughed, pulling her into his arms and pressing her face into the chest of the New England Patriots jersey he was wearing.

"Oh, you don't have to worry," Trish assured him, holding up a small blue package. "There were tropical fruit flavored, glow in the dark, ribbed for HER pleasure condoms in the machine," she winked as he snatched the object out of her hand and slid it into his back pocket.

Trish followed him to a large display of tee shirts and laughed as he surveyed each one. "If I buy this, will you wear it for me tonight?" he asked, holding up a large white shirt for her inspection, the words 'Blonde: The Other White Meat' emblazoned across the front.

She searched the rack for a minute and then held up a shirt of her own. "If you'll wear this one for me."

The one she held up said 'What do you think? It's going to suck itself?', and John's lips curled up in amusement as he nodded his head. "Deal," he agreed, grabbing the shirt out of Trish's hand and draping both of them over his arm.

"John, I was kidding," Trish rolled her eyes and tried to take the corny, tackier than tacky pieces of clothing back. He held both of them over his head and took her wrist in his free hand, his eyes wide in challenge. "Don't waste your money on that bull shit," she laughed.

He licked his lips and shook his head. "It's not a waste, Baby." He let go of her wrist and then wrapped his fingers around hers, leading her on to another display. "Check it out," he pulled a cassette tape out of the rack and held it out for her to read.

"Oh, my God," Trish laughed loudly, resting her chin against his shoulder as she tightened her grip on his hand and took the 2 Live Crew album from him. "We gotta get this, John," she insisted, her face lighting up.

Again, he nodded and tried to take it from her, but Trish held it out of his reach. "No. You get the tee shirts, I'll get the music," she told him. Scanning the rack, she grabbed another and held it up for his perusal.

He made a horrible face and stuck his tongue out. "No fuckin' way," he said with a definitive shake of his head. Trish waved the MC Hammer cassette before John's nose and then jerked it out of his grip before her boyfriend could steal it away.

"Come on," she laughed at the pained expression on his face. "Please?" she asked, pouting her lip and giving him her best bedroom eyes. "I'll make it up to you," she whispered.

He rolled his eyes. "Dammit. That's not fair," he pouted back. "It's like a fuckin' trump card, those eyes," he whined, wrapping his arms around her waist and bending his knees to meet her lips.

The dirty, smelly gas station seemed to fade into the background as she wrapped her arms around his waist. He had a way of making it feel like someone had lit a bonfire under her blood, sending it boiling beyond control. She would readily admit, to herself anyway, that Dave was better at the whole sex scenario. He could draw out foreplay until she was ready to climax without any definitive contact, and send her into seizure like convulsions with his the simple twitch of his hips. But he couldn't kiss like this. He couldn't make her forget that they were in public and people were watching.

Unfortunately, John didn't forget that she was still holding that Hammer album. He ran his fingers down her arms and followed them to her hands, but she twisted out of his grasp, giving him a knowing wink, and then danced off toward a junk food aisle.

Wavering between a package of Ding-Dongs and a bag of Doritos, she counted to six in her head and then smiled as she felt John's hands on her hips, pulling her against his hard body. "We gotta get back on the road," he whispered in her ear, placing a tiny kiss on her neck.

They signed autographs for the check-out girl and her family, paid for their purchases, and then made their way to the car. "Is it wrong that I kinda just wanna skip the taping tonight and just drive until we can't drive anymore?" Trish asked.

John fastened his seatbelt and wiggled his eyebrows at her. "Maybe, if we get to Evanston early enough, we can find some down time?" he asked.

She nodded and let her gaze drift out the window. It wasn't that she wanted sex, necessarily, but just more of this time with John. If she, Lita, and Stacy had stopped there, it would have been a thirty second stop. They would have been there long enough for Stacy to walk inside, smell something akin to barnyard animals, and then refuse to use a bathroom with a broken toilet seat, a jacked up faucet handle, and a nearly-empty soap dispenser.

But John was different. He actually made her want to stay in that gas station, to hang out for awhile. As long as he was there, it was better than Six Flags. She watched his profile and reached for his thigh as he navigated around the three cars in their path. "I think I'm falling in love with you," she said without thinking.

As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she wished she could take them back. or at least say them differently. But the smile on his lips said that it was too late. "You think?" he asked, a hint of something indecipherable in his voice. "Don't say it if you don't know for sure, okay?"

He caught her confusion out the corner of his eye, but tried to keep his gaze fixed on the road before him. He might be goofy a few times, funny sometimes, and carefree most times, but he wasn't stupid. And he wasn't blind. He didn't know why she thought she could slide it past him, that he wouldn't recognize that a shift had occurred between them, but it was obvious and he was tired of avoiding it.

Trish bit her lip and looked out the window, her hands folded in her lap. She meant the words. She was falling in love with him. But she also knew that her voice lacked the conviction of a true confession. Probably because the only thing she wanted to confess was what she had done with Dave. She wanted John to know, and to forgive her for making a horrible mistake. She wanted to tell him that it had meant nothing, that it had only reminded her what a great thing she had in him. But every time she opened her mouth, the words refused to come out.

"Can I ask you a question?" he asked finally, turning the radio down before taking her hand in his considerably larger one.

"Of course. Anything," she turned her attention to him, tucking her leg under her body as she rotated in her seat and held his hand in hers against her thigh.

He licked his lips nervously and tried to keep his attention off the heat of her leg. "I know we agreed never to talk about our exes," he started. She didn't interrupt him. "And I know that you and me hooked up real soon after you and Dave split." He swallowed the nerves that came with the next question. "I don't have to think about it, Trish. I know I love you. I have since the beginning, since before the beginning."

She waited for him to ask the question, but it didn't come. "What do you want me to say?" she asked. "I mean, it's only been, like, six weeks. Seven," she corrected herself.

"Why you with me?" he asked abruptly. So much so that she shot him a confused, and somewhat wounded look. "Am I just your clown? Your funny little court jester? Keep you from cryin' at night when you think about him?"

Her heart sank to her shoes as she tried her best to come up with an answer. She didn't want him to feel like her rebound. She really did care about him – so much so that it scared her a little bit. It was all happening so fast and she wasn't sure she knew where the brakes were, much less if she wanted to slow the car down. But she didn't want to start thinking about the future again yet.

"Ya know what? Nevermind," John shook his head and tried to take his hand back. "Trish, we'll just talk about it later," he stated, but she refused to let go of him.

Collecting her thoughts, she held his hand with her left and ran her right index finger over his wrist. "When I was with Dave, I could be the woman I was supposed to be. From day one, I felt like I was right where I was supposed to be. I was the champion I had always dreamed of being, and I was the stable and secure. I was the Trish that I always envisioned myself being.

"But with you," she stopped and raised his hand to her lips in both of hers and kissed his knuckles, "I feel like I can be the girl I always wished I had the courage to be. You don't give a fuck about what other people think, and you love your life. People are genuinely impressed when you walk into a room. They really want you around." She held his hand to her chest, letting him feel the pounding of her heart. "I really want you around."

Long ago, a mentor had given John the best piece of advice he could have ever received. 'You can't choose circumstances. You can choose what you do with them.' He couldn't choose that Trish had loved Dave, or that fate had put them together so soon after that relationship ended. But he could choose to accept what she said as truth, and let whatever they had continue to grow. He could choose to love her freely, without regard for her past, and move into the future. Maybe someday he would convince her that he could be the guy she was supposed to be with.