Her Head v. Her Heart
A/N: Thanks for the reviews, you guys. You've all had such awesome things to say about this story, and I appreciate it more than you can possibly know. I know that I say that all the time, but I really mean it. Writing is my passion, and I would do it for myself, even if no one cared to read it. But I love that my humble musings are striking a chord with one person, let alone all of you who have voiced your opinions. I wish that I owned Cena, because he would have no need for throwbacks, or shirts of any kind. He would also be rockin' those hats and visors backwards all the fuckin' time. Sadly, I don't. And I don't own Trish or Dave, either. Enjoy the show!
Life had been compared to a roller coaster, a journey, a bowl of cherries, and a box of chocolates. Trish thought it was more like an ocean. The waves of human drama would swell without warning, stirring up the mundane sediment of daily life, creating muddy chaos in its wake. But it would settle, eventually. The tides would recess, and life always got back to normal in time.
Her relationship with John had gone from new and fragile to comfortable and stable in the last month or so, and Trish found herself spending more and more of her life off the road at his house. They had settled into the routine of being a couple, and she was happy with the permanent, yet fluffy, relationship they had. They didn't give much time to long discussions about the future, but both were content with a day-to-day partnership.
She had yet to shove Dave all the way to the back of her mind, but he no longer dominated the forefront of her thoughts. If she was honest, she was grateful that he had finally asked out a woman from the wardrobe department and seemed to be happily moving on. He didn't spend many nights in bars with the group anymore, but Trish told herself that was for the best. The less time she had to spend with Dave, the better off she and John would be.
Reclining comfortably on John's bed, dressed only in one of his enormous throwback football jerseys, Trish's reading was interrupted by the ringing of her cell phone. John was downstairs, in his office, doing a phone interview for his upcoming film. So why was his number showing up on her caller ID? "Hello?" she answered.
"Hey, come down here for a second," John's voice sounded distracted.
She rolled her eyes. "You really that lazy, Champ?" she asked, setting her book down and stretching her legs in front of her and wiggling her toes slowly.
He chuckled and groaned. "I'm hungry," he whined.
Trish yawned and looked at the clock beside the bed. "Somethin' wrong with your legs?" she asked.
"I got one more interview to tape for some radio station," he explained. "Can you just bring me popcorn or something?"
She smiled as she realized that she was getting out of bed to fix a snack for her man at ten o'clock at night. The old Trish would have told him to fuck himself – he was an adult and he could get his own damned food. But as she skipped down the stairs and headed toward the kitchen, she found herself glad for the opportunity just to see him for a few minutes. Even if he was busy with a million other things, she was excited about watching him do what he loved for just a little while.
With a bowl of microwave popcorn and a beer in hand, she set off for the office and pushed the door open with her hip. A wide grin stretched across her face as she watched him listen to whatever the journalist on the other end of the phone was saying. He winked when she entered, and mouthed a "thank you," before sweeping his eyes over her body appreciatively. "Sorry. What was that again?" he blinked and turned his attention back to the telephone.
Trish sank to the couch in front of his desk and watched him. He wore baggy, basketball shorts, and a Red Sox hat rested backwards on his newly shaved head. He was completely relaxed as he fielded the interviewer's questions and replayed several anecdotes for his, or her, listening pleasure. This man, so completely at ease with himself and everyone around him, was the man that she loved.
When he finally hung up the phone and pushed back from the desk, Trish moved over on the couch and made room for him to sink onto the seat beside her. Instead, he lifted her tiny body into his arms and held her close to his bare chest. "Thanks," he smiled, kissing her nose as she wrapped her legs around his waist and rested her heels against his ass.
She kissed his neck as he carried her up the stairs and toward the bedroom. "You smell good," she groaned into his ear.
Throwing her on the bed, John stood back with his hands on his hips. "Hold that thought," he smiled wickedly. "First, I have to pack."
Laughing, Trish watched him turn toward the closet and stopped and stared at the plethora of clothing at his disposal. "Open your suitcase, baby," she instructed. "Show 'em where to go. Maybe they'll just jump in there on their own."
Her giggle made him turn and lunge, landing face first next to her on the bed. "You know you wanna help me, right?" She shook her head and rested her legs on his back while he turned his face toward her, puppy dog eyes in full effect. "Come on, Baby. It'll be fun. You can pack my clothes. And then you can pack yours."
Even though she would have to sacrifice her three days of free time, she wanted to go on his mini-publicity tour with him. She wanted to see him "wow" the talk-show and concert audiences like she knew only he could. But even her free time was booked pretty solid as the Women's Champion, and she had to shake her head. Repositioning herself, she straddled his back and started to run her fingernails down naked skin. "Wish I could," she told him as he moaned under the pressure of her fingers.
"You can," he insisted, raising himself to his knees. Trish tried to wrap her arms around his waist, but couldn't stop herself from falling to her back on the mattress. In less than a second, John was on top of her, resting his weight on his elbows as he hovered above her. "I'm the WWE Champ, Baby. If I say you can come with me, you can," he winked.
She watched his piercing gaze and almost forgot what they had been talking about. "I have a couple of interviews, a photo shoot, and three appearances to make between now and Saturday's house show," she rattled off her schedule as she wound her arms around his neck and pulled his face closer to hers.
John licked his lips and lowered his face to hers, accepting a deep, hungry kiss, before pulling back. "I can always pack in the morning," he growled as his hands found their way under the hem of the jersey she was draped in.
Trish closed her eyes and shut off her brain, allowing her nerve endings to do the thinking for her. Her mind was over-analytical and caused problems. But if she thought with her heart, John was everything she had ever wanted or needed. Her feelings and emotions told her that this was exactly where she was supposed to be at this moment in her life – and this moment was all that mattered to her anymore.