Scar Tissue
A/N: And another one? What the hell? I should not be left alone to my own devices on a Saturday night, I can tell you that much. Alright - so I have not purchased any WWE Superstars in the last hour, so I still don't own the ones you'll meet on this leg of the journey. Enjoy!
He was used to having Trish on the brain most of the time, but Randy could honestly say that it had been more than a week since she dominated his thoughts. Getting to her room and fucking her senseless was always somewhere on his To Do list, but she had stopped being such a damned obsession.
Until tonight. She had barely given him a wave and a key to her room before slipping out of site at the arena. And then she hadn't shown up at the club with the rest of the crew. As he walked the hall of the hotel, searching for the number to his corresponding key-card, he tried to tell himself it was no big deal. Maybe she'd had a last-minute meeting with Vince after the show, or during it. Maybe she was trying to focus on her match and didn't have time to make out in his dressing room, as had become their custom over the last ten days.
He was Randy Orton, dammit. He didn't need to worry about whether or not Trish was losing interest in him. If she was, so the fuck what? He hadn't tapped Ashley yet – and there were plenty of hot women in Atlanta, just ripe for the picking. He didn't need her. He didn't need anybody. There were always fall backs. Always.
So why did his heart lift a little in his chest when he found her door and the light on the lock turned green? Why did he feel a sense of relief when he heard the television inside and the sound of her laughter? Why did he get just a little harder knowing he would be buried deep inside her in a few minutes?
And why did his stomach sink to his toes when he pushed the door open and found her sitting on the bed with that skinny-ass punk she was supposed to have broken up with? Clearing his throat, he noted the guilty expression on her face. "I'm a little early," he acknowledged, checking his watch.
Trish shook her head and stood quickly, ignoring Carter's questioning glance. With her hands around Randy's arm, she pushed him into the hallway and pulled the door closed. "So, Carter showed up this afternoon," she started.
"I can see that." Randy did everything he could to suppress the angry feelings in his gut. So what if her boyfriend was back? He didn't care if they got engaged and lived happily-ever-after. But if she cut him off because of it, he was going to be livid.
Trish searched her head for some way to explain everything. "He has an interview with Vince tomorrow, to work on the production crew," she bit her lip and looked up through thick lashes at the man before her.
Randy rolled his eyes and put a hand on her hip. "Look, I don't care why he's here, Trish. Really," he nodded as she looked away guiltily. "Is he staying with you?" She nodded. "Okay then," he cleared his throat and looked down the hall for some sort of escape. This is why he didn't bother with women after a time or two – things got awkward and he didn't know what to say.
She was at a loss, too. With a palm on his chest, she tried to get his attention again. What the fuck did he care if Carter was back or not? They weren't in a relationship. "It's just for tonight," she started. He shrugged and took a step back. "I could come down to your room after he goes to sleep," she suggested, unsure of why.
Things with Carter had gone from complicated to something far worse in less than twenty-four hours. After his phone call the day before, she had thrown up in the hotel parking lot. He missed her – Candy was history, and he knew that Trish was the woman he was supposed to be with. He understood that she needed to see he had changed, so he was meeting up with the crew in Atlanta and interviewing for a position with the production staff. Things were going to be better – they could be together, and she could see that he was really interested in growing up and giving her the life she deserved.
She had told him that everything wasn't going to go back to the way it was. Maybe he had changed, and she hoped so, but she wasn't going to jump back into whatever they had been, only to be disappointed again a month down the road. It was going to take time, and he was going to have to give her some space. Of course, his idea of space seemed to be the middle of her king-sized hotel bed, but she couldn't just kick him out. He couldn't afford his own room, and she couldn't let him sleep in his car the night before a big interview.
"Ya know what?" Randy stepped back from Trish's touch and smiled. "You go do what you gotta do, okay?" He winked and touched her cheek softly. "We'll hook up again when he's gone."
In less than a day, her hardened shell had cracked before his very eyes. She wasn't the vixen anymore, the one who had teased and taunted him every night. She wasn't the chick who turned his head around. Suddenly, she was a real woman, with feelings and emotions, and issues that he wanted nothing to do with.
Trish reached out and grabbed his hand when he turned to go. Carter had been around for less than twelve hours, and she could already feel that woman Randy had awakened falling back to sleep. It was that feeling, more than him, that she was trying to hold on to.
With her hands clasped behind his neck, she jumped into his arms, holding on as he stumbled back against the wall. "I'll make it up to you," she whispered, grasping his earlobe between her teeth.
He just groaned when she ran her nails over his hair, starting at his neckline and stopping at his brow. When her hands rested on his cheeks and she shoved her tongue into his mouth, he was lost. Was it wrong to throw her down on the floor and just fuck her quick?
When she jumped down and smacked his ass, he smiled and nodded. She still wanted him – and that was enough to make him okay with taking a night off. Of course, now he had a raging hard on and a lobby full of groupies to go select from. It would be good for him to take a night off from Trish, to get her off his mind a little bit.
As he pushed the button and waited for elevator, the overwhelming scent of Vanilla filled his nose. Turning, he smiled down at the blonde waiting next to him. "You goin' up?" he asked as the bell sounded and the thick doors slid open. "Or do you prefer goin' down?"
Ashley blushed as she stepped into the elevator behind him. She's cute, Randy thought, taking a moment to look her petite body over. Tiny. Always good. Licking his lips when she caught him staring, he watched her blush again.
Leaning against the wall of the elevator, Ashley rolled her eyes and hooked her thumbs through the belt loops of her tight jeans. "Don't look at me like that, Orton," she warned, sounding about as threatening as a Chihuahua in a knitted sweater. "I've heard stories about you."
He nodded proudly, his gaze drifted to the thin, white tank top she was wearing. It declared her a Future Porn Star, and he bit the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing. "And what have you heard, Sweetheart?"
She leaned her head back and shot him an amused smile. "They say you're trouble."
Randy pushed off the opposite wall and walked toward her, stopping just inches from contact, and twirling a strand of her blonde hair around his finger. "Is that right?" She giggled flirtatiously and nodded. "Well, you look like a girl who might could use a little trouble, Ashley."
The blush in her naïve cheeks deepened, and he heard her breath hitch, as he dropped her hair and ran his fingers down her bare arm. "I think maybe I could," she managed to choke out.
Inside, he was dying. Jesus, she's not even trying to resist. "Tell you what," he lowered his voice and took another step, her face nearly buried in his chest. "You take me to your room, and we'll see what kinda trouble we can get into." It was more of a command than a question, but he could tell she didn't mind.
Biting her lip, Ashley tried to look away. His gaze was hypnotic. "I'm sharing a room with Maria," she whispered disappointedly. "But we could go to yours?"
He almost laughed at her. Sure, hotel rooms weren't the same as his own private sanctuary at home, but it was close enough. At least for her. "My room's a mess," he lied. Pretending to think, he ran his index finger over her collarbone and then started toward her cleavage. "Are you an open-minded girl, Ashley?" She nodded and, if possible, blushed even deeper. "Then why don't we go to your room, and get started. If Maria comes back? We'll just invite her to join us. How's that?"
He pushed the "door close" button when they reached the ground floor, and headed up again. He couldn't believe how easily she had agreed. Actually, he could believe it. They used to be that easy all the time. But being with Trish had sharpened his instincts, and he found himself disappointed with the effortless kill.
Goddamit, Orton, stop thinkin' about fuckin' Trish. She is not worth all this time in your head. You got a fine-ass girl on your arm, ready to do whatever you want her to do. This one you can play like a fiddle. You're the only one playing mind games here – no busting your ass to come up short again. Just take it as a freebie and enjoy it. You. Don't. Need. Trish.
