Scar Tissue

A/N: Thanks again for the great reviews! You guys are the coolest. You know I'm slow to update when there's a PPV on, and since I was watchin' SummerSlam while writing this - I hope it still makes sense. I don't own 'em. Enjoy!


Randy was the kind of guy who was just good at everything he tried. He was a champ in the ring. He was the master with women. And he was no slouch when it came to throwing a rager, either. So when the WWE rolled into St. Louis for the Royal Rumble, he went balls out in showing his coworkers, and some of his local friends, exactly what a party was supposed to look like.

By the time Trish arrived, with Dave, Victoria, Edge, Lita, Christy, and Stacy, things were in full swing. The front yard was packed with cars, and a few mingling party-goers, while the heavy bass of a hip-hop beat spilled out through the open windows and doors. If his neighbors minded the noise, they weren't complaining.

"So, Stace," Trish slung her arm around her friend's waist and fell behind the rest of the group. "What's goin' on with you and John?"

Stacy blushed and looked at her feet, wishing she had a good answer to that question. "Um," she stuttered, stopping in the middle of the driveway. "I don't know for sure," she admitted with a smirk. "I think we're just friends."

"Ya think?" Trish smiled to herself. She had seen the pair together on more than one occasion, and to say they looked 'friendly' was an understatement.

Clearing her throat, Stacy ran her thin hands over her little skirt and then leveled Trish with a glare. "Look, I like hangin' out with him and we have fun. But I'm just not sure I'm into him that way, ya know?" When Trish raised an eyebrow, Stacy let her shoulders shrug. She had never been good at being defiant. "I want to like him, Trish. I really do want to have feelings for him. I mean, you know the guy, right?" She waited for her friend to nod. "He's great, and he's funny, and I totally have a blast with him. Not to mention the fact that he's beyond smokin' hot."

The look on Stacy's face was one of a girl deeply frustrated at herself for not feeling the way she thought she was supposed to be feeling. It was the expression of a woman who didn't understand why her head and her heart weren't on the same page. It was the same air Trish had whenever Carter's name had come up in the last week.

His interview with Vince had gone well. He had been charming, professional, and amusing – everything he needed to be to secure a job with the company. But before hiring the young man, Vince wanted to "check his references," i.e. talk to Trish about it. He had asked her, point blank, what she thought about hiring Carter to travel with the crew.

"He really seems to want this," Trish answered honestly, focusing on the people bustling around backstage, more than her boss.

Vince crossed his arms over his chest and stared at Trish until the young woman met his eye. "Trish, I got no problem with hiring the guy. He seems enthusiastic about the job, and he knows his way around this place, from all the traveling he's done with you. I'm not worried about him. I'm worried about you."

She looked into his searing eyes and let her shoulders sag, shoving her hands into her pockets. "Vince, I know you don't really give a damn about our personal lives," she started.

But he put a comforting hand on her shoulder and smiled, kind of. "I care about it when it affects your professional life. And if having this guy around is going to be a distraction to my Women's Champion, then I can't hire him."

She wanted to say that their past together didn't matter. She wanted Carter to get a job that he really seemed interested in. More than anything, she wanted to see that he had changed so that they could be together again. But something in her gut stopped her from assuring Vince that it would fine to bring him on. Something made her reconsider, and at the last moment, she shook her head sadly.

"The final decision is yours, of course," she started, her heart pounding as she said the words she knew she would second-guess a million times. "But I can't promise you that it won't be a distraction."

Nearly a week later, Vince had yet to make his final decision, but Trish was glad that Carter had gone back home to Toronto to wait for an answer. She couldn't explain the shift that had taken place in their relationship over a few days, but she no longer saw him as her standard for happiness. She wasn't saddened by the idea of never getting back together with him. And she couldn't bring herself to shed a single tear over what she had done.

"Can we go inside now?" Stacy asked, breaking into her friend's thoughts. "It's fuckin' cold out here."

Trish agreed and followed the taller diva into the house. There was alcohol, food, and people everywhere she turned. A couple of girls in stilettos, and not much else, danced on platforms in the living room, causing Trish to roll her eyes. She hadn't seen Randy much in the last six days, but she had heard the stories.

He had been with Ashley and Maria, a couple of groupies, and a chick from the front office since leaving her in the hallway that night. At first, the news hadn't bothered Trish that much, and it certainly hadn't surprised her. She had known he would hit Ashley sooner or later, and she hadn't really been available for much "alone" time since Carter arrived.

But the more she thought about it, the more she found herself missing him. She missed his warm skin against hers, and the primal grunt that came from somewhere deep inside his throat. She missed the challenge of contorting her body into some insane position just to see the impressed look on his face. She missed the cocky-ass grin he always tried to suppress when he thought of something that would rock her world.

"Hey, Stranger," a voice sounded from behind her as a plastic cup dropped into her line of vision. "Sex on the beach. Just the way you like it."

"Dirty?" she asked, turning to smirk at Christian.

He cocked his head and considered her delicate features for a moment. "How you been?"

Their on-screen relationship had been a disaster, but Trish could honestly say that her fellow Canadian was one of her favorite people behind the scenes. His smile, at least for her, was always genuine. "Better than you, I'd say," she smiled sympathetically. Christian's frustrations with Creative, and with his minimal role in the company, had been well-documented as of late, and anyone on the inside knew they'd been going on for awhile.

But, in typical Captain Charisma fashion, he shrugged it off and gave her a grin. "Awe, it's all good. Ya know you can't be mad at a party like this, right?" Trish moved to his side and leaned against the wall, her shoulder brushing against his bicep as her eyes swept the crowd. "Your boy sure can throw it down, huh?"

The words felt like a kick in the gut as Trish located Randy on the floor, towering above a group of barely-clothed, over-inflated bimbos she didn't recognize. "He's not my boy," she insisted.

With a raised eyebrow, Christian drank from his own cup and then nodded. "That's not the word around the locker room, Sweetie."

Trish shrugged and continued watching Randy work his adoring fans. It should have been a disgusting display, but he was so cool, calm, and collected that she found herself smiling. "What's the rumor?" she asked, though she didn't really care. It wouldn't be the first time she had been locker room fodder, and probably not the last.

"You guys are the hottest thing since Pam and Tommy Lee, baby. Everybody's talkin' about it." He turned his body slightly and rested his shoulder against the wall, smiling down on his friend. "You killed the legend of Randy Orton."

She rolled her eyes and took another drink, nodding to the host of the party, who was now dancing on a platform with one of the strippers. "Looks dead, doesn't he?" she asked.

But Christian just let out a "hmphh" and kept his gaze on her. "He's only with them because he's pissed that you went back to your boyfriend or whatever. He doesn't take rejection well," he laughed to himself. It wasn't that he disliked Orton or anything. It was just funny to see someone so used to getting their own way, rejected for once.

"Yeah, well, you can take this to the message boards or whatever, okay?" She raised an eyebrow at Christian and finished her drink in one chug. "Orton is not my 'boy.' We don't talk. We don't share little nicknames, like 'pooky' and 'snuggle bunny.' We don't spoon after a long night of candle-lit love making. We fuck. That's it. That's all it will ever be. Sorry to all of you hopeless romantics, but there is no happily-ever-after here. There is hard fucking and sweating and waking up alone. That's it."

Pushing off the wall, she sat her cup down, grabbed another one off a near-by tray, and made her way onto the dance floor. She didn't care what people were saying. She didn't care what they were thinking. At the moment, all she cared about was the drink in her hand and the beat of the music. The rest would work itself out.

XXX

She had no idea, after nearly four hours, if Randy even knew she was there. He was a great party host, attending to nearly everyone, and making sure that the music never stopped pounding, and the drinks never stopped flowing. But between that, and the incessant flirting he was doing, there was no time for Trish.

She kept herself busy without him, dancing with friends half the night, and strangers the other half. But now she was feeling light-headed and irritated, mostly because she was so damn hot and sweaty. St. Louis was far from tropical in January, but the number of bodies crammed into his house made it hotter than Spring Break in Cancun.

The fact that she had no ride home wasn't helping her mood any. Now that nearly all of the attendants had gone home, she sank to the couch, pushing empty cups and plates out of her way, and sulked. They hadn't even told her they were leaving, and by the time she realized they were gone, there was no one left to ask for a lift. All she could do was wait for Randy to materialize and ask him.

Without the music, and the screeches of laughter, and the shouts across the room, the house seemed eerily silent. A catering crew cleaned around her, but Trish let her eyes drift close and welcomed the breeze coming off the Missouri river in his backyard.

"So," Randy's deep whisper pulled her out of the land between dreams and reality, "you have fun?"

Under heavily lidded eyes, Trish smiled as his face came into focus. Crouched on the floor before her, his hands rested on her thighs, massaging her tense muscles. "Hey, you," she started to sit up.

But Randy shook his head and bent, lifting her into his arms. "Come on."

Carrying her up the stairs, the scurrying sounds of the caterers faded. He had watched her from afar all evening, teasing and arousing every man within arms reach. It had taken everything in him to stand his ground, not to drag her away and have her right then. She had every right to dance with anyone she pleased, and so did he.

But he had missed her. A week without touching her, without kissing her, without being inside her, was wearing on him more than he wanted to admit. He missed the defiant glares she would throw him when he suggested something she wasn't sure he could deliver. He missed the giggle that escaped her throat when he inadvertently tickled her most sensitive spots. He missed the way she tightened around him, and her eyes rolled back, when she just couldn't hold back anymore.

He had never been one to compare women. They all had their pros and cons, and he was pretty adept at putting one out of his mind before starting on another. But Ashley's skin wasn't as soft as Trish's. Maria's giggle wasn't as alluring. The stripper's implants weren't as pliable as Trish's. The groupie's voice wasn't as desparate or throaty when she screamed his name. And the chick from management wasn't nearly as tight and inviting.

Trish rested her head against his shoulder as he moved down the hall. "Orton?"

Her voice was timid and dripping with exhaustion. "Hmm?" Even drenched in sweat, she smelled like fruit and flowers.

"My ride left me," she told him, pressing a kiss to his neck instinctually.

Randy stiffened. How in the hell did she do that? One kiss, barely an echo of contact, and he was hard as a rock and ready to have her. "I know," he answered.

Realization hit her and she giggled against his skin. "You're a sneaky bastard," she slurred, the alcohol and fatigue hitting at the same time.

Laughing to himself, he pushed the door of his bedroom opened with his shoulder. For the first time in his life, he wanted a woman in his bed. He wanted Trish in his bed. In his mind, she had earned the right to be there. She wasn't just the best he'd ever had –she was his hero. The things she had taught him, the lessons he had learned with her, would make him better for anyone he encountered in the future. And this was his thank-you.

Rolling her onto the bed, he began to unbutton his shirt, his eyes never leaving the tiny woman in the middle of his large mattress. "Is this your bed?" she asked groggily, running her hands over the soft comforter. He just nodded and shrugged the fabric off his shoulders. "It's nice."

Once he had dropped his pants to the floor, he moved to her and reached for her belt. "You too drunk for this?" he asked with a smirk.

Trish shook her head. "Let me tell you one thing about Trish Stratus," she held up a finger and then crinkled her nose. "I'm never too drunk, too grouchy, too unprepared," shaking her head again, she laughed. "Wait, I'm missing one."

He bit his lip and pulled her pants off in one motion. "Doesn't matter," he smiled, crawling over her on the bed and resting his hands on her cheeks.

She licked her lips in anticipation, her head spinning. Maybe it was the alcohol, but he was different. Something about the way he looked at her, and talked to her, and touched her was different. His voice was soft, and his hands were gentle. His eyes held something other than raw hunger, almost like adoration, or even respect.

"What's wrong with you?" she asked finally.

Randy shook his head and lowered his face to her hers, thrusting his tongue into her mouth to stop the questions. He had intended to tear her clothes off, throw her down, and fuck her until she couldn't walk straight. Instead, he found himself savoring every inch of her bronzed body, licking and sucking on her skin as she slowly gave herself over.

His stomach was jumping with nerves, and he chalked it up to the first-time experience. This was new for him, letting someone in this far. She probably had no idea how much it meant to be on this bed, in this room. She couldn't possibly understand what it meant to him. And he wasn't ever going to tell her.

For one night, he would indulge this one curiosity. He would have her in the one place he'd never had anyone else – and then he would take her back to her hotel and forget it ever happened.