Star Gazers

A/N: Wow, so the "writer's block" demons have been on my case BIG TIME lately. Sorry it's taken so long to get this up for you guys. Thanks for the great reviews in chapter one, and I hope you enjoy this one. I don't own Randy or Trish, in case you forgot in the wait between chapters. Enjoy!

"You know what I find really ironic?" Trish sighed and shifted her body, trying to find some comfort on the cold concrete.

A million sarcastic remarks flowed through his mind, but Randy thought better than to let any of them out. "Hmm?" he asked casually.

With another deep breath, Trish focused on the sky above her, trying to find some distraction from the intoxicating scent of the man beside her. "The stars here look exactly like the ones in Toronto."

Randy raised an eyebrow and then rolled his head to the side, considering her for a moment. "Are you serious?" She nodded. "Um, Trish, I think they're the same ones. I mean, I don't remember a lot from science classes, but I don't think there are Canadian stars and American stars. I think they're all the same."

She laughed and rolled her eyes. "That's not what I meant." The way he grinned back nearly derailed her train of thought completely. "Well, it kind of is. Is it weird that I just realized, at twenty-nine-years-old, that the stars are the same for everybody? That we all look up, no matter who or where we are, and see the same exact stars staring back at us?"

Randy shook his head, everything inside of him straining not to wrap his arms around her. If he thought back, he had never experienced a one-on-one conversation with Trish, not when they were completely alone. And now he knew why. She was too perfect, and he was way too likely to make an ass out of himself. "Are you kidding? You're talking to a guy who ponders shit like why the "bunny" leaves "eggs" at Easter."

A loud giggle escaped her lips before she could stop it. The sigh that followed was a peaceful contrast to the thumping bass of a passing car on the street below. "I never really got that, either," she admitted.

For him, it felt as though the invisible barrier between them crumbled at the sound of her laughter. An easy air settled over them, and Randy found his shoulders, which he hadn't realized were tense, suddenly relaxing. "You know what else I don't get?" She didn't answer, and he didn't wait for her to. "Valentine's Day."

With a shrug, Trish grunted. "Of course you don't."

"Hey," Randy shot defensively, and Trish reached her hand out, as if to steady him with a reassuring touch. If that was her aim, even subconsciously, it was working. He found the warmth of her skin against his to be the most calming gesture he had ever experienced.

She had meant only to lazily smack him, like she would any of the other guys who misinterpreted her comments. "I just meant that you're a guy," she tried to explain, her voice dripping with lazy contentment as the back of her hand, of its own volition, trailed up and down his arm slowly. "No guy gets Valentine's Day," she added.

With a shrug, he tried to play it off. He wanted Trish to see him as anything but just another guy. He wanted her to think he was the coolest guy, the best guy. He, in no way, wanted to be another regular guy, who's sole ambitions in life were to master more video games than his friends, drink as much alcohol as possible without passing out, and fuck as many random women as he could before he was roped into settling down. Or, he didn't want her to think he was that guy, anyway.

"Don't worry," Trish broke into his thoughts, and Randy blushed. Was it possible that she knew what he was thinking? "It's like the penis blocks your ability to grasp a holiday like Valentine's Day."

Realizing that she was still talking about the aforementioned topic, not reading his mind, Randy allowed himself to relax once more. "I would act offended," he sighed, "but I think you're probably right."

A thick silence fell between them and Trish realized that she had stopped rubbing Randy's arm, and just started holding his hand. When it had happened she didn't know, but it felt so natural that she refused to question it. The deep resonance of his voice filled the air, and Trish shifted just enough that their arms were touching in the darkness.

"So, can I guess the problem you have with Valentine's Day?" she asked suddenly.

Randy had a few rules about women – one was that any time they started to psychoanalyze him, it was time to run. But the tone in Trish's voice made him feel high – like he was floating along on a mellow rush, and he just didn't feel like running. "Sure."

His hand raised hers, resting their elbows on his chest as he played gently with her fingers, rolling them between his. "So, here's my theory." She turned her head to find him staring at their entwined hands. "I think you have a problem with Valentine's Day because it involves being committed to one woman, showing her how you feel. Guys hate that shit."

Rolling his eyes, he dropped her hand and struggled to sit. "That's not it," he insisted. "In fact, Miss I'm So Smart, I've always had a girlfriend on Valentine's Day."

Hoisting herself into a seated position, Trish moved opposite him and pulled her knees to her chest. "Seriously?" She had known him for a few years now, and she didn't remember hearing much about any serious girlfriends. Of course, if she was honest, she didn't know much about him at all.

There were a million things that two people who barely knew each other could talk about. Why did she have to pick the topic of exes? Nodding, he fought through the alcohol-haze in his mind for anything more interesting. There had to be something. Dammit. Why did he have to sit there and drink while his friends talked? "Usually Stacy, at least the last couple years."

She hadn't meant to roll her eyes, or mutter "of course" under her breath. It just kind of slipped out in the ease of the moment. "Sorry." Randy just laughed, as though he understood the reaction. "It's just that I don't get it, ya know? The attraction to Stacy. She's nice and everything," Trish started.

Randy laughed to himself and nodded. She was nice – everything about Stacy Keibler was nice, from her sweet little smile, to her long, long legs. But he didn't want to talk about Stacy, not while he was with Trish. "You dated Hunter, so don't start," he warned playfully.

With a deep blush, Trish lowered her head and then shrugged. "Yeah, but he's so not like his in-ring character," she tried to defend herself. Until it occurred to her that she had no reason to be defensive. "What's wrong with Hunter?"

There wasn't a damn thing wrong with Hunter, and that alone was reason enough for Randy to hate him. Well, not Hunter the man, just Hunter the ex-boyfriend. Telling her that the man was sometimes an arrogant jackass who believed way too much of his own hype seemed to be the most imperfect way to end the evening, though. And Randy didn't want it to end. Not yet.

"There's nothing wrong with him. It's just," he tried to think of a way to explain it. "It's like how you feel about Stacy. It's not that I don't like him, I just don't get it."

She wanted him to understand. Trish realized that she wanted Randy to understand everything that she was thinking about every subject that popped into her head. So she leaned back and stretched her legs out beside him, supporting her weight on one arm. "He's got the trifecta," she explained. "He's got power, charm, and attitude. The three things that women find most attractive, whether they admit it or not."

He was skeptical, at best. "What happened to a sense of humor? Isn't that what every girl says? That's why they all love John so much." Fluttering his eyelashes, he put on his best high-pitched voice, "Oh, John, you're so funny. Everything you say is so funny. You're just so funny, all the time."

Trish laughed out loud, a lilting giggle that permeated the night air. "To me, that's part of charming. Every other cliché answer fits into one of the trifecta. Success, money, cars – they're all symbols of power. Humor, sensitivity, all that other bull shit that your momma taught you? They're part of your charm. And the confidence, the rebellion or the silent strength, whether you like the good or the bad boy? That's attitude."

Randy thought about her words, and fought the urge to ask if he had the trifecta – was he all three of the things she was looking for? Could he ever be the man she wanted, or needed? For fear of sounding like a complete dolt, he bit back the question. "So, I guess Stacy has the trifecta, too. Only not yours. She has the chick one."

Trish waited in anticipation to hear just what the "chick one" was. The silence that engulfed him was a pretty good indicator that he didn't know, either, but his "thinking" face was so cute that she didn't interrupt. Considering his strong features, she watched as he processed his next words carefully. "I'm not gonna be offended by anything," she assured him.

With his thoughts collected, Randy spoke. "She's got mind, body, and soul." It was corny, and he knew it, but it was all he could think of. And it made sense to him, at least while he was slightly drunk and nearly asleep. So all he could do was sit back and wait for Trish to laugh.

Biting back the groan and the eye-roll, leaned forward slightly. "Meaning?"

"Fuck," Randy cringed and met her gaze with a sheepish blush. He was well aware of the pink tint in his cheeks, and wished against everything that it would go away. "I knew you were gonna ask that."

It was as though every single thing he did was the cutest thing she had ever seen. The urge to actually say the word "aww" had crept up on her more than once since they had been left alone, and if she hadn't been afraid of sounding like a stupid girl, she would have said it. "Mind? Guys don't give a fuck about the mind, do they?" she asked instead.

Rolling his eyes, Randy stretched his long legs out, resting them at either side of her tiny body. Some women made him feel confident, others made him feel determined. Some turned him on, others annoyed him to no end. But none of them had ever made him feel as comfortable as Trish. It was as if they had been friends in another life or something. And it gave him hope that they could be in this one, too.

"I don't know. Some guys find smart girls really sexy," he answered, biting his lip as he met her eyes. "At least, that's what I hear." Trish playfully swatted at his knee, and he laughed. "What? I like a smart chick sometimes. At least one who knows what's up, ya know? Who's not completely out of the loop." Trish just nodded. "At least not for more than a night or two."

With another chuckle, Trish turned and shifted her body until she resting comfortably against one of his legs. Returning her eyes to the sky again, she tried to think of something to say that wouldn't make her sound like a complete idiot. Talking to a good looking man was not a new sensation for Trish. In fact, it was kind of old hat, after working as a model and a wrestler for so long. But there was just something about Randy Orton. Something just under the surface of his superficial façade that tilted her axis, made her feel like she was walking a tight rope. And the adrenaline rush that it caused was the greatest high she had ever experienced.

After a few minutes of silence, Randy was almost certain that Trish had drifted off to a land of dreams. Her breathing was steady, her body still. Returning his thoughts to the sky, he wondered what he was supposed to do now. Did he sleep here, with her, on the cement roof for the entire night? Or did he pick her up and carry her back to his room? Or her room? There was no way he was escaping any of this without being discovered – he would hear about "that time you spent the night on the roof with Stratus" until he retired.

"I like you," she spoke so softly, he barely heard it. On a normal night, in any other place, he would have been jumping for joy – maybe doing standing backflips or something.

But here, he merely basked in the glow of the words that were flowing over him. They entered his ears, and filled him all the way to his toes, cleansing him as they moved through his system. "I like you," he answered back, trying his best not to move, to disturb her in any way.

The words "it just happened" had always seemed like a cop out to Trish, an excuse given when her friends didn't want to cough up details. But she realized, at that moment, that sometimes it did just happen. It wasn't planned, or dramatic, or overwhelming. She wasn't even sure what it was, but she knew that it was happening between Randy and herself.

Just before sunrise, Randy walked Trish back to her room, holding her hand and praying that none of his friends would be up early enough to see them. It wasn't time to let the rest of the world in on their little secret yet, on the bond that they were forming. He wanted to ask her on a date, but the term seemed so formal when applied to what they were developing.

Instead, he asked her to hang with him again after that night's show. It was simple, no pressure, no expectations. Neither of them could really say they'd experienced anything like the last seven hours, but neither could deny that it felt right.