A/N: I know I haven't given much attention to John in the past couple chapters, this one included. But expect some good old John and Trish moments in the next chapter. And as always, thanks so much for the reviews!
Chapter 5
Randy Orton had seen a lot of women in his lifetime. He spent time with, had drinks with… done many other things with… women from all over the world. But he had never met a woman who held her liquor quite like Trish Stratus. He walked a few paces behind her, staring at her tiny form in amazement. After going drink for drink with him the entire night, he was surprised she was conscious, let alone walking upright. But Trish bounded ahead of him, heading towards the elevator.
"Most women I know'd be gettin' their stomach pumped after drinkin' like that," he called to her as she kicked her pace up to a jog. He sped up as well, stumbling a bit.
Trish tossed a proud grin over her shoulder at him.
"You should know me better then that, Orton," she replied. She pressed the elevator button and paused, hopping inside when the doors parted.
Randy followed her in, walking slowly as he felt his balance weakening. He selected a wall and leaned on it, resting his head back. Trish pressed the floor number, somehow recalling that they were staying on the same floor. She sauntered over to the wall opposite Randy, mimicking his position. As the elevator car began to move upward, Trish grabbed the handle bar behind her for support. She became acutely aware of how drunk she was, her eyes closing painfully.
As his own dizziness dissipated, Randy glanced at Trish, his brow raising. The slightest hint of concern filled his blue eyes. As the elevator car came to a half, he pushed himself from the wall, extending a hand to her.
"Need me to walk you to your room?" he questioned, his gaze steady on her as she stumbled out into the corridor.
Trish snorted, tossing blonde hair over her shoulder.
"I got two legs," she assured him rather arrogantly. She paused, turning to face him. A giggle slipped from her lips as she caught a glimpse of him clinging to the wall. "You aren't look' too hot yourself, Orton. Sure you don't need me to walk you?" She was drunk, but not drunk enough to lose her sense of sarcasm.
Randy shook his head weakly, but soon his trademark smirk covered up any signs of intoxication. He let go of the wall, approaching Trish so that they now walked arm by arm.
"You know I have to walk you regardless," he said after a brief silence, looking down at her. "A gentleman never lets a lady wander to her room alone."
Trish was quick to respond, "Aw, Randy. You're not a gentleman." She smiled sweetly at him.
Randy nodded, accepting the insult. It certainly wasn't the first time he heard that line thrown in his direction.
"Okay, okay," he said, placing his hands in the air. "But to be fair, you weren't exactly drinkin' like a lady, Champ."
Trish simply nodded in agreement, cracking a smile. She decided to allow Randy to accompany her the rest of the way. Unlike most wrestlers she encountered in her career, he was good company. Out of pure curiosity, Trish pulled her phone out along the way. When she checked the time, her jaw hung open. She knew she had spent a long time at the bar with Randy, but she hadn't expected it to be after five in the morning.
A tiny bit of guilt whirled through her nerves. John would be waking up in a matter of minutes. She had completely forgotten about their argument earlier. She frowned, wondering what his reaction would be when she stumbled into their room drunk at 5:30 in the morning. Especially after the way she'd left.
Then again, he completely blew her off. She waited patiently for him, as she always did. And John couldn't spare an hour or two for her. Besides, he was the one who suggested she go out alone in the first place. She wouldn't feel bad for the time she spent with Randy. It was nice to have a man's attention for a night, even if it was just friendly attention. She glanced up again, and the two shared a small smile.
"Well, my room's here," she said, gesturing to her left. She came to a slow stop, and Randy did the same. The pair fell into a silence, standing side by side in the equally still hallway. Trish's lips curled into a playful grin, smacking him on the arm. "Thanks for the company, Orton."
Randy flashed her a tooth-baring grin, reaching for her hand and giving it a friendly squeeze.
"Any time, Champ," he replied, with a fact. "In fact, next time you wanna get plastered and spend a night talkin' shit on people, gimmie a call." She nodded in response, and Randy waved goodbye and went on his way. She paused momentarily, watching him disappear around a corner. She let out a yawn as she reached into purse and fished around for her room key.
As she made her way inside and closed the door, Trish immediately took notice of John's jacket, which had been carelessly flung over a chair the night before. Her heart warmed as she tossed her purse to the table, kicking her shoes off as well. A long night out was just what she needed. Now, she wanted nothing more then to crawl in bed and wake her man up. Her feet padded across the carpet to the bedroom, her gaze falling when she entered.
Trish observed the empty bed, lonely sheets sprawled across the mattress and hanging on to the floor. She checked her phone again. John wasn't supposed to wake up for another half hour. Her heart sank when she peered into the bathroom, discovering that it too had been abandoned.
She sighed, heading out into the kitchen area. A folded piece of paper on the counter caught her eye. She roamed over and examined it, picking it up when she saw that it was addressed to her.
Trish –
Hope you're not too heated about last night. I was wicked tired and I know I was testy, and I'm sorry. I'm going to the gym so I can get a work out in before the appearances. I'll call you.
Love you,
John
By the way… don't make plans for dinner. We're goin' out tonight.
Trish smiled, pressing the paper to her heart. The thoughtful gesture was enough to decimate the anxiety she felt moments earlier. Placing the note back on the counter, she wandered back into the bedroom. After quickly changing into sweatpants – a task that nearly caused her to fall over – Trish collapsed into the bed John left unmade.
Her eyes closed immediately as she snuggled up to the pillows, pulling the covers over her body. She laid still for several minutes, listening to the soud of her steady breaths. A mixture of content, exhaustion, and alcohol lulled her into a deep sleep…
