Authors Note - New chapter, obviously :) Again, this was one I hadn't planned on, but it was just inspiration that came to me. I find when I read Randy's in other stories, he's very shallow. Whilst I like him smug and arrogant, I think there should be more too him than that. So this one's all about Randy. I hope I haven't weakened him too much, but I want him to have a little more to him. Feedback would be appreciated. As always, I thank you all for your reviews and confidence. R&R guys! And lest we forget, I own nothing...
Kicking the door to his hotel room shut with his out-stretched foot, Randy ran his hand back through the dark brown, perfectly placed spikes of hair. Begrudgingly, the gel holding the hair in place cracked under the pressure, giving way to the path of his fingers. What Randy hadn't banked on was the shower of sand that the movement would stir up. Spluttering slightly in the cloud, Randy shook his head to release more of the irritating grains.
Kicking off both shoes, Randy didn't bother with the buttons holding his shirt together as he gripped at the chest and heaved the garment apart. Tiny plastic discs rained silently to the ochre coloured carpeted floor as Randy made his way to the mini bar in the room. Grabbing himself a bottle of beer, Orton proceeded to the adjacent bathroom, taking a long drink as he went.
Studying his reflection in the mirror, Randy couldn't seem to move past the conversation he had previously held with Trish.
"…You have brief, shining moments where I actually start to think you can't be the one dimensional arrogant little shit I think you are…For once in your life, could you please just be Randy Orton?"
Splashing handfuls of cold water onto his face from the basin, Randy focused intensely on the reflection of his own blue eyes. Did Trish have a point? She wasn't the first to pass judgement on his arrogant and self-absorbed nature, and he very much doubted that she would be the last for that matter.
"…I just don't put myself in situations where I can easily be hurt…What's your excuse?"
My excuse? What is that about? So Trish needs to justify herself being a tight-assed kill-joy, that's her problem. Why would I need an excuse to be me?
"What you want is some proof that you're aren't me."
Feeling his own words coming back to haunt him, Randy turned away from his reflection, and reaching to the shower. That was a question to which he wasn't sure if he wanted an answer. Twisting at the knob, a steady stream of water burst forth as the Legend Killer slipped out of his dress pants and the boxer briefs he had on underneath.
Grabbing them up off the floor, Randy headed back out of the shower, snatching up his cellular phone as he passed by the dressing table. Flipping the clam-shell phone open, Randy searched through the list of names that the device contained. Selecting one, he held the phone up to his ear.
"Hey baby, it's me…nah, I'm good. Didn't wake you did I?…So what's a nasty girl like you doing awake at this hour? Really? And how is that fine ass of yours?…Good…Listen baby, I hate to think of your ass in that big hotel room by its lonesome self. I bet it could do with some company…sure…Make sure you wear the red ones…alright baby, I'll be there soon."
Snapping the phone shut, Randy tossed the phone onto his bed and headed back into the shower. Stepping beneath the warm stream, he let the steam and hot blast of water relax his tired muscles. They had taken more punishment tonight that he had originally intended, with his legs feeling the burn more than anything else. Briskly rubbing his hands over his hamstrings, Randy wanted to get the blood flowing again for his visit tonight. If there was one thing he prided himself on, it was his stamina.
Pulling the shower-gel off the shelf, Orton began to work up a lather on his chest, before moving down to his abdomen. Lost in the warmth and feel of the water, Randy couldn't help but let his thoughts drift back to his night with Trish. Things really hadn't gone the way he had originally planned. So maybe he had gone to more trouble to get with Trish that he had for any other diva, but she was Trish Stratus. The hottest and most unattainable diva on the WWE roster. Any of the others, he could have easily charmed into bed. But not Trish. She was different. She was too clever for sweet words and naughty smiles.
Randy could remember the first time he had seen her. It had been back in 2002, backstage at a Smackdown event. He hadn't long been called up to the big leagues, and being a fresh faced twenty-two year old, he was pretty much in awe of everything and everyone he had come across. But nothing could have prepared him for that first encounter with Trish…
XXXXX April 25th 2002 XXXXX
"I'm serious Dad…I think I'm gonna throw up…I don't know. They just said they need me to be here tonight…yeah I will. I'll call you when its over."
With his hand trembling more than he'd care to admit, Randy shut his phone, dropping it into the pocket of his jeans. Licking his lips, the shaggy haired Orton glanced down the corridor. This was big. This was Smackdown, his chance to shine. A call from the Talent Relations had led to him jumping on a plane straight out the OVW training facility and heading to this arena. The flight had been delayed, and it had taken a solid forty minutes for Randy to convince security that he wasn't just a fan, and yes he was scheduled to wrestle tonight.
And now…? He was lost.
That's right, lost in a fucking arena! You're an ass Orton! How can you lost in an arena! They can only be so big!
He had spent most of the afternoon watching the technical guys setting up the ring and the Titan Tron, before watching the talent get into the ring and start feeling each other out for the event to be taped tonight. Hours before the crowds had been due to file in, Randy had simply been sat in one of the highest rows, the hood pulled up on his sweater as he took everything in. Just breathing. Remembering every sight, every smell, every sound. Depending on how well he performed tonight, this could very well be the last time he appeared as talent at a big event like this. Randy figured it was better to enjoy every little thing now, while he had the chance.
Heading down from the seats, Randy had gotten turned around somewhere, and was now lost. He was supposed to meet up with a few of the producers and trainers a good fifteen minutes ago, but he couldn't remember how to get back to that section of the arena. And as luck would have it, he hadn't passed another person for the same amount of time.
Distracted by a noise, Randy hurried off around corner, hoping and praying that it was someone who could point him in the right direction. What he got made his jaw drop to the point of dislocation.
Turning into a dead-ended corridor, it was in fact occupied by two individuals. With her back up against the wall, Trish Status had her one leg raised and hooked around the waist of her shirtless boyfriend, Jeff Hardy, who was frantically trying to shift her denim skirt further up her golden thigh, their lips caught in a ferocious battle of lust.
Randy didn't mean to speak, but the words escaped his lips before he could stop them.
"Jesus…shit…I'm sorry…"
With a horrid sense of humiliation, Randy watched Trish's eyes fly open as Jeff broke their kiss, turning around to scowl at the individual who had interrupted the groping session he was having with his girl. Giggling hard, Trish readjusted her skirt to an acceptable position, as Jeff kept his back to Randy, zipping himself back up. Stepping from in front of Jeff, Trish walked over to Randy, offering a sweet smile and a shy pink blush.
"Really…I am sorry…I didn't mean to…it was just I'm lost…and I heard…and thought maybe…?" Randy turned his head from side to side, his thoughts disjointed and incomplete, hopelessly trying to explain himself to Trish. With a bubbling giggle, Trish captured Randy's hand into an over-exaggerated hand shake.
"Trish Stratus. Nice to meet you…?" her chocolate eyes held a slightly questioning look. His jaw still handing open, Randy was momentarily fixed by her gaze, before shaking himself out of it.
"I'm…Trish Stratus…"Trish giggled again, smiling warmly at Randy, "…uh I mean, hi Trish. I'm Randy."
"Yeah, me too. And you just totally killed my moment dude." came the irritated, southern-tinged reply from behind Trish. Appearing from behind her, pulling a black vest over his head, Jeff Hardy took Randy's hand, shaking it shortly and firmly as he nodded. "Jeff."
"Wow…man, I'm a fan. It really cool to meet you." Cringing at the 12 year old-sounding excitement in his voice, Randy cleared his throat, "This is really sad of me, but I kinda got turned around here…somewhere…I need to get to the trainers room like twenty minutes ago. Could you maybe…point out the way…?" Rolling his eyes, Jeff turned to Trish.
"Hold the kid's hand baby, I gotta bounce. Matt's gonna kick my ass if I don't get to that ring to Swanton his ass." With a soft, lingering kiss on Trish's pouted pink lips, Jeff jogged away, landing a firm slap on Orton's back as he went. Leaning onto her toes, Trish watched Jeff leave before focusing on Randy.
"Sorry, he's…well he's Jeff," Trish smiled, waving in the direction in which Jeff had gone, "Come on, I'm heading past the trainers. I'll show you the way."
Falling into step beside Trish, Randy could feel his cheeks burning in humiliation. Here was the one of the hottest women in the world, who held pride of place on his wall back home, and Randy had just walked in on her getting heavy with her boyfriend. His first day was going less than well. It was a disaster. Wanting to say something, Randy didn't know how to make conversation with the Canadian stunner. Thankfully, Trish did it for him.
"New to the company?"
"Is it that obvious?" he cringed
"Just a little. But its cool, we were all new here once." Trish added with a smile.
"Yeah. I bet you didn't keep the bosses waiting on your first day." was Randy's dejected response.
"Well no. But they're cool. They won't give you a hard time, they'll just tell you not to do it again. So, where are you from?" Readjusting her shirt, Trish studied the tall man next to her. Guessing he couldn't be much older than twenty-one, Trish felt an instant empathy for him. He looked so nervous.
"Well, I'm from St. Louis, Missouri. I've been training with OVW for the past 12 months. I was called up tonight so I haven't long flown in. I don't know what I'm doing here, I think that's what they going to explain to me here tonight…that's assuming they don't kick me out as soon as I step through the door for being so…" Realising he was babbling uncontrollably, Orton slammed his mouth shut, feeling the burn in his cheeks igniting. Giggling, Trish found his awkward nerves cute.
"Don't stress, they'll be cool, I promise." Flicking her blonde locks over her shoulder, Randy realised he was staring, but he couldn't get over the fact that she was so much more beautiful in the flesh. "You want to take a picture there, sport?"
"Uh…sorry. I didn't mean to…I already have your picture…its on my wall and…shut up Randy!" Audibly chastising himself, Randy rolled his eyes to the sky. Why was he being such a dork in front or Trish. She must think I'm such a loser.
"You do? That's sweet. And here we are. Have fun tonight okay?" Trish grinned, pointing to a door just ahead.
"I will. Thanks for this Trish. And…uh…sorry about before…" his words stumbled over his lips.
"No problems. It was nice to meet you…um…."Trish's brow furrowed as she tried to remember the young man's name.
"Randy." he offered, the hurt sounding slightly in his voice.
"Yeah…sorry…it was nice to meet you Randy." Giving him a little wave, Trish turned and headed on down the corridor, before turning out of sight. Sighing, Randy faced the door in front of him, and pushed it open.
XXXXX
Randy realised he had been soaping the same area on his abs for the past five minutes. Smiling at the memory of his embarrassing first day, he showered off the remaining soap, before stepping out of the cubicle, wrapping a towel around his waist. Checking out his reflection again, Randy raised an eyebrow.
How are she judge me? She's no better, or has she forgotten her little escapades with Jeff Hardy? Just another typical woman, trying to fuck my head over with her psychological bullshit. She's good, finding a way out of the bed, and she got me thinking. Props where they're due. But I'm the fucking Legend Killer, and I always get what I want. And I want Trish Stratus in my bed, head down, ass up.
Grinning at the thought, Randy turned to the sound of a soft knock at the door. An eyebrow raising, he was sure he had told his piece of ass tonight that he was coming to her. Rule Number 3, never bring a fuck to your home, or by proxy your hotel room.
Making his way to the door, Randy opened it, mid-sentence catching himself before he went any further.
" 'Chelle, what are you doing? I thought…Trish?" Standing, bare foot in front of his open door was the petit diva. An oversized 'No Way Out' t-shirt covered her delicious body, the blonde locks of her hair coming in down in natural waves, suggesting it had been washed. With her face scrubbed free of make-up, she looked beautiful.
"You want to take a picture Randy?" Feeling the red tinge sizzle his cheeks, Randy hurriedly responded.
"Nah baby. I just wasn't expecting you. What's up? My offer for crazy hot sex too difficult to resist." In response, Randy opened the door to his room wider, exposing more his towel clad body. Finding her eyes drawn to the hard abs and sculpted pecs, Trish swallowed hard, forcing her gaze back to the deep blue eyes.
"Keep dreaming Orton. I thought you might want this back. I didn't want to give it back to you tomorrow and give people the wrong idea." Raising her arm, Randy saw that Trish had brought his jacket with her, the one he had leant to her earlier in the evening. Taking it out of her hands, Orton slung it to the floor behind him.
"What? That you spent the night with the Legend Killer? Baby, most would kill to be in your position." Orton smiled, oozing smug self-confidence.
"Yes. Well I would kill myself. Enjoy your call girl tonight, won't you?" Turning, Trish walked back down the corridor, her ass swishing from side to side capturing Randy's attention.
Closing the door, the young Legend Killer trudged back into the room, before dropping onto his back on the bed. A buzzing sound notified him to the fact that his cell phone was vibrating. Grabbing it, Randy saw that it was the girl he was planning to meet calling. Switching it off, Orton dropped the phone to the floor. Resting his hands behind his head, Randy's thought swirled around posing all sorts of difficult questions.
Get it together you dick. She's just a blonde girl who likes to play hard to get. Deciding he actually wasn't in the mood for sex, Randy climbed beneath the covers, thinking hard about the evening well into the early hours of the morning. Just what was going on with him and that blonde Canadian?