By the time 4 o'clock came along, Randy had just about made peace with his hopefully short stint on ECW. He met John and Veronica in the lobby, the two of them exiting the elevator together, holding hands and laughing as usual. They had elected to take John's rental, a Lincoln Town Car, which had enough room so the three of them didn't feel annoyingly squished.
Veronica quickly dove into the passenger seat, and since John had the keys and could only smirk stupidly about the whole thing, Randy knew he would have to sit in the back. "Oh, shit. Fuck you two!" They only laughed, and he chose to sit behind Veronica, hoping that she would at least give him a little more leg room. He should have known better though, she still wasn't happy with him and decided to take it out on his legs by adjusting her seat back as far as it could go and propping her feet on the dash.
And it only got worse from there. Randy could handle John swallowing her tiny little hand in his monstrous paw, but it didn't stop there. Of course, he couldn't just hold her hand; he had to stroke it, softly at first, with his thumb. From there, somehow, John's hand strayed to rest on her thigh, where it looked altogether too comfortable in Randy's opinion.
When they hit a stoplight, Cena couldn't resist leaning over and pressing an "innocent" little kiss on her lips, which trailed down her delicious neck, which would have went even farther if the light hadn't turned green. And Randy was sure Veronica was looking straight at him, smirking, mocking him in the mirror. It must have been his overeager imagination, however, as her attention seemed to be fixed on John, who was singing along with Taylor Swift on the radio.
"Alright, I can't take it anymore!" she laughed, "I have to put on some good music!" She proceeded to reach into the backseat to get the leather CD case. In the process, and rather unnecessarily Randy noticed, Veronica allowed her perfectly round, perfectly natural breasts to press seductively against the center console. They were completely open to his gaze, practically begging him to grab a handful of that soft flesh.
Margaret Thatcher naked on a cold day! Margaret Thatcher naked on a cold day! Oh God, what did Margaret Thatcher look like? Damn it, he should have paid more attention in history! That familiar feeling crept into his groin as he frantically willed his body to not get a hard-on right in front of her and John. But, alas, his efforts were to no avail, and he shifted uncomfortably in his seat.
She sat up and turned her attention to choosing a CD, but not before he swore he saw her wink! Was she tormenting him on purpose?
Before long she chose a CD and slid it into the player. The sound built, and it was the unmistakable opening of John Cena's own album. "Oh, hell no! We are NOT listening to this stupid crap again!" Randy complained loudly.
But the couple completely ignored him as Veronica skipped to the second to the last song. They both sang along, as annoyingly as possible at the top of their lungs "I'M RAININ' FIRE LIKE APACHE HELICOPTERS!"
At least it was enough to distract him from the tantalizing image of two exquisitely-formed breasts filling his hands. Their obnoxious duet continued until they finally reached the arena, but their stupidity only increased as they skipped arm in arm to the back door of the stadium. Worst of all, they had forgotten all about poor Randy.