Chapter Five

I was sitting in my plane seat, de-toxing from all the excitement that was still coursing through my veins. I was so jazzed, I skipped dinner with Cena (for more than one reason. Sushi... no...!) and traded my ticket for an earlier flight home. Sitting in the row of seats by myself, I realized I actually liked being by there all alone. No Cena with his cell phone ringing every ten seconds. No prima-divas trying to make small talk about useless things. Honestly, I love most of those girls, but some of them need to wake up and see that I don't give a shit about what their hair looked like five minutes ago.

Hugging my knees to my chest, which was only slightly uncomfortable because of the seatbelt, I pulled a blanket around my shoulders and fell into my own little world.

Very little can pull me from this unrealistic existence, but something caught my eyes a few minutes later. Across the aisle sat someone looking extremely familiar. He was bobbing his head to the music he was listening to and lip syncing the words. What pulled it all together, and overall distracted me, was that he was playing air guitar in his seat. It was one of the most outrageous things I've ever seen someone do in public, yet it was very entertaining.

Do you ever get that feeling that someone's staring at you? You just know it. Like someone's searing a hole through your soul, staring you down with no mercy. Well I guess I was staring. And badly. I didn't mean to, but I couldn't help place who this random guy was. He noticed. He stopped his concert and glared back at me like I was invading his privacy. Really I was, but I won't ever admit that out loud.

Usually I was one of those girls that would continue to stare, like I wasn't doing anything rude. This was different. I saw him look, and my head shot back to the seat in front of me faster than you can say "breakneck". He noticed this, too, and smiled in my embarrassment.

Adding a smile of his own, he got up from his seat and started towards my little row of seats. He sat down next to me as I huddled closer to myself and pulled the blanket over my face. Ever since I was a kid, I had subconsciously believed in the mentality that "if you can't see them, they can't see you." I know it's completely incorrect, but it was something that was burned into my brain at an early age. And, to add some more embarrassment, by Gumbie no less. Actually, it was his little red horse, but who am I to nitpick.

Letting a small, innocent whimper pass from my vocal cords through my lips, I realized the severity of what I was doing. I must have looked like I was two-years-old, hiding from the monsters in my closet.

I can't remember the last time I was this mortified. Slowly letting the blanket slip from my head, I looked towards him. He was staring this time. "Jeff." He smiled, adding a small nod.

It hit me like a sac of bricks! Jeff Hardy! That's who the random guy was! I couldn't recognize him with his mass amount of hair-dye and wrestling attire. I felt stupid for not noticing earlier, but to my defense he really did look quite different in his "street" garb. His hair wasn't as piece-y or multicolored. In fact, it was pulled up and out of his face in a loose bun at the back of his head. I guess the radical sideburns should have tipped me off, but still... There was a completely different air about this man out of his WWE domain.

"Ace." I tried to force a laugh, but it wasn't exactly working. It was more like a gurgle than a giggle. "Acelynn."

"The new chick?" His raised his eyebrows with pure intrigue. I piqued his curiosity, and I slightly liked it. "You were on air this week?"

"Yeah." This feeling of shear discomfort was making me recall my school-girl days where my every thought was consumed by boys. Now that was discomforting. I shook my head to free myself from these thoughts, then focused on actually having the ability to form complete sentences. "Yeah, J.R. had something come up."

"Huh."

And that was it. The entire ride, he just sat there. Of course I refrained for engaging any type of conversation in fear of stumbling over my words. There couldn't be any other possible way to make me look even more foolish. Unless, that it, I actually tried, and I think we all know that I wasn't about to do that.

One question I was dying to ask, though: why the hell is a Hardy going to Boston?

- - - - - - - - -

By the time the plane landed and I actually managed to get a cab to my apartment, it was well past the wee hours in the morning. Truthfully, it was Tuesday. The excitement has ran it's course and was now only a beat in my heart, a memory that I could never forget.

Cena called me that night, talking between mouthfuls of leftover raw shrimp on white rice. "Why's you leave so early?"

Do I tell him the real answer? I hate your goddam girlfriend and I didn't want to celebrate then have my appetite to be ruined when that annoying little 'ring' goes off in your pants. Maybe his cellphone, maybe not. "I wanted to go to my dad's house and talk about it with him, but it was really early when I got back." I lie because I care.

"See you in couple days then?"

"When it's off to work. Yeah."

Click.

(Dial tone)

For some reason, after my interesting experience on the plane, I didn't really want to talk to him that much.

A/N: this chapter totally sucked and i will be the first to raise my hand and proclaim it. truth be told, i was writing this story to releave(sp) some stress i was having while worrying about my finals. in fact, i blew off all my other stories to try keep my mind from wondering. well, at 11am tomorrow, my finals will be over and there isn't that much stress anymore...

hope it didn't suck that much.

reviews are love!

Ruby

p.s. CENA RUPTURED HIS SPLEEN AND REFUSED MEDICAL TREATMENT! I read it in an article. how much does that completely suck!

(sobbing slightly) GET BETTER JC!