Lighting a cigarette in anger Randy paced back and forth in front of the hotel. He didn't give a shit if he offended anyone by blowing his smoke in their face. If they knew what was good for them, they'd stay the fuck out of his way and let him enjoy his little piece of serenity. He let out an angry puff of smoke, before sucking in another deep drag. Maybe if he got a head rush he'd calm down.

What the fuck was Parker's problem? In the months that he had known her, he had never known her to be on Zap Street. He had apologized for flirting. He tried to make everything up to her by going out of his way to make the evening special. But did she appreciate it? Hell no. That was the problem with women. That's exactly why he never got involved with anyone. There wasn't yelling involved with a hook up. When you find 'em, fuck 'em, and flee, there's no time for emotional drama and carrying the fuck on.

With any other chick, he would have charmed the pants off of her, busted at least twice and be half way to dream land by now. And in the morning, he'd say some sweet shit to her, make her feel special and tip the fuck out the door. But now? Now he had a pissed off girlfriend waiting upstairs. It would be his luck that she'd cut his dick off in the middle of the night, if he happened to fall asleep next to her. And for what? Because he bought the wrong size lingerie? Was she serious? The shit wasn't that severe.

See, this is what he got for trying to be romantic. That shit wasn't him. He didn't give a shit about that kind of stuff. All he needed was the go ahead and his was dick was hard. Flowers, music, candles…that was all bullshit. That was some shit that dudes used to trick bitches into fuck them. That was some Cena shit. What the fuck did he need to do that for? He was Randy Orton.

He only did it because he thought that Parker would like it. That was the shit that the old heads in the lock-room talked about doing to show their ladies that they were thinking about them. Well, he was thinking about her. He thought about her all the fucking time. And then she goes and flips the fuck out on him.

"How the fuck was I supposed to know?" He said to out loud taking another deep drag from the cigarette. "This is bullshit. Got me running around here acting like a poop-butt. What the fuck I look like?"

Looking around to see who Randy might be talking to, Mickie James approached with caution. Randy was pacing and fussing at presumably no one. Definitely not the super smooth guy she was used to. "Randy? Who ya talking to?"

"I don't know what the problem is." He said, stopping to look at Mickie, before plucking the butt into the drive way. "All I tried to do was be nice. And this is the thanks I get. Fuck that."

"What are talking about?" She kept a suitable distance from him, all the while looking him in the eye. He didn't look high. She'd seen him that way before, and it would explain a lot if he were. "What's going on?"

John walked up to the pair and took in Randy's agitated state. He had known this man for years. They had gotten into many a caper together. He knew when Randy was angry, and most of all when his feelings were hurt. And right now, Randy was displaying signs of being both. Only one thing could make Randy Orton act like this. It had to be a woman. One woman in particular. Parker Sutton. "Come on, Man. Lemme buy you a drink."

The three placed their orders at the bar before finding a table in the back of the room. Normally, Randy loved hanging out with his friends and drinking after a match. He would have loved it now, if he wasn't supposed to be upstairs fucking the shit out Parker. And what burned him up the most was the fact that after they had their little pow-wow, Mickie and John were probably going to be bumping uglies all night, while he was going to have to sleep with one eye open.

"What the fuck is wrong with y'all?" He looked at Mickie, before taking the beer from the bartender's tray. "I mean, y'all say you want a man to treat you special, go out of his way to do shit for you. And as soon as we do, y'all lose your fucking minds."

"Umm…"

"I'm saying. I went all out, too. Candles, and bullshit. Fucking bubble bath. What the fuck I look like taking a bubble bath." Rolling his eyes, he took a long drink from his bottle before slamming it back down on the table. "It's the thought, right? Bullshit."

John couldn't stop laughing. He knew exactly what happened. He tried to warn him, but in true Orton form, he didn't listen. Randy never listened. "You gave it her, didn't you? You dumb motherfucker. I told your stupid ass not to do it."

"Wait. I'm missing something. He gave who, what? What's going on?" Mickie looked at her boyfriend and raised her brows. Obviously Randy was too agitated to carry on a normal conversation, and if she was going to help she needed details.

"You know Randy's girl, right?"

Shaking her head, Mickie looked over at Randy who rolled his eyes again. "I don't think I've really met her. I know who she is though."

"Well, the girl Parker, is a big girl." John tried his damnest not to sound judgmental in his description of Parker. He had learned the hard way about that before. And seeing as how Randy was already pissed off, he didn't want to be on the receiving end of Randy's anger. "Well King Ding-a-Ling, over here, bought her some shit from Victoria Secret. But, it's about the size of something that you would wear."

"Ouch!" Mickie recoiled and squinted at the fall out that must have happened when Randy was upstairs. "Randy…"

"I told his dumb ass don't do it. But no, Randy Orton got this. Randy Orton knows every fucking thing. That's why his bitch ass is fucking talking to himself, and acting like Willie Bo-Bo right now." Looking over at Randy, John decided to quit while he was ahead. Randy's glare was increasingly narrowing at John and those blue eyes were like ice. His boy obviously wasn't in a joking mood.

Randy's eyes moved from John to his hand, when he felt Mickie's touch his. It was just a reassuring pat, that seemed to cut through some of the confusion, and softened his stance ever so slightly. "All I was trying to do was to do something nice. I fucked upearlier. I thought she'd see past all that shit and appreciate it. Then she starts yelling at me and shit. She wouldn't take off the fucking shirt. Then she accused me of wanting her to be skinny. She starts talking all this shit about she don't look like the women I work with and whatnot. I ain't ask her change."

"I know you think you were doing something nice for Parker. But you have to see it from her perspective." Mickie continued to rub her thumb across Randy's to calm him down. He was so predictable. There was something about being shown undivided attention by a woman that always seemed to put him in a better mood. It was one of the tricks that all the Divas knew to try. If they wanted something from Randy, stroke him. "I don't care how beautiful, and seemingly perfect the woman is, we are all self-conscious about something. I know what went down with John and her. I know that you were feeling her the whole time. Even though she's perfect to you, there's still shit with her that she doesn't find perfect."

Randy cocked his head to the side to question Mickie. What the fuck did Parker think wasn't perfect? She was brilliant. She was beautiful. She was a supermodel. What more could she want? "What? Her weight? I don't give a fuck about that. She's sexy as a motherfucker to me. She keeps my shit on swole."

Mickie nodded in understanding. Never before had she seen Randy hung up on anyone. It was sweet. "You might not care. But she does. Even if she doesn't admit it, she knows it there."

"Come on, Orton. Don't act like you don't see it. Parker's a big girl. She's cool and whatnot. But you gotta see it." John rested his hands on the top of the table to show Randy that he wasn't trying to be threatening. There was no malice in his voice. Parker had issues with him, but he didn't with her. And though he still didn't see the attraction to her on Randy's part, he knew without a doubt, that his best friend was into her. "It's like…right there. All over."

"Shut up, John." She quickly popped him on the arm before turning her attention back to Randy. "You don't know what it's like to be a woman. Everyone is judging you. Men, other women…we even judge ourselves. You should see how much shit I get for being chunky. By normal women's standards, I'm not. But by Diva standards…"

"But she ain't like that. She don't give a fuck what other people think. She knows she's fine, regardless. I know she's a little overweight. But I don't care. It don't bother me none." Randy ran his hands over his eyes and blinked lazily back at Mickie. Between the match, dinner, and all this shit, it hit him just how tired he was. But he couldn't go back upstairs like this. Not until he knew what the hell was wrong with Parker, and that it wasn't his fault. "I mean, you wanna talk about being mismatched? She's a fucking doctor. I'm a professional wrestler. See the disconnect?"

"And that's the problem. You know that she's a doctor. She has way more education than you do. And even though intellectually you're in two different places, she never once acts like you're not a wrestler. Physically, you're perfect. She's not. But you don't acknowledge that she isn't either." Shifting in her chair, Mickie leaned over the table to make sure that Randy was looking at her. Men were so stupid sometimes. He could get this if he wasn't being so stubborn. "When she's with you, she sees herself as this girl that really turns you on. But now, she sees herself as the girl that couldn't, because she fit into your idea of sexy. You need to tell her that you understand, and that it's okay."

"Why the fuck would I do that? I don't want her to feel bad about her weight! I don't feel bad about. It is what it is." Talking to Mickie was making his head hurt. It was just like talking to Parker. He still didn't know what the problem was. "So what? You want me to tell her she's fat? You want me to hurt her feelings?"

He still didn't get it. Even John understood what Mickie was trying to say. "You need to be honest. That's where I fucked up. She's not stupid, Orton. She'll understand what you mean if you talk to her about it."

"Talk to her about what? I don't care about her weight." Randy slammed his hand down on the table to make a point. Obviously neither one of them had been listening to a word that he was saying.

Draining the last of her beer Mickie thought of how to put in terms that Randy could understand. " What would happen if she bought you a book on sports medicine, with a bunch of terms that you couldn't pronounce, and asked you to explain to her what you read?"

He thought about it for a second and relized he didn't like the answer. "She'd know that I'm not as smart as her."

Patting his hand before getting up from the table, Mickie raised her brows. "Exactly. Just like now, you know that she's fat."