DarkAngelElektra; thank you for your review. You're the first perso to gie an in depth review and I loves you for it. This chapters for you :D
"No, no, no!" Trish giggled from the bed she was sprawled across, the wine in her glass sloshing onto the bed covers, staining them an awful shade of red. "You've got it all wrong." She insisted, pointing at my hips and waggling her finger. She clambered off the bed, causing more wine to spill and a slice of pizza to hit the floor. Luckily, it was Dawn's room and it would be her left to pay the price for any damages incurred.
I had never been much of a fan of high heeled shoes - give me a pair of wrestling boots any day, a pair of flip flops or a pair of stilts. I'd still be more comfortable than I am in heels. I personally blame my mother for my resentment of heels - while most girls were being bought their first bra, their first pair of heels, their first lipstick, I was being bought my first Olympic approved swimming costume, my first proper basket ball kit and my first pair of boxing gloves. I, to put it mildly, hate heels. I cannot walk in them. I cannot stand in them. I cannot be in them. When I take my first step, I always get it right. It's my second, my third and any that manage to follow on afterwards that I can't cope with. I wiggle, I wobble and I fall on my ass.
Somehow, that night, I had managed to stay upright and I was now teetering around Dawn's room, attempting the 'sexy wiggle' the girls had taught me. Needless to say, thanks to Trish's reaction, it was not going well. "Your hips are all over the place," Trish pointed out getting to her feet. "And you shake in those heels. Ever seen Bambi? Yeah, you look like him." Pulling on the heels she had kicked off earlier, before they had attacked me with Gucci and MAC andLouis Vuitton and all the other designers I couldn't pronounce. She slid into the shoes and stood up, placing one hand on her hip and walking - even though she was intoxicated - up and down the room, her ass wiggling this way and that. I copied, but I wobbled a little too much and my hips began to hurt.
"I don't need to walk like that," I whined. "Surely he'll notice something's up if I suddenly start wiggling towards him in an Armani dress, spouting designer names like they're my best friends…"
"And that," Trish laughed, waggling a finger in my direction. "Is an assumption. If he were to notice something had changed, that would mean he knew what the old Li was like. And, lets just say he notices just about every other diva. Not you. You're like…You're about as attractive to Molly to him."
Well thanks a lot.
I'm not sure why that little comment of hers hurt so much. Maybe it was because she was comparing me to a fucking dog. Maybe it was because she was telling me that the plan wasn't going to work. Or maybe it was because she was telling me that no way in hell would a man as attractive as Randy Orton look twice at me. And that hurt. But I'm glad she said it. It sort of hit me with vigour, made me want to try harder. "Okay," I said, trying my best to maintain a clear voice and ignore her comments. "How about I dress up and flirt with him and all the rest, but I do it in pumps?" The three nodding faces told me that I was doing well.
I should point out now that while I had six full days of non stop tips on how to flirt, how to dress and, in Dawn's case, how to describe to her EXACTLY what sex with the Legend Killer was like, I was still totally unprepared for 'Day One of Plan Legend Killer'. Personally, I thought Dawn's nickname was both obvious and stupid but she refused to see it as either. It was early Monday morning when I realized this. Four thirty seven to be exact. What would I do? What would I say - you can't just approach a member of Evolution out of no where. They're too suspicious and feared for that and they'd instantly know something was up if I did that.
And so I did what I always do when I panic and exactly what Dawn told me not to.
I exercised.
"Look Lita," she had whined, wagging that annoying finger of hers in my face, her other hand perched on her hip like a mom does when she's telling off her unruly child. "If you keep up your training, you'll have a better body than he does. He's not gonna want you if you have a six pack to rival his. Men want their women curvy, soft, huggable. Not hard, rugged and chiselled."
I got out of my warm hotel bed which I had sunk into just two hours before - it was rare you got a decent hotel room but that one is a particular favourite of mine, the beds are always so comfortable, dragged my hair back into a band, pulled on a pair of baggy sweats - I couldn't run in shorts at that time of night in Canada, a hoody and left my room as quickly as possible. It seemed like the elevator was taking ages, jammed at the ground floor and I was just about to take the stairs, when the door pinged open.
I'm not sure what I smelled first to be honest, the over powering cologne or the alcohol but both made my head spin. "Lita!" I heard someone call - the voice was familiar but, with my back turned to them and the fact that they were slurring, I couldn't be sure who it was. You know how your fears have a terrible way of jumping out on you when you least expect it? That's pretty much what happened here. Here was me, going for a run to get the panic of not knowing how to seduce Randy Orton out of my head and here was he, propping himself up against the elevator, love bite rather evident on his skin and his shirt half open, the stench of alcohol seeping from every pore. "Lita!" He slurred again, but this time, it wasn't to get my attention. It was almost pleading, although he was grinning - that lopsided kinda grin that all drunk people seem to get. "Lita, I need you to help me." He continued, although it was getting quite difficult to understand for as well as slurring, he was now whispering.
"What…What is it?" I'd be lying if I said I wasn't intrigued. I had this Adonis asking me for my help and it was something I could use as casual conversation at the arena. You know, the sort of 'how's your head?' kinda thing? I came away from the first step, which I had been standing on, and moved back towards the doors. "You okay, Orton?" Don't familiarize yourself with him, I thought. You can't call him Randy til you know him…
"I cant fuckin' walk…" he replied, and right there it was gone. There was no well educated, unaccented Adonis in front of me. There was a drunk. A good looking drunk. But a drunk nonetheless. "Hunter will…he'll fuckin' kill me. Can I…Can I use your bed?"
"Use my bed?"
He nodded. "To sleep. He'll find me elsewhere."
"You came here, to use my bed?"
"Not YOURS. Anyone's."
I was going to say no, really I was. I wanted to. He was an asshole and I knew I'd get no thanks for it, in the end. But there was something nagging at me, tellingg me that by letting him sleep in my bed, I was setting myself up, aiding the plan. And getting him a little closer to me. "I was going running but…" He slipped. He actually slipped. For a moment I wondered what he had slipped in - thanks to nights out with Matt I was more than aware of the likelihood of drunk people pissing themselves - but there was a glass by the door and a strong stench of whiskey. Cheap Whiskey. When he landed, there was this sound. Like the whole elevator was going to collapse.
I gave him a hand to pull him up but, like I thought, it was no use. There was no way I was going to be able to haul him to his feet. "Randy you gotta try and stand up," I said, putting one of his arms round my neck and trying to tug at him. I'm not quite sure how we managed it but there was a lot of tugging, name calling and groaning on my part and a lot of smirking and ass touching on his. It wasn't exactly encouraging but somehow we got back into my room.
"Randy, you're so fucking big…" I groaned, finally getting him to the edge of the bed.
"Thanks," he smile drunkenly in reply. "I hear that a lot." I rolled my eyes at him but he was too drunk to notice.
"Now you're gonna sleep here and I'll sleep in the bath," I muttered, taking a pillow and collecting my travelling blanket from my mini suitcase. I turned round to see him, fully dressed in dress shirt, pants and shoes spread across the double bed.
"More th'n 'nough room for you here…"
"No thanks," I replied, making my way to turn off the light and enter the en suite bathroom which was just big enough for a bath, a toilet and a sink.
"Lita?" I thought that perhaps, he needed to use said bathroom and I was fully prepared to tell him that I would not be helping him do that when he giggled. I swear he giggled. "Your pretty sexy from where im standin'."
"You're not standing at all, Orton. Good night."