Hey everyone. Sorry for the delay! It has been crazy lately. This week alone was insane. Like the devil throwing everything including the kitchen sink at me. I hope this is ok. Feels a little off.
Thanks so much to morrowsong for the review. 3
The day was shaping up to be another monotonous one for Kevin. They had long been running together when his routine was the same, day in and day out: wake up, go to physical therapy, visit the gym, go home, knock back too many beers or too much wine while staring vacuously at the television before he fell asleep. Wash. Rinse. Repeat.
It was late morning when Kevin walked into the local gym. He had just finished his physical therapy session for the day. He wasn't sure how he felt about being at the gym today. Of course, he always liked to get a workout in. Despite what people said about him, he was extremely religious about keeping up with his physical routine. He felt at home in the gym and even if he wasn't feeling it at the moment, he knew once he got going he would be glad he came, just like he always was.
After being greeted by a staff member, Kevin deposited his duffle bag in a locker. Because the rehab center was so close to the gym, he often recognized people who came over to get a workout. As he approached the first machine, Kevin recognized a guy he had struck up a conversation with once or twice before.
"Hey brother," Kevin greeted the other man as he sat at the empty lat pull-down machine beside him.
"Hi, Kevin. How are ya?" he returned.
The two men began shooting the breeze as Kevin fell into the rhythm of his workout. The guy's name was Henry and he was in his early 50s. Henry wasn't recovering from an injury but lived in the area and happened to frequent the gym. From their few chats, it was clear that Henry was very proud of two things: his family and his business as a bail bondsman.
"Not proud of it, but man shit I really could have used your services once or twice in my life, not gonna lie," Kevin jested.
"Eh, I just get ya outta the slammer for a hot minute. I don't get ya off the hook," the other man replied as he gave a hearty chuckle. "What kind of trouble you get yourself into anyway?" Henry eyed him with feigned suspicion.
"Too much," was all Kevin was willing to admit although he shot the other man a shit-eating grin.
During their conversations, Henry seemed genuinely interested in the rehab process that Kevin was going through and how being stuck in one place compared to the true nature of life on the road. He seemed like a bit of a mark, but he was in no way obnoxious about it. Kevin was honestly surprised when he admitted that he hadn't actively followed the product since the likes of Hogan, Macho Man, and Andre were the ones gracing the squared circle every night.
"So, what about you? You got a woman back home in Florida – that's where you said you were from, right?" Henry asked.
The question caught Kevin off guard although Henry had just told him that he was set to celebrate his thirtieth wedding anniversary.
Not selling for a moment, Kevin's expression remained untroubled as his mind filled with thoughts of his Little One. No, she was not in Florida, anxiously awaiting his return. Or what would have been better yet, here with him, giving him comfort and support throughout this trial. She was hundreds of miles away in Texas and it pained him to admit, he still didn't know if she was truly alright.
Of course, Kevin didn't want to divulge that. He wanted to divert the question by pointing out that while he resided in Florida, he was from Detroit, but he knew that was splitting hairs. Instead, he responded, "Not exactly," in his signature flippant and haughty manner. He even furnished a mischievous grin to sell his angle.
"Ha! I see how it is. Big stud like you, why be tied down to one woman, am I right?" Henry bellowed, "Shit, you prolly have to beat 'em off with a bat!" Henry laughed at his own words.
"Well, I mean I wouldn't go that far, but, when you're six-ten and built like a gladiator, Kevin replied conceitedly as he gestured to himself, "it's hard to fight them off every time."
"You arrogant son of a bitch. Wish I had that problem," Henry chortled.
"Excuse me," an impatient female voice cut through their chatter.
The men turned their attention to see an attractive looking woman standing there with her hands on her hips. She was a little taller than average height, perhaps five foot six or seven, with an athletic, but not overly muscular build. Her rich, chestnut hair was pulled back from her lovely features, revealing most notably, her strong eyebrows. An interesting aesthetic considering most women tweezed their eyebrows into pencil-thin lines these days. She was covered in a sheen of sweat from her workout.
Ever the ladies' man, Kevin had no qualms admitting that she was very attractive - but she would have been more so without the scowl on her face.
"Are you done with the lat machine? Or are you two just going to sit there and cluck like a couple of old hens at the after church Sunday potluck?" she asked.
Kevin gave her another glance over. She certainly wasn't shy like most women approaching two dudes in the gym would be. Nor did she mince words apparently. Although she had addressed them both, it was Kevin that her deep chocolate eyes boor into with a glare.
"Sure thing, sweetie pie," Kevin said with a smirk as he grabbed a bottle of disinfectant and paper towels from the sanitizing station. The woman's glare intensified as her eyes followed his every move. If the use of a pet name felt condescending to her, good. He meant it to.
Kevin proceeded to wipe down the machine as was customary when you finished using each one. When he was done he stepped aside and gestured to it. "There you are m'lady," he said in an obnoxiously awful British accent, only because he knew it would piss her off even more. What the hell was this broad's problem anyway?
With a sneer, the woman rolled her eyes and glided past him to set the weight. She paused momentarily and tried not to glance in his direction once she had seen how much he was lifting. Of course, to look at him, it shouldn't have been a surprise.
Kevin and Henry moved on to another set of machines. When they were out of earshot Henry said, "I rest my case."
"What do you mean?" Kevin asked feigning ignorance. He knew exactly what Henry meant but he still wasn't selling.
"About you beating them off with a stick," Henry answered.
"I believe you said a bat," Kevin remarked, again wanting to steer the conversation in another direction.
"Whatever, man. Point is, she looked like she wanted to jump you right then and there. I may have been out of the game for a while, but I know that look when I see it. I dunno what your preferences are, but if I were you – which of course I'm not – and a hot little number like that was eyeballing me, it'd be a done deal."
From the way he spoke, Kevin imagined Henry didn't get a lot of action anymore, being married for thirty years. Then again, who was he to speculate on someone else's marriage?
Kevin glanced back at the woman, who was meticulously performing her lat pull-downs. "She looked at me like she'd rather cut my dick off for no good reason," Kevin rebutted, pretending that he wasn't all too familiar with that expression. It was the same sort of disgust Scarlett would fix him with. Yet given the opportunity, she still wanted to fuck him.
Forget the opposite sex, women were a whole other species sometimes; too damn complex to figure out. To his credit, Nash had figured them out for the most part – at least how they ticked. The why of it all? He didn't bother. He was sure they didn't even know half the time themselves.
She was definitely hot. Kevin would give her that. But he didn't want to entertain the thoughts so he pushed them out of his head and told Henry that he would spot him on the bench press, hoping that would bring an end to the conversation. Mercifully it did.
Kevin didn't run into Henry at the gym the next day. However, he did notice the woman from yesterday. She was running on the treadmill when he came onto the floor.
He stopped to watch her for a moment. Running was not something he could do, even on a good day, even without this injury. So he definitely wouldn't be in her way in that respect.
Not wanting to seem like a total creep, Kevin moved on to his first workout. Even after physical therapy in the mornings, going to the gym was the one thing that brought a sense of normalcy to Kevin's life – not that his lifestyle as a wrestler was really all that normal in the first place. It was about the only thing he could look forward to and it was at the very least, a way to blow off a little bit of steam.
Kevin found himself almost wishing Henry was there. Not that he had grown super attached to the guy, but he was nice enough and it was always good to have someone to bullshit with to occupy his mind. If not, he did too much thinking and that wasn't always good for him.
It was still strange to him, being alone in the day-to-day. Even as he was riding out his eleven-month contract from Time Warner, he never got used to not being on the road and being around the guys. Missing his Little One didn't help matters either.
Kevin was halfway through his workout when his attention was drawn to the brunette woman from yesterday. She was making her way towards the equipment he was using, only to stop short when she realized that the only available machine was the one right beside him.
A frown marred her lovely features, but she said nothing. Ignoring him, she set her weight and began working on her sets.
Out of mere curiosity, Kevin watched her from his peripherals. She seemed to be taking her workout pretty seriously and although she was nowhere near the build of someone like Joanie, he could tell fitness was a priority for her. She even had proper technique.
"Nice," Kevin said quietly.
Not quietly enough, however. The woman's machine clanged as she released the handles and her head snapped to the side fixing him with a glare. "Excuse me?" she questioned through pursed lips. She didn't seem the least bit concerned that the commotion had drawn the eyes of a few curious patrons.
Kevin's eyebrows raised. Damn, this one was touchy. Was she on her period or some shit? Or was she always this bitchy?
"Nice form," he added.
The brunette scoffed at him. "You know I don't come here to be perved on," she scolded him.
What the hell? When did he say anything of the sort? Did he acknowledge her body? Yes, but that was only to himself.
The more intelligent part of him would have said forget you lady, and went about his business. Unfortunately, he had a growing penchant for unwise decisions. Kevin openly rolled his eyes to showcase his annoyance at her insinuation. "Nice form. As in nice technique," he stated as he looked a her pointedly. "Forgive me if I sound misogynistic, but most women don't really have proper technique when it comes to some of this stuff."
The woman's brows furrowed at his statement and she glared at him as though she wanted to kick him in the balls. "As if I need any input from someone like you," she retorted as she looked him up and down.
"Damn. Alright then. Sorry for giving you a simple compliment. Fuck, my bad then," Kevin groused.
He got it. She obviously thought he was some meathead with the IQ of a rock.
His ex-wife thought the same thing about him when they first met and – and look how that turned out, he chastised himself.
Ignoring him, the woman got up and grabbed the spray and paper towels to wipe down the equipment. Before she began walking away she told him, "You can keep your compliments to yourself. Thank you."
"I'll be sure to do that, Sweetie Pie," he leered at her, exhibiting his ego that was at times even more enormous than he was.
The woman glowered back at him, "You are nothing but a tool," she snipped.
"Wait til you see how I use it," he quipped.
"Ugh, you misogynistic pig!" she snapped before storming off, stirring up a few whispers in her wake.
Damn, even Scarlett was cleverer with her insults. He supposed Henry was right – not supposed, he knew Henry was right. But he didn't need Henry to tell him that broad wanted him to bone the shit out of her.
An ordinary day of physical therapy passed. Afterward, Kevin didn't feel much like going straight to the gym. He was in one of his somber moods for some reason.
Kevin had spoken with Scott. He was actually doing pretty great. A few months back, Scott had joined a fledgling company known as Total Nonstop Action Wrestling or TNA. It was headed by Jeff Jarrett and owned by some broad (of all people) who was the little princess of some oil tycoon apparently. That would tell anybody how much she actually knew about wrestling. Guess that's why she has Double J running the thing. According to Scott, she was smoking hot though.
When Scott joked about telling Vince to shove it and come work near home, Kevin almost considered it. He knew he couldn't do that though. Not yet. His contract wouldn't expire until January of 2004. Moreover, if he wasn't in WWE he'd have a much harder time getting back in touch with his Little One. Which of course, aside from rehabbing his injury in the first place, was his top priority.
It was early evening when Kevin decided to drag his dead ass to the gym. He wasn't feeling motivated whatsoever, but he knew he needed to keep up with his routine.
Kevin arrived at the gym wishing he had stayed home. He could have ordered Chinese and got a couple bottles of his favorite cabernet from the corner store. But no, here he was because he had some sort of goal in mind, which now was all part of a much bigger scheme. Sighing inwardly, Kevin got to work.
As he was exiting the gym following his workout, Kevin could almost identify the voice that was becoming increasingly familiar – but perhaps not the voice itself as much as the tone, really.
Kevin looked across the parking lot to see the brunette woman he had previously encountered a couple of times arguing with some jabroni who obviously thought he was a big man.
"Aww, c'mon, sweet cheeks. I know what your problem is. You just need the right man to show you a good time. I can certainly give you that. I would rock your world baby," the man boasted with ignorant confidence.
Kevin rolled his eyes. Was this stooge serious? The man probably wasn't even five foot nine. The woman was close to his height. Perhaps an inch or two shorter. She obviously seemed to be holding her own.
"I'm not going to tell you again you, Neanderthal. Get lost!" the female snapped.
"Now doll, don't play hard to get," the man told her in a patronizing tone.
Kevin stood there, watching the scene unfold. Working in a male-dominated industry, he had seen this one play out too many times before. The man was probably going to try and put his hands on her. Then he would have to step in a beat the ever-loving fuck out of him.
As much as he wanted to mind his own business, he couldn't just let this slide. What did Shawn call it, a White Knight complex or some shit? Kevin wasn't really keen on a fight, so he would try the peaceful approach. Throttling this dude's ass could be Plan B.
Kevin approached the scene in his usual languid manner. "Hey, babe. Geez couldn't even wait for me, woman?" the giant drawled as he wrapped a steely arm around the woman's waist and drew her in close to him. He then stared down at the man with a look that was simultaneously cool, yet threatening. It was the same type of look he'd always have on television. The expression had the desired effect on both parties.
Head swiveling to the side, the brunette stared up at him with a mixture of shock and rage. There was a slight hint of pink to her cheeks although that could easily be from outrage as much as embarrassment.
The asshole turned white as a ghost and looked like he was going to shit himself.
Good. As much as a macho tough guy as he came off, Nash didn't always like fighting. It was his temper that got him into trouble.
"You ready to go to dinner?" He asked the woman, before following up with, "I'm fuckin' starving!" Yes, he was laying it on, but he was pretty damn good at that.
The woman seemed to be too stunned to say anything for once.
But before she had a chance to respond, the little jackoff muttered, "H-hey man, I didn't mean no harm. I was just askin' for directions to the nearest convenience store. Outta smokes, ya know?" He gave a nervous little laugh that made Kevin want to punch him just for the hell of it.
"Huh? You mean like that gas station over there, you dumb prick?" Nash canted his head towards the gigantic sign on the other side of the road, adjacent to where they were standing.
The man said nothing about Kevin insulting his intelligence. Instead, he turned his head slowly and then looked back at him sheepishly. "Yep. The BP. That's it. Thanks for your help!" the man uttered as he turned away. It clearly took everything in him not to break into a full-on sprint.
"Yo, asshole," Nash called.
Stopping in his tracks, the man turned back as though that were his given name.
"If I ever see you harassing another woman, I'll bash your fucking skull in. Got it, buddy?" Kevin threatened menacingly.
Eyes wide with fear, the man nodded and swiftly scampered away.
While Kevin was watching the man go, the lady wrenched free of his grasp and began stomping away in a huff. With slow strides, Kevin followed her, taking care to remain a few paces behind.
"You're welcome, by the way," Kevin said in his off-handed tone.
The woman turned to glare up at him again. "Welcome for what?" she demanded.
"For sending that douchebag packing," Kevin replied in a tone indicating that should have been all too obvious.
"That would depend on which douchebag you're talking about," she stated.
"I'm going to choose to ignore that remark. But you haven't answered my question," Kevin lamented.
His ego should have been deflated by her harsh words – at the very least bruised, but he never quite learned how to stop once he was on a roll.
"And what question was that?" The woman was growing more impatient by the second.
"Are you ready for dinner?" the words tumbled out of his mouth before he even had time to contemplate what he was asking and he fixed her with that trademark smirk that usually had all the ladies swooning.
She stopped abruptly and gaped up at him incredulously. "Are you fucking kidding me?" she practically screeched while she looked as though she wanted to reach up and slap him. She crossed her arms over her chest, perhaps to prevent herself from doing so. "Is that your M.O. for picking up women? Send the other douchebag packing, as you say, then prey on vulnerable, unsuspecting females in dark parking lots?"
For some strange reason, the woman's words made him think of that night at the rest area where Heather was attacked. And even after beating the asshole to a bloody pulp all he could think about was making a move on her.
The guilt settled into his stomach like a lead balloon, but again he didn't sell it. Instead, he chose to lean into his magnanimous charm and added a touch of humility (something he obviously had in spades), "I'll admit, it usually goes better than this for me," he said sheepishly as he gave her a boyish grin.
He saw the corner of her mouth twitch as she endeavored to maintain the scowl on her face. "Usually?" she asked with skepticism, but her hands dropped to her hips, a much less threatened stance. "And how does it go the rest of the time for you?"
"About like this." He shrugged his massive shoulders. "But hey, you haven't slapped the taste out of my mouth yet. So I figure that's gotta count for something." Kevin shot her a grin and there he was blurring the lines again. He never gave a damn about protecting kayfabe or any shit like that, but when his character so closely mirrored his real self, sometimes it was too easy to slip into that Big Sexy persona and let him drive.
"I want to. Desperately," she stated boldly.
"Desperately, you say?" Kevin was goading her now.
Her mouth opened slightly in surprise. Yep, she had walked right into that one. The woman looked thoroughly frustrated. Not because she was disgusted by him, but because she was struggling to resist his charm. He was damn good looking she had to admit. But she was sure that he was as arrogant as he was handsome. "You are so impossibly-" she uttered but he cut in.
"Impossibly handsome, right?"
"No! Impossibly arrogant. Impossibly stupid."
"Fuck. Just tell me to pound sand already," the giant commanded impatiently although he was unimpressed with her insults. He could always tell when broads were putting on a front. (Minus those times he couldn't. Namely, the times that involved a tiny demure creature who perplexed him as much as fascinated him. But he wasn't about to entertain them now. )
"And…and impossibly stubborn. Alright fine! I'll go to dinner with you, ya big lug-headed moron. If it'll get you off my back," she relented, attempting to sound as if he was really twisting her arm.
"See, now was that so hard, sweet cheeks?" he ribbed her.
"Don't push your luck," she warned through gritted teeth.
"A guy like me doesn't need luck, Sweetie."
That seemingly ever-present beam was on his face as she glared at him. God, could she just slap him already? Why the hell did she even agree to go out with him?
Instead of retracting her statement, however, she told him, "Osaka House. You know where it is? Seven o'clock sounds good." She spoke as if they were setting up a business meeting, rather than making dinner plans.
He had been there once or twice while in town for a show when he was on the road. "Yeah, I know it. It's damn good," Kevin replied. And it was damn expensive, but of course, he didn't mention that.
"Good," she nodded her approval. "I'll see you at seven," she said as she began walking away.
"Hold up," his voice stopped her. "How the hell will I know where to pick you up at?" Kevin asked.
She turned to gawk at him as though he really were a moron, "I'll see you at seven," she repeated before continuing towards her car.
"Yeah, sure fucking thing," Kevin muttered to no one in particular.
Flummoxed as hell, he stood there watching her as she walked away. What the hell had just transpired? Kevin didn't have any intention of trying to pick her up, yet he couldn't stop the question from spewing out of his mouth. Old habits died hard he supposed. Kevin rubbed his hands down his face. Oh well. It was just dinner, right? Besides, Kevin was moderately convinced that she was going to stand him up anyway. She didn't exactly have a gun-hoe attitude about the whole idea.
Shaking his head, Kevin headed to his own vehicle. This was a really fucked up day and he just needed to sleep it off – after he knocked back a few drinks of course.
"You're a pro wrestler?" the woman sitting across from him, whose name he finally learned was Carrie, asked as her eyebrows furrowed. The question wasn't posed with intrigue, but rather a sense of mild disgust.
"Yep," Kevin confirmed.
"Like Hulk Hogan?" It was obvious from the expression on her face that was about the only wrestler she knew of.
"Actually, Hulk is a very good friend of mine," Kevin stated matter of fact, although, it was clear that she wasn't impressed by that in the slightest.
"I suppose that makes sense, given your stature and physique," she remarked.
It was probably the closest thing to a compliment that she would give him.
There were always two types of broads, the ones that were overly desperate and attention-seeking. Basically, rats, even if they didn't follow wrestling. They'd still see a gigantic mother fucker across the room and want to be plowed to kingdom come. Or you had the ones that acted like stuck-up cunts even though deep down, they wanted to be wrecked too. This broad obviously fell into the latter category.
One thing he didn't understand was why she insisted on bringing herself to the restaurant. Perhaps it was a safety thing. He really couldn't blame her there. Or perhaps that was how shit was done now. How the fuck would he know? He had been out of the game for over a decade now. Shit couldn't change that much, could it?
"So, you're actually on TV?" Carrie questioned skeptically.
Kevin only nodded his head.
"Humph, I've never seen you."
Kevin leaned back in the chair that was already fucking with his back. "Well, I suppose you wouldn't if you're not a damn mark," he retorted.
"A mark?" Carrie repeated.
"A wrestling fan, basically," Kevin enlightened her. "What about you? When are you going to tell me all your secrets?" He grinned hoping to lighten the mood. The seemed to be a lot of tension in the air and he didn't like it.
Unfortunately like most women, Carrie certainly enjoyed talking about herself. Kevin learned that she was a thirty-two-year-old budget analyst, who also happened to be a semi-professional tennis player. She had won two championships in a row – the latter one finishing in disaster. She had torn her rotator cuff right while taking her winning swing. That's why she was in Birmingham and was rehabbing as well.
In his wisdom, he knew that this was the type of woman he should be going after. A career in finance was a good one. That would indicate that she was extremely money-conscious, something that was actually important to him. And she was obviously athletic and liked to stay in shape, something else that was important to him. Oh, and not to mention, she was certainly not jailbait. That should have been a major plus, at least one would think. Those were all the things Kevin's brain nagged him about as he listened to her prattle on about herself for a while.
Eventually, Carrie excused herself to the bathroom. Knowing she would probably be in there for a while as broads tend to do, Kevin occupied himself by taking in the décor. The place was decked out in an elegant yet, almost gimmicky Asian style. Nevertheless, this was a nice restaurant. It was expensive, but the sushi and the wine were worth it.
Kevin thought it was a shame that he had never had the opportunity to bring Heather to a place like this. The only places they had ever eaten together were greasy hole-in-the-wall diners.
He took in a tapestry on the far wall depicting some ancient-looking artwork. If Heather were here, she would probably tell him something about how the art style isn't Japanese, but in fact Cambodian or another Asian culture. Or that the scene it depicts didn't even take place until three hundred years after that art style declined in popularity.
Kevin shook his head, freeing himself of these thoughts. He could not allow his mind to be consumed by thoughts of her right now. Not when the woman he was here with was heading back towards their table.
"Welcome back," he said as she took her seat across from him. "I figured you'd have bailed at this point."
Kevin picked up the bottle of wine that the waiter had left and began refilling her glass.
Ignoring his comment, she studied him as though she had just met him. "What's with the long hair? Do you have a part-time gig as a Fabio impersonator or something?" she questioned with scrutiny.
Kevin's brows knit together at the absurdity of comparison. "Fuck Fabio. I'd kick his ass in a shoot any day," Kevin groused, perhaps a little more ruffled by the comment than he should be.
"A shoot?" Carrie asked with confusion.
"A real fight."
She nodded her understanding now. "You mean to tell me you didn't ride here on a white Mustang?" she said in a surprisingly playful tone.
"Nope, but I drove here in one. That's basically the same thing right?" he quipped. "You know, just in case there are any damsels in distress."
"You think very highly of yourself, don't you, muscle head?"
"Nothing wrong with having confidence," he remarked flippantly.
"Is that what you would call it?" she asked raising an eyebrow.
"As opposed to?"
"Ego," she stated bluntly.
Kevin playfully looked defeated. "Well, yes. There's that too, but realistically speaking, how can a guy like me not?"
"That depends." She cocked her head to the side.
"On what," he asked wryly.
"How big of a tool are you really?" She inquired with a coy expression.
The door to Kevin's apartment crashed open with a thunderous bang as the two bodies stumbled inside. Their lips were the only things that remained crushed together, while their hands seemed to be everywhere at once.
A stalwart arm wrapped around the woman's waist and Kevin drew her to him as he kicked the door shut with his foot. Moving further into the room, Kevin was vaguely aware of how messy the apartment was, but he hoped that she would be too distracted to notice.
Fuck, he was horny, hornier than he had been in a while. He briefly wondered if she would object to being tossed onto the couch and taken right there. It didn't help that he could feel her pawing at his straining manhood over his jeans. Grasping a handful of hair, he shoved her down in an almost barbaric manner.
It was quick. It was dirty. It was just what he needed.
My heart hurts...