Chapter 8
"So, do you ever feel a bit left out due to your brother and Amy's
relationship?" Trish questioned him and she surprised herself. Did she
just call Lita Amy? Was his effect that strong on her? She slipped her
fingers through her hair and pushed it back, leaning against the wall to watch
him. Jeff chuckled lowly because he had surely heard that question enough.
He was positive that he asked himself that question every time they made
their way to the ring. Were they still a unit or two separate entities?
"When we go out to the ring and when we cut promos, I know we're Team
Xtreme. There's no question about it," Jeff asserted, pulling a towel
from the nearby rack. He ran the soft material over his face, drying the
drops of water that clung to his skin. "And when you're not in the ring or cutting promos?" Trish wondered,
patting her brush against her thigh. Wasn't the gleam in his eyes
enough?
"Then they lead their lives together and I lead mine," He replied
simply, dropping the towel into the sink. He moved away from the sink,
dropping his hands to his side. He shook his head and then flipped his hair back,
exiting the bathroom without another word.
"Do you ever get tired of that lonely life?" Trish called out, fleetly
walking behind him. Jeff turned, eyeing her with words he could not say. Thoughts were
flooding his mind but all he could do was stare, contemplate, even
wish. "Do you?" He questioned her and she stood there stunned.
He shook his head and moved away, gathering the extra linen he had
rounded up from the front desk. He began to drape a sheet across the carpet
while Trish sat on the edge of the bed, still staring at him with disbelief.
Was he in her mind? Did he know what she felt?
"Jeff." She whispered his name. Maybe she wasn't sure? Maybe she
was? "What?" His voice stung with annoyance. He looked up and she had
already lowered her eyes. He groaned quietly because he was fighting with
emotions. He was dealing with the awkwardness and it wasn't easy. It was
bullshit.
He rotated his arm again and hissed with slight pain, grabbing his
shoulder immediately. He had to chastise Billy and Chuck in the morning for
their careless wrestling style. He was too sore to do it now. His mind was
focused on other things, things his eyes couldn't find the confidence
to look upon.
"You don't have to sleep on the floor. I mean, you are the one who's
hurt, not me," Trish insisted, standing promptly from the bed. It was the
best she could do. She had to ease the silence, the tension that seemed to
echo more in her mind than anywhere else.
Jeff glared at her, musing over the way she held a helpless air about
her. He didn't know what was wrong with her. What was making her less than
that character she played every week on television? He knew she held more
charisma than this. He watched her segments on the Divas special, he
watched the way she could be goofy yet intelligent. She was capable of
being sexy and charming. She was more than what the writers wrote.
She was Trish, her own woman.
He sucked on his lower lip as he skidded over to the bed. She moved
away, strolling toward the set-up he had on the floor. "The floor is fine with me. You sleep in your bed and get some
tension off your shoulder� Trish persisted, tossing her hair to the side as she
moved. Jeff reached out, wrapped his hand around her wrists, the polish on
his nails diverging from the tone of her skin. He waited until her eyes
lifted and the question was already set in them. He smiled a little because
she was vulnerable for one moment. When was the last time he saw this in
Trish? He didn't really have to ask. He knew when. He remembered clearly
the moment that defined this one. It was in the summer, it was in the
ring, and it seemed all the more special now.
"You're probably going to think this isn't the most ideal situation again, but
the bed is pretty big and I don't usually move around a lot in my sleep
and..." He wanted to continue babbling but she had become softer under his
touch. Maybe she was scared? Maybe the concept wasn't the greatest and maybe
he should've kept it to himself? But he didn't and that is what mattered
to him.
"Jeff," Trish whined softly, trying to pull away.
He loosened his hold on her wrist but not on her. He stared into her
face, leaving behind decadence to expose fragility. "I don't think a woman
should have to sleep on the floor even if it is to salvage my body from pain."
Trish looked on him with uncertainty. She started this, didn't she?
She spoke to him first. She entered a realm that she could've avoided.
Now those green eyes were her home and her ghosts.
"Sleep up here with me."
The words were simple, so chaste when they were first spoken. They
felt different through the night, when she was lying there, in the bed, with
him. They held some sort of fire, some wicked beauty that tantalized her.
When she watched him in the darkness, face of complacent dreams, she found a
way to smile. She stroked his face with a feather light touch. Her
fingers traced over the dusty hairs that grew on his cheeks, near his lips.
She traced the shape of his nose and wondered where those dreams came from.
Could he dream of her? Did he ever?
She giggled to herself and touched his lips, lips that were always
soft like she remembered them. But she only touched them once, in the midst
of the summer, when she probably shouldn't have. She drew back then, only
to be greeted by a mild groan; Jeff still lost in his slumber. The words
weren't so beautiful then.
"So Mr. McMahon said that you and Amy are going to have a match
tonight on Raw?" The morning had left Jeff devoid of pain and he was definitely
refreshed. Something about the night brought him solace. He tried not to think
about when he woke up late in the night, his hand resting on Trish's hip as
he slept. He laughed quietly about it because Trish was in the bathroom
and he was still on the bed, legs crossed at the ankles with his hands behind
his head.
"Yeah. Probably just a little conclusion to our rivalry as of late,"
Trish replied through the bathroom door. "Think they'll let you win?" Jeff questioned, sitting up on his
elbows, hoping Trish would emerge from the bathroom.
She laughed but stayed behind the door. "The question is will Lita
let me win?"
A knock settled against the door and Jeff sat upright. He strung his
fingers through his hair, untangling it before scooting off the bed.
The knocks continued and Jeff thought not to answer. Something drew him
away from the need to open the door and continue with his life. That would
mean that Trish wouldn't be there. That would mean that this he'd have to
let go of this feeling that should never have been there. But he liked the
feeling too much to let it fade.
*Chp8*
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