It was in the middle of the night, and yet her sleeping instincts are not yet kicking in. Shifting from her bed to sit up, she rubbed her eyes and looked at the heap beside her. Curled up into a ball, trapped within the sheets and snoring lightly, was the Champ. John Cena.
John Cena? How the Hell did he get in my room? And more importantly in my bed? Amy thought, scratching her left ear very quickly in an attempt to recall her memory.
"What? No more rooms? I am Amy Dumas! Former WWE Women's Champ and WWE Diva!" An enraged redhead screamed, threatening the clerk for his inconvenience.
"I… I'm sorry miss , someone beat you to the last room! He's right behind y… you." The hysterical clerk who was about to burst into tears shakily pointed behind her.
"Who is it-?" Turning around, she can't pinpoint her exact emotion after seeing the person. It was either rage, shock or…
And in front of her, mouth wide open with a lollipop dangling in his mouth was a very surprised Italian. "A…Amy?" Instead of hearing loud angry ramblings, John was taken aback when he heard laughter.
He looked cute. Wait… c ute? Where the hell did that come from? Slowly, she poised herself, even though she's still giggling to give him a piece of her mind. "You stole my fucking room, dickhead!"
"I… I stole your room?"
"Yeah, dickhead. MY room!"
"How the hell can someone steal a room? This is a HOTEL! And I ain't a fucking dickhead." He shifted the position of his bag behind him, and moved to the elevator.
"Don't turn your back on ME John Felix Anthony Cena." the animalistic growl stopped John in his tracks. If he were to be scared of one person. It would be Amy.
"Give me my room. Now. Or there'll be hell to pay." She moved a hand towards him and poked his chest with her index finger.
"I ain't giving you the room I paid for."
"Give. It. To. Me." She frowned at him as her fists gripped her bag so hard it turned white.
"Listen. If you want to be kicked out of here by shouting cuss at me, you had better close your mouth. The guards are going in our direction." He grabbed her arm as he directed her to the stairs, away from the guard's sight.
"I'm not shutting up unless I get a room." Pouting she swatted his hand away as she moved forward.
"3rd." the champ rolled his eyes as he thought of a way to get out of this mess.
"So. Give me the keys." Amy stopped in front of the door. Facing the man who stole her room.
"No." John found the keyhole and opened the door, moving beside the red-head despite her efforts to keep him out.
"What? We're sharing?" Amy choked out the words she dreaded most. John only looked behind him and nodded, tossing his bag on the chair and lying on one side of the bed. Leaving the door wide open.
"It's either you come in, or you sleep outside. Your choice." He closed his eyes and leaned back, relaxing as if no one was there.
"If someone finds out about this. I'm not paying for your funeral." She muttered, going in and closing the door behind her. Not forgetting to lock it.
"I'm not sleeping on the sofa."
"So am I."
"Just promise me you don't snore." Amy said as she got her clothes and paused in front of the bathroom.
"I don't. Jus' hopin' ya' don't." he replied with a smile. Watching her out of the corners of his eyes.
"Dibs on the radio, television and the beers." Amy laughed in the bathroom as he gasped, suddenly sitting up and replying
"What do I get? I paid for the room!" he waved his arms around as he waited for an answer.
"You can get the microwave and the coffee maker." Came a muffled reply from the bathroom. He winced as he noticed the sarcasm in her voice.
A few minutes passed as she went out, drying her hair and in her pajamas. She was surprised the John already changed clothes. Looking at the other side of the room, she found out that there were two bathrooms. But only one bed. Oh the irony.
She stared at the man sleeping on the side of the bed. He was only wearing boxers and had his back facing her. What made her giggle was not the fact that the Doctor of Thugonomics, the champ, and the ChainGang soldier in front of her was wearing boxers. But he was wearing Scooby-doo boxers. How cute.
For a guy who makes millions of dollars on merchandising, he was wearing Scooby-doo boxers. No wonder everyone loves him.
She scooted beside him and covered herself with the blanket.
She smiled to herself as she rested her head on her hand, the other hand raking through his short hair. Who knew? Not only was he handsome, a gentleman (sometimes), a smartass, rich and immature. He was also adorable.
"I know a'right. I'm cute."