A/N: I've wanted to write a story about him for so long. He's seriously my favorite on Smackdown, since Edge has yet to show his handsome face.

Brian tapped his fingers against the hotel night stand, waiting patiently for... What was her name? Sandy? Sammy? He shrugged, glancing around the room, bored. It wouldn't matter what her name was if he had to wait around for a couple more minutes, since it was taking her forever to get out of the goddamn bathroom. If he was in the right mind, he'd just pack up and leave without telling her.

"What in the hell are you doing in there?" he called out, kicking his feet under the sheets. He scratched at his bare chest and stared at the black television screen when no one answered.

Where the fuck was she? He didn't have time for this. He had to get some sleep, then get up for a seven-thirty flight. He didn't have time for flirty games – this chick was way too into him.

She knew him from way back when – high school years, he guessed. He couldn't remember her for the life of him, but seeing as he was in his hometown, it made sense. She could've been bullshitting, but why go to all that trouble? She was cute, he was going to sleep with her anyway.

He inhaled heavily and rolled his eyes, snagging the television remote. If she was going to knit a fucking sweater in that bathroom, he might as well watch something to keep him occupied.

The shower turned on. Great. She hadn't even begun to get herself ready. He was going to be there all night, and so was she, and that was something he had not planned on happening.

"Hey, listen!" he yelled, turning down the volume on the TV. "I don't have all night, you know!"

Silence. He could hearing her bumping around in there, so she wasn't dead. Like that was the least of his worries. If she were dead, he could just get up and leave.

Brain sat silently, his leg beginning to shake underneath the covers. He watched some hockey game without really seeing it, checking the time on the dime-store alarm clock sitting next to him. It was almost three o'clock! He needed to sleep and she needed to get out of his bathroom and out of his life.

"I cannot begin to fathom what you're doing in there," he said, almost disinterestedly, as he snagged the book he'd thrown on the table beside him earlier that night. He idly rifled through the pages, but the words meant nothing. He was too aggravated to enjoy it, anyway.

He sighed angrily and thumped the cover shut. He might as well get dressed. They weren't going to do anything else tonight, especially since he was planning on throwing her out the second she stepped foot out of that fucking bathroom.

He flicked strands of blond hair off of his face as he bent to grab his boxers and jeans, pulling them on efficiently. He pushed his arms through his t-shirt and slipped the fabric over his head, bending down to look for his shoes. He had to crawl around the bed, finally finding them thrown carelessly against the wall.

He had just flopped back down onto the mattress, after having tugged on his sneakers, when the door to the bathroom opened.

"Finally," he muttered, more to himself, and sat up, ready to get rid of her.

When she came, or... danced out of the bathroom, she was wearing his trunks and jacket from the show earlier that night. She even had his boots on, though they were much too big for her.

Brian wrinkled his nose, at first in sheer disgust – who did this girl think she was? But then, as he watched her flit around the room as he did in the ring, her heels never touching the ground, rolling her arms around like she was trying to imitate a wave, he couldn't help but find himself smiling, despite himself.

She grinned, embarrassed, and stopped dancing, placing her hands on her petite hips. "Think I could pull it off?"

He moved a little closer to her, letting his eyes travel down to her long legs, back up to her tiny waist, up to her bright-eyed face. "You're not supposed to wear a shirt underneath the jacket," he said nonchalantly.

She looked down at the shirt that barely hit the waist of his trunks, back up to his face, and when she saw the smile settling on his lips, she smiled and started dancing again. "Shouldn't fix what isn't broken, right?"

Brian watched her take off her shirt, then put the jacket back on. She didn't look cute anymore. It bothered him, the way she thought she could just go through his stuff without asking him. How could she even think she was worth his time? It was completely ridiculous - this girl meant nothing to him, and she never would.

He shook his head. "Maybe you should leave."

She stopped moving, eyes confused. "Huh?"

"I said get out."

"Brian – "

He bent to pick up her shirt, chucking it into her arms. "Take off my stuff and get out of my room."

"What's the matter with you?"

"Absolutely nothing – except you, of course. Get out."

She frowned, eyes shaking with the saddest glaze of tears. But she did what he said, taking off his stuff and laying it neatly on the bed in front of her. She put on the rest of her clothes, away from him, while he sat on the edge of the mattress and stared at the television screen.

She passed his line of vision, and he stood up, watching her stuff her feet in the flats she'd kicked off by the door. She turned the handle, the bright hallway behind her seeping into the dimly lit room.

"You're an asshole," she said quietly. The door slammed behind her.

He sat back down, hands laced between his knees, and he glanced over at the apparel she'd put next to him, wondering if what she said was true. Wondering. He knew it was true. But why change who he was because she wanted something more than that?

He was an asshole. And it had already gotten him so far.

He smiled to himself. She was absolutely right.

If it ain't broke, don't fix it.

A/N: THE BRIAN KENDRICKKKKKKKKKK. He makes me happy. He brightens my Smackdown experience. Friday nights aren't complete without little dose of him dancing. Review.