Hello. Please be kind. This is the first time I'm venturing into WWE fanfiction. Let me know what you think.
BTW, there is a pull on my profile that will decide an arguement later in the story. Coke or Pepsi. Go vote for the God Drink.
Jennifer had never dreamed her life would have this much excitement, or be this extraordinary, but here she was at the biggest stage of them all. She may not have been fighting, but that didn't mean she wasn't going to make an appearance none-the-less.
"Hey," a slightly raspy voice whispered as two strong, tattooed arms wrapped around her waist and pulled her against an equally strong chest. She smiled wider, knowing instantly who those arms as familiar to her as her own belonged to. "You seem giddy."
"I can't be excited?" she teased. "It is your big night, isn't it?"
The man holding her kissed the top of her head rather than answer her. One of his hands slipped under the hem of the t-shirt she was wearing (it was one of his older shirts) and his fingers spread intimately over the skin of her abdomen. She giggled, "Your hands are cold," but she didn't do anything to discourage his actions.
The last eight months had been surreal…and he was a big part of it. Everyday she thanked her lucky stars that they had stumbled into each other's lives. He may not believe in luck, but sometimes fate was unavoidable. After all, if there was no such thing as luck or fate, then what reason could he possibly have had to have been at the bar that night?
Eight months earlier…
Jennifer McCorvik was pretty, but not exceptionally. She looked…approachable, and that was part of the reason she was popular with the customers. It got rather irritating, and more than once the bouncer, Andy Reynolds (hired because the neighborhood wasn't in the best part of town), had to discourage patrons from harassing her.
"Jenna!" came the exasperated shout of Nicole, her co-worker and one of her closest friends.
"Back here! One of the regulars split his drink on me!" she called back, trying to find another shirt—any shirt—in the backroom. She wasn't having much luck. It seemed her life had been that way lately.
"Well hurry up! We got a big group coming in! Alex just said they called ahead requesting enough tables for at least ten!"
"You're not serious!" she called back. It was a Tuesday, for crying out loud! The bar was not supposed to be this busy on a Tuesday.
"I wish! You, me, and Angie have their tables!" The ash blonde appeared in the doorway with an anxious look on her face. "Oh shit, you are soaked, Honey Girl." With that statement made, she rushed in and tried to help Jennifer clean up as best as she could. "I think the best was can do right now is tie back your shirt," she advised since most of the spill, thankfully was over her belly and not her breasts. "Thankfully yours are two sizes bigger than you need," she continued as she knotted it in the back, causing a little skin of her lower back to show. Most of the wet area disappeared in the folds of the fabric.
"Thanks" Jennifer smiled. She nervously brushed her bangs back out of her eyes, but unfortunately they weren't long enough to tuck behind her ear. She was always a little uncomfortable showing off too much skin at work considering the type of guys that usually came in. Ordinarily it wouldn't have bothered her.
"No problem. Come on," Nicole demanded.
The two young women rushed out of the storeroom. The bartender, Alex Guiro, owner of the establishment, glanced up between drinks as they hurriedly grabbed order pads and pencils. Nicole, his long time girlfriend, glanced up and gave him a little smile to let him know they were ready.
Just as Nicole and Jennifer came out, the doors opened and in walked a crowd of overly muscular tough guys and overly made-up women. Jennifer winced. She hated this kind of customer most because they often thought they were God's Gift to Women. That, and they tended to get grabby when they had a few drinks in them.
Putting on her best fake smile, Jennifer stepped forward to greet them.
"Party McMahon?" Nicole asked, her smile equally as charming.
Jennifer didn't know where to begin. There were at least a dozen people in the group, and probably more.