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*That Friday*
Adam couldn't help but reflect on the past two days. He hadn't been able to even focus on much until he finally picked up the phone and dialed. He'd had to tell the bitch off.
"Hello?"
"Listen, you bitch... Leave my girlfriend alone! If you ever call her again, I promise you will regret it!" With that, he slammed down the receiver, not bothering to listen to her angry verbal protestations and reply. She wasn't worth it... He hated her stinking guts, and she was, without a doubt, the single worst mistake of his life.
Naturally, the blond man hadn't told his girlfriend about the call. It would only upset and worry her, and that was the last thing he wanted. He wished he'd been there with her that night. Or, even better, he wished she'd come back to his place in Toronto with him - had she done that, she never would have answered that phone call.
"You're so quiet," the redhead's voice cut into his thoughts. "I thought you'd be happier than this to see me again."
"I *am* happy to see you, baby," he said. He drew her into his arms and rested his chin on the top of her head. He sighed. "It's not you at all, it's..."
Amy pulled back enough to gaze up into his eyes.
"What's wrong?" she asked. She squintd almost as though with suspicion as she nearly perfectly read his mind. "You're not still thinking about that phone call...?"
Damn it, it was uncanny. The Canadian wondered how it was that she was able to do that. Sometimes, she downright scared him. But she didn't know it was more his *own* call to Lisa he was thinking about - she didn't know a thing about that one.
Amy was about to say something more when a knock suddenly sounded at the locker room door. The redhead exchanged glances with her boyfriend before heading over to answer.
"Hey."
"Hey! Thought I'd find you in here," Trish said with a bright smile. John was right beside her, the former WWE Champion's arm around the little blonde's waist. They all exchanged greetings until Trish glanced down at the slightly sizable package she held cradled in the crook of her free arm.
"Amy, this came for you." She handed it to her friend as John approached Adam, and the two immediately began a conversation about wrestling.
"What is it?" the redhead asked.
"I don't know," the Canadian diva said as she crossed the room to sit down. "A guy just came by to the women's locker room to deliver it." She craned her neck as the redhead placed the box on a chair and bent over to open it. "Is there a card?"
"What's that, baby?" Adam asked as he briefly looked up from his discussion with Cena.
"Not sure... And yes, Trish," she said, "there *is* a card." She peeled a tiny envelope from the side of the box, opened it and pulled the equally small card out. She read it silently, her blood running cold in the process.
"What is it?" the tall blond man asked, concern gripping him as he noted the expression on his girlfriend's face. When she didn't answer immediately, he rose to come over. Amy had grown about as white as a sheet.
The redhead shook her head, refusing to answer. Instead, and with great reluctance, she handed the card to him. Adam read it aloud, and fury took over.
"'Dear slut,
Please accept this gift. It is very deserving of you - a dozen dead long-stemmed roses ground into mulch. Equally dead as your heart.'"
"Ouch," Cena said, shaking his head.
Trish got up and frowned as she peered into the box to get a look. Who the hell would be so horrible as to write such a note to her friend? Feeling the horrible tension, she decided to try to lighten the mood.
"Well... You can always use more potpurri." She reached in for a handful of dried, dead rose petals.
"Trish..." Adam muttered, and the blonde met his green eyes. "... Not the time."
"Sorry." The little blonde diva clamped her mouth shut and felt her boyfriend sidle up to her, wrapping an arm around her waist.
"Shit!" Adam swore. "I *told* that bitch to leave you alone!"
"Yo, man... You know who's responsible for this?" Cena asked, gesturing with one hand to the box of dead, shredded flowers.
"Damn right I do," the blond man spat. "It was my ex-wife."
Amy's hazel eyes shone with recognition and widened for a beat before narrowing. Calmly, she examined her boyfriend's face before posing the question.
"What do you mean, you told her to leave me alone? You called her, didn't you?"
"Yes, I called her!" Adam admitted. "After you called on Tuesday night and told me about that phone call, *I* called *her*... I told her to fuck off. What else was I supposed to do, Amy?"
Trish arched a brow and glanced into her boyfriend's blue eyes.
"John? I... err... I think we should go."
"Yeah, okay," the young man replied. He glanced over at the other couple, who seemed on the verge of a fight. "Listen, don't let that shit upset you. It ain't worth it."
Amy bit her lip at the self-proclaimed Chain Gang leader's last four words. She knew just how true they were.
"Catch you later." With that, and a small wave by Trish, the two left.
"Please..." Adam practically begged the moment the door was closed behind their friends. He put his hands up as though in surrender. "... Don't be mad at me. Can you blame me? I mean, can you really blame me for calling her?"
The diva raised a hand and ran it through her long red hair. She took a deep breath and exhaled, then shook her head with resignation.
"No, I suppose I *can't*." She knew she would do the exact same thing in the Canadian's position. "But... Why didn't you tell me?"
"I didn't want to upset you," the blond man said. He felt his heart sinking as his gaze traveled back to the shredded roses. "Well, so much for that. I'm sorry."
Amy went to him and was instantly in his arms.
"Why are you apologizing?" she asked, her hands trailing up to his silky blond hair, eyes locked with his. "This wasn't *your* fault."
"It feels like it was... You know, her being my ex-wife."
"Well, it wasn't." The redhead grew silent, a soft smile actually coming to her face as she pulled his head down to hers. Her breath was lost in an instant as they kissed, and she felt pleasant shivers racing up her spine.
The kiss seemed to last and last, and afterward, Adam simply held her there in place in the warmth of his embrace.
"Adam?"
"Hmm?"
Amy looked up and blinked as she spoke again.
"Are you sure it was Lisa who sent those dead flowers?"
The tall blond man nodded.
"I think so... Who else would do something like that?" He held her more tightly, raising a hand to stroke at her hair.
In his arms, Amy frowned and couldn't help but try to think of some answers to his rhetorical question.