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Matt watched in irritation and disgust, a scowl coming to his face, as Adam and Amy departed into the blond man's locker room.
He'd heard what the Canadian had said, and he didn't buy half of it while he knew the other half was for damn sure true. Right, he *loved* Amy... Who in hell did Adam Copeland think he was fooling? Matt knew, in his heart of hearts, that saying 'I love you' to the redhead was just a plot, a way to keep her by his side - but most importantly, in his *bed*. And he didn't doubt that the other thing the blond man had said - about the two of them no longer having to sneak around - was said in honesty. That way, they wouldn't have to hide their little displays, no matter how sickening they were.
Slowly, the dark-haired man crept up to the closed door of the locker room, blinking furiously as he turned his ear to it. There were no telltale sounds to indicate what Amy and Adam were doing - what he knew they'd done countless times in locker room in arenas throughout the country, not to mention parts of Canada and England, when they'd had the Insurrexion and Rebellion events. Nonetheless, he knew it was bound to happen again, and he found that disgusting. Didn't the redhead possess *any* self-respect?
All that stuff aside, Matt had noticed something strange - something that in fact disturbed him. Both of Amy's hands were bandaged. He'd seen as much when she had gone out to the ring to join the man who claimed himslef as her 'boyfriend.' He didn't know a damn thing about the 'why' behind those bandages, but he knew without a shadow of a doubt that somehow, Adam had everything to do with them.
'Damn that Copeland!' he thought. If he'd done anything to hurt Amy, to cause whatever wounds had required bandages be applied to her hands... Well, he didnt' *know* what he might do. But he was sure it would come to him.
The dark-haired man was just about to turn away and leave when, from the corner of his eye, he became aware of a movement just to his left. As he slowly turned, suspicious that someone had been spying on him, he saw Torrie Wilson. The platinum blonde was eyeing him with an almost questioning look in her pale blue eyes, as though curious as to what he was up to. In fact, her eyes widened slightly when he'd turned and looked at her.
She bit her lip, a look of uncertainty now dominating her face, and Matt was afraid she was about to bolt when he approached her. He hoped that wasn't the case - especially now that he's just gotten a brainstorm the moment he'd spotted her.
"Hey, Torrie..."
"H-hey..." The woman offered him a nervous smile. It made him wonder if she was capable of reading minds or something. "Well..." she stammered, pushing a lock of blonde hair behind one ear. "I'll see you later." Torrie started to head off, but the elder Hardy brother reached out for her arm.
"Torrie, wait..."
The tall diva caught her breath, then turned around slowly to face him once again. She hated the way her heart was pounding at about... oh, six-million beats per second under Matt Hardy's intense scrutiny.
"Listen, could I talk to you in private?" the young man asked, his brown eyes fixed to her blue.
Torrie's eyes widened again, and she didn't fail to notice the effect his hand still gripping her bare arm seemed to have on her. But she wondered about what he could possibly want to talk privately with her about... Unless...
"Listen, Jeff and I have a match coming up in about twenty or so minutes. Would it be all right if I came to speak to you in your hotel room later tonight?"
The platinum blonde blinked, thinking she must have dreamed up what Matt had just said. Then, nodding, she thankfully found her voice again.
"Okay..."