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Punk laid back in the bed with the covers pulled up to his bare chest and felt anything but comfortable. More aptly, he pretty much felt like a schoolboy - awkward, gangly, confused, and generally all sorts of lost.
He didn't want to be here... He was in Edge's bed, in Edge's bedroom, in Edge's house, in Edge's city, complete with Edge's dogs... With Edge's decor, and, probably worst of all, with Edge's girlfriend.
At the moment, Maryse was in the small bathroom adjoined to the master bedroom. She seemed to be taking a bit of time getting ready for bed, but then again, she was a high maintenance type of woman.
Punk sighed uneasily. Oh, sure, the French-Canadian blonde was very easy on the eyes, but that alone got old in a hurry. She was brash, bitchy and a bit moody, going from furious to ecstatic in mere moments. He shuddered as he recalled what had transpired mere hours earlier, when they had first arrived at the house. He supposed the diva's change of mood was normal, given the circumstances, yet it still freaked him out. Ashley was nothing like that.
Punk's heart sank at the thought of his sweet, adorable petite Punk Princess. God, how he missed her. And he worried about how she must be faring around now... Knowing Edge, even though he didn't even like Ashley, he would probably be all over her. He had to literally swallow back the bile he felt rising in his throat upon that thought. It terrified him.
"Here I am!"
Maryse's sultry voice suddenly brought him back to his senses as she sauntered out from the bathroom and made a beeline for the bed. He swallowed hard, dreading that he had no choice but to share a bed with her. If he didn't, there would be questions, and he worried that if there were questions, he might end up blurting the whole damn truth to her. And then what? He knew the blonde was sly and cunning, and, judging by the slap she'd laid on Vickie Guerrero when she'd crashed the General Manager's wedding to Edge, she could hit extra hard to boot. He did not want to rile her up in any way, especially after that earlier incident with the Lita answering machine message.
"Yeah, I see," he muttered between slightly clenched teeth. He didn't even want to look at her, but he did... Hell, he was a guy, and for some dumb reason, he was unable to tear his eyes away. And how could he, given what she was wearing... or barely wearing?
Maryse grinned as she lingered on the opposite side of the huge bed. She was clad in a sexy black lace baby doll with a ton of her generous cleavage exposed. The panty part of her lingerie was a tiny string bikini, quite low-rise and very high cut on the sides. Her left hand came up to toy at some of the lace on the sexy bustier part of the outfit in an enticing manner.
"So... We have a little fun tonight, no?" she said in a husky voice as she started to crawl seductively across the mattress to him. She was grinning hugely, sexily tossing her platinum hair back.
"No," he managed to croak out. He was somewhat dismayed to realize his throat was bone-dry. Why, he didn't quite know - it wasn't like he was literally drooling.
She gave him an incredulous look and sat up, her legs tucked beneath her. She crossed her dainty arms over her breasts and merely stared at him. It was as though she were waiting for an explanation.
Punk was fully prepared to give her one. He didn't even have to cast through her mind this time, and it came rapidly.
"I'm still not feeling too well," he murmured. "I'm feeling a bit nauseous... Sick to my stomach." He grimaced for emphasis.
Maryse's expression cleared into one of sympathy in an instant.
"Ooh, you poor baby!" she cried. All of her sexiness - well, not quite, because when could Maryse Ouellet ever lose all of her sexiness? - melted away as she got into mothering or nursing mode. "I take care of you, don't worry, baby." She placed one slim hand on his face, feeling his skin for a fever. "You don't feel warm," the tall blonde noted. "But your skin, it feels clammy."
The man in the bed closed his eyes, partly with relief that she seemed to believe he was sick. Now, if only she would just completely leave him alone, he might be able to actually sleep in this strange place. At least Edge's dogs were steering clear of him - not that he disliked dogs, but he knew they knew he wasn't their master.
"I get the thermometer!" Maryse exclaimed, leaping off the bed.
As she sprinted out of the room, Punk decided to try a tactic. He shut his eyes, kept his breathing even and regular and didn't
move. If the diva came back to think he was really asleep, it was the next best thing to playing dead.