“Here we go again,” I merge the rental car onto ninety-five north. We’re officially returning home for two weeks and then we’ll be heading out to the west coast for Pacific Coast Clash. I’ve got roughly five hours to spend with Lilah and then I’m not sure when I’ll see her again. We made some progress last night, but nothing concrete. Getting her to admit there was more than sex between us was a great start, but it’s hardly a declaration of how she feels about me.

“You’re quiet this morning,” I state, flicking my eyes her way. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” she mutters then yawns. “I’m just tired; I didn’t sleep well.”

Did she replay our explosive kiss over and over like I did? It took me an hour to stop thinking about it long enough to get my hard on to go away.

“Maybe you need to eat. I have plans to stop in a couple of hours if you can wait that long.”

“Let me guess, one of your favorite greasy spoons is on the way home?” she quips.

I laugh. “It just so happens that you’re right. This one is the big dog of all greasy spoons.”

“Mm, I’m intrigued and admittedly hungry. How long did you say it would be?”

“Close your eyes and grab some sleep. We’ll be there before you know it.”

She folds up her sweatshirt and places it against the window then rests her head on it like a pillow. I smile as my eyes sweep quick glances her way. I’m overcome with so many mixed emotions, but at the forefront is happiness. I haven’t felt this happy with my life in a long time, maybe never and she’s the difference. Spending time with Lilah is my favorite thing, even if it means stealing glances while she sleeps, and I navigate us safely toward home.

Almost two hours later to the minute, I pull off the highway and into my favorite breakfast place of all time. I’ve been all over the country and this one is top on my list.

“Lilah,” I call her name, but she doesn’t respond. “Lilah,” I repeat, louder and run my hand down her arm in a long caress. Her skin is warm and smooth against my palm and has me itching to continue touching her.

She stirs, slowly becoming aware of her surroundings. When she looks my way, her lips quirk up at the corners for a small close-mouthed smile. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to sleep for so long. Talk about a sucky co-pilot.”

“Nah, I’m glad you got some rest because you need all your faculties to really enjoy this meal.” Sliding out of the car, I close my door and move around to open hers. She takes my hand, rising to her sneakered feet and I draw her into my arms. The cool spring breeze gusts as I hold her snug against my chest and my lips lower to place a kiss on top of her tousled blonde hair. Her thin arms wrap around my waist as she burrows into me. “Hmm, I’m chilly and you’re so warm. You’re like a giant teddy bear for me.”

“Teddy Bear? Don’t insult me, woman. I’m not squishy like a bear. I’m rock solid, baby.” I pull her hips into mine, so she can feel how solid every inch of me is.

“Okay, big fella, down boy,” she giggles, patting my chest. “It’s time for food now.”

“When will it be time for other things?” I inquire, with a raised brow and a rakish slant to my mouth.

“Hmph. Not sure. I guess you’ll have to stick around long enough to find out.”

My hands move up to cup her cheeks, so I can stare down into her captivating irises that are as green as the trees surrounding the back of the lot. “I don’t have any plans to go anywhere else, Lilah. Sooner or later you’re going to have to admit that fact to yourself. I think you’re stuck with me.”

She rubs her lips together and grabs my hand. “Come on, I’m starved,” she says, changing the subject.

“So here we are at Big Dawg’s Diner,” I inform as we approach the stairs to the main entrance. She glances up at the image of the giant bulldog taking a bite out of the red B in Big that resides on the roof of the building. “I’ve never seen this place before or heard of it. How’s that possible?”

“I don’t know. It’s definitely a favorite spot for travelers and locals.”

“How did you find this place?” she asks once we’re seated in a corner booth and have already ordered.

“I was driving back from Florida on spring break when I was in college. This place is open twenty-four-seven and I was looking for something to eat in the middle of the night.”

“What were you like in college?”

“That’s a loaded question.”

“How do you figure?”

“I’m not sure what I should say. College was a long time ago. I like to think I’ve grown up quite a bit since then.”

“So, you were a manwhore?”

“I didn’t say that. I wasn’t a saint by any means, but I wasn’t a complete asshole.”

“Maybe a medium sized one?” she jests.

“Possibly,” I agree. “I was a three-time NCAA champion and a member of a frat. We used to party, but nothing that prepared me for my first few years on the independent circuit. Back then the drinks and drugs flowed freely.”

“Really? I’ve heard rumors, but I’ve never asked my father how things were with our wrestlers. He gets touchy about admitting that things could have been done better back then, even here at WCW.”

“Russ is the reason for the crack down on both of those things. I’m sure he saved the life of more than one wrestler who struggled with addiction. I’ve heard stories of how he packed more than a few away to rehab and got them sober. I was one of the lucky ones. Drinking and drugs have never really held any appeal for me. I like a few drinks here and there, but neither of those is my vice. And by the time I got to WCW, it wasn’t an issue.”

“What is your vice then?”

“I never really thought I had one until just recently. Any idea what it might be?”

She raises her shoulders in a careless shrug and shakes her head.

“You. You’re my vice now.”

“Me?” Her eyes go wide as she points at her chest. “How am I your vice?”

“Because I can’t get enough of you no matter how much time we spend together. Each taste of your lips is like a drug that only makes me crave more.”

“Jesse,” she whispers my name.

“I’m crazy about you, Lilah. I want to take you to dinner tomorrow night. Will you let me?”

Her eyes restlessly dart around the diner afraid to make contact while she thinks over her reply. Her hands twist and turn, clench and unclench on the table where they rest in front of her. She’s obviously nervous about taking things to the next level.

“Lilah,” I rest my hand on top of hers, stilling their movement as our gazes lock. “It’s just dinner. That’s all. Whatever happens after is up to you.”

She nods. “Dinner,” she whispers.

“I’ll pick you up at seven. Wear something casual.”

* * *

“Run the ropes?” Wyatt asks with a smile. We're at the WCW training facility in Stamford for a much-needed workout.

“I'm good to go. You up for it?”

“It has been awhile,” Wyatt laughs as he finishes lacing up his ring boots.

Wyatt and I met back at the wrestling school where I first started this ride. When he introduced himself on that first day I told him in no uncertain terms I was going to be the WCW World Heavyweight Champion within a year. All these years later we still laugh about how bold and naive we were.

The training center is a state of the art facility with a full spectrum of the latest equipment and a full complement of trainers, as well as medical support staff.

We walk into the “Ring Room”, a massive open space with three full size rings, one in the center for match prep and the others set up on either side for training. Today the place is packed. Both training rings are occupied, with a handful of wrestlers already lined up and waiting for a turn. Wyatt and I slip under the bottom ropes on the main ring without a word to anyone. It’s kind of a shitty move and it doesn't go unnoticed.

“I guess superstars don't have to wait.” Alex Kid Colt barks from the line outside one of the side rings, where he's been waiting his turn like everyone else. His voice is loud enough for everyone to hear and take notice.

“And that's why you'll keep waiting, Kid.” I stand against the ropes looking down at him. “Unless you'd like to step in and talk…” I push the bottom rope down with my foot and pull the middle rope up, inviting him in.

“Fuck you, Gunn.” Colt stalks off toward the weight room.

“C'mon stop playing with him.” Wyatt pushes me to get started.

Running the ropes is an exercise every wrestler learns right from the beginning of their training. A standard size professional wrestling ring is approximately four hundred and forty-one square feet. A one-foot perimeter, known as the ring apron, surrounds the ring outside the ropes. There are three ring ropes that surround the mat, at one, three and five feet. These ring ropes are anchored at each corner by a metal turnbuckle, which is covered by a foam and leather pad.

The ropes play a huge part of each and every match. They are your lifeline. Whether you're leaning against them, wrapped up in them, climbing on them, or diving through them, the ropes are second only to the wrestler’s ability to sell their story.

“Why are we doing this?” Wyatt complains, and I can't disagree. “This was your brilliant idea.”

Running between two opposing sides of the ring ropes is an act that leaves plenty of bruising and too much muscle pain in its wake, especially when you're pushing the lean back to speed up your return.

When Wyatt and I get up to full speed and we're barely missing each other as we cross in the center, it's a thing of beauty.

“What's up with you and the boss’ baby girl?”

Wyatt sounds out of breath as we cross paths.

“Nothing.” I pick up the pace.

“Nothing? That's it?” He matches my speed.

“That's it.” I push faster.

“C'mon tell me about it and I'll tell you what I think about Ronnie.”

On the next run I dive into a shoulder spear, hitting him square in the gut and driving him back into the corner. He tries to sit up but instead curls in clutching his stomach as I stand over him. His face reflects pain and shock at my actions.

“You want to be really careful what you say about my sister. You know what I'm saying?” I give him a long, hard stare to let him know I'm dead serious.

“Got it,” he speaks quietly, but looks me in the eye. “Won't happen again.”

“Good. Now let's get to work.” I reach out my arm and help him up.

“Next time,” Wyatt shakes his head as we begin to circle each other around the ring,

“use your words.”