Chapter 4

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If they had been caught in one of the arenas, maybe she wouldn't have even been tempted, but it turned out to be surprisingly easy to sneak away for twenty minutes if you timed it right. At least it was at the television tapings. House shows were smaller, but local workers were more likely to try asking for pictures and autographs, while pay-per-views were more of a spectacle, filled with celebrity attendees and Make-A-Wish recipients. At regular RAW tapings, though, Becky and Seth had been able to sneak off almost every Monday for two months, finding some administrative office or closet that was out of the way. Then Seth would set the timer on his phone for fifteen minutes, they would adjust their ring gear as little as possible, and the fucking commenced. At the start, they played it safe, sticking to oral so at least one of them was fully dressed and could run interference if necessary, but as the weeks went on and no one seemed the wiser, they grew bolder—more creative, more daring, more prepared.

Tomorrow's Monday, Becky told herself as she looked down at her phone. You can fuck him tomorrow. It didn't stop her thumb from hovering over the screen, though. Arena sex was good for a quick fix and she wasn't about to give it up, but it was nice to have privacy and a bed, to have a bathroom nearby and to be able to be naked rather than just frantically shoving clothes out of the way just enough. Oh, look, her inner voice supplied. Privacy? Check. A bed? Check. Bathroom? Check. Of course her hotel room had all those amenities, but they had agreed to limit their hook-ups to their houses and, in a pinch, at the arenas.

Except they were finding themselves at each other's homes when there was no event in sight, and the arenas were becoming a regular, not a substitute. Their rules were falling faster than their inhibitions.

We're going to get caught, Becky thought, tossing her phone from hand to hand. Realistically, someone probably knew already. Backstage was like a small town; some tech had likely seen them sneak off perfectly put together but return somewhat rumpled. She and Seth did their best not to hang out too often backstage—but also not too little, just in case it made something think their friendship was in jeopardy—but she knew she had slipped on occasion, maybe looking at him a little too long or standing just that tiny bit too close.

A short beep from her phone made her jump, and she saw that Charlotte had texted her. It was only an emoji of a champagne glass, so she probably wanted to go out for drinks to celebrate her title win. The pay-per-view card had been stacked, but Charlotte's match against Bayley was one of the standouts. Maybe hanging out with friends who wouldn't hint at having sex was what Becky needed, but what she wanted was to call Seth. After sending a reply to Charlotte with a vague but gentle refusal and a quick congratulations—and a crown emoji, of course, fit for a queen—Becky paced to her window and looked out. At night, with the dizzying array of lights and skyscrapers, most American cities looked the same to her. "Just wait until tomorrow," she told herself, breath misting over the window. They were going to be in the same city, so there wouldn't even be any travel.

But he's just down the hall. . . . She knew there weren't many wrestlers on this wing of the floor, and when Seth told her his room number, part of her wondered if he had purposefully tried to get a room close to hers. Maybe it was an invitation, she thought. Before she could stop herself, she sent him a text with only his room number, an emoji of an open door, and a question mark. Then she went to her own door and opened it just enough to poke her head out. If she followed the number sequence properly, his room should be to her right.

Less than a minute later, a door opened down to her right and Seth stepped out, phone in hand. Their rooms were far enough apart that Becky wouldn't quite say their gazes met and held, but he was all she could see. When her phone beeped—she had purposefully chosen a short, generic tone for his texts so no one would think much of her getting multiple alerts—she glanced down to see two emojis in reply: a closed door and a bed. Subtle, she thought. Since there was no handy symbol for 'that's not in the rules', she had to think about how to reply. When she glanced up from her phone, though, Seth was already halfway to her room. "Seth, I—"

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