Chapter 1

The sound of a door banging shut woke Ronda Rousey up. She immediately wished it hadn't. Her head was pounding, and the simple act of raising it from the pillow made her feel like she was going to throw up.


Perfect, she thought sarcastically. An absolute beast of a hangover, when she had a show to work later. But then, she should have thought about that when she had been at the Wrestlemania after party the previous night, drinking wine like there was no tomorrow.


True, there had been reason to celebrate. Her debut match in WWE had gone better than even she could have imagined. The mixed tag team match pitting her and Kurt Angle against Stephanie McMahon and Triple H was considered by a lot of people to have stolen the show at Wrestlemania. Not bad for someone who had never wrestled a competitive match before, and had only a few months of training under her belt.


After the show, there had been the party. Lots of fun with her new colleagues, and lots of wine. And then...


It dawned on Ronda that what had woken her was a door being closed. It had to have been the bathroom door. Someone had spent the night in her room. Who the hell was it? She had been so drunk, actually she still felt drunk, that she couldn't remember.


The toilet flushed as Ronda turned over to look in the direction of the bathroom. A moment later the door opened and Dean Ambrose emerged. Now she remembered, vaguely. She had been encouraged into dancing by Natalya and Charlotte, and she had reluctantly joined them. The next thing she knew, Dean had been there dancing with her. One thing had led to another, and they had gone stumbling up to her room. It all slowly came back to her. They'd had sex, she recalled, but she could remember little about the experience. They had been so drunk that neither of their performances could have been up to much.


"Mornin'," Dean groaned, making his way slowly over to the bed. "You look as bad as I feel."


"Such a charmer," Ronda mumbled, her head thumping hard. "I have the world's worst hangover."


Dean managed a grin as he perched himself on the side of the bed. "Lightweight. What you need is really greasy, fatty breakfast and lots of coffee."


"Ugh," Ronda groaned. "You're not making it sound great."


"It's not supposed to sound great, it's supposed to be a hangover cure. Trust me, I know what I'm doing."


Slowly, gingerly, Ronda sat up, groaning again as the room seemed to swim around her. "At least one of us does. I can't remember what I did last night, let alone thinking about what to do today."


"I can remember doing you last night," Dean said matter of fact.


"Right," she muttered, not really reacting to his upfront manner. "I, uh, have to ask, did we use protection? I honestly don't remember."


"Yeah," he said with a little grimace. "I was drunk, not retarded. I wanted sex, not a baby Dean or Ronda."


Ronda grinned faintly at his sense of humour. It would have been funnier if she didn't feel like she was dying. She forced herself to move over and sit on the edge of the bed, in preparation for a tortuous walk to the bathroom, where she would likely have to throw up.


"Listen, I can take off if you want?" Dean offered openly. "We were both pretty far gone last night, so if you want to say no more about it..."


"Thanks," Ronda said, appreciating the offer for what it was and considering it for a moment. "But no," she decided. "You don't get to offer to buy me breakfast then back out."


"I don't think I offered to buy it," he pointed out with a sideways grin. "But alright, I'll buy you breakfast, so long as we get moving soon. I'm starved."


"Alright, deal," Ronda agreed, lumbering up to her feet and heading slowly for the bathroom. Sure enough, by the time she made it in there, she was ready to throw up. Knowing it would help her to start feeling a bit better, she didn't try and hold back.


"Not very glamourous," she said to Dean a few minutes later when she walked back into the room. He had to have heard her spewing up.


"Better out than in," he shrugged, obviously not bothered by it. He had gotten dressed while she had been in the bathroom.


"Just give me a minute," Ronda said, hurriedly gathering some underwear and clothes to change into, and taking them into the bathroom.


When she was changed and had run a brush through her hair, she looked at herself in the mirror. Rough as hell, she thought, cringing at the reflection. But she didn't have the time, or, frankly, the inclination to take a shower. That could wait for later, when the worst of the effects of the alcohol had worn off. Walking back into the room once more, she said, "I look like shit."


"Not from where I'm standing," Dean said. There was something in his tone that told Ronda he actually meant it.


Looking at him for a moment, she realised she knew next to nothing about him. What she did know was that he was hot as hell, and seemed to have just the kind of dry humour she liked. She didn't know right now if she wanted more than a one night stand and some breakfast, or if he wanted more than that, but it was worth trying to get to know him a little before making her half of that decision.


Twenty minutes later, they were sitting in a rather cheap-looking restaurant run by what appeared to be a husband and wife team. Dean had ordered two identical breakfasts comprising sausages, bacon, hash browns and eggs, with the strongest coffee available.


Ronda eyed the items on her plate with suspicion once the female owner left them to it. It was hardly the most appetising sight she had ever been presented with. Everything looked greasy, and the bacon and sausages struck her as a little overcooked.


"Get on with it," Dean said from across the table, chuckling at her reluctance. He had already started work on one of his sausages.


"It's seriously greasy," she observed.


"Exactly. Hangover food. Believe me, you'll feel better after you've had it. Get it down you."


With a quiet sigh, Ronda decided to take him at his word and eat the breakfast. What was the worst that could happen? She had already thrown up back at the hotel.


For a couple of minutes, they ate in silence. Unlike Ronda, who struggled through the food out of necessity rather than enjoyment, Dean seemed perfectly happy to attack his breakfast.


"So you're done with UFC then?" he ventured in between mouthfuls.


Ronda took a sip from her cup of coffee, finding that at least to be good. "Yeah," she admitted. "I couldn't ever quite bring myself to say as much, but I'm done with fighting. It took so much physical and mental effort to come back from my first loss, then I lost again. After that, I didn't see how I could go again."


Dean took a moment to consider his reply. He could remember hearing about some TV interview where Ronda had admitted to contemplating suicide after her first loss. That seemed like an overreaction to him, but then he hadn't been walking in her shoes at the time, and he knew better than to judge people. He had been in enough negative places over the years to know that no one had an easy journey through life, regardless of how their lives might appear to others. He chose to avoid bringing up that particular topic.


"I get that," he said in an understanding tone. "You'd done a lot there, and I'm sure earned a lot of money. Not a bad idea at all to move onto a new challenge."


"That's what I figured," Ronda said with a solemn nod. "It was a time of a lot of changes for me. I split up with my boyfriend around that time, too, so it felt like I was pretty much starting my life over, and not for the first time."


"I know what that's like," he sympathised. "This job with WWE is the first time I've ever managed to settle into something and live what most people would call a 'normal' life. As if there is such a thing. Anyway, before Vince signed me, there were all kinds of ups and downs. I spent some time living in my car, existing from day to day on the money I made from wrestling in crappy little gyms and sports halls."


Ronda spend a moment eating half of a hash brown before answering. She managed a smile before she spoke. "Sounds like we've both had rough times. I lived in my car for a while too, working three shitty jobs just to try and get by. It was me and my dog, and no one else to give a damn. Honestly, coming through times like that gives you a much better appreciation of what you have when you're better off, like we both are now."


Raising his coffee cup, Dean proposed a comical toast. "To everyone who's had to live in their car."


With a chuckle, Ronda raised her cup in acknowledgement, then drank. "You know, I think you might have been right about this hangover food after all," she admitted. "I'm only halfway through it, and I'm starting to feel better already."


"I know what I'm talking about when it comes to hangovers," he said simply, going back to working on his own meal.


There was a comfortable silence between them for a couple of minutes, until a question occurred to Ronda and she decided to pose it. "Why were you even at the Wrestlemania party? Aren't you injured? Or do they just invite everyone regardless? It's only the second one I've ever been to, after thirty one, so I don't know much about how things work."


"Everyone's invited," Dean replied. "But I would have been there anyway. I've been cleared to compete for a couple of weeks, so I'll hopefully be making my return on the show tonight. Vince said they have something for me, so I'd imagine tonight is the night."


"That's great news," Ronda said with a broad smile. "Being out injured must really suck."


"That's an understatement," Dean muttered, looking down at his plate, which was almost empty already. He had smiled along with her, but then his face had dropped at her second sentence. "It had been a long time since I felt as low as I did for the first month or so I was at home, on the shelf," he said with a shake of the head. "I was obviously not getting to see Roman or Seth, and it's surprising how much it hit me not having their company. You get so used to it when you're on the road together so much of the time, it really left a void when it wasn't there anymore."


He paused, then laughed off what he had been saying. "Listen to us, moping around about how shitty our lives are. It's not how I thought this was going to go."


Ronda had to agree, but she was kind of glad that it had. It felt like the frankness and honesty they had shared about their feelings and their life stories had formed a more substantial connection between them than a night of sloppy, drunken sex had. She decided that if Dean had the inclination to see her again, she had no objection. He seemed like a genuine kind of guy, with humour to go with it. It was true that she imagined there was a wild side there too, but she wasn't afraid of that at all. Actually, she liked that kind of thing in a man. She was a fun-loving girl who liked to have a good time and a laugh, which meant that some people were just too boring for her. Dean wouldn't fall into that category, she felt sure.


Fifteen minutes later, both breakfasts and a second cup of coffee each had been finished. Sitting back in her chair, Ronda had to concede that Dean did seem to know what he was talking about when it came to hangovers. Without doubt, she felt a lot better than she had done when they had walked into the restaurant.


"Not something I'd eat every day by any means, but it did the job," she said with a smile. "Thanks, Dean."


He nodded a simple acknowledgement. "Glad it helped. You know, what I'd like to do is take you out somewhere a bit nicer than this. I'm thinking about dinner somewhere."


"You don't mince your words do you?" she asked with a hint of a smile. She actually liked his upfront nature. He was sitting there with a confident look on his face, like he expected her to accept. He wasn't going to be disappointed.


"Can I choose the place?" she asked, toying with him a little.


"So long as it's not a sushi bar. I hate that stuff."


Ronda giggled. "Alright then, how about an Indian place? I like a good curry."


Dean's eyebrows had raised a little at the request, but he tried his best to take it in his stride. "Okay then, Indian it is."


He wasn't fooling Ronda any. She had to laugh. "You've not had curry before, have you?"


"It was that obvious?" he asked.


She grinned. "It was to me. Don't worry, I'm sure you'll like it."


"The company will make it worthwhile," he replied with a corny grin of his own.


Ronda winced theatrically. "Don't, Dean. I've already been sick once today, and that was enough."


The good-natured conversation continued for another few minutes, before Dean paid for everything and they left the restaurant. As they walked out into the street, attention turned to that night's Raw event.


"I wonder got they've got lined up for you tonight?" Ronda said thoughtfully. "They put the IC title on Seth, and Roman's thing with Brock might not be over."


"Right, so Shield is probably dead again for now. The reunion really ended up being a waste. Between one thing and another, it never got off the ground. I could say the same thing about you, though. Wondering what's lined up for you, I mean."


Ronda nodded slowly. "I really have no idea. I guess we'll find out soon enough, huh?"

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