High-Flier

You arrived backstage from the hotel just in time to hear that you wouldn’t be on TV this week. Shit, you thought. I know I’m one of the best aerialists Vince has got right now. Why am I being wasted like this? Your annoyance was soon replaced by the excitement of the backstage area. People were milling about, grabbing a bite to eat, running camera cables, and checking the lighting for the fortieth time.

As you wandered around the catering area, you spotted some members of the production crew gathered around a figure sitting in a folding chair. You could barely make the guy out. “Can I get you a bottle of water?” One crew-member gushed.

“Do you need any more wrist tape? asked another.

“Have you seen Kevin Owen’s latest tweet?” A third quipped.

This was the kind of attention you wanted, the kind of respect you hoped to earn one day. For a moment you could hear JoJo’s voice in your mind, declaring you the new universal champion. The rabid crowd would chant your name, their voices chased into the night sky by a stunning pyrotechnic display. But the dream of that triumphant Wrestlemania moment wouldn’t happen anytime soon. No, that was your destiny for the future…or so you hoped.

A medium-built blonde woman in a blue-grey business casual suit slid a finger over her tablet. While not the knock-out your female counterparts in the ring were, you thought she was still pretty smoking. Her large breasts filled out her collared shirt, the humidity of the bowels of the arena making the fabric cling to her nipples. Interrupting the stage crew, she spoke to the guy in the chair. With no hint of the deference the three men showed the seated superstar, she purred to him in low tones. “Oh, Liv Morgan was looking for you earlier, she said you two needed to talk.”

You’d love to “have to talk” to Liv Morgan, or any of the women superstars for that matter. Your mind was filled with Liv’s tight, slim body covered by the thinnest layer of spandex, heating your blood to a low boil. But you could try to score some points with the ladies later. Well, you thought. If I’m not going to be doing anything else tonight, I might as well pick the big-shot’s brain.

As the small flock of photographers passed by, you caught a glimpse of the man in the chair. “Hey, aren’t you Rebound? He said in a detached yet vaguely friendly tone. Your Brown eyes caught sight of the grinning superstar. As he stood up you found yourself face to face with a man whose career you’d been following for some time.

“Hey, how’s it going?” You said, holding out your hand.