Prove it?

I question myself, whether it's the right thing to do – to be lured into this sticky situation. To be possibly making the worst mistake ever. Whilst I'm currently in-decisive, Jonathan just stands there, in the exact body imitation as if he were waiting for a bus. That's actually pretty amusing, that he's waiting. I'm sure he gets many women that would jump at the chance to be with his smug face, and is stupid smarmy remarks, his annoying deep, masculine, seductive and vulgar voice. His pesky dark blue eyes, muscular arms, strong hands, strong jaw-line, all of him practically – they'd all pounce on him if they were me.

There are so many negatives to even take up his offer, but what could really go wrong that hasn't already? What else would he have to do, he's already embarrassed me by pretending to be my boyfriend with those nutty women. He's already grabbed me about five times around the waist, carried me like what three times? And he's already seen my feet, that's a big deal. Well it's not, but look at it this way, nobody shows their feet, even on a first date – wearing peep-toe heels doesn't count, and that's because everyone hates feet. Not only that, but this guy has seen me drenched from head-to-toe, saturated like a drowned rat in a sewer...and he still wants to be in my company? I suppose I can only give him points for trying, right?

"Fine," I reply, giving him a smirk and a light hair flick – pushing the hair from my front to the back of my right shoulder, with my right-hand. All Jonathan can do is grin, probably thinking he's hit the jack-pot for tonight, but he's far from it. And with a click of a switch, the light of his apartment is on, and he's ushering me in like there's no time to waste. Although the room is the exact same as everyone else's, like we both figured out from earlier, this visit to the apartment has a different feel. The atmosphere is rather uneasy, but that's obviously because of Jonathan. Speaking of which, Jonathan is making himself at home – using the minimal appliances that's given, in what seems to be the smallest kitchen space I've ever seen.

"What you drinking, Sunshine?"

"Water," I say, as I make a bee-line to the sofa in the centre of the apartment, which is a couple of paces away from the bed. Small, right? Well it's actually pretty cosy if you're with a loved one, but I'm not. So it's actually claustrophobic. All Jonathan does is nod, doesn't make a remark, nothing. He didn't even persuade me to ditch the water and go straight to the wine, but as he walks over, I notice he's holding two glasses of water – so may be he's sensible after all. Knowing all the free drinks we had at the start of the night, of course.

"So," he begins, as he plonks himself to the right-side of me, making my water swish in the glass as he does so. So much for being graceful! "You enjoyed today?"

"You mean, did I enjoy my day with you?" I laugh, and so does he. "No-"

"Come-on, it wasn't that bad!" Jonathan says, as he cuts me off.

"Do I sense some defensiveness?" I grin, taking a sip out of my glass and then putting it down on the little wooden table in front of me.

"Yes," he laughs, genuinely. "I mean, sure, I'm a jerk. But you can't say I haven't been a gentleman!"

That's true, I mean he has. The times he offered to pick me up from the muddy ground, he even allowed me to persuade him to collect my shoes which are nowhere near wearable again – just to keep me happy.

"OK, you're right. You've been surprisingly pleasant," I reply, gingerly putting my legs up on to the sofa. To which Jonathan lightly picks up my legs to rest on his, so that I'm lounged out. Now this is so uncomfortably awkward, may-be he's planning on seducing me whilst sober. No, he could just be being a gentleman? Whatever it is, I'm not complaining. I get a whole sofa to myself!

"Thank you, finely!" He laughs, hacking out all of his forced exterior, showing me a new gentle side to his nature. Something that I've learnt tonight is probably the biggest lesson of all, to never judge a book by it's cover.

As the night continues, we chill-out on the sofa, laughing and joking about those two old women, the fact that Julia somehow looks the same each year and how we've never met before – although Jonathan does in fact come to the majority of these events he can. However, he tells me his schedule is very hectic – he's a traveller. Which brings a sense of deja-vu back of being on the road with the girls. But sometimes we need that break once in a while, and I'm definitely taking some time off. To recuperate, to find some kind-of tranquillity and peace of my Fathers death, but to enjoy life. WWE creative thought it would be best to have some time off for a couple of months, a year possibly. Even though I always refer wrestling as a past occupation, it's because I never know when I'm coming back or if I'm ready – will I be ready to face it all again? Who knows? But they've promised me good story-lines for the near future. But it's funny, I still have the Divas Championship, (stuffed into one of my over night bags for this trip), – that could possibly be a indication that they still want me, that they still believe that I'm a good champion right? But who knows what I'll do, instead the only thing I want to do is switch the fear of my career off and think about something positive.

Suddenly I feel my legs being lifted into the air. Jonathan gets up from the couch, says something about going to the toilet, but it doesn't register. That's when I know I'm absolutely knackered. My eyes flutter, wondering what to do next, although my body's set on sleeping right here, right now. Instead, I promise myself that I will just set my eyes, resting them for a while to give them some energy – but, as most of my ideas don't go to plan, my eyelids get far too comfortable and they lock shut. I'm asleep. In Jonathan's apartment, now I'm vulnerable. But I don't care, I'm far too cosy to worry about anything but getting my beauty sleep.

Seconds, minutes, hours go by. And I'm woken from a strong ray of light bursting violently through the windows, possibly a sign to say 'get the heck out of there whilst you have the chance' whilst blinding me in the process. My eyes squinting at the harsh beam, as I begin to search the surroundings to find Jon. Past the bed, I search through to the kitchen when I find him...cooking? My other senses kick in and I can hear spitting, sizzling and bubbling. What is happening? I ask myself, but unfortunately brain doesn't function either, and I have to settle with the strong smell of eggs and bacon frying away to realise he's cooking us breakfast. I look down, noticing a change in my appearance. I find a blanket draped all over my body, a some-what familiar pair of fluffy socks on the ends of my feet, and plump pillows resting underneath my head and my feet. It's no wonder I slept so well.

"Hi," I shyly say, a little uneasy as I make my way into the kitchen from across the room, it's not exactly how I planned to wake up.

"Good morning, Sunshine!" Jonathan gives me a greeting smile, whilst filling both plates up with food.

"You didn't have to make me breakfast," I say, feeling like I'm intruding – which causes a prang of guilt to spur up inside of me.

"You're right, but I wanted too. You're my guest, and I was the one that wanted you to spend time with me."

I just nod, gazing down at the strangely recognisable socks that keeps bugging me about where they've came from. It could be possible Jonathan just wears them? No, or – the most likely reason could be that you get a free pair when you attend the Hotel? They do like to get out free stuff!

"Like the socks?" Jonathan says, cutting off my vague thoughts.

"Where'd you get them from?" I say, shuffling my toes in them. "They look surprisingly similar to something I have at home."

"That's because I got them from you're bag."

"What!" I'm shocked, my bag? How the hell could he have got into my bag? How is this possible? "How could you have gotten access into getting permission to take my belongings?"

"By pretending to be your "boo", that's how!" Jonathan says, as he laughs, ushering the word 'boo' in quotation marks. All I can do is just stand there, mouth wide-open like I've been slapped in the face or like I've won the jackpot or something. What's he seen in my bags? Not that I haven't got anything I shouldn't in there, but I've got all my lingerie and what-not all stuffed in there. What if he sees my photograph of my Father and me, sitting on the beach when I was five. Great, more pity. Surely he wasn't going into great detail to look at the contents in my bags, right? "Oh and what's this, Sunshine?"

My Divas Championship!

Shit.