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There was only one word to describe the outcome of the match: unfortunate.
He thought Roman was done for when he couldn’t get back up in the ring. Although he wouldn’t be the Heavyweight Champion, he’d still be able to say he had beaten up the current holder of the title and that was some sort of small win. Then Shane came in, giving him another chance to get things done right but Roman resisted his blows and his pins and every attempt he made after to knock him down just enough to let the referee tap the mat three times.
A.J. gritted his teeth at the thought of the several chances he had to be victorious.
Since he had planted himself in front of the Samoan to challenge him, he had imagined himself with his hands up in the air celebrating to the crowd, them screaming as he was given the title and the belt he so much wanted. He had savored the vision until the few run ins he had with Roman and, maybe, that should have been his cue for the hell of a nerve wrecking fight that awaited. However, he wasn’t sure why that idea faded nor did he understood why he was more focused on meeting the other’s eyes and watching attentive his every move.
“Next time” someone said, he wasn’t sure whether it was Luke or Karl. “Next time we’re gonna get him good.”
He nodded, not too convinced himself, and rubbed his forehead letting out a long sigh. Next time would be in three weeks and he wasn’t sure he was going to be able to wait.
A.J. froze after such thought because it wasn’t charged with the normal impatience of excitement and adrenaline that wrestling had in him; it was more of a subtle pity he couldn’t, and he didn’t want, to explain himself.
The thought of Roman’s intense gaze sent a shiver up his spine and made his legs tremble slightly. He slowed down his pace, letting Karl and Luke know he’d catch them up in a bit, and took off his gloves to run a hand through his hair while he leant against the hallway wall. He needed a moment for himself.
“You look pretty beat.”
“Uce, did you not see the match?”
The chatter drew his attention to the end of the hall. Dean Ambrose and the Usos joked around Roman Reigns, all of them unaware of his presence not so far away. A wave of panic took over him as if he was a little kid eavesdropping or hiding somewhere he shouldn’t be, but he didn’t move, his attention completely devoted to Roman.
He told himself he couldn’t care less about what they talked about or what they did, yet his jaw tensed when he saw the twins part ways leaving Dean and Roman by themselves.
“Bet those pretty legs of yours are gonna be sore tomorrow morning.” Dean said bending forward to poke at the Samoan, right where he had been kicked and hit.
“I’m pretty sore already.”
A.J.’s jaw tensed when he heard Roman’s deep voice sound so mellow and he closed his eyes tilting his head back. It wasn’t like him to lose focus, but, for a moment, he let his imagination wander off to fantasies that had little to nothing to do with the Heavyweight Championship: Roman speaking to him in that soft tone, Roman licking his lips as he whispered in his ear, Roman’s big hands...
“‘Sup, man.” Dean’s voice this time, pulling him out of his trance as he walked past him.
“H-hey.”
A.J. sighed and fanned his gloves seeming tired and irritated. He felt, however, Roman’s strong stare piercing through him and making his legs a little weak. An experienced brawler, hardened by the tough road that had taken him up to that point, to the height of his career, reduced to a shy hormonal mess.
“Unfortunate indeed” he thought as he strode towards the locker room as quick as possible to hide the bulge in his pants.