"It wasn't raining yet, but it was definitely… a little misty on that warm November night…"

Mercedes walked into the club, notebook in hand. Maybe tonight would be the night. The night she would finally open her soul and speak it aloud. She hadn't the courage to actually recite any of her poetry out loud to anyone, but every week she walked into the Sanctuary, the poetry club where there was open mic night, thinking that courage may find her feet and convince her to walk up to the mic. It hadn't happened yet, but she was always prepared, just in case.

There was the usual crowd and few lurkers. Always the same welcoming atmosphere. Same safe space. She took her typical place at the table nearest the corner to the right of the stage. She sat her things down and went to the bar to grab a drink. As she ordered her rum and coke (figuring it wouldn't hurt to give her courage some liquid confidence), she noticed a drink being spilled all over the bar in her direction. She took a step back as not to get soaked by the white wine, but the gentleman to her left was already cleaning up the mess he made. Apparently in trying to be suave with the lady he was trying to converse with, he'd spilled her drink. He didn't miss a beat however, as he offered to put her drink on his tab. Mercedes rolled her eyes and thought to herself it was the LEAST he could do. Trying to get back to ordering her drink, She found herself intrigued by the couple. Watching them with curious eyes, she could almost feel the air shift as the lady teased the gentleman about the spill and sauntered away. The way he watched her walk away made Mercedes wish she could capture moments like these in poetry. She herself felt the electricity rising between the couple and knew it was meant to be something special between them. Mercedes quickly put down a $5 on the bar and crept back through the crowded bar to her own table.

There was a reason why this place was called the "Sanctuary". It almost felt like a religious experience watching each person come up to the mic and bare their souls. Spill all of their inner most thoughts. Speak in such eloquent and descriptive terms their deepest parts of themselves. Mercedes was almost jealous that they had the guts to do what she desired most. The music that accompanied each persons journey toward that stage definitely helped to draw the whole experience together. When she saw the gentleman from the bar get up and do an impromptu poem detailing the things he wanted to do to his latest desire…

"…and get you to dance to my rhythm…make you dream archetypes… of black angels in flight… upon wings of distorted, contorted… metaphoric jizm. Come on slim. Fuck your man, I ain't worried about him. It's you who I want to step to my scene. 'cause rather the deal with the fallacy… of this dry ass reality… I'd rather dance and romance your sweet ass in a wet dream…"

….she knew that the spark she felt in the air that night was definitely not in her imagination. No, not tonight. She felt inspired, but in a different sense. She knew she should probably get home, maybe write more, and try her luck again next week.

As she stepped outside, she saw the lady and her friend approaching the gentleman and his friends. They were all trading formalities and the conversation began to buzz with the word "Love". Mercedes was unsure of what that was all about, but the word did seem to linger in the air and only added to all the energy she knew she'd need to get out on paper when she got home.

She also knew she'd need to get home quick as the weather was a little misty and would definitely turn to rain soon. She flagged down a cab and when she got in, she was met with the most amazing green eyes staring back at her from the rear-view mirror.

"Where to?" the deep voice boomed from the front seat.

So sexy, it caught Mercedes off guard a bit. She shifted in the backseat.

"Um… south shore drive? By the lake." she muttered.

For some reason Mercedes felt nervous. She felt that spark in the air again that she felt in the club watching the couple at the bar. But this time it wasn't second hand, it was definitely coursing through her own veins.

"That's kind of vague but, i'll let you tell me when I'm close" he laughed.

"Sorry…" she sighed.

"So you write?" he asked.

"Well, I pretend to. I am not nearly as good as I'd like to be. It's therapeutic to come to the Sanctuary on Wednesdays for open mic night. I mostly listen."

"I've always wanted to check that place out, but I work on Wednesday nights. Maybe i'll make it out one of these days." There was a hint of… something in his voice. Flirt? Nah.

Mercedes caught a glimpse of his smirk in the mirror and took note of how full his lips looked. Get it together girl, she chastised herself. Was she really feeling some kind of way over this cab driver? Well… he was cute. And those lips, yes…

Mercedes got a bit lost in her thoughts of the cab driver when she noticed a slight hum coming from the lips she was so trained and focused on. Michael Jackson's "Human Nature" was playing on the radio.

"This is my favorite MJ song…" she piped up. "He was definitely taken from us too soon…"

"Absolutely. This song is a favorite of mine too. Did you know it was the last song to make it onto the "Thriller" album? It almost didn't make it. Can you imagine a world without this song in it?" They laughed.

Mercedes found herself lost in a conversation about music with the cab driver. It was only her favorite topic of all time second to writing and she was more than pleased to engage anyone in a conversation about it. They had a lot in common too, both being able to easily transition in and out of discussions about different genres and artists, trading trivia about MJ's life, how amazing Sigour Ros is to relax to, and how that article about Tupac's history as a rapper and a poet did him absolutely no justice.

Before she knew it, they were nearing her apartment.

"You did a pretty good job of getting me home without my giving you exact details." she giggled.

"I guess I assumed you attended the university over here, so I headed in this direction." He turned and smiled back at her, ran his tongue across his bottom lip. Mercedes swallowed hard and thanked God in that moment the slight twitch she felt between her legs couldn't be seen, but only felt.

"Thanks for making my night. I don't get too many customers in my cab who can appreciate both Mariah and 3 doors down."

"Thank you. I haven't had a worthy adversary in musical trivia in a while."

"My pleasure…" he smiled. "I don't mean to be forward, but…"

"Thank You. For the ride." Mercedes quickly sputtered out. She was afraid of what his next words might be. Although he seemed nice enough (and was definitely easy on the eyes), she wasn't really into using her cab rides as an alternative to OK!Cupid. She shoved a $20 into his and hand and quickly exited the cab.

As she half skipped, half ran up to her front door, he called out "Sam. The names Sam. In case you need a ride again next Wednesday night."

She smiled in response and walked inside of her apartment. Okay, so maybe that little freak out at the end wasn't called for. He was cute, he knew a LOT about music and she did feel some thing there. There had to be a part two to a first encounter right? Once inside, Mercedes dropped her purse on her desk, opened her notebook and let the words from the night's adventures pour out of her…

"I was so caught up in the moment, I couldn't bear to let you go yet… So I threw caution to the wind and started listening to my longing heart…"

If you made it this far, THANK YOU! My first attempt at writing fic. Based loosely off the movie 'love jones'. Lyrics from Mariah Carey's song' The Roof'. I don't own anything.