Disclaimer: Nothing's mine. Y'all know the drill.

Note: Dear Lord. I never expected so many alerts and favorites. Because of the positive response, this is no longer a two-shot. Thanks so much for your reviews and everything. You're all incredibly kind. xx

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Chapter 2

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It took some convincing, some bribing, some more convincing and eventually three dollars before Noah rattled off Mercy's address. Sam had chosen to wait until one o'clock before driving to her house, as she was most likely in church and out for lunch before that. There was also the fact that he had been in church as well, although he'd felt awful guilty. Surely there was a rule against sitting in the house of the Lord with one's mind filled of romance. If he hadn't reserved his place in hell before, he had that morning.

Mercy's house was small. A yellow box on a narrow stamp of lamp. It was a cute house, nothing very extravagant which he wasn't ashamed to say surprised him. He had expected something that stood out more, like her ride. In the driveway parked in front of her garage was a lime green Microbus. On it were multi-colored painted hand-prints, peace signs, flowers and a collection of words such as 'love, peace, femme, fierce and phenomenal'. The sight made him smile. From what he knew, she had the fun loving soul of a hippie and the class of Jackie O.

His own style lacked the energy she had. He opted for jeans and clean shirts. Simple outfits, that let him blend in with a crowd. Sam didn't want the trouble he was sure to have if he came home dressed like a tie-dye wearing flower child. His parents were far more forgiving than Ma Evans, but they had drawn the line at peace and love. Of course, that didn't mean Sam hadn't snuck out on occasion to share a joint with a few friends, not that he'd ever admit it to his parents.

The walk from his 1965 Corvette Roadster to her front door was short one, but in that time, a thousand ill-meaning thoughts managed to fill his mind. He couldn't help but wonder if he was making a fool of himself. What if she didn't want to see him? But he remembered the way she had laughed and smiled last night, and it helped soothe his nerves. He laughed as he passed the bus and noticed the "if the van's rockin don't come knockin" sticker on the bumper.

He knocked on her door twice, and within seconds, he was face to face with her. Mercy. Even in dirty overalls she was beautiful. She didn't seem particularly inviting, as though he had caused an unwanted interruption. Judging by the splatter of paint on her clothes and face, that's just what he had done. She didn't smile, but rolled her eyes. He'd noticed it was a habit of hers.

"What are you doing here?" she asked, leaning against the doorway.

"I just wanted to see if you were feelin' alright. You left quickly." Sam grinned, though he felt quite nervous. Standing on her doorstep wasn't the same as chatting in a crowed club.

"I'm fine," Mercy answered, brows raised. "Was that all?" She wasn't going to make this easy for him, a fact that was both amusing and frustrating. That certainly wasn't all he wanted from her, but he chose not to answer that question because nothing he had to say was appropriate for a woman's ears.

"That mean machine, there," she said pointing towards his car. "She's yours?"

He nodded and earned a grimace. "You don't like Corvettes?"

"I love 'em as much as the next chick." she replied. "But it doesn't suit you."

Her answer surprised him and he glanced at his car. She was a beaut; all shiny and without a single scratch. It was one of his most prized possessions, not because it held any sentimental value but because she made him someone. All the chicks wanted a man with a ride, how else could you drive them to the lake for some good ole neckin'? They didn't just want cars, they want flashy ones. As silly as it sounded, his ride was the reason he had ever had some kind of social life.

"What are you doing?" he asked instead. "I know I interrupted you."

"I was painting." she answered. "My church asked me to paint huge sign for the annual community picnic in a few weeks. It's dumb, you know? I can't paint. Jane Matthews can, why didn't they ask her? They made her bake. Jane Matthews' baking is sure to send us all to the hospital. I don't understand why didn't make me bake and her cook. That would have made more sense. And I'm babbling aren't I?"

Sam chuckled and nodded. "Yeah, but I like it." he smiled down at her, and slipped his hand into his pockets. He hadn't expected the brilliant smile he got into return and the surprise that flashed in her eyes. It made him wonder how many people made her feel like a fool for speaking her mind.

"Do you want to come in?" she asked, opening her door wider. "You can watch me paint, tell me all about your handsome self."

"How about I help you instead? I'm pretty good with a brush."

"Your clothes..." she frowned as he stepped inside.

"They can take a little paint." Again, he saw surprise cross her face. Sam chose to add that to the list of the many things he wanted to learn about her. What was she hiding? The more time he spent with her, the more she interested him.

Time passed quickly with Sam Evans. He was funny in a dorkish way that made her laugh. On more than one occasion, he had surprised her by imitating a range of characters and celebrities. She'd laughed the most at his Marilyn Monroe impression. He was so big and manly, just hearing such a soft feminine voice escape his lips and sent her into a laughing fit.

As he helped her paint the giant sign, in her backyard, he told her of his life in Tennessee and his family. Mercedes could admit that they seemed like a lively and kind bunch, but she was still somewhat skeptical. While Sam was the first southerner she had ever met, she wasn't unaware of what happened in the south. She read the newspapers, watched the news on the tube and listened to the gossip. Being colored meant you had to keep up with these things, as your life depended on it. Mercedes wondered what his family would think of their handsome son spending his Sunday afternoon with someone like her.

They hadn't dwelt too much on the topic of family, and Mercedes was grateful. Instead they spoke of the university and their personalities. She found that while they didn't seem to be the type of people to have anything in common, they did. She told him about her housemates and best friends Santana and Tina, and the crazy adventures they shared. Speaking to Sam was easy, as though they had known each other for years and unlike most men, he seemed genuinely interested in what she had to say.

Mercedes had been right. If there was one thing she could always trust, it was her gut. He was just another heartbreak waiting to happen, but wasn't like the others. Sam had a way about him that made her want to trust him. After just one night and an afternoon, she knew herself well enough to know she was falling for him fast. He was dangerous, in a way no one else had ever been and he was everything she couldn't or rather shouldn't have.

But there was a subtle tension between them, that erupted when one made the mistake of touching the other. It was a silent understanding that they would become lovers. If not today, then another day. He'd stay until they were both satisfied, she knew. And then he would leave.

When they finished the sign, the pair stepped back to admire their artwork. It was pretty, no thanks to her. Sam had talent and had guided her, showing exactly what to do to get a good result. Mercedes grinned smugly, convinced that Jane Matthews' baking wouldn't turn out half as well as her sign had.

"We make a good team," she said approvingly. "We're lucky you're better at painting than at dancing." Sam laughed and dipped his finger in the blue paint before wiping it on the tip of her nose.

"Hey, my dancing is rad!"

Her eyes widened and she scrunched her nose, in a cute manner. If Sam wanted to play that game, she was all for it, but she'd win. She always did.

"What are you doing?" he asked, taking a step back when she dipped her whole hand in the yellow paint. "Don't, I'm sorry!"

"Don't start battles you can't finish." she smeared the paint across his cheek, and didn't bother holding back her laugh. Sam paused, smiling widely. Her laugh was a rich, delighted one that made a shiver dance along his spine pleasantly. Most women he knew giggled softly, afraid to annoy or to seem improper. He hated it. It was as though they were simply indulging him and Sam didn't want that. Sam wanted someone who would laugh until she cried with him. Mercy laughed like that, and it made him weak in the knees. His response to her attack was to empty the red paint over her head.

"My hair." She whispered in shock. "You-you... my hair." seconds later he was drenched in purple. "That's for starting this."

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She was calmer, at least on the surface, when she step out of her bathroom and saw Sam, still damp from his shower. He was naked but for a loose towel that hung at his hips and sitting on her couch. The radio was playing loudly and he was softly singing along. He sent her a small smile, which she reciprocated absently. Mercy had meant everything she had said at Miss Mama's. Him being here was wrong. She wasn't naive or innocent. She was the desire flash in his eyes when she came too close. It thrilled her, knowing that an attractive and seemingly sweet man wanted her, of all people. But with that came sadness, as it was only a reminder of the maximum she would ever get.

"Sorry it took so long."

Sam shrugged. "I don't mean to be a hassle." he said carefully, and she self-consciously patted her hair. Her mother had always told her that women were to never present themselves to a man without looking acceptable, which meant having your hair and make-up done. The rule applied to every situation, sometimes excluding days at the beach. And so there was absolutely no way she would have stepped out of the bathroom in anything but a pretty dress, looking absolutely perfect.

"It's fine, I'll just..." she trailed off. "Your clothes are dry." As she went back to her small bathroom, she mentally scolded herself. Don't let him get to you, she told herself. Men like him break hearts without even trying. She took his clothes out of the yellow dryer, and straightened when she felt him behind her.

"They ready yet?" he asked and Mercedes turned to face him. His eyes were such and intense green that seemed to bore through her. He was too close, she could barely speak and when she did, it felt like grains of salt in her throat.

"All done." she thrust his clothes into his chest, hoping he'd give her space but he didn't.

"Thanks." he hesitated before hooking a finger under her chin and tilting it upwards. "You're very beautiful. I wanted to tell you last night and a thousand times today." This was exactly what she had been trying to avoid. She didn't want the pain she was accustomed to having. She was tired and had come to terms with the fact that she'd always be alone. His desire didn't bother her, her growing attraction did. Sam pressed a hesitant kiss to her lips. It was soft, as she had imagined it would be. And warm. He pulled back quickly, blushing deeply.

"I'm sorry, I get carried away." He wasn't like anyone she had ever met before, another reason why he was dangerous. She couldn't be one step ahead if she could figure him out.

Dear God help me, thought Mercedes. Let's get this over with. She slid a hand around the back of his neck and rose onto her toes. He was surprised, but not displeased when she closed the distance. He dropped his clothes and she felt his hand slide to her back, balling into fists as her gathered her shirt in his fingers. He was the one to deepen the kiss; tasting, teasing. As the kiss grew more urgent, his hands slid up, cruising over her, setting off little charges under her skin.

"Radio." she said, easing back. "We have to turn it off."

"Why?" confused, Sam leaned back.

"I don't want to mark the song." she answered as though it were obvious. There was nothing worse than hearing a song and being haunted by memories of the past, especially memories like these. Sam's smiled, his eyes glinting mischievously, and shook his head. Otis Redding's These Arms Of Mine blared through the small speakers of her pink radio. She was done for, she thought as he captured her mouth with his. She'd never be able to hear the song without thinking of him. Somehow, they blindly made their way to her bedroom, never once letting go of each other.

In the bedroom, she stepped back from him to undress herself, but he stopped her.

"Let me." he said, his voice thick with desire. He lifted a hand and nudged the thin straps of her dress so that it fell off her shoulders. It the was most intimate a man had ever been with her. Her past experiences had been ones of passion, raw and pure. But Sam... he was gentle yet firm, and he took his time, savoring. Her head rolled back when his lips found her throat as his hands cruised her back, unzipping her dress so that it fell to the ground.

"You're perfect." he stepped back, simply to look at her. Desire, already impossibly strong, clutched at his belly. There weren't enough words to describe her. She was everything he had imagined, yet somehow she was more.

Mercedes scoffed and looked away. She was a lot of things, but perfect had never been one of them. If she was, she wouldn't have felt so lonely, so undesirable.

"I'm fat and black." she corrected and he caught her chin his hand, forcing her look at him.

"Perfect." he repeated. He led her to the bed and sat her down, carefully taking off her shoes. She would have chuckled, seeing how he had neatly placed them, but his lips trailed up her calf sending sparks soaring through her body that had her clutching the edge of the bed.

"Sam." she moaned as his teeth skimmed the back of her knee, and fell back onto the bed.

"Tell me if you want me to stop." his tongue slid along her thigh, and she trembled as deep, dark pleasure swept her away. His hands traveled slowly to her hips, reaching for the thin lace that covered her and gently tugged it down. She couldn't deny him, not when he thrilled her in ways no man had ever managed to. Any coherent thought escaped her mind when his mouth found her and sent her spinning beyond control. It was a burst of light, a heat that built and built setting her body on fire and leaving it to glow.

Her fingers tangled in his hair, catching his attention and causing him to pull back, smiling softly. And then he finally came onto her, giving her the opportunity to taste as she had been tasted and to explore. Her hands rushed over him, slowed then lingered. He'd lost the towel some time ago. There was a sense of smug satisfaction when she felt his pale skin shiver under the scrape of her teeth and the pass of her tongue.

There was something besides lust between them. She felt it and despised it. All the more reasons to hope he left after they were done. Whatever they did it wasn't enough. Even now, in such a position, she wanted more.

She wrapped her legs around his waist and rose up to meet him, sighing as he slipped inside her. He reached for her hands, linking her fingers with his own as he gave himself. And then she arched back, her breath becoming short and ragged. In desperate attempt to keep her close, he drew her back to him, heart against heart.

Her arms locked around him, her mouth finding his as they rocked themselves toward the edge and over.

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Mercedes woke to find the bed empty. She smiled softly and instantly hated herself for it. She shouldn't have been so happy to be alone, not after he had thrilled her beyond reason. It made her feel like a cheap whore, but she found comfort knowing that her heart was safe. She stretched, and frowned when her hand touched a paper that lay at her side. Mercedes sat up quickly, a peered down at the note. It read:

Had to leave. Didn't wake you because you looked so peaceful.

Your housemate, Tina, seems really nice.

'Twill be an honor to court you, Mercy.

Yours, Sam.

Mercedes curled the paper into a ball, her hands shaking. No, this wasn't supposed to happen. He was just supposed to get what he wanted and leave. He wasn't supposed to want to court her. That's not how it worked. She dressed quickly and went to the living room, her face pale.

On the couch, watching the tube was Santana and Tina who looked at her expectantly when she slumped down beside them.

"Had fun?" asked Santana smirking. "I heard you had company."

Mercedes closed her eyes and shook her head.

"Was he -"

"Shut it, Tana. She only gets that look when she's hurt. He's like the others, isn't he?" asked Tina, sympathetically.

"Worse." whispered Mercedes. "He wants to court me." Until when? She asked herself. Until someone better came along? Until he realized she just wasn't special? He didn't seem to understand how serious dating outside of one's race was. Just last year Martin Luther King Jr had been assassinated. Just because the colored had 'equal' rights now didn't mean everything was okay. In what dreamland was he living? Oh, this was worse, alright, but it was a game Mercedes was well acquainted with. She'd beat him to punch. He'd never get the chance to break her heart.

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Hope you enjoyed! Reviews are lovely.

xx