Thank you for your continued interest and support. I appreciate it.
I do not own Glee or the characters, neither do I own Stuck-Up Suit.
MERCEDES
It was a beautiful, not a cloud in the blue sky, kind of day.
I stared out the window trying to figure out what the hell had gotten into me.
I've been around good-looking men before, dated some even. So why did being anywhere near Samuel J. M. Evans, knock me back to being thirteen years old and feeling nervous, when the cute boy sat down across from me in the school cafeteria?
I hated the reaction my body had to him.
There was a chemistry that came naturally...an undeniable, unquestionable chemistry, which was nearly impossible to clamp down.
I couldn't fight what came over me, the same way that I couldn't force the chemistry that was missing with Justin...the last nice guy I dated.
Being on an earlier train this morning, I totally wasn't prepared to come face to face with Sam.
When our eyes locked, his pupils dilated and for a split second, I thought maybe he was having the same physical reaction to me that I had being near him.
But then he looked away completely unaffected.
Him barely acknowledging my existence was a virtual rejection, yet my hands were still shaking when his first text came in.
The only good thing was, at least the shock of seeing him didn't appear to have registered on my face. He had no idea who I was, and I planned to keep it that way.
Sue interrupted my thoughts.
She plopped a thick stack of unfolded letters on my desk.
Who really writes a letter and mails it to an advice column in this day and age?
Hello, email?
Are you there?
It's me, the twenty-first century.
"Think you can work on some responses for the Internet column?" she asked.
"Sure. I can do that."
"Maybe this time, you can make the advice appropriate."
Well, that's just too bad, because I was feeling pretty fucking inappropriate this morning.
"I'll try," I managed.
"Try isn't good enough. Get it right this time!" she barked. Then she disappeared into her office and slammed the door.
Remember how I said I was feeling inappropriate this morning?
My middle finger rose of its own volition.
Mmm...I sure told her.
I spent about an hour sifting through the pile, until I found a few letters I thought I was capable of responding to...Sue-style.
My first few drafts resulted in wadded up balls of paper that missed the garbage can. Then I realized there was a trick to shoveling out shitty advice.
First, I would draft the response how I thought it should read. Then, I would change each sentence to the exact opposite of what my advice would be.
Amazingly enough, the two-step process seemed to really generate that Sue-esque vibe.
Here goes...
Dear Sue,
Last year I caught my boyfriend cheating on me. He said it was a terrible mistake and promised it was a one-time thing. After a lot of heartache, I agreed to stay committed to our relationship. But I just can't get over it. And there is a man at work who I'm very attracted to. I think that if I slept with him, it might help me. Can two wrongs save a relationship?
Pamela, Morningside Heights
Step 1.
Dear Pamela,
Yes! Two wrongs don't make a right, but they make a hell of a good excuse! Go for it! Sure, a relationship requires commitment, but then again so does insanity.
Cheating isn't a mistake; it's a choice. Be real. Once a cheater, always a cheater. Get even, ride that hottie, then leave before your boyfriend does it again.
Step 2...Actual response...
Dear Pamela,
No. Two wrongs never make a right. If you are truly committed to saving your relationship, you should avoid temptation at all costs. People make mistakes, but they can also learn from them and change. To err is human, to forgive is divine. Be divine. Trust that he won't do it again. Ride it out if you truly love him.
After I had gotten the hang of it, I knocked out two days' worth of responses before giving them to Sue to review.
When my phone buzzed mid-day, I was excited, expecting it to be Sam. As ridiculous as it was, I really looked forward to his angry, horny texts.
Disappointment settled in, finding a text from Denver. I had forgotten all about our date for tonight.
My immediate reaction was to cancel. But instead, I lied and wrote back I was looking forward to tonight.
He was a friend of a friend who I met at a party and seemed like a really nice guy. Plus, sitting at home and waiting for a text from a man who would never have an interest in a woman like me, was just plain sad.
After work, I made an extra effort to look nice hoping it would change my mood.
I slipped into some tight jeans and a bright purple shirt that showed off my abundance of cleavage.
Adding a sexy pair of strappy, black-studded sandals, I looked in the mirror.
I looked damn good.
Screw you, Sam Evans, who didn't think I was worth a second glance.
Living in Brooklyn, I usually met my dates wherever we were going.
Public transportation wasn't exactly conducive to picking people up, which worked for me, since I wasn't particularly fond of giving virtual strangers my address.
But Denver planned to take me somewhere out on Long Island, so he had to pick me up.
"I hope you don't mind. I just need to make a quick stop," he said.
"Sure, no problem."
Unlike when we had met at the party, the car ride was filled with awkward conversation. I had to ask questions to keep the conversation going.
"So where are we headed? You mentioned a club?" I asked.
"It's a comedy club. I don't go on until nine."
"You're performing?"
"Yeah." He shrugged. "Figured two birds, one stone."
Something about his response bothered me. It implied our date was a task.
But I tried to make the best of it.
It had been a long time since I went to a comedy club, and maybe he was trying to show off to me.
When my phone buzzed in my bag, I tried to peep in to see who it was. I hated to admit it, but part of me wanted it to be Sam.
Denver pulled into the lot and parked.
"I'll just be a few minutes," he said.
He was leaving me in the car?
"Where are we?" I asked, as I looked around in the darkness. There was a 7-Eleven to the left and White's Funeral Home to the right.
"I have to stop in at White's. My aunt died."
"Your aunt died?"
"Yeah. I'll just be ten minutes." He started to get out. "Unless you want to come in with me?"
"Umm…I'll just wait here."
What the hell?
I sat there dumbfounded in the parking lot.
He was essentially taking me to his aunt's funeral, then to work.
When my phone buzzed again, I figured I could use the distraction, so I took it out and swiped the screen.
Sam: How's your tongue?
Mercedes: Better. The swelling has gone down.
Sam: I've been worried about it all day.
Mercedes: Is that so?
I smiled. My conversation with the gorgeous perv might just be the highlight of my date with Denver. Go figure.
Sam: What are you doing right now, Mercedes?
I heard his sexy voice rasp the question in my ear as I read his text. And the hair on my arms stood up.
My body had it bad for this man, regardless of what my brain said.
Mercedes: I'm on a date, actually.
My phone went quiet for a long time. I started to think that was that. But then it vibrated again.
Sam: Is it safe to assume it isn't going well since you're texting during it?
Mercedes: That would be a safe assumption.
Sam: What's his name?
Mercedes: Why do you want to know?
Sam: So I have a name to put with the man I suddenly dislike.
Again I was smiling at the damn phone.
Mercedes: Denver.
Sam: He's an idiot.
Mercedes: And you know that because of his name?
Sam: No. I know that because you're texting another man during his date.
Mercedes: I suppose if I were with you, I wouldn't be texting, right?.
Sam: If you were with me, you wouldn't care where your cell phone was.
Mercedes: Is that so?
Sam: It most certainly is.
Oddly, I tended to agree with him. I sighed and decided to share the details of my pitiful date.
Mercedes: He took me to a funeral.
Sam: For your date?
Mercedes: Yep!
Sam: I hope you're texting me as you walk to the closest train.
Mercedes: The funeral is out on Long Island. I'm kind of stuck with him for the rest of the date.
Sam: There's more than just a funeral?
Mercedes: Yes. He's taking me to work next.
Sam: Come again?
Mercedes: LOL
Sam: Where are you? I'll come get you.
Was that Mr. Big Prick...being nice?
Mercedes: Thanks. But I'm good.
He stopped texting after that. Then Denver returned to the car.
But things got progressively worse from there.
Upon arriving at the comedy club, my date proceeded to down two vodka tonics. And when I mentioned he was driving us home, he told me he knew his limit.
Apparently, he didn't know mine. Because three minutes after he got on stage and told his first few bad jokes, I took a trip to the ladies room, then slipped out the back door.
Eleven dollars in cab fare later, I was waiting for the first of what would be three trains to get back home.
Maybe I needed to take a hiatus from dating for a while.
The next two chapters are going to be much longer.
Stay safe!