Thank you for your continued interest and support. I appreciate it. I do not own Glee or the characters, neither do I own Checkmate.
"That's it, boy," Sam cooed as the hundred and fifty pound pain in the ass cocked his head to the side and studied him. "Come on, big guy, you know you want it," he said, holding the hot dog he dipped in peanut butter up higher as he moved it slowly from side to side.
The demon spawn that Mercedes liked to call a dog licked its lips hungrily as its eyes zeroed in on the tasty treat.
Grinning, Sam leaned over and reached for the laptop bag that he'd foolishly set down on the ground ten minutes ago, so that he could grab his briefcase and a stack of files, only to turn around and find the pain in the ass lying across it.
He tossed the tasty treat onto Mercedes' property. And the dog sent him one last look before it took off.
Sam wasted no time in grabbing his laptop, knowing the damn dog would be back. Sometimes it seemed as though the dog liked screwing him over more than Mercedes did.
He was just about to head inside his house when a familiar red four door sedan pulled into her driveway.
Hadn't he already chased this loser off?
It had been what...three or four weeks...since he last saw this asshole sniffing around Mercedes?
Then again, most of the men she dated...all losers in his opinion...stopped coming by her house shortly after meeting him...which was the way he liked it.
But clearly he hadn't done his job if this one was coming back for more.
As he watched the man step out of his car, smoothed his hair back and straightened his obviously new shirt and slacks, he couldn't help but wonder how dumb the man really was.
When the man spotted Sam, he froze and noticeably swallowed. Then a loud menacing growl had the man taking a step back.
And because that too pleased him, Sam pulled the second peanut butter dipped hot dog out of the baggy and tossed it to the dog Mercedes dared to name, Bambi.
With a grunt, the dog swallowed the treat whole, but never took his eyes away from the man that refused to step away from behind his car.
'Like that would protect him,' Sam thought with a sigh as he walked over to the corner of his large white Victorian home, which happened to be a mere twenty feet away from the corner of Mercedes house.
It was an almost identical house.
When the homes were built over two hundred years ago they had been identical in every way, except the direction of the layout was opposite in each house.
The Master bedroom suite of each house had its very own open porch that extended past the walls of the house by ten feet.
It wasn't exactly a surprise that the houses were built together, since they had been built by identical twins.
The brothers had built the homes for their wives only to discover later that their wives could not stand each other, at least that's what his realtor had told him.
Whether or not it was true didn't really matter to him. All that mattered was that he could look forward to aggravating the piss out of Mercedes each and every night, when she sat out on her porch to relax.
When he'd first bought the place, the small strip of land that separated the two properties held not only a tall wood fence that started at the street and ended at the back of the property, but large arboreta trees that were nearly as tall as the house, completely blocking Mercedes' house from his sight.
And since he'd bought the house for the entertainment value, he of course had the fence and trees taken down the next day.
Mercedes had been pissed at the time, but she soon got over it and focused her attention back on fixing up her house while he did the same with his.
It took him two years to get the house the way he wanted it, but it was well worth it.
At first, he'd considered giving it a more modern look, but after his first night in the place, he decided to go with what he thought it might've looked like when it was originally built.
Yes, it took extra time, money and a lot of guessing, but he was happy with the results.
Another thing he wanted to do when he'd originally bought the property, was to fix it up and sell it off. But once it was done he knew that he wouldn't be able to part with it.
He knew it was the same for Mercedes. Although he'd never seen what she'd done. And God how he wanted to see what she'd done.
"Is Mercedes here?" the man asked shifting nervously.
"Is she expecting you?" Sam asked, leaning back against the house as he discretely reached behind the rosebush one of his ex-girlfriends insisted on planting.
He flipped the switch off of what he liked to call his 'Little Box of Fun' and settled his fingers over the three black buttons on the small panel.
"That's none of your business!" the man snapped, noticeably bristling.
"Then I guess you'll just have to find out for yourself," Sam said with a careless shrug.
He watched the man shoot him a scowl just before he stormed up the walkway and damn near jumped out of his skin when Bambi decided to block his path.
"Easy," the man said anxiously as he backed away from the dog.
And even though it probably should be enough that the dog most likely made the man piss his pants, Sam felt the need to be helpful.
He decided to give the guy a little more incentive to get the hell out of here and never come back.
"What the hell!" the man yelled as Mercedes' sprinklers came on full blast.
Sam said nothing. Only waited until the man ran back to his car, falling twice and ruining his clothes with mud and grass, before getting into his car and peeling out of the driveway, then to turn off the sprinklers.
"Best damn thing I've ever built," he murmured as he gave his partner in crime a mock salute and headed for the front door.
It really was too bad he couldn't stand the dog, but it did come in handy from time to time.
"Why are you covered in mud, sweetie?" Mercedes asked as she bent down to cup Bambi's mud splattered face.
When she caught a whiff of peanut butter and hot dog she knew exactly how her poor baby got all dirty.
"Sam," she bit out, momentarily forgetting that she couldn't kill him for at least five more months.
"You called?" the annoying man said, sounding amused.
She looked up, not surprised to find him standing on his second floor porch, shirtless and holding a bottle of beer.
Sometimes she wished that he hadn't cut down those damn trees. At least she could've pretended that he wasn't next door and probably would've enjoyed relaxing on her porch more if she didn't have to see him.
Then again, he would just find some other way to annoy her.
"You want to tell me why you felt the need to soak Bambi?" she asked, resigning herself to waiting another hour or two before she ventured out onto her own porch.
Not that it would make much of a difference, since he'd just come back out again to aggravate her. But after three years she was used to it.
She also loved her time on her porch too much to really care most of the time.
"I will if you tell me why you named that poor dog, Bambi," Sam offered, taking a sip of his beer.
Because the dog was her little doe eyed cutie-pie, but she would never tell him that.
"Forget it," she said, sighing as she headed for her front door.
"Come up here and join me," he called after her.
"I'll pass," she said, wanting nothing more than a hot cup of cocoa and maybe a few more later, as she undertook the task of going over the new plans Mr. Mc. Mann gave her earlier to work into her own plans.
She also needed to figure out ways to speed up the renovation. Even with Sam's men and equipment they were looking at long hours.
She needed to figure out how to get it all done without destroying their profit with overtime.
"Don't you think the two of us should sit down and go over the plans for Sunset View Manor?" Sam asked casually.
But Mercedes wasn't stupid. She knew the only reason that he wanted to talk to her, was so that he could pick her brain and discover what resources she had at her disposal.
It's exactly what she would've done if she hadn't managed to corner one of his men an hour earlier and sweet talk him into spilling his guts about Uplands Construction's equipment, its men and their skills.
Now, she just had to work all that newfound knowledge into her plans.
"Not really," she said as she unlocked her front door and sent up a silent prayer to have a Sam-free night. Of course her prayer was ignored.
"That's too bad. I guess I'll have to tell Mc. Mann that you're not willing to fulfill your end of the contract," he mused loudly.
She didn't say anything as she slammed the door behind her, because there was nothing to say.
He knew he had her in a tight spot and had no problem screwing her over.
If she didn't play nice he could cost her the contract and more importantly, her reputation.
Clenching her jaw shut, Mercedes stormed into her kitchen and dropped her things onto the light oak country table.
If she was going to deal with Sam and not kill him, then she was going to need a hot cocoa fix.
As she waited for the water to boil, she fed Bambi and sorted through her notes.
If he wanted to pretend that they were going to play nice that was fine with her, since none of this bullshit mattered anyway.
The real battle wouldn't begin until tomorrow and she was more than prepared to win.
So, if he wanted to play these pointless little games now, that was more than fine with her
After she'd mixed up her special hot cocoa, took a sip and sighed happily, she grabbed the top folder and made her way through the house.
If she didn't absolutely adore her house she would've sold it and moved the hell away from Sam. But she did so she couldn't.
This was her house, her baby. And nothing and no one was ever going to make her give it up.
When she was restoring the house to its original condition, she'd fallen in love with it and couldn't imagine living anywhere else.
Her only hope was that Sam got sick and tired of these games and decided to sell his house and move far, far, far, far, far away.
Just the idea of having a Sam-free day made her giddy.
Now, if it would only come true she might actually cry tears of joy, she thought, as she headed up the back stairs to her room.
As Mercedes walked across her large bedroom she wondered if Sam was going to use their new situation to his advantage and make her life a living hell even more over the next five months.
Then she snorted at her own stupidity.
Of course he was going to try.
He'd been doing it for over twenty-five years now and wasn't showing any signs of boredom yet.
Almost every single day for those twenty-five years the man went out of his way to make her life a hard. It didn't matter what she was doing or where she was, he found a way to leave his mark on her day.
She still couldn't forget her eighteenth birthday. It started off great.
Her brothers woke her up at two in the morning by tying her up and gagging her...a Jones tradition and one her father tried to make her brothers skip that year.
Thankfully, they didn't throw her in the trunk of Carson's car as tradition dictated. Instead, they tossed her in the backseat and threw a black pillowcase over her head.
They teased and tormented her for hours by refusing to tell her where they were going.
When they'd finally pulled the hood off her head and she saw where they'd brought her, she squealed happily and gave all of her brothers big hugs.
Really, how many brothers were sweet enough to bring their sister to Canada on her eighteenth birthday to get her drunk?
Best. Brothers. Ever.
For the first four hours, everything had been perfect. After she had eaten...because her brothers had refused to let her drink unless she had food in her stomach...she tried beer, wine and hard liquor.
Her brothers took turns watching her, but by the time the first hour had come and gone she was too drunk to really care.
She was happy and giddy as she danced to every song. Well, she danced when she wasn't drinking. And all the men at the bar were super nice, too.
They bought her drinks so she didn't have to spend a cent of her own money and they all jumped at the chance to dance with her.
The night was going perfectly until she thought she spotted Sam lurking in the corner, watching her.
When she couldn't find him again, she just shook it off to an overactive imagination and yummy alcohol.
A little while after that, things kind of got fuzzy. And from what little she did remember of that night, she knew it was all Sam's fault that she woke up the next morning handcuffed to him on a bench, while a Mounty with a fresh black eye glared at them from across the room.
If it wasn't for him she wouldn't have needed to be placed in a cell while her father tried to plow through a dozen officers so that he could wring her neck.
The only pleasure she got out of that whole awful experience was watching her father take a swing at Sam, who must've been hung over, because he just stood there and took it.
"Stay," she told Bambi as she pushed back the dark thick curtains and unlocked the sliding glass door.
"Took you long enough," Sam said.
Of course her prayers had gone unanswered. They usually were where this man was concerned.
"What the hell are you doing on my porch?" she asked, not really caring. As long as he didn't break into her house, and surprisingly he didn't, then she really didn't care.
"For our meeting," he said, leaning a hip against the banister as he sipped his beer.
"We don't have a meeting," she said even as she allowed her eyes to quickly and discretely run over his rather impressive chest and a set of abs that most men would kill for.
While her brothers were huge and muscular, Sam had the type of body any Hollywood leading man would kill for.
Not that she would admit it to anyone, but he was by far the best looking man she'd ever seen.
Mercedes' eyes moved back up to Sam's chest and paused at the almost black Celtic tattoo that started on the left side of his chest and ended at his shoulder.
It was large beautifully drawn and unbelievably hot...the tattoo...not the man, she told herself.
She hated the man, but on any other man she would've been hard pressed not to trace it with her fingers or better yet, her tongue.
As she forced her eyes elsewhere they landed on part of the tattoo that to this day remained a mystery.
She knew that she wasn't the only one who wondered what LMJ was...or who it was...and why the man had the initials placed in the middle of that tattoo.
There were a few betting pools going around about the identity of LMJ, but as far as she knew no one had been able to figure it out.
Sam certainly never told anyone.
If someone asked, and damn near everyone asked at least a dozen times, well everyone but her, he simply shrugged it off like it was nothing.
"How many men do you have working for you full-time?" Sam asked, drawing Mercedes' attention away from her rather disturbing thoughts.
"Fifty and I have another ten men that I've already screened and interviewed for the job," she answered, not caring if he knew any of this.
They were working together, kind of, so they'd have to share a few things.
He nodded as he digested the information. Then he placed his now empty beer bottle on the banister behind him.
"How many are certified?"
"All of them."
"Can paint?"
"All of them."
"Interesting," he mumbled, but she didn't think it was.
Her father made damn sure that she knew how to build a house from top to bottom and she made sure that all of her employees did as well.
If they didn't know how to paint, drywall, put up siding, or do masonry work, then she made sure they learned.
And since every man that worked for her knew how to do every job, she didn't have to put up with delays or waste money by hiring outside help.
She also didn't have to waste time stressing over schedules or try to figure out who knew how to do what, since all of her men were trained to do whatever was needed of them.
"Anything else?" she asked, itching to get away and go over the plans.
"Are you in a rush?" Sam asked, chuckling.
"No," she said, shrugging. "I just don't like you."
"I'm the best part of your day and you know it," he said. And she knew that he truly believed it.
"Whatever helps you sleep at night, big guy. Are we done yet?"
But Sam wouldn't let it go, he never did.
"Admit that I'm the best part of your day," he said, crossing his arms over his chest as he gave her a cocky smile.
"I can honestly say with absolutely no hesitation that you, Sam Evans, have never been the best part of my day," she said, wondering, not for the first time, what horrible things she'd done in a past life to deserve having him in her life.
"Puhlease, that's bullshit and we both know it. I bet you fall asleep every night thinking about me and wake up every morning smiling and eager to see me," he mused, sounding smug.
Too damn smug.
"Actually, you have that backwards," Mercedes said, taking a sip of her perfect hot cocoa.
"Really?"
"Mmmhmm," she said around another sip.
"How so?"
"Well," she said, placing her cup of delicious hot cocoa on the small patio table, "I fall asleep every night smiling because I no longer have to worry about seeing you for at least eight hours. And I wake up every morning thinking about how to avoid you."
"But you're still thinking about me and smiling when you do it," he said with a wink, leaning over and swiping her hot cocoa before she could stop him.
"Hey!" she said, trying to grab it out of his hands, but the damn man simply cupped the top of her head and held her back as he downed her delicious hot cocoa.
She hated when he did this to her. It made her feel foolish and little. And as soon as she got the chance she was kicking his ass.
"You jerk!" Mercedes hissed when Sam made a big show of smacking his lips.
"That was a damn good cup of cocoa, Mercy. Thanks," he said, handing her back the cup as he dropped his hand away from her head.
"How could you?" she mumbled as she looked longingly down at the now empty cup, where her delicious hot cocoa had once been.
"Are you ready to admit that I'm the best part of your day?" he asked, leaning back against the banister.
Mercedes glared up at him before looking back down at the empty coffee cup in her hand and then back up at him.
"Aw, shit!" he said, turning and jumping over the banister, crouching down on his own porch just as she let the cup fly.
When it missed his head by a few inches she groaned.
'So damn close, yet not close enough,' she thought, as it slammed into the side of his house and shattered.
"Well, I guess we'll have to continue this conversation tomorrow night when you're in a better mood," Sam said, standing.
"I'll make sure to bring plenty of mugs," she said sweetly.
"Good," he said, sauntering towards his sliding glass door. "Because I could really go for another cup of that delicious cocoa."
He was laughing when his beer bottle sailed through the air towards him, shutting him right up.
"Damn it!" Mercedes groaned when she missed him again.
When the hell was her luck going to change?
Stay safe!