Hello Everyone! No, you are not seeing things. Instead of my usual wordy reviews, I have uploaded an actual story! Frankly, I am shocked too. Throughout the years, there have been several people, including TBloves2read, Rontora, and Mango, who have encouraged me to do this. Now, I haven't written any fiction since I was in high school and I don't want to get into how long ago that was! So, writing reviews was my comfort zone. But this year, I had made a New Year's Resolution that I would post a story on Fanfiction by the end of 2019. Since it is August, I was running out of time. Anyway, I wanted to do this in baby steps. So, I chose a TBloves2read route and find a book that I could put a SamCedes spin on it. By accident, I found "Big Girl Panties", by Stephanie Evanovich and I thought it would work. So, I took the novel, changed the names to Glee characters, threw in 30% of my imagination, embellished some of the dialogue, but for the most part I had kept a majority of Stephanie Evanovich's writing throughout.
DISCLAIMER: I do not own "Big Girl Panties" because that is owned by Stephanie Evanovich and her publishing company. I also do not claim any responsibility for Glee or the characters from the show. Please excuse any errors because perfection is overrated.
SIDENOTE: I don't care what RIB said, for me Mercedes and Sam were/are/will always be the endgame.
SAM
I'm sorry, Mr. Evans", The gate agent said apologetically, "Unfortunately, the next flight out is the best that I can offer. I know that this is not what you wanted to hear and I do wish I could give you a better answer."
There is really no point in making a scene. Truth be told, there is nothing tackier than when an individual throws a hissy fit in public. Especially, if you are a celebrity and toss around the infamous "do you know who I am" spiel. By doing that, you might as well tattoo the word "Asshole" on your forehead. In an era of YouTube and Instagram, you are an idiot to go all postal.
After weighing in his options, Sam looked up, and focused in on the agent's eyes. Flashing his trademark grin, he said, "It is alright. It is not your fault. At least you got me out of the middle seat. Enjoy the rest of your day". With that, he had retrieved his bag from the ground and stepped away from the counter, so the agent could take care of someone else.
Sam Evans rarely hated anything, but flying coach was the exception to the rule. He hated the idea of being squashed in, especially when some strangers head is lying practically in his lap. He thought that he had left those days behind him a long time ago. Even with the two seats side by side, there is never enough room. That was bad enough. But thought that he may be forced into a middle seat, was enough to make him want hurl.
He could've waited for the next flight and flown first class, but that flight doesn't leave for another five hours and he was dying to get home. Not only was he ready for a night in his own bed, he simply had too much to do on the other end of the flight.
Sam was booked solid for the next three days, thanks to the shuffling he had to do to accommodate this trip. Basketball season was winding down, baseball is in full swing, and the football season will be gearing up soon. After all, training camp for the players starts in a few weeks. It is his responsibility to get those players who had spent their off season on the couch channel surfing and get them prepared to take on the rigorous activity that is known as training camp. Frankly, if it has been anyone but Mike Chang asking him to fly from Atlanta to San Francisco on the spur of the moment, he would've begged off.
Mike was the first baseman for the Atlanta Braves. While the Braves had an extremely qualified trainers on their staff, Mike wouldn't settle for anyone but Sam. After all, what an overpaid baseball player and best friend wants, the overpaid baseball player and best friend gets. Mike doesn't know the meaning of the word no and why should he? He has spent almost 15 years as a professional baseball player, so he had gotten used to having his own way. Even when you feel strong enough to say no, you are in denial. To the point that you have convinced yourself that you could be the one person to say no to Mike and stand behind it, you will cave quicker than a house of cards being introduced to a little gust of wind.
Anyway, Sam had made sure that Mike was stretched out for the two days and worked out with him earlier this morning. The Million Dollar Man was ready to go. Sam really couldn't complain. The cost for such spontaneous, unparalleled services was premium; the money was already in Sam's account.
Sam slid into his seat. His long legs were wedging up against the seat in front of him. He had tried in vain to sit up straighter in an attempt to generate more room. In the end, it was of no use so, he took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and did his best to filter out the external noises of the other passengers filing in around him. The constant opening and closing of the overhead compartments. Women with their purses just smacking people as they made their way down the aisle. A toddler refusing to sit down in his seat because he wanted to sit on his mother's lap. Sam exhaled a silent Zen mantra of gratitude for his window seat and his hope that the flight will find a mighty strong tailwind so he could get home faster.
Mind over matter is the key. Now that he had successfully accomplished this, Sam clicked his seat belt into place. That was when he had looked up and saw her.
"Please, may she not be sitting next to me," Sam thought to himself.
MERCEDES
"Perfect", Mercedes thought as she was desperately withholding the maniacal laughter, she knew would have the flight crew calling for security. In a post 911 world, it took so little for the airlines to go psychotic on your ass. It was like one of those old western movies that run occasionally on TV. Standing in the center of town at high noon, waiting for your opponent to make the first move so you have a justification for shooting his ass in the street.
It wasn't enough that she hated to fly. It wasn't even enough that she had to give up her original same-day flight and stay in San Francisco overnight after what felt like twelve rounds with the Mike Tyson of corporate raiders. She even managed to maintain her sanity after mistaking the hotel's tiny bottle of body wash for shampoo and lathering her already overgrown hair into an unmanageable, flower-smelling, mop. Blow drying only made it worse. If she had only brought a wig, scarf or even a funky hat, that would have solved her problem. Instead, she ended up scrounging around trying to find a rubber band to pull her hair back with. The waistband of her pants felt like a tourniquet due to the weight she had gained in the recent months. She could feel her bra strap cutting painfully into her right shoulder. Of course, it didn't help matters that her purse strap was resting on it.
She had counted the rows and stopped right in front of Sam. Her first impression of him was that he looked like a Greek God. Her second impression of him had her wondering if he got lip injections or not. Thick lips on a white guy simply were not natural. Mercedes had unconsciously reached up and did her best to run her finger through her disheveled and tangled up hair, but her hand got stuck down at the ends. She tried to remove them gracefully, but that wasn't much of a help. Now not only does she look like she had just gotten out of bed. Mercedes now had to spend the next five hours squishing right next to Adonis himself.
AND SO IT GOES
"I do believe that I am in the seat next to you", Mercedes stated in a rather shaky voice.
Sam looked up at the mocha skinned woman and didn't say anything. Just gave her a quiet nod of his head and then he had turned his face towards the window.
Mercedes could almost feel his disgust towards her. It was radiating out of him, as if the irritated expression on his handsome face wasn't enough of an indicator. Another round of her pissing someone off just by showing up. With a slight huff, Mercedes bent down, gritted her teeth and stuffed a large, brown, worn-out looking satchel underneath the seat in front of her and proceeded to sit in her assigned seat. In an effort to create some extra room for herself, she moved the armrest up, only to change her mind and pressed it back down. Trying to appear casual, she took a deep breath, sucked in her stomach as best she could, and buckled herself in. She took a moment to lean back in her seat and say a silent prayer as the flight attendants provided their safety instructions.
Sam couldn't help but notice how pale her knuckles got on takeoff. Her fists were clenched so tight around the armrest, he thought for sure that it was going to snap. Curiously, she showed no other outward signs of fright. At least she didn't start wailing or get the vapors or do absurd tricks to take her to her "happy place". But with a second glance, Sam realized she wasn't just gripping her armrest. She wasn't moving. She wasn't moving at all. He took a quick look at her face to make sure that she wasn't turning blue. She was staring straight ahead. Her eyes were wide open and seemed to be fixated on some focal point in front of the aircraft.
"Breathe, girl." Sam had found himself saying.
Mercedes blinked once as she felt the beads of sweat fall down her face. She tried to inhale, but to Sam, it sounded more like a gasp.
"I'm not so good at the take off." Mercedes had responded on an exhaled whoosh of air.
"You're doing fine," he told her confidently as he opened up a magazine.
"Thanks, Superman," Mercedes thought to herself. "Easy for you to say. I'll bet you can actually fly and are just on vacation". But she had kept those thoughts to herself. The plane was starting to level off and her breathing started to return to normal.
Once they were safely in the air and Mercedes' panic had passed. It was only then that she noticed how perfectly groomed he was. Chances are, he probably got a haircut every four weeks without fail. His eyelashes were longer than hers, and he even managed to make a green polo shirt and jeans look dressy. His broad shoulders vied for space much the same way her hips and thighs did, only his was defined muscle. Mercedes', on the other hand, was just mass.
She had glanced down at the magazine that he was casually thumbing through. Health and Fitness. Its pages showcased dozens of toned, firm bodies, much like his. The fitness models wore skimpy garments that appeared painted onto their flawless, tan skin. They flashed gloriously white teeth as they stretched and posed before backdrops of waterfalls, pools, and cliffs overlooking warm, sunny beaches. There were pictures of people in that magazine who looked like Mercedes too. Of course, they all had the word "before' in big, bold letters underneath their photos. Those pictures were not making her feel any better, so she had reached into her bag, pulled out her phone, and proceeded to straight to Angry Birds on her cellphone. Maybe flinging cartoon birds in the air will make her feel better.
That was short lived.
Before she had even made it up to level 6, a female flight attendant, looking strikingly like the model on page twenty-five of his magazine, stopped at their row with the refreshment cart. The moment that she had laid her eyes on the gorgeous specimen sitting next to her, she had turned on the charm. It was all that Mercedes could do not to give a loud snort. But then he spoke. No longer in the throes of takeoff anxiety, she could actually listen to him. His voice was like velvet, smooth like butterscotch, but there was a slight southern twang mixed in and that added to the sexiness of it. He flirted with the flight attendant briefly before requesting a bottle of water, but declined her offer of food. Mercedes did the same. Of course, she was dead sure that she was robbing them both of them some cruel, prejudicial satisfaction by not saying, "I'll take everything you've got." Mercedes turned to Sam as the cart rolled away and gave half a laugh.
"Nothing like the fit of an airplane seat to ruin an appetite. I'll bet this plane was used to transport munchkins out of Oz." Mercedes like to get right to the point. Taking on the gigantic pink elephant in the room. Why in the Hell did she feel the need to validate this specimen of masculine vanity? But she knew exactly why. She as going to be spending hours sitting next to him and she knew she didn't make the grade on his first impression meter. If she didn't want to spend the flight sitting like a statue in an effort not to embarrass herself by occasionally rubbing against him, she'd have to win him over.
He actually smiled, confirming the existence of his magazine-worthy pearly whites and gave a small shrug. He had grown accustomed to other people's feeling intimidated by his looks.
"Airline food stinks anyway." He was being sincere and his smile said so. Sam believed in karma.
She had sensed his original reaction when he first laid eyes on her. Sam could tell these things. The last thing that Sam wanted to be thought of as being the sort of guy who would deliberately made others feel bad about themselves. He was just a busy guy. A temporarily stressed guy, but a busy guy. A guy too big to fly coach on a packed flight. Sam actually felt bad for having thought the worst of the woman next to him right away. Especially about the way that she had smelled. Only lavender lingered, mostly from her hair. He always liked lavender.
"I'm Sam," he said.
"Oh, Sam! Like "I do not like green eggs and ham, I do not like them Sam I am" kind of Sam.
"Well, I must admit that I do like ham, but I am not fond of the green eggs part", Sam replied with a crooked smirk on his face.
With that, Mercedes had her first honest laugh of the day. She didn't realize how much she had needed it until she had heard it come out of her mouth.
"That's good to know Sam. It is nice to meet you. My name is Mercedes", She extended a soft, unmanicured hand, which he shook. Mercedes found that he had a strong, manly hand. A slightly sun-tanned hand that wasn't callused or gnarled from manual labor, but not the limp-wristed softness of a coddled pretty boy either. "Mercedes Jones."
"Mercedes, huh," Sam stated with a gleam in his eye. "Now it is my turn. Guess you were named after the expensive car?"
"I hate to disappoint a man like you, but my mother named me after her favorite actress Mercedes Ruehl. No car involved".
"Mercedes Ruehl, as in 'Married To The Mob' Connie Russo, Mercedes Ruehl?' Sam had replied.
"I'm impressed! You know your Mercedes Ruehl trivia. But seriously, I am sorry if I am squishing you a bit. They didn't have any room in first class."
So, she was in the same boat as he was in. But by the looks of her, he imagined it would've taken quite a bite out of her pocketbook to buy the extra space. " I know. I got bumped out, too. Heard some guy hit a big lottery and is flying in his extended family so they could climb to the top of Stone Mountain or something like that," he said, then added, "Go figure."
Of course, he'd been bumped. After all, why would a Greek God willingly choose to mingle with mere mortals? Around a guy like this, it was impossible not to take inventory of all your own flaws. He looked like he belonged on his own private jet. Sam didn't look like the type of guy who was accustomed to being jammed in like sardines in coach. Now he was stuck having to make small talk with the likes of her.
Mercedes stumbled through their conversation. Hating the words as the rushed forth.
"I never realized that there was that big of a difference between coach and first class. Almost like night and day. Of course, ever since my butt grew a twin, I was forced to notice."
Verbal diarrhea had entered the scene.
It was the second time that she'd tried to make a direct reference to her size, but Sam refused to join her in the joke. He had understood Mercedes' tactic: laugh at yourself before others get the chance. Classic defense mechanism.
From a professional point of view, Sam couldn't help wondering what type of body Mercedes Jones had under all of her self-esteem issues. Bodies were his business. Mercedes had deep, chocolate eyes that sparkled when the light hit them in a certain way. And the couple of times that she had chosen to smile, it practically lit up her face. Granted her hair looked like it had seen better days and a deep conditioning. Her clothes were wrinkled like she'd slept in them, and not comfortably. It was a look that would have made anyone else appear insane. But Mercedes Jones didn't look crazy. She just looked worn out.
Sam didn't want Mercedes to feel like he was judging her, so he let her off the hook. "Keeping in shape is an everyday battle." he said. He also knew the key to learning something about a person was to make them feel safe enough to open up. He wanted to make Mercedes feel comfortable, so maybe she'd stop all the jawing and cut to the truth.
"Watching somebody die is an everyday battle too," she mumbled, her round face scrunching up.
"Pardon me?" Sam hadn't expected to hear anything so tragic, and the shock showed on his face.
"I was never thin," Mercedes blurted out, suddenly feel even more closed in by her surroundings. Too bad that it will be several hours before she can touch ground again. "But when my late husband was diagnosed, it seemed like food was the one thing I could always count on being there. In a sea of chaos that was around me, it was the one thing that I could control you know? It became a double-edged sword. Food became both my friend and my enemy all at the same time."
In his mind's eye, Sam saw himself thumping his fist against his own forehead.
"I'm really sorry. I didn't mean to pry. You look too young to have lost …." his words trailed off. The only thing that was going around in his head was "that was really smooth Evans." Where in the Hell was his composure all of the sudden? Probably in first class with a hot towel being applied to it.
"It's all right." Mercedes hated pity as a rule. But what she hated even more was the fact that she'd just used her status as a widow to make this man feel uncomfortable as she did. Besides, it probably wasn't his fault that he was a total buck. The silver spoon variety. You know the type, one of those individuals that nothing bad ever happens to them. Now she was sorry that she had even brought it up.
"We were together for twelve years and married for ten of those. Anyway, he got sick and there was nothing that anybody could do. I thought that we would have forever. But who would have thought that forever was for such a short period of time? Doesn't really matter, does it?"
No. It didn't matter. "I'm sorry," Sam repeated, not willing to risk becoming tongue tied again.
They sat in awkward silence as the word "sorry" swirled around in the thick air around them. Sam was sorry for her situation. Mercedes was sorry for herself.
Exhausted from depression and self-loathing, Mercedes folded her hands in her lap. Make no mistake, it was an unconscious effort to hide her muffin top. She flashed back to the customer service counter at the airport no more than two hours ago. Mercedes had felt uncomfortable with the way that the airline representative looked her over as she booked Mercedes into one of the last remaining seats on the flight. Then there was the rep's not-so-gentle suggestion that Mercedes might want to wait for another flight to keep her first-class seat. It was a reservation that Mercedes had made to avoid the embarrassment of being forced to buy two seats in coach. The victory that resulted after the stare down and subsequent judgment that one seat would suffice felt hollow somehow. She shifted in her chair and with that movement, she had shifted her thoughts as well. Thoughts about all that she had lost in the past three years, and how fast those years had passed.
Sam had studied her discreetly. She'd laid it all out in front of him on a flight from San Francisco to Atlanta. Had she done it because of his initial reaction? Would he have been so quick to judge her if they were seated together in first class? Would he even have taken a second look? Would he have extended his hand, started a conversation, if his own comfort zone hadn't been violated? In the spirit of Karmic exploration, he decided it might be worth learning more.
In order to do that, Sam regrouped and started over. "So, are you coming or going? I'm on my way back. I live in the Buckhead area of Atlanta."
"Coincidence," she replied politely. Mercedes turned her head over to his direction, the frown back in place. "I live in Sandy Springs. I had to deal with some loose ends out in Palo Alto. I have been told that they miss me, so every once in a while, they like to see my face."
The sense of karma returned like a wave crashing down upon him. It was a chance to right a wrong, to reach out to another person and at the same time bring himself back into balance. Sam waited for a moment, wanting to choose his words carefully.
"You've been through a real rough stretch, I know. It's easy to let yourself go when you are focused on someone else. But the fact is, you're still here, very much alive, and far too young to hang it up. I could help you break some bad habits. Might even make you feel better."
"And just how might you be able to do that?' Mercedes gave him a skeptical sideways glance, intrigued by the fact that he's turned on the charm for her.
"I'm a personal trainer," he told her, "primarily for athletes. We live close to each other. I could get a program going for you with no trouble."
She bristled. "Do I look like an athlete to you? Sam, I hate to break it to you, but the last time I played any sports, Billie Jean King was smack talking Bobby Riggs."
Sam's smile grew wide. "Somehow I doubt that. That happened in the seventies. You weren't even born yet. And besides, I said 'primarily'."
She didn't even bother smiling back. " I appreciate your charity, but it won't be necessary. Thanks anyway."
But Sam was feeling caught up in a rush of inspiration he hadn't felt in years. An idea began to take root in his brain. He threw he head back and laughed. "Who said anything about charity? I'm just trying to drum up business. Occupational hazard, I guess."
He was sure she would never be able to afford his five hundred-dollar-an-hour price tag and he needed new business like he needed a whole in his head. But besides wanting to make up for acting like a shallow ass, Sam was suddenly hit with the overwhelming feeling that a real opportunity was presenting itself. His job often bordered on the mundane now. Lately he felt like a little more than a glorified counter or repetitions, a naysayer to the latest in fad drugs and metabolism boosters.
This would be a break from his every day.
When Sam first started training - long before working with Mike Chang, Chase Walker, and other professional ballplayers - he'd felt a real sense of accomplishment in showing a beginner all that they were capable of. There was a real high in pushing someone to their limit, watching them transform, especially with women. The female body in motion was an entirely different animal. It had so much more natural balance, so much more grace. Sam thought about how it responded to weight training in a totally different and noticeable way. It had been too long since he'd enjoyed the challenge of showing a woman her true potential. Since Mercedes was not his type, the sexual tension would be minimal.
In the early stages of his career, he did hit a stumbling block when it came to his female clients. That was the main reason why he never took on female clients anymore. Sam had long since acknowledged this unprofessional shortcoming with women with only a modicum of dishonor. Something about his testosterone and their estrogen, mixed with an endorphin rush, and that was sometimes more than he could resist. Adding fuel to the fire was the fact that most of the women that he had taken on as clients in the past were women, he found attractive to begin with. He refused to feel bad about that. It was a problem that solved itself quite naturally as his client list grew long with the teammates of his most prestigious customers instead of attractive women. But with Mercedes, there would be no problem keeping it professional. She would be the perfect project. He could get her back in the game of her own life and enjoy watching her transformation in the process.
Sam came up with a lowball figure and Mercedes stopped frowning and seemed to consider the offer. It was an offer presented to her by an extremely attractive stranger. An attractive stranger with sandy blonde hair and the most gorgeous, piercing green eyes that she had ever seen on a human being, black or white. He reminded her of a Saint Bernard puppy. The very type of dog whose job it was to come to the rescue of desperate people. A Saint Bernard puppy with lovely broad shoulders and bulging biceps. Maybe he wasn't such a bad guy after all. Then again, maybe he was. If that was the case, it would serve him right to be saddled with her several times a week for the next couple of months. Either way, what could it hurt? After all, it had been a while since she had kept company with anyone after her husband's death. Even before his death, if she was honest with herself. There were probably worse places to start, but for the life of her, she couldn't think of any at the moment.
For the rest of the flight, neither of them said anything more about his proposal. Sam had entertained Mercedes with stories of his time in Brazil and training in martial arts. He was hoping to distract her as the plane had descended into Atlanta's Hartsfield-Jackson Airport. It seemed to have worked. He kept her fully engaged and she had barely noticed the plane touching down. They landed and made their way together to the parking lot. Before parting ways, Mercedes asked him for his card by telling him that she would take up his gauntlet and be in touch.
But Sam wasn't going to let her get away that easily. He needed a commitment now. If he gave her too long to think about it, she would come up with all sorts of excuses.
"Make the appointment now." he stated, as he reached into his bag, pulled out his cellphone, and asked Mercedes for her number. "How about Thursday night at six?" he asked as he was handing her his card.
Mercedes took a moment and looked over his business card and wasted no time in accepting. "You're on Sam Evans."
So what do you guys think? Nothing like diving into the deep end of the pool and you can't swim! LOL
Until we meet again ... Have a great day Bunnies!