Thank you for your response to this story and for your continued support. I appreciate it.
I do not own Glee or the characters, neither do I own Chasing Christmas Eve.
At the unexpected sight of Sam, Mercedes was startled hard.
How was it, that he was the one who wore glasses and yet, she hadn't seen him standing against the window?
"Listen, I haven't killed anyone..." she said cautiously, because she was wearing only a towel in front of a strange man. "...but I'm happy to make an exception."
Sam laughed, a rough rumble that was more than a little contagious, but she controlled herself because, hello, she was once again dripping wet, in front of the man who seemed to make her knees forget to hold her up.
"I didn't mean to scare you," he said and pushed off the wall to come close. He was feeling brave, since her eyes remained on his face and not below his belt.
She froze, but he held up his hands as if to say, 'I come in peace,' and crouched at her feet, to scoop up the clothes she hadn't realized she'd dropped.
Leggings, a long forgiving tee, and the peach silk bra-and-panty set, that hadn't gotten so much as a blink from the TSA guy.
But it got one from Sam.
And he swallowed hard, as she snatched them back from him.
"Hold on," he said and caught her arm, pulling it towards him to look at her bleeding elbow.
"Sit," he said and gently pushed her down to a weight bench.
He vanished momentarily into the bathroom and came back out with a first aid kit.
And it took him less than two minutes to clean and bandage the scrape. Then, easily balanced at her side on the balls of his feet, he did the same for both her knees, which she hadn't noticed were also scraped up.
"You must've hit the brick coping as you fell in the fountain," he said and let his thumb slide over the skin, just above one bandaged knee.
Mercedes shivered, and not from the cold either.
"Not going to kiss it better?" she heard herself ask, before biting her tongue for running away with her good sense.
She'd raised her younger twin brothers...scrappy, roughhouse wild animals the both of them were...so there'd been plenty of injuries she'd kissed over the years.
But no one had ever kissed hers.
Which wasn't surprising, since most of her injuries tended to be on the inside, where they didn't show.
Still, she was horrified she'd said anything at all.
"I didn't mean..."
She broke off, frozen like a deer caught in headlights, as Sam slowly lowered his head, and brushed his lips over the Band-Aid on her elbow, then her knees.
When he lifted his head, he pushed his glasses higher on his nose. His green eyes seemed warm and amused behind his lenses.
"Better?" he asked.
'Shockingly better,' she thought and since she didn't quite trust her voice at the moment, she gave a jerky nod and took her clothes back into the bathroom.
Mercedes closed the door and then leaned against it, letting out a slow, deliberate breath.
She was out of her league.
Sam was both cute and hot, and those glasses...
He hadn't touched her, other than the first aid treatment and then those sweet kisses on her scrapes...which she'd asked for...and yet, she felt more shaky than she had, when she'd been freezing.
Clearly she'd gone too long without a social orgasm.
She dressed quickly and glanced at herself in the bathroom mirror.
In spite of herself, she looked flushed. And her eyes were sparkling.
And something else was happening...she was smiling.
"What is wrong with me?" she mumbled.
She'd had a very long day, but still she felt...invigorated...and a tad bit excited.
From the other side of the door came a single knock. An alpha man sort of knock. One that suggested curiosity and a slight impatience.
"Almost ready?" Sam asked.
"For what?" Mercedes asked, still staring at herself in the mirror.
"First aid, take two."
'Oh boy.'
She stepped out of the bathroom.
"Listen, I think, maybe I gave you the wrong idea..." She broke off, because he was at the door to the gym now, holding it open for her.
"Leave your stuff, except for your phone," he said. "We'll come back for it."
'You wanted adventure,' she reminded herself.
And if they were leaving here, it meant, he didn't have nefarious intentions. At least not at the moment.
And at that, she wasn't sure if she was relieved or disappointed.
As if, maybe Sam could read her mind, his lips quirked in a barely there smile, as he led her back down to the ground floor.
Night had fallen, as they walked through a bit of fog, across the beautifully lit cobble-stoned courtyard, passed a coffee shop, pet shop, tattoo parlor, furniture shop, and straight into a pub named O'Malley's.
The place was cute.
The tables were made from whiskey barrels and the bar itself had been crafted, out of what looked like repurposed longhouse-style doors.
The hanging brass lantern lights and stained glass fixtures, along with the horse-chewed, old-fence baseboards, finished the look that said, antique charm and cozy, friendly warmth.
Mercedes immediately felt right at home.
Music drifted from invisible speakers, casting a jovial mood, but not so loud, as to make conversation difficult.
Sam had her by the hand and tugged her through a surprisingly large crowd straight to the bar, where at the far right, were two open bar-stools.
Presently, Sam nodded to the good looking guy behind the bar, wearing a T-shirt with the words I Am O'Malley, as they took a seat.
"Good timing," the guy said. "Artie's in the back being Artie. I need you to go kick his ass in pool, to put him in his place."
Clearly there was a familiarity between these two, Mercedes thought. An ease and connection, that spoke of either brothers or a longtime friendship.
"Later," Sam told him. "I need my usual, with two sides...a bag of ice and another of uncooked rice."
The guy smirked.
"You threw your phone out the window again, didn't you?" he asked.
Sam ignored this, gesturing to Mercedes.
"Mercedes, this is Fergus O'Malley."
Fergus smiled.
"Nice to meet you."
"She's in the city for the first time," Sam went on. "And thanks to me, Daisy dumped her in the fountain. We need food to refuel, ice for her elbow, and rice for her phone...to hopefully redeem us in her eyes."
"Tall order," Fergus said and pulled out his vibrating phone to read a text. "Huh," he said and gave Sam a funny look. "So...uh...there's a 9–1–1."
Sam shook his head.
"Let me guess. Kitty."
Fergus nodded.
"She wants me to rescue you."
Mercedes tried not to take umbrage at that and failed, but Sam just laughed.
"Tell her she needs to get a grip," he said.
"Do I look crazy?" Fergus asked and slid his phone into his pocket. "Besides, we both know she's a little paranoid for you, for good reason, after all that media crap."
Sam lifted a shoulder in a shrug, but didn't comment.
"Food, ice, and rice, coming right up," Fergus said and vanished into the back.
Mercedes looked at Sam.
"Are you sure you're not in a relationship with Kitty?" she asked.
"No, I'm in a relationship with bad judgment." He pointed to the other side of the room. "See that guy through the back doors, playing pool like he was born to it?"
She turned and looked.
The man leaning over the pool table, lining up his shot, was very good looking.
"That's Artie Abrams. Kitty is his. But more importantly, he's one hundred percent all hers. They're both crazy, but they make it work."
He lifted her arm and again eyed her elbow.
"Still swelling."
He gently probed at it.
"It's not broken," she said.
"How do you know?"
She didn't.
It was more of a hope than actual knowledge, so she pulled away, just as Fergus came back.
Fergus tossed two baggies at Sam, who caught them in midair and offered Mercedes the one holding the raw rice.
"Put your phone in here," he said. "Ziplock it. The rice will draw the moisture out of your phone, and with any luck, it'll work a few hours from now."
Mercedes had heard of this trick, still she hesitated.
Sam met her gaze, his eyes warm, but curious.
"Problem?"
"Would you think I was an awful person, if I secretly hope my phone is broken forever?" she asked.
He gave a wry laugh, that told her more than words could, about how very much he sympathized with her.
"You're talking to the guy, who earlier today, threw his phone out the window," he said.
"So...we both fantasize about going phone-less?"
His smile said, he fantasized about other things as well, and her body did that inner quiver thing again.
But, she slipped her phone inside the bag of rice and then dropped it into her purse.
"Next," Sam said, as he held up the bag of ice. "We need to take care of your arm."
At that, he leaned in and gently pressed it to her elbow, and her traitorous body did as before, the inner quiver thing again.
Fergus came back with a huge platter of chicken wings and deep-fried zucchini.
Mercedes eyed the platter and then Sam's extremely fit body with disbelief.
He shrugged.
"That's what the gym's for."
'So unfair,' Mercedes thought.
She couldn't even look at a French fry without gaining weight, but her stomach growled, reminding her, she hadn't eaten since that sad pack of peanuts on the plane.
Nevertheless, she dove into the food, as did Sam and asked the burning question forefront in her mind.
"What can you tell me about this amazing building?"
"It is pretty amazing, isn't it?" He smiled. "The fountain actually came first. The building was built around it, back in the mid-1800's, when Cow Hollow was still actually filled with cows."
"Wow! Really?"
It was hard to imagine San Francisco, as anything but the incredibly hilly, unique, busy, but somehow also laid-back, quirky city it seemed to be.
"This building was a compound for one of the biggest ranching families in the state at the time," Sam said.
"When did the infamous legend come into play?" Mercedes asked. "The one where, if you wish for true love, you'll find it."
He looked both pained and amused.
"Shortly after. Some idiot made a wish and got lucky. Most of the businesses in the building perpetuate the legend, because it makes good press and brings in foot traffic."
"But you don't believe it," she said.
Fergus was back refilling their drinks, and spoke for Sam.
"It's more like, he can't help but believe and he's terrified." He grinned when Sam shot him a dry look.
"Explain," Mercedes said.
And Fergus was happy to.
"Not one, but three of us owe our love lives to that fountain. So Sam has been giving it a wide berth."
"Because..." Mercedes started, eyeballing Sam. "...he doesn't want to be happy?" she ended.
Fergus snorted and moved on to another patron.
"He thinks he's funny," was all Sam said. He studied Mercedes over their tray of food. "So what's your three-week plan while you're here, besides writing?"
"Rest," she said. "Eat. Be a tourist. I made a list of things I want to do."
"Let's see it."
She hesitated, wishing she hadn't said anything, because, there were some...actually, one really embarrassing thing on that list.
"I won't laugh," he said.
Mercedes grimaced.
"Okay. But I need that in writing first," she said.
Sam produced a pen from his pocket and grabbed her cocktail napkin.
"I, Samuel Evans, hereby solemnly promise, not to laugh at your to-do list," he said as he wrote and signed the napkin. Then, he pushed it towards her. "There. A binding contract."
With a smile, Mercedes opened her purse to locate the list and had to paw through a bunch of her various notes to do so.
"How do you ever find anything?" Sam asked, not with any censure at all, but with actual genuine fascination.
Mercedes shrugged.
"My purse gets sad when it's all neat and organized," she said. And Sam guffawed at that.
Finally, she got a hand on her list.
The first eight items were places she wanted to see in San Francisco. Number nine was to learn how to drive, something she'd not been able to do in New York.
Nothing all that embarrassing.
But number ten... that was an entirely different story.
That took the cake.
She grabbed Sam's pen to scratch it off, before giving him the list, but he was quick. He put his hand over hers, stopping her.
"I promised not to laugh, remember? And I don't break promises, Mercedes."
"Ever?" she asked.
There was a rather fierce light in his eyes.
"Not anymore."
That was interesting enough, so much so, she let him pull the list from her fingers. And she knew the exact moment he got to number ten, because, he had to fight a smile when he lifted his gaze to hers.
"Ten's my favorite," Sam said and read it aloud...as if she didn't know what she had written. "A wild, passionate, up-against-the-wall, forget-my-name love affair, that makes me weak in the knees when I think about it...but only a very short wild, passionate, up-against-the-wall, forget-my-name love affair, because..." he paused, probably to control himself, before continuing "...I don't have the time or stamina to maintain that level of sexual activity, much less a relationship."
Mercedes groaned and closed her eyes, her face feeling like a furnace.
"Pretty detailed," Sam said, running a hand over his deliciously scruffy jaw, to hide the smile she knew he was fighting.
"I told you!" She snatched back the list. "Shit!"
"Thought you didn't swear."
"I don't," she said, "And that's a body function, so it doesn't really count as a swear word."
She sighed.
Not Sam.
He out-and-out laughed, tipping his head back to do it, and it was such a nice sight, that she had to crack up too.
"You promised not to laugh," she reminded him.
"I'm not laughing at your list. My grandma used to swear by saying 'Shiitake mushrooms!' That was her favorite."
When he spoke with good humor, or actually, whenever he spoke in general, his voice sounded like sex personified and it had Mercedes wriggling in her seat.
Now, she was no longer embarrassed, but something else entirely.
So she blamed the combo of his sexy stubble with the glasses.
"I like your list," Sam said. "But you could do even better."
At that, Mercedes felt some of her bones liquefy.
"I'm going to assume, you're talking about items one through eight," she said.
And he smiled.
'Okay, well, I'm going to pretend he is speaking about one through eight.'
"I got some of those things from Googling what's a must-see in San Francisco," she said. "If you can't trust Google, who can you trust?"
"Google isn't always the best avenue of research."
"No?" she asked, feeling a little defensive at that, because, number ten was still ringing in her head.
And also because, well, her pride was injured.
Research was her thing.
Living in front of her computer, had been how she'd built the crazy world that existed in Fever Pitched, the series penned by her alter ego, M.J. Callista.
"I suppose you're going to tell me what is the best avenue of research," Mercedes said.
"You gotta stretch yourself. You could question the people who actually live here, experiencing the city through them," Sam said.
"But I don't know people who live here," she pointed out.
"Don't you?"
He dunked a piece of fried zucchini into ranch sauce, until it was more ranch than zucchini and then popped it into his mouth.
When he'd chewed and swallowed, he flashed her a smile.
"You know me. And I'm an open book."
That made her laugh.
Sam Evans was gorgeous, smart, and funny, and he had good taste in friends and food, but he wasn't an open book, not by any stretch of the imagination.
And her imagination was good, very good.
He had secrets in his eyes...secrets that haunted him.
'So do you...' her thoughts echoed.
"I can tell you all sorts of things about this city," Sam said.
"Such as?"
"Such as, it's seven by seven miles, perched on a peninsula of forty-three hills."
"Wow," she said. "You're right. I didn't know that."
"I had a crush on Mrs. Stanton, my fourth-grade teacher. And I used to memorize all the geography facts, just to please her."
Mercedes laughed.
"All better?" he asked, gesturing to her plate.
She looked down and saw the mountain of bare chicken bones in front of her and had to smile.
"I was starving."
Sam nudged the zucchini her way and she bit her lip, torn.
On the one hand, she was full. On the other, the zucchini looked amazing.
Finally, she blew out a sigh and ate one.
"Oh. My. God," Mercedes said.
"Good, right?"
"Shh," she said, making Sam smile.
She took another. Then another. And when she finally leaned back, Sam was still smiling at her.
"What?" she asked.
"Cute."
She resisted squirming in her chair, because she hadn't straightened her hair or reapplied makeup, and she knew what she looked like.
Harried. Tired.
Overworked. And stressed.
And definitely not cute.
"Thanks for feeding me. And for the ice and rice." She slipped off the stool. "But I've gotta go."
"Where to?" Sam asked.
'To get my life together,' she thought and then,
"I still need to find a place to stay."
"How about right here?"
This story is so messy and repetitive. I hope it makes sense with the little changes I made.
Stay safe!