Thank you for your continued support. I appreciate it.

Standard disclaimer.

Stress wouldn't be so hard to take, if it were chocolate covered.

As Mercedes got into her car after her shift, her phone rang from an unfamiliar number.

"He came to the hospital to see you?" Santana asked.

Mercedes rolled her eyes.

And didn't even bother to ask Santana, how she knew Sam had been at the hospital earlier. It was probably put out, as an all points bulletin.

"Whose cell phone is this?" Mercedes asked.

"I just found it at the diner. Don't tell Sue, she likes to keep all the leftover phones for herself."

"Santana! You can't just use someone's phone."

"And that," Santana said dryly, "Is why you need Bad Girl lessons. Okay, impromptu meeting of the Chocoholics commencing right here, right now, because you're in crisis."

"I am not."

"Lesson number one," Santana went on without listening. "Always use a situation to your benefit."

"That's lesson number one?" Mercedes asked. "What's lesson number two?"

"Lesson number two, is not to get your exploits recounted on Facebook. Rookie mistake, Chica."

Mercedes sighed.

"Do you have any wisdom that might actually be helpful?"

"Yeah." There was some muffled talking, and she came back on. "Quinn is here. She needed a big, warm brownie, after pounding the sidewalk today, looking for a job. She says lesson number three, is to understand that guys are about the visuals, and she's right. Always wear Bad Girl shoes and Bad Girl panties. They create the mood."

The panties were self-explanatory, but the shoes...

"Bad Girl shoes? You wear steel-toed boots," Mercedes quipped.

More muffled talking, as Quinn and Santana conferred on this subject.

"Okay," Santana came back to say. "Quinn thinks it's a frame of mind. I'm a shit-kicker, so the boots work. You're…softer. You need high heels. Strappy, sexy, high heels."

The thought of high heels, after being on her feet all day, made Mercedes want to cry.

Then, she remembered how it had felt, when Sam had put his hands on her ankles and removed her heels for her.

She'd liked that, a lot.

"My only heels hurt my feet."

"Get another pair. Lesson number four," Santana said. "Get a hold of his phone and scan through the contacts."

"I'm not going to run through his contacts!" Mercedes paused and considered. "And what would I be looking for, anyway?"

"Anyone listed as My Drug Dealer. That's when you'd run, not walk."

Mercedes blinked.

"So, the guy who left his phone at the diner, has a contact that says My Drug Dealer?"

"And also Bitch Ex-Wife. Oh, and Mommy." Santana sighed. "Not a keeper."

Quinn got on the phone then, her mouth sounding quite full.

"You're going to have to make the next meeting in person, Mercedes. This brownie is orgasmic."

'I could use an orgasmic brownie, right about now.'

"One of you take a turn now."

"Well, Quinn here has been turned down, for all the jobs she's applied for, from the Canadian border to San Diego," Santana said. "So I'm considering pouring her a shot of something, to go with the brownie. In the meantime, I called Tammy at the B&B, and they had no problem giving her the local discount, since she's a local now. As for me, I'm status quo. Waiting for warmer weather to make my move."

"Your move on what?" Mercedes asked.

"Life. But right now, we'll concentrate on you," she said. "You're the most screwed up, so it makes the most sense. Get some bad girl shoes!"

With that thought in mind, Mercedes hung up and drove to the pier.

On reaching the pier, she got out, and took a moment to inhale the salty ocean air, as the sound of the waves hitting the shore, soothed her antsy nerves.

At the pier's entrance, flyers were posted. She saw one for an upcoming high school play, and another for a musical festival the following week.

But it was the flyer for the town's monthly Interested Citizens Meeting, that caught her interest.

This was where Biff would pitch her Health Services Clinic and get the town's collective reaction.

In the meantime, she had another meeting, one that, according to her heart rate, was imminent.

She'd changed into a summer dress, she'd previously left in her work locker, and felt extremely comfortable in it.

Walking to the Ferris wheel, Mercedes took quick stock of her appearance.

'Not too bad,' she thought, although, her walking sandals were definitely not up to Bad Girl code.

'Next time.'

The night was warm and moist, and the waves rocked gently against the pylons, far below the pier.

The power beneath her feet, made the pier shudder faintly, with the push and pull of the tide, which matched the push and pull of anticipation, drumming through her.

'You are not going to sleep with him again,' she told herself firmly. 'That was just a one-time thing. You're only here now, because, you're curious about him.'

'And also because, he'd looked hot today at the hospital.'

Damn, she had a problem. A big, attracted-to-him-like-a-moth-to-a-flame-type problem.

How that was possible, she had no idea.

Their good-bye on the night of the auction, had been…abrupt. Although, nothing about what had occurred before that, had felt abrupt.

Nope, everything had been...amazing.

She stopped at the entrance to the line for the Ferris wheel. When her inner drumming turned into a prickle at the base of her neck, she turned in a slow circle.

And found Sam watching her.

He was leaning back against the pier railing, legs casually crossed at the ankles, looking for all the world, like a guy who made it a habit to be carefree enough, to walk a beach pier.

They both knew that wasn't true.

And good God, just looking at him, did something to her.

His hair was tousled, like he'd been shoving his fingers through it.

Stubble darkened his jaw, and his firm, sensuous mouth was unsmiling. The scar above his brow was new and shiny, and the mirrored sunglasses, only added to the whole ruffian look, he had going on.

It suited him, in a big way.

He was dressed in cargoes and a dark T-shirt snug across his broad chest and loose over his abs.

He looked big, bad, built, and dangerous as hell.

And he was hers for the evening.

Hers.

Not one of her smartest moves. But stretching her wings, wasn't about keeping her head. It was about…being.

Living.

Feeling.

And the man definitely made her feel, a lot.

Already in their short acquaintance, he'd made her feel curious, annoyed, frustrated, and the topper…

Aroused.

And she was feeling that right now, in fact, in spades.

She wanted to shove up his shirt and lick him from Adam's Apple to belly button.

And beyond.

Slowly, Sam pushed the sunglasses to the top of his head and his stark green eyes locked unwaveringly on Mercedes'.

She knew he couldn't really read her mind, but she jumped and flushed a little guiltily anyway, for where her thoughts had gone.

He pushed away from the railing and came towards her, all those muscles moving fluidly and utterly without thought.

Mercedes had no idea what she'd expected, but it wasn't for him to take her hand in his and pull her around to the side of the Ferris wheel, out of view, between a storage shed and the pier railing.

"W-what are you doing?" she asked.

Sam didn't answer. He merely put his big hands on her, lifted her up to her tiptoes, and covered her mouth with his.

Her purse fell in a thud at her feet, and her fingers slid into his hair.

And when his tongue slid over hers, all her bones melted away.

Then, before she knew it, the kiss was over and she was weaving unsteadily on her feet, blinking him into focus.

"What was that?" she asked.

Sam scooped up her purse and handed it to her.

"I lost my head. You're distracting."

"And you're not?" she asked.

His eyes heated.

"We could fix that."

"Oh no," she said. "You said you weren't a long-term bet. You said you weren't even a short one."

"But I'm on your list. Your list of Mr. Wrongs."

"Yeah, about that. I've rearranged the order of the list."

This was a bold-faced lie. She hadn't rearranged the list. He was the list...the entire list.

He raised a brow.

"Did what's-his-name, from the hardware store get ahead of me? The one who sleeps with anyone with boobs?"

"Maybe."

"I was at the hardware store today," he said. "And Andrews was there, flirting with some cute young thing."

Leaning in, his mouth found its way to her ear.

"You can take Andrews off your list."

Oh no he didn't. He didn't just tell her what to do.

"I..." she stated.

But he pressed her into the railing and kissed her again.

Apparently, he didn't want to hear it. Well, that was okay, because she forgot her own name, much less who was on her list.

She had her tongue in his mouth, her hands in his silky hair, and her breasts mashed up to his hard, warm chest.

And she would've climbed inside him if she could.

'You came here to ask him questions,' her thoughts screamed at her.

In an attempt to get back to that, Mercedes squeezed her thighs, thinking to keep them together, but Sam's knee nudged hers, and then, he slid a muscled thigh between hers.

'Good. Lord! He feels so…good.'

Drawing on some reserve of strength, she didn't know she had, Mercedes pushed on Sam's chest.

For a beat, he didn't budge, then, he stepped slowly back, his eyes heavy-lidded and sexy.

"Okay," she said shakily. "Let's try something, that's not going to lead to round two of sex in a public place."

His expression gave nothing away, but she was a woman of her word, and she wanted to know, if he was a man of his.

"What do you do for a living? Are you…military?" she asked, letting loose of the one thing she couldn't seem to get out of her head.

It was the way he carried himself...calm, steady, looking ready for anything, and that bone-deep stoicism. Not to mention, how he'd looked while at Ray's bedside...like he knew to the depths of his soul, what Ray was feeling.

A low, wry laugh rumbled out of Sam.

"So, we're going to ease into this then."

"Yeah." She was glad to see the smile. "You don't know this about me, but I tend to jump in with both feet."

"I noticed."

He looked at her, his eyes reminding her, that he knew other things about her as well, things that made her blush.

"At the moment, I'm rebuilding a few cars."

This didn't exactly answer her question, and in fact, only brought on more questions.

"So, you're a mechanic?" she asked.

"While I'm here in Lucky Harbor."

"But..."

"My turn. The other night. Why me?"

She squirmed a little at this, although, it was a fair enough question.

He already knew, what they'd done that night at the auction, had been a first for her, but what he didn't know...couldn't know...was that, she'd only been able to do it, because, she'd felt something for him.

Which was crazy...they'd been perfect strangers.

"Like I said, it'd been a long time."

"So I was handy?"

"Well, Andrew already had a date, so…"

Sam growled, and Mercedes laughed.

"I don't know exactly," she admitted. "Except…" 'Just say it.' "I felt a connection to you."

He was looking very serious now, and he slowly shook his head.

"You don't want to feel connected to me, Mercedes."

"No, I don't want to. But I do. And there's more."

"The whole bored and restless thing?" he asked.

So, he'd also overheard her entire conversation with her mother. The man had some serious listening skills.

"You used me to chase away your restlessness," Sam said quietly.

"Yes." She winced. "I'm sorry about that."

"Mercedes, you can use me any time."

"But you said one-time only," she reminded him.

"Actually, you said that. And plans change. Apparently, I left you needing more, which is the same thing as unsatisfied in my book." His gaze went hot and dark. "We'll have to fix that."

Mercedes felt her body respond, as if he'd already touched her.

He hadn't left her unsatisfied at all. In fact, she'd never been more satisfied in her life.

"Ice cream," she whispered, her throat suddenly very dry. "I think I need ice cream."

Sam smiled knowingly, but didn't challenge her.

They wordlessly walked to the ice cream stand.

The server was small for a guy, who seemed in his early twenties and painfully thin, but the warm smile he flashed at Mercedes, distracted from his ill appearance.

"Hey, Merce," he said. "Looking good today."

Lenny gave her this same line, every time he landed in the ER.

He could be flat on his back, at death's door...which with his Cystic Fibrosis, happened more than anyone liked...and he'd still flash her those baby blues and flirt.

He was one of her favorite patients.

"Where's your pretty girlfriend?" she teased, knowing he'd been dating a girl, Nina, for months now.

An attractive brunette poked her head out from behind him and smiled.

"She's right here. Hey, Mercedes" Then, her eyes locked onto Sam and turned speculative. "Seems like Lenny isn't the only one with a pretty date."

Mercedes laughed at the look on Sam's face. He actually didn't react outwardly, but it was all in his eyes, as he slid her a glance.

So she decided to take mercy on him and wrap things up.

"I'll need a double scooped vanilla."

"So the usual," Lenny said. "You ever going to branch out? Add a twist of cookie dough, or go for a walk on the wild side and add sprinkles?"

Mercedes purposely didn't look at Sam.

"Not this time," she muttered.

She'd already taken her walk on the wild side, and a walk on the dark side, was standing right next to her.

Lenny served Mercedes, then looked at Sam, who shook his head. No ice cream for him.

Which was probably, how he kept his body in such incredible shape, Mercedes thought, as she reached into her pocket for cash.

But Sam beat her to it, and paid for her ice cream.

"Watching your girlie figure?" she asked him, licking at the ice cream as they walked.

His eyes never left her tongue.

"Girlie figure?"

There was nothing girlie about him, not one thing.

"Maybe you're dieting," she said. Another lick. "Fighting the bulge."

Sam Evans didn't have an ounce of fat on him, and they both knew it. But he did have a very dark, hot look, as he watched her continue to lick at her cone.

Like maybe, he was a hungry predator and she was his prey.

The thought caused another of those secret tingles.

"You think I'm fighting the bulge?" Sam asked softly.

Mercedes reached out and patted his abs. And her hand practically bounced off the tight muscles there.

"I wouldn't worry about it. It happens to all of us," she said lightly, taking another slow lick of her ice cream. "Does your break from work, have anything to do with your leg?"

"Yes." His eyes never left her mouth. She was playing with fire, and she knew it.

"You know, this whole man of mystery thing, isn't as cute as you might think," she said. "Right?"

"I'm not cute."

"No kidding!"

A very small smile curved his mouth, as he studied her for a moment, as if coming to a decision.

"You asked if I'm military. I was."

Her gaze searched his. "And now?"

"Like I said, I'm working on cars."

"And when you're not working on cars?" she asked with mock patience. "What do you do then?"

Again, he just looked at her for a long beat.

"It's in the same vein as mechanics. I locate a problem, and…rectify it."

"But…not on cars."

"No," he agreed. "Not on cars."

'Huh.'

He was certainly not saying more, than he was saying. Which wasn't working for her.

"And the leg?" she asked.

"I was in a crash."

He hadn't hesitated to say it, but Mercedes sensed, a big inner hesitation to discuss it further.

"I'm sorry," she said, not wanting to push. She knew exactly what it felt like, to not want to discuss something painful, but she was definitely wishing he'd say more.

And then he did.

"I'm in Lucky Harbor until I'm cleared," Sam said. "Mark and I go way back. He set me up in a house to recoup."

"Are you…recouping okay?" Mercedes asked softly.

"Working on it."

She nodded and fought the ridiculous urge to hug him.

But he wouldn't want her sympathy, she knew that much.

"The leg is giving you pain. Are you taking anything for it?"

"No," he said, and with a hand on the small of her back, led her into the arcade...conversation over, apparently.

He handed some money over to the guy behind the first booth and they headed for the Shooting Duck Gallery.

"What are you doing?" Mercedes asked.

"I'm going to shoot some ducks. And so are you."

"I'm not good at shooting ducks," she said, watching him pick up the gun, like he knew what he was doing.

Sam sighted and shot and hit every duck, destroying the entire row.

"Show off," she said, and picked up her gun.

She didn't know what she was doing. And she didn't hit a single duck. So she set the gun down and sighed.

"That's pathetic," Sam said and handed over some more cash and stood behind her. "Pick up the gun again."

He corrected her stance, by nudging his foot between hers, kicking her legs farther apart.

Then, he steadied her arms with his.

This meant, he was practically wrapped around her, surrounding her. If she turned her head, she could press her mouth to his bicep. His very rock-solid bicep.

It was shocking, how much she wanted to do just that. She'd bet anything, he tasted better than her ice cream.

Sam went still, then let out a low breath, his jaw brushing Mercedes'.

"You're thinking so loud, I'm already hard," he whispered.

She choked out a laugh, and he pressed himself against her bottom, proving he wasn't kidding.

"How do you know what I'm thinking?" she asked, embarrassingly breathless. "Maybe I'm thinking, that I want another ice cream."

"That's not what you're thinking. Shoot the ducks, Mercedes."

With him guiding her, she actually hit one, and her competitive nature kicked in.

"Again," she demanded.

With a rare grin, Sam slapped some more money onto the counter.

"Show me what you've got," he said to her, and to her disappointment, this time, he remained back a few steps, leaving her to do it alone.

Mercedes managed to hit one more out of the entire row, which was hugely annoying to her.

"How do you make it look so easy?"

"Practice," Sam said, in a voice that assured her he'd had lots. "Your concentration needs some work."

Actually, there was nothing wrong with her concentration. She was concentrating just fine. She was concentrating on how she felt in his arms, with his hard body at her back.

And she liked it. Far too much.

"Maybe, I don't care about being able to shoot a duck."

"No problem." He tossed down another few bucks and obliterated another row of ducks himself.

"Dude," the guy behind the counter said, sounding impressed, as he presented Sam with a huge teddy bear as a prize.

he handed it to Mercedes.

"My hero," she murmured with a laugh, and he grimaced, making her laugh again, as she hugged the bear close, the silly gesture giving her a warm fuzzy.

Which was ironic, because, she knew he didn't want to be her hero. And nothing about the big, tough Sam Evans should have given her a warm fuzzy.

Sam dragged Mercedes to the squirt gun booth next, where he proceeded to soundly beat her, three times in a row.

Apparently, he wasn't worried about her ego. But he won a stuffed dog at that booth, and then laughed out loud at her, as she attempted to carry both huge stuffed animals and navigate the aisles without bumping into anyone.

Ridiculously, the whole thing gave her another warm fuzzy, immediately followed, by an inner head smack.

Because, no way was she going to be the woman who fell for a guy, just because he gave her a silly stuffed animal, that she didn't need.

'You're not supposed to fall for him at all,' she reminded herself.

"This is very teenager-y of us," she said.

"If we were teenagers," Sam said, "We'd be behind the arcade, and you'd be showing me your gratitude for the stuffed animals, by letting me cop a feel."

"In your dreams," she quipped, but her nipples went hard.

They competed in a driving game next, the two of them side by side in the booth, fighting for first place.

Sam was handling his steering wheel with easy concentration, paying her no mind whatsoever. But Mercedes couldn't find her easy concentration, she was too busy watching him out of the corner of her eye.

When she fell back a few cars as a result, he grinned.

But he was definitely paying attention to her. Just to make sure, she nudged up against him.

Sam's grin widened, but he didn't take his eyes off the screen.

"That's not going to work, Mercedes. You're going down."

'Not going to work, my ass.'

She nudged his body with hers again, lingering this time, letting her breast brush his arm.

"Playing dirty," he warned, voice low, both husky and amused.

But she absolutely had his attention.

She did the breast-against-his-arm thing again, her eyes on the screen, so she missed when he turned his head.

But she didn't miss, when he sank his teeth lightly into her earlobe and tugged.

When she hissed in a breath, he soothed the ache with his tongue, and her knees wobbled. \

At that, her foot slipped off the gas and her car crashed into the wall, while Sam's car sped across the finish line.

"That's cheating!" she complained. "You can't..."

He grabbed her, lifting her up, so that she was on her tippy toes, and kissed her, until she couldn't remember what she was going to say.

When he set her back down, she would have fallen over, if he hadn't kept his hands on her.

"You started it," he said. He gave her one more smacking kiss and then bought them both hot dogs for dinner.

Sam and Mercedes sat on the pier, with the two huge stuffed animals, sitting on either side of them, as they ate.

"So, what are you doing to recover from the crash?" she asked.

"Swimming. Beating the shit out of Mark." He took the last bite of his hot dog. "Who's Kamara?"

If her life had been a DVD, in that moment, it would have skipped and come to a sudden halt, complete with the sound effect.

"I heard your mother say her name," he said, watching her face carefully. "And you got an odd expression, just like now."

"Kamara's my sister." She paused, because, it never got easier to say. "She died when I was younger."

Concern flashed in his eyes, stirring feelings she didn't want to revisit.

Thankfully, he didn't offer empty platitudes, but he did take her hand in his.

"How?" Sam asked.

"Overdose."

His hand was big and warm and callused. And he had several healing cuts over his knuckles, like he'd had a fight with a car part or tool.

"How old were you?" he asked.

"Sixteen."

He squeezed her hand, and Mercedes blew out a breath.

"You ever lose anyone?" she asked.

He didn't answer right away. She turned her head to look at him, and found him studying the little flickers of reflection on the water, as the sun lowered in the sky.

"I lost my four closest friends all at the same time," Sam finally said and met her gaze. "Four years now, and it still sucks."

Throat tight, Mercedes nodded.

"In the Army?"

"Navy. We were a crazy bunch, but it shouldn't have happened."

"All three of my siblings are a crazy bunch," she said. "Not military, of course, just…crazy."

He smiled.

"Not you though."

"I have my moments." She blew out a breath. "Well, moment."

"Us?"

She nodded.

"So, I really am your walk on the wild side." He paused, then shook his head. "I'm still not clear on why you chose me."

"I'm not clear on a lot of things about myself." She met his gaze. "But in hindsight, I think it's because you're safe."

He stared at her, then laughed and scrubbed a hand over his face.

"Mercedes, I'm about as unsafe as you can possibly get."

True, but for some reason, she'd somehow trusted him that night. She still did.

"If you're swimming," she said, "You must be healing up pretty good. When do you get cleared to go back to work?"

Sam looked into her eyes, his own unapologetic.

"Soon."

"And it won't be in Lucky Harbor," she said quietly. She knew it wouldn't, but she needed to hear it, to remind herself, that this wasn't anything, but an…interlude.

"No," he agreed. "It won't be in Lucky Harbor."

The disappointment was undeniable, and shockingly painful.

She'd really thought she could do this with him, have it be just about the sex, but it was turning out, not to be the case at all.

With a sigh, she stood. He did as well, gathering their garbage and taking it to a trash bin, before coming back to stand next to where she was, looking out at the water.

"I can't do this," she whispered.

He nodded.

"I know."

"I want to...but I..."

"It's okay."

He brushed a kiss over her jaw and then, he was gone, proving for the second time now, that he was, after all, her perfect Mr. Wrong.

Stay safe!