No smut: When a video leaks of superstar Mercedes Jones, she's exiled from her flashy and comfortable life to country backroads.

I used to admire celebrities. They were brave enough to follow their dreams. They threw themselves into their art. Regardless of how bad, they didn't let criticism hold them down.

I got a little older and realized that the people I pass everyday were admirable too. The people that had generations worth of knowledge and shared it with anyone they crossed. People that worked sun up to sun down to support their family. The ones that didn't mind looking out for their neighbor.

I became a published comic artist at the age of eighteen and an award winning one by twenty one. The first thing I did with the money I earned was take care of my family, and after that I still had plenty. I wanted to share my talents with the world, but I also wanted to give people something that was bigger than me. I started a meal center, feeding the hungry of my hometown. I liked helping people, and I was ready to teach Mercedes to do the same.

Mercedes Jones started her career as a child actress, and she explored music as she got older. It was uncommon to have never heard her name or seen her face. She was sitting on a golden throne until her world crashed.

A video leaked from the set of one of her music videos. It showed her yelling at staff, throwing things at her manager, and shoving over equipment. Her rampage lasted an hour and ended with her ending the shoot and leaving with her mom. The five minute video made thousands turn against her overnight.

She tried to continue with her career, but not many people would give her the chance. She was labeled a "difficult diva." Convinced by her mother, she believed that she could regain her popularity by showing her caring side. She became heavily involved with charities that only wanted checks. When that scheme didn't get her the notoriety she hoped for, she had to create a plan to help people directly. She was going to spend a summer volunteering, and out of all places, she chose my little Tennessee town.

My mom stood at the top step of the porch as she watched my dad's black truck coming up the road. She turned to my two younger siblings and warned, "I want you to be on your best behavior while she's here." Her eyebrows raised when the truck stopped and only my father got out. "Where's Mercedes?"

After reaching her, he kissed his wife. "On her phone. She's been on it since we left the airport… two hours ago." My father was a very sociable man, but for hours, he had to listen to Mercedes talk to somebody that wasn't sitting right beside her. He leaned against the post. "I don't understand what we've gotten ourselves into."

"We didn't do this," my sister, Stacy, corrected. "This is all Sam. He should have said no."

My brother rocked on his heel, pushing the swing back and forth. "Oh, come on. It's going to be great," Stevie smiled.

My brother and sister were meeting their childhood idol, but they had split opinions. Stacy didn't care to have Mercedes there. She thought the video showed her true colors. Stevie was welcoming. He strongly believed that the video was the Illuminati's attempt to bring Mercedes down.

"Stevie, did you clean your room? Sam's staying with you while Mercedes is here."

"He has a house." Stevie pointed at the house next door and looked at me. "Go home."

I was supposed to stay with my family while Mercedes was visiting. I wanted her to have her privacy, so I was letting her live in my house; she would be alone, but help was only feet away.

"They're both Sam's houses." My father knew I wouldn't be happy to hear him say that, but he had to stick it to his youngest son. "You're sharing his room."

"Why do you keep trying to send people into that room?" Stacy asked. "He's had my laptop for two weeks because I'm not going in there. The smell is the only thing keeping roaches away."

When I stopped laughing, I decided, "I'll sleep on the sofa." I would be fine.

Finally, what we've all been waiting for, Mercedes got out of the truck. She pushed her sunglasses higher on her nose and asked, "Why is it so bright?"

Physically, Mercedes wasn't what you'd first think of when you hear "actress." She was short with a thick and curvy frame. She had brown skin that shined under every light. Her natural full lips hid her white teeth. Her round nose sat under her pair of chocolate eyes.

"Because the air isn't polluted by smog," Stacy answered.

I stepped forward and introduced myself then my family. "I can help take your things inside. You're not working today, but I want to show you around the center."

For the first three weeks, Mercedes made it pretty clear that she was working a job. She was acting, but sadly, it wasn't one of her best performances. She smiled and took pictures when asked, but that was expected of a celebrity. She repeatedly stepped out of line to breath because the people "smelled weird." She vanished when it was time for clean up. She showed zero interest in knowing anyone until one random day.

Chad, a regular visitor to the kitchen, approached me. "Have you seen Flora? I can't find her." He was panicked, as a father should be.

I volunteered to help him. As we walked, I tried to calm him. I had a solid idea of where the little girl could have been.

We had built a playroom at the center. It was small, but it made the kids happy. What child could resist toys and bright colors?

Flora was right where I guessed, but I didn't suspect that she would be with Mercedes. The seven year old scribbled outside of the lines of her coloring sheet as she chatted with the woman beside her. She made childish jokes, making them both laugh.

Silently, I watched Mercedes. I smiled knowing that she had a weak spot for kids. After calling for the child, I got both of their attention.

Flora pouted, knowing that the good times were over. She looked up with hope in her eyes and asked Mercedes, "Will you be here tomorrow?" After getting a nod, she cheered. She hopped out of her seat and waved goodbye. Her little hand slid into her father's before they walked away.

"Flora's a great kid," I announced.

"She's smart." Mercedes kept busy by collecting the crayons on the desk. "At her age, I was still struggling to remember my lines."

I didn't want to dig into her past if she didn't want to. I scanned over the other kids in the rooms. "You can stay here if you want." Why would I remove Mercedes from a position where she thrived to put her back in the kitchen?

Days passed, and the center became busier. We were desperate for more hands. It wasn't uncommon to ask people who weren't scheduled to help.

"Mercedes!" I called as I entered the house. I searched the front of the house and waited for her to appear. "Mercedes, where are you? Are you here?" I finally found her in my room.

On a Friday afternoon, Mercedes Jones was… sleeping.

Tapping my knuckles against the door, I called for her. I dared myself to enter. The closer I got to her, the quieter I said her name- I don't know why I did that. I stood and stared down at her.

She was relaxed and at peace. She rested on her back with her arms stretched out and one knee bent higher than the other. To beat the southern heat, she had kicked most of the covers to the side. Her tank top and boy short showed off a lot of her beautiful skin, and I was hypnotized for a moment.

I slowly sat at the edge of the bed. "Mercy," I whispered; the first I had called her by that name, but it rolled off the tongue so easily. I reached out to her shoulder, and with a touch, I was put back in a trance.

Her skin was as smooth as flower petals. She was plump, but felt so delicate that if you rubbed her in the wrong direction or too rough, then she would have shattered like glass. There was plenty of it to explore.

I moved along her arm, and my fingers caressed her. When I reached the end, I lifted her hand, and it fell to fit mine. I carefully placed her hand back on the bed. I didn't stop there. I didn't hear the voice in my head that warned me that my behavior would put me in jail. I was lost in her. Next, I rested on her shin that relaxed at my side. As I brushed over her layer, I felt her stumble that had regrown from her last shave. Tempted to go further, I rounded her bent knee and settled on her warm thigh. My thumb massaged circles into her soft flesh. I was pushing the limit.

Mercedes let out a low grunt. She was waking. With her eyes squeezed tight, she began to squirm away from the light coming through the window.

I didn't want to move too fast and scare her, but the last thing I wanted was to be caught red handed. My moves were gradual. I scooted backwards and dropped my nervous hands in my lap. My heart raced as I watched her long eyelashes begin to flutter.

When her eyes adjusted, she had a clear view of me sitting in front of her. She grabbed the sheets and covered her body. She watched me with eyes the size of saucers, and I was hurt to see the shock I had caused. "Sam?" she mumbled which translated to "say something or get out." The silence was very uncomfortable for her.

"Um, I-I… Um," I stuttered. Within the minute that I was in the room, I had forgotten what I wanted to ask. I had mentally scorned myself and recommended that I get off the bed. With a little space between me and Mercedes, my memory made a full recovery. "I know you served lunch earlier, and you're supposed to enjoy your night. I came here to ask if you would help out for dinner."

"Is it optional?"

"Yes."

"No," she bluntly answered. She threw the bed covers over her head. She wasn't willing to talk it out or negotiate.

I deeply exhaled. "Okay." I left my house guest alone. I felt awful for what I did, and my brain didn't do me any favors.

The memory of Mercedes half naked in my bed kept me distracted at work.

The thought of Mercedes fully naked in my bed kept me up all night.

I avoided Mercedes for a few days, but eventually, I had to get into my office. I was on edge, knowing that she was only a few feet away. I nearly jumped out of my skin when I noticed her in the doorway. "I hope you don't mind that I came in. I'm meeting with my publisher tomorrow, but I have a lot to catch up on."

"It's your house." As she strolled into the room, she said, "I was a little curious about what was behind this door." She stopped and studied the storyboard I had pinned up.

"What do you think?" I asked.

With her back turned, she mumbled, "You're no Jack Kirby."

I chuckled at her comment. I was amazed to learn that she knew anything about comics. I didn't start a conversation about that because she would have brushed me off. "I saw that your Instagram followers went up."

She turned and crossed her arms over her chest. "They follow me so they're the first to say mean things in my comments." She took a deep breath as she sunk into the sofa in the corner. She wanted to tell her story, and I lent an ear. "They just don't understand."

The war between Mercedes and her manager, Martin, had been building for years, but the photo shoot was the final straw. Martin aimed to move her far away from the "child actor" tag by making everyone notice that she was a woman. She had to be sexy: higher hems, more cleavage, and certain poses. She rarely agreed with him and had to fight for herself because no one else would. She peacefully protested, and the infamous video was the result of when Mercedes was fed up.

What Mercedes told me was the skeleton of the story: the main point. She left off the meat and skin: any details that could make someone feel for her. She didn't want anyone to know what she felt about fighting alone. She didn't want to tell how hurt she was that all her years of work on the screen was nearly demolished by a five minute phone video. She said that she didn't want the pity, but the look in her eyes showed her pain.

I didn't need her to tell me everything because I saw it in her- I saw her. "I see you," I said, earning a confused look from the starlet. "You have walls up to hide your feelings, but I see you, Mercedes."

She laughed as if I had told a joke. "Nothing to see. I say what I think." In the silence, she began to run though her schedule for the next day. She had to get to bed at a decent time because she was put in the group who was responsible for preparing lunch. "I'm taking a shower," she admitted, "in case you want to sneak in and watch."

I cringed at her statement. "I'm sorry for the other day. I don't even know what I was thinking." I felt awful for what I did, especially after I knew what happened with her manager. I didn't want her to think that I saw her as just a piece of meat. "I was being stupid and…" I began to rant, and she hated nothing more than having to listen.

She lifted her hand to silence me. "I forgive you." She watched as I straightened in my seat; a hundred pound weight had been lifted off my shoulders. "Goodnight, Sam."

After a brutal meeting with my publisher, I returned home. I had a lot of changes to make to my comic and wanted to spend the day making them, but plans change all the time. I was on my way to my office, but was again distracted by Mercedes. I leaned against the door into my room and admired her. "You look beautiful in red."

Continuing to apply her makeup, she mumbled, "Thank you." Her red lipstick matched her dress that fitted her upper body and flared and flowed at her hips. Her black hair was curled to stop above her shoulders.

Although she looked breathtaking, it was too fancy for a casual night in town.

"Is there a big celebrity party tonight?"

She turned and took the gold necklace off the dresser. "I'm sure there is." She proceeded to namedrop every celeb that was partying in Nashville. "But I had different plans. I was invited to the mid-weekly service at the church. I can reconnect with God and one-up your brother. He thinks I can't walk into a church because I sold my soul to Satan." She made a face, trying to understand; sometimes there's no understanding of Stevie.

I was dressed nicely. I wanted to spend time with Mercedes. I volunteered to go with her.

Mercedes wasn't shy to ask to drive. She was happy to debunk the idea that every celebrity rode in flashy cars with drivers. She held her hand out as I thought.

I decided to let her drive. The church was only a few turns away. She had her license. I had insurance for a reason.

Like Mercedes, I hadn't been to church since I was a kid. It took me a while to get into the sermon, and a little while in, I got back out. When I asked about the time, I was told by Mercedes that I should "grow a church cushion"- which didn't even make sense. I was excited for the end because I wanted to take Mercedes to my favorite place.

The best spot in town used to be a drive-in theater that both of my parents used to visit as kids, and when they had their own family, they would bring us to the abandoned lot and shoot Fourth of July fireworks. It was really peaceful and quiet at night. The trees and grass began to reclaim the land, but the view of the sky was still great.

"Sam, we have stars in California," Mercedes disclosed.

I continued to slouch over my steering wheel. "But they don't shine like this, do they?" I countered. "I like to come here and think."

She laughed. "About what? Which girl you were going to the prom with?" Resting her head on the window, she asked, "How many girls have you brought out here?"

"Just you."

"No girlfriend?"

"I've only had one serious relationship. I was running away from her to come here," I admitted. "Three years ago, my fiancée left me at the altar. It was amazing how incompatible we were. We dated in high school and were still together years later. Marriage felt like it was the next step. We were wrong, and good thing one of us realized it."

"Is that why you put so much time into the center… Because you don't want to put it in another relationship?"

I straightened and turned to her. "You're firing off those questions pretty quick," I joked.

"I just want to know your story."

"My story isn't that long, but the people that come to the center-" I paused in remembrance. "They have so much to say, and I want to hear it." I took nearly an hour to tell Mercedes some of the stories I heard.

Mercedes sat back and took in everything I said. "Wow, you must have learned a lot from them. Is that why you're so good at reading people?" she softly asked. She let the silence resettle before speaking back up. "What did you mean yesterday? When you said that you saw me, what did you see?" She watched me with her big brown eyes, desperate to hear the truth.

I saw deeper than her pretty face, hips and sass. I saw innocent eyes that hid crushed dreams behind them. Her smarts and open mind was my favorite thing about her, and my second was her big heart that was made for loving. I could see that she was struggling to stay strong, but I couldn't tell who for- it wasn't for herself. I saw that her beauty and true colors were all enclosed in a glass box of fear and pain- a box that cracked every time she came out of the playroom at the center or criticized my comic. I didn't notice all that at first, but I watched her layers peel slowly.

I took her hand and said, "If you could see what I see, you'd understand how special you are. You'd understand why I like this Mercedes more than the one I met at the beginning of summer."

Mercedes scooted forward and hugged me. Her chin rested on my shoulder and her hair petted my cheek. She had heard what she wanted and more.

I eagerly returned her hug, holding her tightly. I took a long whiff of her flowery scent. With a long exhale, I whispered, "I love you, Mercy." Maybe I was crazy for saying something like that after knowing her just six weeks, but it was what I felt. I didn't hear Mercedes say the three words back. I was just glad that she didn't pull away.

For the few days after, Mercedes walked on clouds. She skipped around the center, chatting up everyone. She joked with my family. She even had the patience to listen to Stevie's crazy conspiracy theories. Every day she wore her smile, bright and pure.

I strolled across the yard to my house. I smiled when I saw Mercedes sitting outside. I stopped in front of her and got no attention. "Hey Mercy."

She looked up from her journal with raised eyebrows. "Oh, Sam," she said as if she was expecting to find someone else. "Hi."

I squatted to sit beside her on the steps. I watched as she lowered her head and returned to her writing. "The only woman ever that disappointed to see me was Stacy," I joked.

"It's not that," she laughs. "It's just been awhile since I was called Mercy. My dad used to call me that when I was a kid… I'm just Mercedes now."

I realized that I had called her that to her face. I apologized. I used the little information I had learned to continue talking to her. "How's your dad?"

While her mother was a stage parent, Mercedes' father was a dentist. He stayed behind to raise her two older brothers. He didn't travel. Because of his daughter's busy film schedules, he hardly got time with her. When they could find a chance to be together, they were inseparable. When he passed away, her little world shook.

She was only eleven when she lost him. "I realized that no amount of tears was going to bring him back. I wanted to take a break from working, but for a while, it was the only thing holding me together. I left a week after his funeral," she confessed. She grinned, and the joy returned to her eyes. "Two years of bad movies. Oh, they were awful."

"I liked them," I admitted and received a horrified look from the woman beside me. "But I was ten. What did I know? I thought Star Wars was stupid."

She gasped. "The disrespect." When our laughter quieted, she challenged, "As a grown man, you'd never be able to watch all seven movies. I'll give you twenty dollars for each of those movies you finish."

"Keep your money. Let's watch them together- make it a date."

"If it's a date, I want to see something better."

"A date?" I didn't mean a date-date, but I was glad that she said what she did. I just wanted to spend time with her.

Like the night in the truck, she slid closer to me. She was close, and I braced myself for her hug. She kissed me.

There was an undeniable spark between us. It felt so magical that I didn't realize that the kiss was probably only three seconds.

All I wanted was for her to stay. I smirked, but it was killed by the look of panic on Mercedes' face. "What's wrong?" I didn't get an answer, but I followed her gaze over my shoulder. I watched my father's truck drive up the road; my father was no one for Mercedes to fear. I turned back, but Mercedes was already inside.

If Mercedes had time, she would have barricaded the door. "It's my mom. You have to send her away. Tell her I left," she ordered.

"I'm sure that she's already seen you." While she hid in the bedroom, I answered the door. I smiled and greeted the guest.

Mrs. Jones didn't want to waste time. "I'm here for Mercedes." She accepted my invitation to come inside, but she was determined to see her daughter.

"Get comfortable," I smiled. "I'll check around for her."

Mercedes stomped around the room as she threw her things into her bag. "She always does this," she growled when I closed the door. "She has a sixth sense that tells her when I find happiness, and then she drags me away from it… literally."

I reached for her hand to stop her; she was making me a little dizzy with her back and forth. "There's a few weeks left of Summer, and you're welcome to stay longer if you want." I suggested, "Tell her that you don't want to go."

"It wouldn't matter."

I was watching her sadness and hurt rise to the surface. I asked, "What makes you happy here?" I needed to know.

She took her time to answer. "The center, your family, but most you."

If I could have, I would have brought it all to wherever she was going, but I could only give myself. "I'm just a call away," I promised. "If you call in the middle of the night and want to talk until the sun comes out, I will."

Mercedes nodded, understanding. She nervously offered, "If I buy you a plain ticket to LA, would you stay a few days."

I smiled and looked into her eyes. "I just needed an invitation. I can buy my own ticket." I was excited to think that I was going to have more time with Mercedes.