Of course this happens to me on the day before I start my internship at Seattle Grace Hospital. Of course it does, because I'm me.

It's not even dark outside. No, it's early evening and I was driving down my neighborhood street that I thought was pretty deserted. Distracted and nervous, lost in my thoughts, not paying attention to the road. Luckily, I hadn't been going too fast when I hit him.

I slammed on the brakes, but the impact happened anyway. It was a guy on a bike, who went sprawling onto my hood then back to the pavement.

"Oh, my god!" I scream, and fumble to unbuckle so I can rush out. I clamber to his side where he lies on the asphalt, wincing as he sits up. "Oh, my god. Are you okay?" I ask, kneeling down. "I'll call the police. Oh, my god. I am so sorry. I am so, so, so sorry! My-my insurance, I can get it. My licence plate number is right here, you can write it down. My n-name, my name's April Kepner. I'll get my insurance card and call 911. Just sit tight… I-I'll be right back."

"Hey," he says, and his voice is smooth despite his situation. "Hey. I'm okay. I'm perfectly fine. I shouldn't have been crossing the street like that, I didn't even look."

I give him a worried look, still breathless. "But I hit you," I say. "How are you fine right now?"

He knocks on his helmet. "Safety first," he says. "Don't call the police. They'll make this a big mess. I got too much going on to deal with that right now."

"A-are you sure?" I ask, still trembling.

"Completely," he says, then tries to get to his feet. But when he puts weight on his right hand, he falters.

"Your hand," I say. "Is it okay?"

He looks at it, then shrugs. "A little cut up," he says. "But I'll be fine."

"No, no," I say. "I live right over there." I point towards my little white house. "I have… I have a first aid kit in my kitchen. I can fix that up for you."

He doesn't respond for a moment. I look into his eyes and notice the color - almost blindingly aqua. They catch me off guard for a second, so I jolt my gaze away and swallow loudly.

"Please let me," I say. "It's the least I can do."

He sighs, crunching his fingers to try and make a fist, but he cringes and gives up. "Alright," he says. "I guess I'm gonna need it." He looks up at me, squinting in the sunlight. "And by the way, I'm Jackson. Jackson Avery."

I smile weakly. "I'd shake your hand, but…"

He laughs, nodding at the joke with shiny eyes.

I help him up, park my car on the curb, and walk his bike to my driveway. I lean it against my house and lead him inside, acutely aware of the fact that this is the first time a man has been in here. I just moved a couple days ago, to Seattle from Moline, and it's been a big adjustment. I spent the last few days unpacking everything I own while trying to make my house as homey as I could.

"You… um, you can sit on the couch," I say, directing him to the living room.

"Cute place," he says, looking around.

"Thanks," I breathe, digging in a high cabinet and standing on my tiptoes. "I just- I'll be right out. I just have to grab the kit."

"Here," he says, and his presence passing behind me makes my hair stand on end. He's close enough to make a shock of electricity shoot up my spine. I exhale deeply to try and make the feeling pass, but his proximity is impossible to ignore.

He pulls the kit down from the top shelf I couldn't reach and hands it to me, and our fingers brush just slightly.

"Thanks," I say, taking my lower lip into my mouth. "Um… so, we can just go to the living room. The couch." I nod in the right direction. "The couch."

He chuckles and lets me lead the way. We sit down on my new brown couch, knees angled towards each other as he keeps his injured hand close to his chest.

I unpack the first aid kit and lay the necessary tools on the cushion between us. All I need is alcohol to clean it, then gauze to wrap around it. It shouldn't take much more than that to heal.

"Okay," I whisper. "Hand, please."

He extends his arm with his palm open, and I take a deep breath. I graduated med school, I passed my MCATs, I've done this a thousand times. Okay, maybe hundreds. On dummies. But still, it's only wrapping a hand. It's not major surgery, this is nothing.

My fingers tremble as I gently touch his hand and set it down on my thigh. I exhale from my nose, staring at the cut with concentration.

"Don't be nervous," he says, his voice quiet and low.

My eyes flit up to meet his. "I'm not," I say. "I know what I'm doing."

"Okay," he says. "Good. Because I need my hand."

I soak a cotton ball in the alcohol while his hand rests on my thigh. "What do you do?" I ask.

Before he can answer, I press the cotton ball into the cut and he sucks in air through his teeth. "Shit," he hisses, pinching his lips. "Shit, shit, shit. God." He opens his eyes again as I try and speed up my process. "I'm sorry. But that hurts like a bitch."

"That's why I didn't warn you," I say.

"Smart," he says. He looks down at my working fingers, watching them with intensity. "You have great hands," he comments, sounding impressed.

My eyebrow twitches. No one's ever complimented me on my hands before, it's odd. To me, they're just any old hands.

"Uh, thanks," I say. "You, too."

He chuckles once. "Thanks. They're my pride and joy."

What a strange man.

I finish cleaning the cut and slowly wrap gauze around his palm, making sure it's tight but not too tight. I pin it after it's fully wrapped, then smooth out the creases.

"Does that feel okay?" I ask.

"Feels great," he says. I nod, still entranced by the look in his eyes. I can tell he's older than me, but probably not by much. Maybe five or seven years.

"Great," I say.

"Can I have my hand back now?" he asks, voice lilting.

"Oh," I say, blushing red. "Of course. Sorry."

"No need to apologize," he says, and we both stand up from the couch at the same time after a weird beat of silence passes.

"Let me walk you out," I say, shoulders tense as I make my way towards the door. "Do you need a ride? Your hand… should you be biking?"

"I'm good as new," he says, wiggling his fingers as he lingers. He glances at his bike, then back at me. "Are you doing anything later?"

I answer without having to think about it. I know full well I have nothing going on; I have no friends in this city. "No," I say.

"Let me take you out for a drink," he says. "To thank you. For fixing up my hand."

"Oh.. I…" I stammer. "It was no problem, you-you don't have-"

"I'd love it if you said yes," he says. "No pressure, of course. But I'd like to spend time with you when I'm not wearing skin-tight pants and a helmet."

The corners of my lips turn down in a bashful smile. I hadn't noticed those things before he brought them up, but now I have to force myself from looking down at his pants.

"Okay," I agree. "Sure."

Pacing in my room that night, I have my sister on speakerphone.

"I don't know what I'm doing!" I say. I've made footprints in the plush white carpet as I walk the same path over and over, dressed in only my mismatched bra and underwear. My hair is curled, I have makeup on, but I can't seem to complete the last step. "I'm totally out of my league here. You should've seen him, Lib. He was like a Greek god."

"And he asked you out," she says. "Which means you're totally not out of your league. Anyway, there's no such thing as 'leagues.' That's a stupid thing the patriarchy made up."

"Ugh," I say, running a hand through my hair. "I hit a man with my car."

"You said that."

"And I'm gonna keep saying it!" I say.

"Okay, you need to stop freaking out," she says. "And screaming my ear off. Or I'm gonna hang up, and you'll have to call Kimmie, who won't answer. Then you'll have to call Alice, whose fashion sense consists of high-waisted corduroy skirts and old man sweaters."

"Don't remind me," I say. "Fine. Fine. I'm breathing, see?" I inhale and exhale dramatically. "Okay. I'm standing in front of my closet."

"Hmmm…" she says, pondering. "Okay. Do you still have your black jeans? The ones with the rips?"

I hold the phone between my ear and shoulder as I rifle through the hanging cubbies in my closet. "Yeah," I say.

"Okay, those. Definitely. That gray shirt you got before you left, and the tan A-line jacket. That's definitely like, a casual bar outfit while still looking hot."

"Hot?" I squeak.

"Yeah, hot," she says. "And wear little black ankle boots with it. The ones I gave you, those ones I never wore."

I chew on the inside of my cheek as I lay the clothes on my bed. A tremble makes its way through my body as I ask, "What if he invites me home with him?"

"I don't know," Libby says. "Do you think you'd want to?"

I think back to earlier, how sturdy his hand felt in my grip, how enchanting his eyes were. "Maybe," I admit. "Is that totally bad?"

"No," she says. "Not at all. April, you're out on your own now, living your own life. You make the rules. Not Mom and Dad. You wanna sleep with this guy, sleep with him. And feel good about it."

I widen my eyes, surprised at how upfront she's being. "Seriously?" I ask. "Would you judge me?"

"God, you worry so much," she says. "I don't know how you don't have ulcers by now. The only person you have to worry about making happy is you. Alright? No one else. God has bigger things to worry about than a little redhead sleeping with a hot guy she almost killed."

"Libby."

"I'm serious!"

I sigh. "I'm getting ahead of myself anyway," I say, as I pull the jeans on. They're tight, so a lot of yanking is involved. "This is just a thank-you drink. It's stupid of me to think he's gonna invite me back. My life isn't a freaking movie."

"Never know," Libby says. "How's the outfit look?"

"Hold on," I say, setting the phone down so I can throw the shirt and jacket on. I fluff my hair and pick up the phone as I look in the mirror, turning this way and that to check myself out. "It's good," I say. "I think."

"Picture," she says, and I snap one so I can send it. She responds in a matter of seconds. "Sexy, sister!" she says, enthusiastically. "If bike guy doesn't get into your pants tonight, I hope someone else does. Don't wanna waste this."

"Okay, definitely hanging up now," I say, teeth gritted.

"You're welcome," she says.

"Yeah, yeah, thank you," I say. "I gotta go! I gotta catch the bus or else I'm gonna be late."

I'm still shaken from my 'accident' earlier, so taking the bus sounds better than driving to the bar. It'll be easier to get home, anyway. I walk out the door feeling confident in my sister-recommended outfit, but that slowly wanes as I get closer and closer to Joe's - the bar we're meeting at.

As I get off the bus, I debate turning around and getting right back on. But before I can, I hear someone call my name.

"April!" I turn and see bike guy, Jackson, standing at the entrance. He's dressed in dark jeans and a casual button-up shirt. It's blue, and it brings out his eyes even from far away.

There's no turning back now.

"Hey," I say, smiling as I walk up. I'm clutching my purse way too tightly, but I can't relax my grip. There's a weird pause when I approach him where we both wonder whether we should hug or just walk inside. I resist the urge to shake his hand and save myself a ton of embarrassment.

"Glad you could make it," he says, interrupting the awkward moment. We don't hug or shake hands, but he does open the door for me.

"Thanks," I mutter. "And yeah. I-I wasn't doing anything else, so of course."

"Would just be adding insult to injury, literally, if you said no," he says.

My face flames. "Uh, right," I say.

"I'm kidding," he says, gently. "If you would've said no, it would've been totally alright." I smile at him, relieved, and he nudges me with his elbow as we sit at the bar. "I probably would've harbored a grudge for the rest of my natural-born life, though."

Now, I know he's kidding. "I can see why," I say. "I still can't believe I hit you."

"I can't wait to tell the story at work tomorrow," he says. "You gave me some serious street cred, so thanks for that. I hope you know I'm totally gonna exaggerate everything. As far as my coworkers know, you were driving a pickup and going 55 in a 25, and I flew over the windshield and into the bed of the truck, then biked away unscathed."

I snort. "Sounds legit," I say.

"You officially made me a badass," he says. "And I can't thank you enough." He orders a beer, and I do, too. "You like beer?" he asks.

"Yeah," I say, thanking the bartender as he puts our drinks in front of us. "Gonna tell me it's not womanly enough or something?"

I'm teasing, and he knows it. I'm glad, because I was worried my tone might have come off too harsh. But he smiles that dazzling, Disney-prince smile, and I almost fall off my barstool.

"Not at all," he says, taking a sip. "I was gonna say that it's hot. I've never met a girl who likes beer."

"Well, you can't say that anymore," I say, taking a big gulp.

He looks at me, eyebrows raised as he's obviously impressed. "Good with her hands and can drink me under the table," he says. "Where've you been all my life?"

I blush and take another drink to avoid responding and inevitably making a fool of myself.

He leans on his elbow to look at me straight-on. "You don't talk much, do you?"

I lower my glass and blink, licking my lips. "Actually, I do," I say, raising my eyebrows. "But right now, I'm really nervous. So, I'm trying to contain myself. Because when I get nervous, I talk. And I don't stop. And it tends to freak people out."

He laughs, nodding. "Number one, no need to be nervous," he says.

"Yeah, sure," I say, scoffing.

"What?"

"Telling me not to be nervous," I say, under my breath. "As you sit here being… you."

"Well, as I sit here and am myself, you should know that I'm pretty damn nervous, too."

I look at him, face screwed up in confusion. Then, I realize.

"You're teasing me," I say. "Ha, ha. Funny."

"No," he says. "Nope. Hands have been sweating ever since you got here. Wanna feel?"

"No, thanks," I say, taking another drink.

"I'm not making fun of you," he says.

"Sorry," I say. "I just assume people are. It's kind of… a trend, with me."

"Well, that's a little fucked up," he says. "I'm sorry you've come to expect it."

I look at him, struck by his genuineness. "Me, too," I say.

One side of his lips pull up in a little grin. "You have beautiful eyes," he says. "They remind me of grass, you know, after it rains. All healthy and really green."

I break eye contact and tuck my hair behind my ear. "Thanks," I mutter.

"I was looking at them earlier, after you hit me," he says. "When I was on the ground. I told myself that if they were the last things I saw, that'd be okay."

I roll my eyes. "You were fine."

"I thought I was gonna have a heart attack," he says. "My heart was beating so fast."

I don't know what to say. Is he flirting with me? He might be flirting with me. But I also don't want to interpret this the wrong way and make a total idiot of myself. Plus, I don't even know where to begin in flirting back. I've never had a boyfriend; my first kiss was a dare given by my crush's friends. I don't know how to react to heartfelt interest, if that's even what this is.

"I'm sorry," he says, interrupting my thoughts. "Am I making you uncomfortable? If I am, I'm really sorry. I'm coming on too strong. I don't mean to, I got carried away. Please, forget-"

"No," I say, clutching my mostly-empty glass. "I just…" I sigh, directing my eyes towards the ceiling. "You have to understand that no guy's been interested in me before. Ever. So, I don't quite know how to react to you right now." I try and backtrack. "Not saying you're interested. I meant that no guy's ever talked the way you're talking, and-"

His eyes brighten again. "I am interested," he says. "Very much so."

I physically recoil because I'm so surprised, coming right out and saying it like that. "You are?" I ask, dumbfounded.

He nods. "I thought that was pretty obvious while I was staring at you on your couch earlier," he says.

"No," I say, shaking my head. "N-no."

A beat passes. "Are you?" he prompts, resting his hand flat on the bar between us. I still haven't let go of my glass. "Because if you're not, I'll back off. I'll stop bothering you. But if you are…"

I take in a short, quick breath. "I am," I say, my voice barely a whisper as I copy his words from just moments ago. "Very much so."

An hour later, we're stumbling into his house, hands all over each other. I'm not really sure how it started, but I don't want it to stop.

He shuts the front door behind us and fumbles to close it, then presses my back against the wood. But my tailbone hits the handle, which makes me wince in pain.

"Shit," he says, reaching around to rub the spot. "You good?"

"Yeah," I say, ignoring the throbbing pain. "Yeah. Just kiss me."

He chuckled darkly and presses me to the door again, more towards the middle this time, as he pulls my jacket down over my shoulders and throws it to the couch. I brace my hands on his neck, pulling his face close to mine as his lips move fluidly, seemingly trying to devour me whole.

He buries his face in my neck, moving my hair aside so he can run his tongue over my pulse point. I let out a desperate-sounding moan, having never known what neck kisses feel like, and suddenly his hands are on my thighs and he's hitching my legs around his waist.

I hold on tight, squeezing him tight as he angles his body to keep mine against the door.

"Fuck, you're sexy," he says, wrapping an arm around my waist and holding on with his good hand. I can feel his erection nudging my inner thigh, and that alone makes a shiver run through my whole body.

No one's ever called me sexy before. I've also never felt this confident, this sure of myself, this much of a woman. It feels amazing. So far, I love the person Seattle has made me.

Up in his bedroom, we fall onto his bed shirtless. The only time I've ever seen a chest as chiseled as Jackson's was in a magazine ad for male cologne. I can't believe he's real. Kind, smart and sexy? It seems too good to be true.

He runs his hands up my stomach, gentler with the wrapped one, until he gets to my chest. It's still covered with my bra, but he squeezes my breasts over the cups and pushes them together, pressing his lips to the cleavage he created.

"Mmm…" he moans, resting between my legs. Before he can ask, I reach behind my back and undo the clasp, then throw my bra away haphazardly. I don't care where it ends up. All I care about are the feelings he's giving me.

He takes one breast in his hand roughly, squeezing it with all he has. I can't help the sound that escapes me, a surprised-sounding whimper that only propels him further. To even out the attention, he covers the other breast with his mouth and sucks the nipple between his teeth as he yanks his head back.

My eyelashes flutter. "Mmm, Jackson…" I moan, throwing my arms above my head.

"You're so hot," he says, and tries to get a hand inside my pants, but they're too tight. "God, I need these off."

I reach to undo the button of my jeans as he keeps teasing my breasts, and make a sound of frustration as I try to wiggle out of them.

"Here," he says, getting a good grip on the fabric before pulling them off my legs in one fluid motion. I'm left breathless before him, and he drinks in the sight of me. "There."

"You, too," I murmur, pulling on one of his belt loops.

"Right," he says, smiling and stealing a kiss before shedding his pants.

He covers my breasts with open-mouthed kisses, drawing wet and sloppy patterns with his tongue as he makes his way lower to the bow on my panties. He runs his pointer finger over it, which makes the hot area between my legs dampen.

He kisses the tops of my thighs, looking up at me through his eyelashes. "I can give you an orgasm like no one ever has before," he says.

I open my mouth to say something along the lines of the only person who I've ever gotten an orgasm from is myself, but instead I just whisper, "Okay."

He covers the fabric with his mouth first. I let out a short gust of air only to take one in that's twice as deep, and bury my hands in my hair. I blink hard as I feel his tongue on a part of my body that's never been touched by someone else, and my eyes practically roll back into my head as he rubs his thumb in circles over the growing damp spot.

My toes curl as he pulls my underwear down my legs, and suddenly I'm bare before him. I don't feel self-conscious, actually I feel completely the opposite. With the way he's looking at me, I feel more powerful than I ever have before. I feel beautiful and present. I hope this feeling never goes away.

I can barely breathe when he covers me with his mouth. There are too many sensations coursing through my body to name a single one, but I feel like I'm being lit on fire. He knows all the right ways to move his lips, teeth and tongue to send me reeling, send me over the edge as I experience something so new: handing myself completely over to another person.

"I'm coming," I whisper urgently, feeling the tight coil between my legs come close to the edge. "I'm… Jackson, I'm gonna…"

Before I can finish my sentence, he sucks those nerves between his lips and I can't help but scream. I surprise even myself, making that loud of a sound, but there was no keeping it in. I see sparks behind my eyelids from what he's done to me.

As I'm lying there panting, I feel soft kisses being pressed to my lower belly and inner thighs. "You are…" he begins. "Delicious."

I could melt all over again.

Through his tight boxers, I feel his erection even harder than before as he adjusts on top of me. I know what happens next and I desperately want it, but at the same time I'm more nervous than I've ever been in my life.

"This isn't meant to be offensive," I say, hands braced on his collarbones. "But you're clean, right?"

He smiles, lowering to kiss me. "I'm not offended," he says. "You're smart. Yes, I got tested last month. Routine checkup." He pulls away to look in my eyes. "You?"

I gnaw on my lower lip, debating whether or not I should lie. I decide not to. I really like him as a person; this could turn out to be more than a booty call. And I don't want to start anything out on lies.

"I'm…" I say, a little choked. I close my eyes, take a deep breath, and start again. "I'm a virgin," I finally admit.

He's caught off guard, I can tell.

"Really?" he asks.

I blush, humiliated. I shouldn't have told him. I knew I shouldn't have told him.

"Yeah," I say.

He studies my face. "And you're sure you wanna go through with this?" He blinks, looking genuinely concerned. "You want me to be your first?"

"Yes," I say, confidently. "I'm done waiting around. I want this. I want this really bad."

He smirks, kissing me again. "Well, okay then," he says, grabbing a condom. "So I'm clean, and you're definitely clean. We're good to go."

"Uh-huh," I say, holding the sides of his face as he lowers his hips.

"And you're sure, right?"

"I'm sure," I say, glancing between our bodies. He's well-endowed - not like I have anything to compare it to, but I can tell he is - and I know this might hurt. But I'm hoping the pain won't last for long.

"Alright," he says. "Let me know if you want me to stop, or if it hurts or anything."

I nod, and he pushes the head in. As I concentrate, I chew on my lip and adjust as he buries himself inside my body, inch by inch.

"Okay?" he asks, kissing my cheek and jaw. "Doing okay?"

"Yeah," I breathe, widening my thighs. He's completely inside, and I can tell that he wants to move. There's dull pressure situated in my lower belly, but no pinching. No pain. That's a good thing. "I'm good. I… I want you to move."

"I got you, babe," he says, then pulls halfway out to sink back inside again. I hear his breath coming harder as his mouth falls open, and he braces his hands on either side of my head as he continues to move his hips.

I skim my fingernails up and down his sides, gripping tight when his movements get more forceful. My back scoots up the mattress and his brow furrows with concentration, eyes swimming with feeling.

He changes up the rhythm - starting out gentle and slow and making his way quicker and deeper. I arch my neck as I writhe beneath him, barely able to wrap my head around the fact that he's literally inside me, and feel his mouth on my neck.

"I'm close," he grunts, encircling my waist with one arm as he lifts my hips at an angle. "Are you?"

"I don't know," I say.

"I'll fix that," he says, and his hand disappears. In an instant, I feel his fingers rubbing circles over the spark inside me, and everything happens all over again.

When he comes down from his powerful orgasm, he collapses on top of me. He's sweaty and heavy, but I find myself not caring at all. I wrap my arms around his shoulders and feel the two of us breathing together, almost as one. I've never felt closer to another human being in my life.

"Sleep here tonight," he says, after we've cleaned ourselves up and straightened his sheets.

"I…" I say, furrowing my eyebrows. I want to, but it seems more complicated than that. But maybe it's not. "I don't have pajamas," I finally say.

"Got you," he says, digging through a drawer as he stands there in clean boxers and nothing else. He tosses a t-shirt at me and I throw it on, feeling comfortable in its oversized bagginess. I look down at the chest and see that it says 'Sex Machine' in big, block letters.

"Classy," I say, crawling onto the bed.

"Stupid-ass gag gift," he says. "But it speaks the truth."

I roll my eyes, but can't help laughing.

"Where are you," he mutters, getting situated under the covers. "C'mere."

I find my way to his warmth and let him hold me all night.

I wake up slowly the next morning and take in my surroundings, noticing that I'm not in my own room or in my own house. I'm confused for a moment before I remember what happened, but get confused again as I realize the bed is empty.

I sit up and try to make sense of this in my sleep-blurry mind. I rub my eyes and move gingerly; my body is very sore from last night.

"Hey," Jackson says, coming out of the bathroom connected to his room. I jump with surprise, blinking hard to try and wake up fully. "Morning, sleepyhead."

"Hi," I say, voice raspy as I tuck my hair behind my ear.

He chuckles and walks over, standing in front of me dressed in classy jeans and a businesslike button-up shirt. He smells like mint toothpaste and subtle cologne.

"I really wish I could stay in bed with you," he says, skimming my body with his eyes. "But I have to get to work. Big day ahead."

Then suddenly, it dawns on me. I have to get to work, too. I glance at the clock and see that it's just past 8, and I have to be at the hospital ready to go with my group of interns at 9.

"Oh, shoot," I say, standing up from the bed. "I have to go, too. It's my first day today and I can't be late."

I find my jeans and shimmy into them as best I can, but I don't remember where my shirt went off to. I don't have time to worry about it, though, so I tell myself that I'll have to go home wearing his shirt that's way too big for me and says 'Sex Machine' in big letters.

"Hey, wait," he says, holding my wrist with his good hand as I'm about to leave his bedroom. I turn around, caught off guard by those magnetic eyes. "Can I see you again?"

A smile breaks onto my face. "Yeah," I say, and leave him my number.

I go home, shower and get ready at lightning speed, then rush to the hospital. I gather myself before walking in the doors, giving myself a pep talk that I hope will stay with me. I can do this.

Before last night, I was way more nervous for today. But being with Jackson made me feel confident. I loved the way he treated me.

I find the room where the interns' lockers are and filter in with other members of my group. Alongside me are people I met at the gala last week; Meredith Grey, Cristina Yang, Izzie Stevens, Alex Karev, and George O'Malley. No one's really talking - we don't know each other and we have bigger things to worry about than making friends.

I change into my light blue scrubs and take a deep breath while closing my eyes.

"Hey, April," I hear, the voice breaking my concentration.

I open my eyes to see George standing next to me, looking eager and pleasant.

"Excited for today?"

"Yeah," I say. "And a little nervous."

"Join the club," he says. "I could barely eat this morning."

My stomach growls and we both laugh. "Same boat," I say.

"Maybe we could eat lunch together later," he says, eyes darting around the room and landing everywhere but my face. "If we get a chance, you know, away from all the craziness."

"Yeah," I say. "Sure."

Our resident comes into the room and ushers us out, beginning the tour of the hospital. We stay together as a group, being introduced to the heads of each department as we go through them. First is pediatrics, then general, orthopedics, cardio, neuro, trauma, and lastly, plastics.

"Up here is our plastics floor," our resident, Dr. Bailey, says. "The department head is somewhere around here…" She leans on the nurses station and speaks in low tones. "Where on this green earth is Jackson Avery?"

My stomach drops and my mouth goes dry. I can't have heard what I think I just heard - Jackson Avery? As in the man who I gave my virginity to last night after knowing him for all of six hours? That can't be right.

I shake my head so my red curls tumble. I fix them, and Dr. Bailey keeps talking.

"Dr. Avery is on his way. He'll be here shortly."

I wasn't hearing things. She did say Jackson Avery. But I tell myself it's not that unique of a name, for all I know there could be ten guys in Seattle with that name.

But that's not the case. The man that strolls up wearing a white lab coat and navy blue scrubs is in fact the same man who had his face buried between my legs just hours ago.

I take a stutter step backwards and run into George, who steadies me.

"Sorry," I mutter, not taking my eyes off Jackson.

He must feel my stare, because he looks at me a second later. We lock eyes and I see the shock cross his face, but he covers it well as he clears his throat and prepares his welcome speech for the plastics department.

I don't hear a word he says. I watch his face and see his mouth moving, but I feel like I'm trapped in a bubble. There's no way this is happening. No freaking way.

"Thank you, Dr. Avery, for that valuable information," Dr. Bailey says. "And the horrible jokes."

"As always," he says, and that voice practically sends me to the floor.

Dr. Bailey leads our group away, and as I pass him his eyes snag and burn into mine. I look away quickly, wrapping my arms around the clipboard against my chest, and keep my head low.

This can't be happening.

Before lunch, Dr. Bailey sends me on an errand to collect gauze pads for the ER, where I've been stationed today. I was hoping that I might get sent up to plastics, but George was lucky enough to get that. He grumbled about being with Dr. 'Eyes', as he called him, and I had to keep my comments to myself.

I tuck my small red notebook into my front pocket as I find the supply closet.

"Gauze pads…" I say, under my breath as I look through the plastic containers of medical supplies. "Gauze pads…"

I hear the door come open, but think nothing of it. It's a big closet with a lot of supplies inside.

"Oh, here we go," I say, again to myself. I stand on my tiptoes to grab the blue container, but feel arms around my waist before I can get far.

I shriek and flip around, ready to push whoever's touching me away. But as I turn, I see a familiar face close to mine, shushing me.

"No wonder you have such good hands," Jackson whispers, trapping me against the farthest wall from the door. "You're a freakin' surgical intern. You didn't tell me that."

"You didn't tell me you were an attending," I counter.

"An attending with a hand that's out of commission," he says, holding up his bad hand with my wrapping still on it. "For surgery, at least…"

He snakes his grip around my waist, tilting my hips towards his. I let him, staring into his eyes while feeling so incredibly turned on that I barely know what to do with myself.

Jackson bends forward and captures my lips, and I wrap my arms desperately around his neck to pull myself closer. Feeling bold, I slip my hand between our bodies and brush my fingers over his stiff erection, which earns me a strangled-sounding moan from him.

In return, his hand sneaks up the front of my scrub top and squeezes my breast over my bra. I kiss him harder, faster, sloppier, as he pins my hips back against the wall with one thigh between my legs.

I let out a shaky breath as he moves my hair to kiss my neck. I push my fingers under the back of his scrub top and run them through the hair at the small of his back, and he sucks on my skin.

"Can we…" I breathe. "Should we be doing this? If people find out, they'll think I…"

"They won't find out," he murmurs, lips under my jawbone. "People at work don't need to know our business."

I don't have an argument, and I don't want one. I just want him to keep kissing me.

With his face pressed to the side of mine, his hand disappears inside the front of my scrub pants and into my underwear. I gasp and arch my back, feeling his breath against my cheek as his fingers slowly stroke me. I pull my thighs together and trap his hand where it is, and he chuckles, wrapping his free arm around my hips to keep me close.

He pushes two fingers inside me and my mouth falls open, a desperate-sounding whimper escaping.

"Shhh…" he says, taking my chin in his thumb and first finger to turn my head towards him. He kisses me and steals all the sounds I make as he makes me come by touching the place that lights me up.

My body trembles as I come down from my orgasm, and I rest two flat hands on his chest as he pulls his hand from my pants. With dark eyes, he slips those same two fingers into his mouth and sucks on them.

He can't be real.

"We should get going," I whisper, inconspicuously swiping my hand between my legs to make sure there's no wet stain. Luckily, there isn't. Not yet. But I need to go to the bathroom to make sure there won't be.

"I was hoping you wouldn't say that," he says, holding my face in his hands and pressing a deft kiss to my forehead. When he pulls away, he touches my chin with his thumb and looks into my eyes. "See you."

I leave first, feeling deliciously overwhelmed as I leave the supply closet. On my way down the hall, I run into George who's coming from the direction of the cafeteria.

"Hey," I say, still breathless. I self-consciously smooth my hair, convinced that he's able to tell what I was just doing. Or rather, what I just had done to me.

"Hey," he says, then pauses. "Lunch was good, by the way."

"Oh, shoot," I say, tugging on his wrist. "God, I forgot. I'm really sorry, George. Bailey sent me on an errand, and I got distracted with other things. It just slipped my mind. I'll make it up to you."

"Distracted, huh?" he says, raising his eyebrows.

I look at him, confused and concerned. "Excuse me?" I say.

He taps his cheek. "Your lipstick," he says. "You should check that."

I gasp and he stalks away, and I disappear into the bathroom to see that he was right. I wipe my cheek with a scratchy brown paper towel to clean it off and stare at myself in the mirror. Is this who I've become now? The girl who stands up nice boys in exchange for makeout sessions with really hot ones?

I come to the conclusion that yes, it is.

After our work day is done, the group of interns is getting changed back into street clothes and exchanging stories about our days and the interns that came before us.

"I heard the only reason this girl Hannah Edinburgh made it to resident is because she slept with an attending," George says.

I keep my eyes directed at the floor, but I know he's looking at me.

"No way," Izzie says. "How slutty!"

"As if you're above it, Dr. Model," Cristina says. "Don't act all high and mighty on us now."

"Exactly," Alex pipes up. "One of 'em offers, I'm down."

"On your first day," George scoffs.

"You're just mad because that's the last thing they'd offer you," Alex says, and I feel the blow for George.

"That's not kind," I say.

"She speaks," Meredith says, eyes wide for effect.

"Maybe Hannah Edinburgh slept with the attending, maybe she didn't, what do you guys know?" I ask. "It's all just stupid gossip. And even if she did, who cares? Maybe she passed her boards on her own skill and just happens to have feelings for the guy. It's not a crime to have feelings for people, even if it goes fast. Even if it's scary and feels like it's controlling you because it's the only thing you can think about. Maybe she couldn't help it. Maybe it was magnetic, and there was nothing either of them could do. You don't know that's the reason she made resident. She has a brain, too, you know."

I pick up my bag and shove it over my shoulder, storming out of the room and into the empty hallway. My face is hot with anger as I make my way to the parking lot, eyes burning as they threaten tears.

"April!" I hear my name, and turn to see Jackson heading out from a different exit with a shoulder bag across his chest. "Wait up."

I sniffle and wipe beneath my nose with the top of my hand. "I can't," I say, walking faster.

But he doesn't relent. His legs are much longer than mine, and he catches up in no time. We're not far from the main entrance, and I can hear the voices of my fellow interns close by.

"What's wrong?" he asks, brow furrowed.

"I can't talk to you," I say, turning my face away so he can't see I'm tearing up.

"What?" he says. "Why?"

I jut my thumb over my shoulder and keep walking, and he keeps following. "Them," I say.

"April, stop," he says, taking my upper arm gently. I turn around to look at him. "Why're you crying? What's going on?"

"Is it true that Hannah Edinburgh slept with an attending, and that's the only reason she's a resident?" I ask, the words tumbling from my mouth.

He looks confused for a moment, then it clears from his face. "April, no." He rolls his eyes and lets out a breathy laugh. "That story… it's fake. It's a myth."

"What?"

"There's no Hannah Edinburgh at this hospital," he says. "That's some fucked-up story that Burke tells the interns to scare them off from the attendings. How her reputation was ruined, everyone knew it was the only reason she passed, all that rot. Who told you that?"

My lips part with surprise. "George," I say.

"Of course he was the one Burke told," Jackson mutters. "Yeah. There's no Hannah Edinburgh."

"Oh," I say, and look back to the interns standing at the main door, staring at the two of us interacting. "Well, now I don't know what to say."

He looks at the group of them, too. "Are they on your ass about being with me?"

"Being with you?" I ask, raising my eyebrows. "And no, they weren't. Not really. But now they will be."

He wraps an arm casually around my shoulder and throws a look back at them. "Don't worry about them," he says, and we start off in the opposite direction.

"They're gonna call me the next Hannah Edinburgh," I say, holding onto his hand draped over my arm.

"Number one, she's not even real," he says, laughing. "Number two, you're no Hannah Edinburgh. You're April Kepner. Smart, funny, cute and sexy as hell."

I blush. I can't help it.

"All I wanna worry about is me and you," I say, pulling absentmindedly on his fingers.

"So, do it then," he says, pressing a deliberate kiss to the side of my head.

I look at up him, his eyes shining in the low light of the parking lot. "Me and you?" I say.

He squeezes my hand. "Me and you."