So this was actually something I wrote a couple of years ago and turned in as part of a final paper for one of my English classes. And the reason I'm just posting this now is because I happened to stumble upon it when I was cleaning out my folder full of old writings. Upon reading it over, and at the persuasion of some friends I have decided to reformat it and publish it. So this will be separated into four parts (because like all of my writings, it's lengthy), and it's basically my interpretation of how Mark and Addison met before medical school. So...enjoy!
I still remember how you looked that afternoon,
There was only you.
She dips her toes in the edge of the crystalline pool, sending ripples in every direction. They fan out in continuous streams as her big toe lazily drew along the surface. She regards them like some masterful work of art that inspires both a simplicity and calmness; two concepts she isn't altogether familiar with, but somehow finds herself longing to understand.
Her thoughtfulness is broken when a deafening crackling against the water sprays droplets against her mostly concealed figure. Sighing with irritation and flailing the sleeves of her pristinely white (now dampened) sheer cover-up to express her feelings of antagonism towards the intruder. "Oh!" She cries out in a moment of uncontrollable ecstasy. The coolness of the water highly contrasts with her sun kissed ivory skin, plastering the extra article of clothing to her body. Her mouth rounds in utter disbelief when she realizes how exposed she's become in a matter of seconds.
The flaxen haired boy who disrupted her peaceful afternoon at the supposedly closed country club resurfaces from the deep end of the pool, a crooked half grin on his face as he treads water. "Sorry about that," He apologizes less than genuinely. The amusement of her disgust translates more than his attempt at remorse.
She then narrows her shaded eyes, lips creasing in a defined frown. "You ruined a perfectly fine article of clothing I hope you know," She asserts plainly. Her arms fold over her chest and she swings both of her legs onto the pool deck.
He swims slowly towards her side of the pool, intrigued by her unexplainable cold attitude towards him. Most women would have shrieked in delight and splashed back at him, then they would be at his mercy. But she obviously did not play by the same rules that the typical bleached blondes and exotic brunettes of the Hamptons utilized. "Oh come on, Red. It's only a little water."
She turns her face towards him and snaps back through gritted teeth, "Don't. Call me that."
He approaches her side of the pool, propping his arms beside her seat on the pool deck. Tilting his head to the side he chants mercilessly, "Didn't your mother teach you how to have a civilized conversation?"
She jumps at their sudden close proximity. Practically glowering at his words she rejoins pointedly, "Didn't your mother teach you that trespassing is illegal? This is a private club."
"Well, it's a good thing I am a member." He climbs up out of the pool, dripping wet. His defined muscles gleam in the summer sun and she can't help but allow her eyes sweep over his well-constructed form. She notes how inappropriately low his swimming trunks hang against his waist, his abdomen rippling without any work on his part necessary. "Like what you see?"
She rolls her eyes behind Aviator shades, but the golden tint doesn't completely disguise them to the point where he cannot notice. "Please," She denies any implications her wondering gaze might have prompted by keeping her face turned sharply to the side, the heat in her cheeks rising despite her inward protests. "Don't you have a slew of blonde playboy bunny types to fan your ego?"
He chuckles in amusement at her bluntness. But then he continues confidently, "I've always had a thing for redheads." Both of his hands fall at his hips, a widened stance emphasizing his overly self-assured personality.
"Funny," She remarks smartly while turning her face up towards the sun, "I've always had a thing for dark haired men."
"A redhead with a sense of humor. I like you already."
She scrambles to her feet in a less than ladylike manner that would send Bizzy into a rant of disapproval and faces him with a set jaw. "I know who you are," She begins in a warning tone, "my friend Kelly Walton went out with you a couple of times. You slept with her and said you'd call her then you never did."
He lifts an incredulous brow at such unexpected forwardness. "Is that a fact?"
She nods solemnly with no indication of further comment.
Normally an arrogant comment would slip from his lips and his eyes glaze over with indifference, a slight shame etches its way across his face. His arms cross over his chest and he frowns at her in a similar manner. "In my defense, she most likely knew about my reputation. Few can claim they expected more from me."
She arches a perfectly manicured brow that peeks over her lenses, "So the rest are just what…stupid and desperate for attention?"
He shrugs with a half smirk, "Aren't we all?"
"Not me," She insists boldly.
"Well of course not," He taunts, "you're Archer Montgomery's little sister. You have more money than God."
She tries not to appear surprised that he recognized her through Archer. Most people knew the Forbes-Montgomery's; their dynasty was one of the most affluent and known for turning out three (soon to be four) generations of doctors. But even though she purses her lips, and manages to find her voice again there's a lingering curiosity in the back of her mind about her brother's relationship to this cocky, blonde boy. "Correction, my parents have more money than God." She places her hands on her hips, mirroring his widened stance.
He notices this and cracks a grin, "So you don't deny that everyone knows who you are?"
"Not everyone. People didn't notice me until I grew boobs and ditched the braces," The words slip out and she instantly regrets them. Crossing her arms over her chest, she hugs herself self-consciously and dips her head forward out of discomfort at displaying more than her steely exterior.
He watches her movements curiously, finding the imperfections she willingly admits to be intriguing. "I would have noticed," He comments softly. He's not exactly sure what prompts him to say this, especially when both of them know this is far from true.
Her eyes snap up to meet his, the sharp contours of her downturned mouth looking at him with a newfound disdain. Her arms snap to the sides of her body, hands clenching into fists. "There's only one thing worse than being a womanizer and it's a liar," She snaps before brushing past him their shoulders bumping forcibly in the process.
"I have a name, you know." He rotates slowly on the spot, hoping she doesn't have intentions of storming off without at least a proper introduction.
She's not exactly sure why, but she halts on the pool deck. Letting out an exasperated sigh she glances over her shoulder at him in disbelief.
"You just…keep referring to me as a womanizer." He shrugs before scuffing his feet against the pavement, "I'm more than that you know. If you got to know me, you might see that. Anyway, sorry to trouble you." He waves then turns away from her and takes a few strides in the other direction.
There's humility under his arrogance and this catches her off guard. If he had been truly as transparent as other people made him seem, she would have stormed off without another word. But maybe, just maybe underneath the self-destructive sexualized man who found a way under her skin, there is some unique quality only she can see.
"Addison!" She shouts across the pool deck while trotting in his direction.
He stops and wheels around, which causes her to skid to a stop right before him. "Excuse me?" He furrows his brow, this time showcasing his own astonishment.
Cocking her hand against her hip and tilting her head to the side she returns pointedly, "My name. Is Addison Montgomery." She dares to offer a faint half smile.
He studies Addison's shielded face for several moments, unable to tell if she's mocking him or being sincere. When her look doesn't break he takes in a breath and musters a similar smile. He extends a hand for her to shake, "Mark Sloan."
"It's nice to meet you, Mark." She says politely, not necessarily meaning it but feeling an obligation due to being properly raised in the gated communities of Connecticut.
Mark senses this and teases, "You don't really mean that."
His grip on her hand remains firm; long after either one of them is interested in the courteous gesture.
She glances down at his hand in hers and sighs with a soft smile pealing at her lips, "Not really. But you wouldn't have noticed me without boobs, either."
They part ways. The idea of a perfectly matched partner doesn't register. Maybe ignorance and pride blind them from seeing the truth of the situation. But they cannot deny the meeting wasn't completely meaningless.