Disclaimer: If Grey's Anatomy belonged to me then I wouldn't have to write fanfiction about it, I'd just make this stuff happen on the show. The story begins after the events in "Desire."

Being a grown-up sucked ass. Mark Sloan slugged back a shot of whiskey in irritation and tried to block out the mental image of Addison's sex hair. It was no use. The sex hair was permanently etched into his retinas.

He was still ever so slightly shocked that he'd taken Grey's advice and sucked it up about Addison. He hadn't called her out on it, and he hadn't even broken his pact. She thought he had, though, and thus the pact had dissolved itself so there was no reason why he couldn't console himself with some fine young thing now. However, once he was actually in the bar, the only woman he had eyes for was shimmering in a shot glass.

He signaled for another, leaning heavily on the bar and feeling ever so slightly off balance on his bar stool. How many had he had now? He hadn't been paying close enough attention.

"I hope you have someone to scrape you off the floor later, if you're going to keep this pace up," a saucy voice said from beside him. He turned on his stool.

She was sipping what he assumed was a rum and coke and looking very amused at his behavior. His man-whore smile found his lips easily, happy to be useful again, and he replied, "Maybe you could do it."

"I've never liked cleaning up drunks," she said acerbically.

Another shot appeared before him, but he only glanced at it this time. She was a tiny woman, slim and, he guessed, short, although it was difficult to tell with her seated on the bar stool. She was wearing very tall, very black stiletto heels as well. She had on a pale blue blouse and a pinstriped black pencil skirt, but no panty hose. She didn't need panty hose; she had fantastic legs.

Here, thought Mark lustily, was his retribution.

"Mark Sloan," he said, extending his hand. She slipped hers into it gracefully, small and soft.

"Perrin Rhodes."

"Interesting name," he said, flashing a little teeth.

"Thank you." Mark was slightly befuddled. She seemed immune to the man-whore charm. He would just have to turn it up.

"Are you going to drink that or just keep it around so you've got something to do with your hands?" she asked as he was considering how best to get her out of the pencil skirt and into his hotel room. He looked down and realized he had been absentmindedly swiveling the shot glass in his fingers.

With a suave half-smile he lifted the glass to his lips and swallowed the liquor in one fast gulp, feeling very manly about it. Perrin laughed under her breath.

"What about yours?" he asked, nodding at the glass in front of her.

"I'm in no hurry," she replied, taking a small sip of it.

"Trying not to get too smashed, so no one will scrape you off of the floor?"

"I won't get smashed at all; it's just a coke," she told him with a smile, uncrossing and recrossing her legs. Mark watched this action lustily.

"So you don't like cleaning up drunken men, and you're not getting trashed or even buzzed," he summed up. "What on earth are you doing here?"

"I came with a colleague who wanted to try and pick up doctors," she told him.

"Well you've come to the right place for that."

"Apparently. She left a little while ago with a gynecologist. He seemed to be giving her a free exam. It was very sweet of him, really."

She was very sarcastic. Mark liked that. "Are you looking for an exam, too?" he asked.

"Are you a gynecologist?"

"No. I'm a surgeon." It was clear that he thought this was much, much more impressive than a gynecologist.

"Good, I've never much enjoyed gynecologists. And I think I'll pass on the exam."

"Are you sure? I've got very talented surgical hands," he told her. "Good at many things."

"You're certainly forward," she said, rolling her eyes ever so slightly and taking a sip of her drink.

"You instigated the conversation."

"I'm forward, too, then," she agreed. "Although I think my motives were slightly different."

"You started a conversation with a random, ruggedly handsome man in a bar and your motives are different than mine," he said incredulously.

She laughed. "Ruggedly handsome? You certainly have a high opinion of yourself." With that, she swiped up her glass and downed the rest of her drink in one fluid motion. Mark had to admit he was rather impressed by it. She stood, sliding her purse up her shoulder. "I should get going. Work tomorrow and all of that."

"Let me walk you to your car." He stood as well, still a good deal taller than her even though she was wearing the heels.

"Alright," she agreed, the corners of her lips twitching. No matter what she said about her motives, he thought, she was definitely pleased.

"Do you live near here?" he asked as he held the door open for her. It was mostly an excuse to stare at her ass in that pencil skirt as she walked out in front of him.

"About fifteen minutes away. And you?"

He told her he was staying at the hotel, following her towards her car. She paused in front of the driver's side door. "Goodnight, Mark," she said with a sly smile.

He bent down and kissed her, pressing her against the car door and sliding his hands along her waist. She put her hands against his chest, her fingertips pressing through the fabric of his shirt. Addison's sex hair had finally gotten out of his head—now he was picturing Perrin's legs around his waist, those stilettos still on her feet.

"Come back to my hotel with me," he said, leaning away from her slightly but leaving his hands on her hips. "Tuck me into bed."

"I'm not a one night stand kind of girl," she said, surprising him.

"Who said anything about a one night stand?" he countered quickly.

She laughed. "Please. You know perfectly well that's what you were expecting. You're that guy, Mark."

It was perfectly true, but he wasn't about to admit it. "It wouldn't just be a one night stand," he said, kissing her neck. She didn't seem to be buying it. "I promise."

She rolled her eyes and pushed him back gently. "Even so, I don't sleep with men I've just met."

"You're killing me here."

She looked contemplative. "I think you're full of it, but if you're really interested then you can call me." She pulled a black sharpie marker from her purse and wrote her phone number on the palm of his hand. He stared at it, slightly shocked by this turn of events. She had definitely kissed him back. She thought he was attractive—not that he'd ever had any doubt about that. But the man whore charm had failed. She was not coming back to the hotel with him.

She leaned up and kissed him on the cheek. "Don't worry, I'm not actually expecting you to follow through," she told him, opening her car door and sliding into the seat. "Goodnight, Mark. Make sure no one has to scrape you off of the floor."

And with that, she shut the door and drove away. Mark looked down at the phone number on his palm for a moment and then turned back to the bar. He was man-whoring again; he had no interest in dating some girl who wouldn't sleep with him. He'd just have a couple more shots and pick up someone else.