Here is chapter 3! Thank you to all who have read and reviewed my story. Hearing your feedback really makes me want to continue writing this story! A BIG, HUGE thank you goes to my special friend, Andrea! You are amazingly talented and your insights, opinions, and ideas truly inspire me! You are my beta buddy and your opinions make my work so much better!

Thanks again, everyone!

The characters belong to Shonda and ABC! The ideas in this story are mine!

Chapter 3: Teal Invitations

He sat in his hotel room going through the untouched mail he had accumulated over the last week and a half. His schedule had been jammed packed with different plastic surgeries and the last thing he had felt like doing was rifling through the different requests from various medical schools asking for him to come and give a lecture, or different conferences begging him to be the main attraction. Quite honestly, he hadn't felt like venturing forth from his hotel room or the safety of the O.R. for the past week since his last "rendezvous" with Addison.

Addison had told him that she didn't need him anymore, that she had found someone new she could rely on . . . herself. She had also told him, in not so many words, that he was a cancer inside of her, killing her slowly. So, she had gone through a round of emotional chemotherapy, and killed the life threatening disease: her relationship with him.

The prognosis and recovery may have left Addison feeling like a new woman, but he had been left feeling nauseated and out of sorts. Normally he would have gone out and gotten drunk and screwed as many women as he possibly could. But this time, he just hadn't felt up to it. So, he needed to have an excuse to his subsequent lack of "man-whoring" over the past week (he was, after all, Mark Sloane) and so, he had kept to himself, absorbing himself in rhinoplasties, liposuctions, and breast augmentations until he was too tired to go anywhere but his hotel room. No one would fault his lack of libido to exhaustion from surgeries and his damage control had left his reputation fully intact and blemish free.

Not that he gave a rat's ass about it anyway.

He had thrown every item of mail away that he deemed unimportant into the stainless steel basket, but stopped when he reached a teal colored envelope, written in silver bubbly letters with his name on it. His curiosity aroused, he tore the seal open, and pulled out the card stock decorated in browns, pinks, and teal and read it's information, and. . . laughed. Looking at his watch, he put down the envelope and went and got into the shower.

He had found a desire to go out after all.

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Loud music mixed with laughter greeted him the moment he opened the door of his German import and stepped foot onto the snow dusted sidewalk. Pulling his leather jacket tighter against his body, he made his way towards the flickering neon lights of the Emerald City Bar and opened the door to walk into the warmth of celebration.

The sight that greeted him shocked him into stillness. Shots of tequila were being slammed downed throats, as well as ones of whiskey and other alcoholic concoctions. Beers were being chugged and there was even a keg stand involving a young woman with her legs in the air, each held by two men. He passed by a couple strongly resembling the O'Malleys in a dark corner getting a little frisky for public decency. He promptly tore his gaze from the pair, only to find that across the room Christina Yang was giving Preston Burke, the most renowned cardiothoracic surgeon in the country, a lap dance.

He had to admit it. Izzie Stevens could throw one hell of a party.

Mark's eyes roamed the bar looking for more familiar faces. He saw other interns, residents, and even a few nurses at this little shin dig Stevens was hosting. Most were people he had never bothered learning the names of and he didn't really care to know. He spotted Derek with a fellow dirty mistress (well, ex-dirty mistress since Meredith had presently left the club to become a respectable girlfriend.) They were sitting together at a table, eyes glued to one another as well as their hands. Traitor.

To keep himself from gagging, he turned his head to the left and his eyes landed on familiar red hair, pulled back into a loose pony tail, hanging loosely over her shoulder. She was wearing a soft blue sweater that made her soft ivory skin glow, making her look radiant. She was casual and elegant, a combination that was distinctly Addison and one he that had always admired. Her face was lit with laughter and her eyes were sparkling. He hadn't seen her like that in months. His eyes slid to the figure that was the recipient of those laughing looks…Alex Karev.

He closed his eyes briefly, trying to control the constricting feeling in his chest. It felt as if the air was being choked out of him. Just what in the hell was she doing with Karev?

He decided that he needed a drink and made a bee line to the bar. Annoyed with the lack of instant service, he slammed his fist against the bar and yelled out, "Who in the hell do I have to screw to get a beer around here?"

"You know they say patience is a virtue."

His eyes slid towards the voice that magically appeared. "Stevens."

"Sloane."

She stood next to him, her blonde curls loose about her face, dressed in a black top decorated in lace and frills paired with dark denim jeans, and perched her elbows on the counter, with a large margarita in hand. He felt her gaze rest on him and he didn't bother hiding his annoyance.

"What are you looking at, Stevens?"

"Tsk. Tsk. You're in a bad mood tonight. Now I wonder what's got your briefs in a wad?"

"I don't wear briefs and it's none of your business." His eyes slid once more back to the red head and the whelp, not really caring if the woman next to him noticed or not.

Her eyes followed his to find Dr. Montgomery and Alex nestled in a corner. Looking between the couple and the man next to her, she realized just exactly what had gotten him riled up.

"Jealousy is a bitch, isn't it?"

"I'm not jealous."

"Ha."

"I'm not. Why would I be jealous?"

"Well, let's see. Maybe because Alex is currently sitting by the woman you left everything in New York for? And also the fact that she hasn't even noticed your presence since you walked in the door?"

He kept silent. Maybe if he didn't talk to her she would just go away. God, she really was annoying.

"So you're going to ignore me now?"

Silence.

"Ok, go ahead. Ignore me." She sat down on the stool and made herself comfortable. "You can ignore me all you want. But you can't ignore the fact that Addison is currently eye sexing Alex."

He made a noise low in his throat, annoyed at her for pointing out the obvious.

She looked at him in surprise. "Oh, my God! Did you actually just growl?"

"For the love of God, can I get a fucking beer!?" Mark yelled at the helpless bartender and watched as he went off to do his bidding. Stevens was pushing his last nerve and he needed alcohol in his system and he needed it now or he had a feeling he might strangle the blonde sitting next to him.

"You know alcohol won't change anything," she said as she took a rather large sip of her lime margarita through a straw.

He scoffed. "Hypocrite."

"Excuse me?"

"Hypocrite." He turned to her itching for a fight. "You, Stevens, are a hypocrite."

"Oh, really? How, exactly, am I a hypocrite?"

Grabbing his newly arrived beer, he took a swig from it, enjoying the fact that he was pissing off Isobel Stevens. "Well, let me see. Today I was going through my mail and I saw this uniquely colored envelope with my name written on it." He propped his hip against the counter, leaning in closer to her. "And when I opened it, what did I discover? An invitation to a party celebrating the marriage of George and Callie O'Malley as well as the engagement of Burke and Yang. And, oh my word, it had you listed as the hostess!"

Her eyes narrowed. "What's your point?"

He felt satisfaction that he was getting her riled up. It was nice having someone as pissed off as he was at the moment. "You, my dear Isobel, hate Callie and the fact that she's married to George O'Malley."

He could see her grinding her teeth as she tried to control her temper.

"Ok, first of all, you're right. I don't really like Callie and I don't really like the fact that she's married to George. As you well know," she hissed through her teeth. He found it interesting that she remembered that little tid bit of her confession from that night on the bench. "And second of all, he's my best friend and Christina is also one of my good friends. And I like Burke. He makes a killer turkey." She sat back and crossed her arms. "And third of all, I'm nice. I threw this party to support my friends . . . because I am nice!"

"Even when it's killing you inside?"

Her eyes cut to him. She could lie, but what would be the use? He already knew the truth. "Yes."

Hey honesty took the wind out of his sails a little bit. How could he argue with that when she had used the truth as a weapon?

They sat again in silence, each nursing their own drink.

She turned to him with a look of determination in her eye. "Ok, truth time."

"Truth time?"

"Yes. It's a time where you and I speak the truth."

"Why am I suddenly terrified?"

She ignored his previous statement and marched right on. "You know, you're really not that terrible."

He looked at her insulted. "Excuse me?"

"You act all cocky and confident, like nothing can get through to you. And most of the time you're an ass—

—you're doing so much for my self-esteem right now," he bit out sarcastically.

She rolled her eyes and continued; her face set in determination. "But the fact of the matter is that you aren't!"

"What? An ass?"

"No, you are most definitely an ass..."

He looked at her closely. She wasn't making any sense. "How many margaritas have you had, Stevens?"

"About 2…no 3…"

"That explains it. You're drunk, wasted. An absolute lush."

"Ok, I may be a little tipsy, but I am not a 'lush.' And quit trying to distract me!"

"I'm distracting you?"

"Yes, you are…you are trying to distract me to keep me from calling you out on your crap."

"My crap?"

"Yes, your—why do you keep repeating everything I say with a question?"

He put on a look of stunned innocence. "I'm repeating everything you say with a question?"

"Oh, my God, you are so aggravating!"

"I've been told that before."

"See! That's it!" She said triumphant.

"What is 'it'?"

"You are underestimated!"

His eyebrows shot up at that statement. "How am I underestimated?" He asked, curious as to whether Izzie had been telling the truth about how many drinks she'd had.

"You, Mark Sloane, feel more deeply than you let on and you fully expect people to think the worst of you. You have this beautiful veneer of handsome looks and confidence, but deep inside, you are absolutely terrified of being alone."

Suddenly he wished he had ordered a much stronger drink.

"And that's why you keep trying to hold onto Addison. You're afraid that if you let her go, you'll have no one, absolutely no one. And that's why you came out here, to Seattle."

"I came out here because I love her and I want to be with her." He was annoyed with her and even more annoyed at himself for trying to explain his motives to her. Why didn't he just get up and leave the rambling, drunk woman to herself?

"I don't doubt that. How long have you been out here? 6 months?" Izzie sat up to look over his shoulder and then looked back at him. "And yet here you are, with me, while she's over there with another man."

Mark fought the urge not to look back behind his shoulder and he fought harder not to release all of his venom out at her. She was once again speaking the truth, a truth that he hadn't wanted to admit even to himself.

"You gave her a chance to choose you when you came out here to fight for her… and instead she chose Derek. And when that didn't work out. . ."

She didn't have to continue on with her sentence for him to know exactly what she meant. When Derek had turned her away, he had stood there ready and waiting for her to choose him, and she had turned him down once again.

"Do you ever think she's going to choose you, Mark?"

His silence answered her question.

"You deserve to be chosen." She said simply, as if it were an absolute truth like "the sky is blue," or "men are from Mars and women are from Venus."

His eyes connected with hers and he didn't bother putting on the usual shield protecting his emotions. He knew with her it would be useless. He had the distinct feeling that she saw right through him, even in her current inebriated state. It was crazy how the blond intern could read him like a book, right down to what was written between the lines. And that feeling had left him feeling quite exposed and he didn't like it one bit. It was as if there was an unwarranted claim on the both of them, stating that since they had both exposed their vulnerabilities to one another, albeit somewhat unwillingly, they were left to hold one another accountable, no holds barred. He had a suspicion that she would undoubtedly become the proverbial thorn in his side.

He knew he should have left her alone sitting on that damned bench in the freezing cold.

He decided it was time to turn the tables on her. "And what about you, Isobel Stevens?"

"What about me?"

"When do you think you're going to open yourself up for love again?"

"I don't know, Mark, I don't know if I will ever be able to again. Or if I would even want to."

There it was again. That simplistic truth of hers, another blunt statement with all of the trimmings of bull shit tossed to the side. He had come to realize one thing about Izzie Stevens, she was honest to a fault. As he took another swallow of his beer, he couldn't help but acknowledge that he felt the same way about love and taking chances. He inclined his head to the right and studied her, sitting there with her legs crossed, idly swirling her straw in the frozen beverage, and decided that their conversation needed a change of pace. "That doesn't include sex does it?"

She let out a bark of laughter. "Oh, God, I hope not! I'll have to feed the beast sometime or another."

"The beast?" He said with a smile on his lips.

"Oh, yeah, the beast. And right now, she's in hibernation."

"Hibernation? So, some time the beast will re-awaken with a hunger that will be in need of satisfaction?" He shook his head at her. Isobel Stevens was definitely unique. "Well, I have a feeling that a chaste life wouldn't really suit you well, Stevens."

"What? Are you saying I wouldn't make a good nun?" She turned to him indignant. "I happen to think I would make an excellent bride of Christ!"

"Hah. I wonder how the sisters would feel about having former 'Bethany Whispers' sitting next to them at vespers? I don't think that would be well received by the good sisters."

"Hey!" Mark laughed when she punched him in the arm causing her to spill the rest of her margarita down her shirt.

"Look what you made me do!" She said frantically reaching for some paper napkins.

"Here, let me help you!" Mark said sweetly, napkins in hand as he reached to blot the wet area on her chest.

Izzie swatted his hand away. "Oh, please. You're just trying to feel my boobs!"

Mark threw a grin her way. "Can't blame a man for trying, can you? You've got a good rack!"

Izzie stopped blotting and looked at him disgusted. "You are such a mongrel."

"Oh, come on, Stevens! I'm a plastic surgeon. I happen to look at breasts all day." He took another sip from his beer, a smirk gracing his lips. "And while you do have a very nice pair, they're nothing extraordinary." He grinned inwardly as he mentally counted while waiting for her response. He loved getting her riled up. She was just so much damn fun to aggravate. One . . . two . . . three—

"I have fabulous breasts, thank you!"

Less than three seconds. Impressive.

"And I'll have you know, that men love my breasts! In fact, I catch at least six men an hour blatantly staring at my chest. And when a man gets to see them in the flesh . . . I'll just say he looses all semblance of speech and thought."

"Oh, really?"

"Yes, really."

"Prove it. Show them to me, so I can decide on my own."

"Ha! I am so on to you, mister."

"Believe me honey, if you were on me, you'd be singing, no, moaning a much different tune right now." His smug grin grew.

"You are so pathetic." The smile on her face lessened the sting of her words. She leaned closer to him, crossing her arms on the bar, framing her décolletage. His eyes couldn't help but travel to the focal point she was setting up so nicely. "If you want to see the girls, you're going to have to persuade me."

Oh, she had definitely had more than three margaritas and he had decided that he liked a drunken Izzie Stevens. He leaned into her, fully aware of the game she was playing. "I can be very persuasive when it comes to getting something I want. You sure you want to enter into that game, Stevens?"

"I think I could handle you."

He noticed that both of their arms were touching and that she hadn't shied away from his touch. "You sound pretty confident in yourself."

Izzie stood up and moved her body closer to his, her eyes looking straight ahead, as she leaned into him. His senses prickled to life as he felt her warm breath against his ear. "But the question is . . . can you handle me?"

And before he knew what she was doing, she pushed her body against his and grabbed his face in between her hands, pulling his lips towards her own.

The kiss was as intense as it was brief. He could tell that Izzie Stevens didn't do anything half-way. She pulled away from him, wearing a feline smile on her face, and ran her finger along his jaw, setting his senses on fire.

"Oh, yeah. I can definitely handle you, no problem." She said softly before turning to leave him, sitting alone, at the bar.

Letting out a slow breath with the taste of lime and salt still on his lips, he turned to watch her walk away, admiring the sway of her hips fully on display thanks to fitted denim and high heels. Isobel Stevens was anything but predictable and he found that he liked that aspect of her personality very, very much.

He didn't bother hiding the huge grin from his lips, especially when he noticed Addison watching him from across the room. He couldn't deny the brief satisfaction in knowing that she had witnessed the kiss Stevens had planted on him. It had been hot. Hell, she was hot and he could still feel the warmth of her curves against him. And she was right . . . she did smell 'delectable.'

He stood, chuckling to himself, as he grabbed a twenty from his wallet and threw it on the counter, leaving his money and thoughts of Addison behind him for the night.

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