The next day I woke up and looked around unable to decide where I was. Then it rushed back to me almost like a bad dream. I had slept with George and moved to New York. I couldn't believe it. Oh, and that wasn't the worst of it, either. I was now living with none other than "McSteamy." The guy that had had an affair with my "McDreamy's" wife and the guy that was my ex-boyfriend's ex best friend.
Even trying to simplify my life had somehow made it more complicated. Well, there was no sense in worrying about all that stuff right then. I had to set off and find some female companionship in New York. Oh, yeah, and I also needed a job.
By 3:00, my feet were tired of the stilettos that other women seemed at home in, and I was really missing my scrubs and crocs. I was beginning to rethink my decision to try out journalism. Seemed Los Angeles was the land of dreams and New York was where they were crushed. So at the end of the day, in a last ditch effort to find a job, I walked into a pediatrician's office and asked if I could work there as an intern, or even as a physician. I handed the doctor who apparently owned the place my resume and it seemed as if a Dartmouth educated M.D. who had been accepted into the surgical program at Seattle Grace didn't need much more than that, so I was immediately hired.
Did I mention the guy who owned the place was old? And unattractive? That should work out very well in my plan to AVOID MEN. Which I was already 0-1 on because I moved in with MARK SLOAN? Once again, I ask myself, What was I thinking?
As Dr. Epstein said I wouldn't need to start work until the following Monday, I had a few days off. And since work wasn't in the immediate future, I knew what was.
Tequila. And lots of it. So I headed to the closest bar I could find that didn't look like it had come straight from a scene in Sex and the City.
The atmosphere was smoky and the people were unfriendly. Perfect. I plopped myself down at the bar and ordered my usual. A bottle of Jose Cuervo. Yes, the bottle. The bartender looked like he was going to question me but he must have caught the look I sent his direction because he just handed the bottle and a shot glass over with little more than, "Would you like a chaser?"
"No." I replied. "Ruins the burn."
6or 7 shots later, its hard to keep track really, and I was sufficiently drunk. In a city I'd only really seen on TV or the movies. With only one person to call. And I was NOT going to call him. I'd rather have inappropriate sex with a stranger and break his penis than call Mark Sloan to pick me up from a bar at 7 in the evening wasted.
So I decided to slow down. Only one more shot for the next little while. The world was in a comfortable haze of happy and easy and that's where I liked it to be.
The bar had one of the tinkly bell things on the door that sounded everytime someone entered. Which, thankfully, as it was sort of out of the way, didn't happen all that often. But, suddenly the bell sounded once and the door slammed with a resounding thud. I turned to look and there stood…
A/N: sorry for the cliffhanger. But as it is, I'm doing pretty good to get this chapter out at all. I know its been forever and most of the readers that I had acquired have probably forgotten. I'm sorry. Its been a hectic and busy year in my life and that's all I can say. Hopefully I can get back some of my fanbase and find some new ones along the way.
Let me know who you think is coming into the bar.