I really love all your comments and lovely words. You're all too kind! I'm just so happy people are still reading and enjoying!

Truth be told: I'm a sap. I'm a sap that likes to sprinkle in angst on occasion. I think this chapter, at least the end, properly defines my sappiness.

Enjoy :)

Mark doesn't do anything half-assed, so when Meredith asked me what to wear to his party, I told her to dress up.

I dress in dark jeans and a suit jacket—Mark probably expects me to wear a tie. The only way you'll ever get me to wear a tie is to a wedding or a job interview. Meredith headed out earlier for a dress, but has yet to even give me a sneak peek. She's showered, dried her hair, and is now holed up in her room. The party started an hour ago, but I'll never arrive early. Plus, I've nursed three beers in an hour, so by the time I get there I'll hardly be worrying about Meredith drinking and hordes of men hanging on her every word. I won't care if she gets hit on. It won't bother me if she laughs at some meathead's joke.

Scratch that, I need a shot…or two.

One, two shots of tequila down my throat, and I'm feeling better. It's not called liquid courage for nothing.

Meredith's door opens and she steps out in a rich blue dress. I'm not one to notice styles or patterns or colors even, but as Meredith makes her way into the living room, all I can see is the style, pattern, and color of her dress as it embraces her petit frame. The dress is soft against her pale skin and shows her impossibly long legs and narrow shoulders. It's strapless and collects right beneath her breasts, forcing me to realize how tiny her waist really is. She doesn't even notice me at first as she adjusts the sides of the dress and smoothes out her skirt, but I notice her. She teeters in heels and her hair falls along her shoulders in soft, shiny waves. Her eyes are painted dark, but her lips remain nude. As she approaches, still making last minute adjustments, I'm able to drink in the sight of her and I feel my stomach turn and flutter. I'm stunned, awed, and mesmerized.

When she finally looks up, I can't look away. I'm afraid if I blink, she'll disappear.

Meredith stares back at me and a hint of a smile tugs at the corner of her mouth. "You look good."

I swallow—hard—and try to remember how words formulate sentences. "You look beautiful," I say, but my voice breaks twice.

She smiles wider, "Should we go?"

We reach Park West just after ten and I can already see the lights from the party reaching into the night's sky. They're swallowed up by the lingering lights of Time Square, but with the darkness of the park to the right, Mark's rooftop looks like a Vegas oasis. Building management looks less-than-thrilled over Mark's party and the overabundance of building guests, but luckily they know me and allow Meredith and me by without as much as a side glance.

As we ride the elevator, the music becomes louder and the alcohol I consumed seems lesser. With the way Meredith looks, people will be hitting on her in two minutes flat. I obviously can't stop her from flirting, but with a few more drinks, maybe I will grow enough strength to stake my claim.

It's strange that we haven't discussed the kiss on the rooftop since she's returned. It was obviously meant to convince her to stay, but it was also meant to profess my feelings. She had to know I wasn't just kissing her for her health. If only we could talk it out, maybe I'd be able to realize why I felt the need to kiss her that day and why it meant so much that she kissed me back. If I was honest with myself for just a second, I might discover that my feelings for Meredith haven't been platonic for a while—maybe since the beginning.

Meredith steps forward as we reach Mark's floor. "Should I be scared?" she jokes.

The doors open to all-out chaos. Mark's apartment has been transformed from an upstanding eastern exposure three bedroom, to a beach party. Clearly, Meredith and I didn't get the bikinis and board shorts memo. In the middle of Mark's living room, where his mother had arranged furniture to the centimeter, is a huge sand pile. Or, rather, it was once a pile, but now it's a soft bed flattened beneath bare feet. A volley ball net has been erected in the middle and two volley balls remain lodged in the 1800th century chandelier hanging from the ceiling. Girls in bikinis jump to hit the volley ball, while guys with white sunscreen over their noses tackle them to the ground. In the background, someone's put on the Beach Boys—aptly enough—and a crowd of drunken girls sing along.

In the distance, the kitchen is overrun with tiki-themed items; plates, cups, even wall dressings, and the whole space is lined with margarita glass lights. The kitchen counter has been transformed into a bar and every surface is lined with top shelf tequila, rum, vodka, scotch, bourbon, gin, and tens of other liquors. Someone thought to bring wine, and no less than fifteen bottles litter the dining room table. A water cooler of…something…fills the sink and every once and while, a girl with a red cup refills and stumbles back to the lap she had just been sitting on.

Everyone is sauced and half naked. Everyone but Meredith and me.

"Yes, you should be very scared," I regretfully say.

"Party foul!" some wrecked guy yells and points at Meredith and me. "Strip, strip, strip," he begins chanting and everyone follows.

I realize that everyone isn't in bikinis, just a select few, actually. Everyone else has stripped from their clothes, which I now notice in a big pile next to the fireplace, and are prancing around in their underwear. I notice a few girls wearing oversized tee shirt…presumably the girls not wearing a bra.

Meredith turns to me, eyes wide, "They aren't serious, right?"

The crowd begins to grow and the cheers become louder. I notice Mark joining in with a wicked smile on his face. He throws his fist up in the air and screams louder than anyone else.

"They're one hundred percent serious." I tune out the noise and face Meredith. "We can go."

She slowly shakes her head, but the look of panic remains. She turns toward me and reaches up onto her toes. Her lips barely touch my ear. "I'm not wearing a bra."

All my blood rushes south and I take a deep breath. Cool down, Shep. Cool down. I think of anything to distract me and a second later I'm better. I swallow and nod. "Do you want to stay?"

"Yes."

I nod once and grab Meredith's hand, leading her past Mark. "No bra," I explain to him and lead her back to Mark's bedroom. People cat call behind us, probably imagining we're about to hook up, but I ignore them. I'm not going to have Meredith undress in front of one hundred hungry men.

Meredith kicks off her shoes as I shut the door closed behind us. "What just happened out there?" she shouts over the booming music.

"Mark likes to…tease his guests. He hasn't done this in years, so I hadn't really thought of it, but one of his favorite things is to not divulge all the details. He once held a cross-dressing party, but didn't tell anyone until they showed up; we all had to switch clothes. He's never done this before, though. I've gotta say, it's kind of ingenious."

"So what now?"

I remove my jacket and toss it onto Mark's bed. "I'll strip and give you my shirt. You can wear it over…" your underwear, I mean to say, but the words are stuck in my throat.

Meredith nods, "Okay."

Stripping in front of Meredith feels deeply intimate, so I shut myself into Mark's bathroom. I take all my clothes off and hide them under the sink in a box towards the back. Knowing Mark, phase two will be stealing everyone's clothes so they have to walk home practically naked. I try not to feel self-conscious when I step back into the bedroom, but I can't help it. Meredith watches me approach, but her eyes never leave mine. Maybe the kiss on the roof was for my benefit only.

I hand her my shirt and she slips into the bathroom. The door isn't totally shut, but I stay seated on the bed. When she reappears, in only her underwear—which is hidden—and my shirt, I keep focused on her face. She smiles. "I hid my stuff beneath the sink. Mark's probably going to steal everything."

"I did that, too."

Meredith and I walk back into the living room and people cheer. Meredith blushes and bows just slightly and I wave to everyone. I look to Meredith and we both share a smile. Embarrassment really draws you closer.

"Want a drink?" I offer. I decide that if Meredith's going to drink, I'll be the one supplying her.

I don't see him approach until he's beside us. "Hey."

He's tall, taller than me. He looks like a swimmer—huge shoulders and a narrow waist. I instantly hate him. His teeth are too white and he wears a 5 o'clock shadow like Ryan Gosling. And I can tell Meredith's already buying into him. "I'm Matt," he offers her his hand. Of course his name is Matt.

Meredith shakes his hand, "Meredith. And this is my friend Derek."

Friend.

Friend.

She's opened up her playing field for him.

"Hey man," he nods and immediately turns his attention back to Meredith. "I haven't seen you here before. How do you know Mark?"

"I introduced them," I interrupt.

Meredith and Matt both look at me. Meredith looks horrified.

Matt rolls with the punches, "Are you and Mark dating?" he asks casually.

"Do you know Mark at all? He doesn't date."

They both laugh.

I'm obsolete.

"I'll just, uh," neither look at me. "Yeah."

I walk to the bar and find the best bottle of scotch. I pour a double and down it in two seconds. The alcohol burns on the way down, but the burn reminds me I'm still alive and kicking. Mark approaches and I pour another double. He holds out his glass and I give him the same amount. We clink our glasses and I polish mine off as Mark sips his.

"Are you trying to set the world record for the most scotch consumed in the least amount of time?"

I pour a third glass. "I'm trying to numb the pain."

Mark finds Meredith in the crowd. He narrows his eyes. "I fucking hate Matt Rosenberg." He finishes his drink. "Alright man, let's get drunk."

Mark's plan works.

I sit between two brunettes—Sasha and Melissa. They're both models and both as tall as me. They smell nice. They flirt and laugh. I'm finishing my sixth (?) scotch. I'm drunk, very drunk, but very, very happy. I smile and laugh and flirt with them. Mark left them with me. He called them a gift. Until this moment, I had no idea what he really meant.

Sasha, the brunette with the blue eyes, leans into me and kisses just below my ear. I feel the familiar pull of attraction. "My friend Melissa and I have always wanted to be together with one guy." She tugs on my earlobe.

I smirk and almost spill my drink on her.

"Mark said his guest room is available," Melissa whispers and kisses me lightly on the lips. I notice her looking at Sasha.

Somehow, I find Mark in the crowd and he raises his glass to me. I'm drunk and wanted by two models. I don't worry about performance or anything else. I stand up with one of their hands in each of mine. Mark whistles and a few guys cheer.

I'm about to live every guy's fantasy.

The volleyball court is looking sad. Most of the sand has been disbursed throughout the room and the girls who had been playing are now too wasted to do much of anything. Sasha and Melissa are equally as gone as me, but at least their heads aren't lolling back as they begin the early stages of blackout drunk, like the girls who sit beside the volleyball net.

Just outside the bedroom door, Sasha pushes me up against the wall and kissed me. Her lips are hot and needy against mine. Melissa kisses my neck and up my chin and before I know it, they're kissing each other. I've never been so turned on in my life. I kiss Melissa and then Sasha, just as Melissa runs her hand down the front of my boxers. I groan and kiss her again. Without another moment's pause, I open the first of Mark's two guest rooms. As soon as I flick on the switch, I notice my shirt on the floor. I look up and Meredith is lying beneath Matt.

"What the fuck?" I growl, effectively pushing through my lust. Nothing kills an erection like seeing the girl you… like seeing Meredith lying beneath another guy.

Matt turns, "Shit man, get the fuck out."

I focus on Meredith. She covers her chest with a pillow, but from the glazed look in her eyes, I can tell she's completely gone. She's drunk and vulnerable. She looks scared and worried. She runs a clumsy hand through her hair. "Derek…" she swallows.

"Meredith, what are you doing?"

"She's an adult man, get the fuck out," Matt yells.

Sasha tugs on my arm, "Come on Derek. We'll find another room."

Meredith looks between Melissa and Sasha and realization skims over her face. I stare into her grey eyes and I watch something blossom; something different from before. We're both trapped in compromising positions. Is it hurt or disgust? Either way, Meredith can't be more disgusted than I am with myself. I walk into the room, not taking my eyes off hers, and I pick up my shirt. I walk past Matt, who looks angry as hell, and I hold up the shirt for Meredith. She stares up at me, her eyes growing watery. She turns her back to me, pillow to her chest, and I look away as she slips her arms through. She buttons every button quickly—even the one at her throat—and stands up from the bed.

Matt flops back against the bed with a sigh. "Fucking tease," he growls.

I lead her past the models. They slip into the guestroom behind us and shut the door. A second later, I hear Matt groan.

I look for Mark, but he's nowhere to be found. I lead Meredith into his bedroom, where our clothes still wait for us, and sit her on the bed. I'm not feeling drunk any longer. For hangover sake, I grab us both a glass of water and I sit down next to Meredith. She drinks without saying anything and I'm able to tune out everything but the sound of water sliding down her throat. She coughs into her sleeve and takes another long drink. I finish my water in one gulp.

The party continues to rock outside the door, but inside we're both quiet. I'm trying to contain my anger at finding Meredith in bed with Matt, but all I can imagine is the sight of her hips as they rolled up to meet his. I swallow hard. Alternatively, I'm sure Meredith can only see me flanked by the two brunettes. I wonder how it made her feel. I turn to glance at her, hoping to learn something from her face, but her hair has formed a veil around her head.

"I'm drunk," she says woefully.

I set my water glass down beside my feet. "Were you going to sleep with him?"

Meredith looks up at me; her face clears and her eyes narrow. "I don't see how that's any of your—"

"Matt's a piece of shit. And while you're staying with me, you can't fuck around."

"Don't be so pious, Derek. If I remember correctly, you were about to have a threesome with two girls who could barely keep their hands off one another." Her nostrils flare when she's angry. "And why shouldn't I sleep with Matt?"

"Well, the fact that you looked like you were going to cry when I came into the room—that might be a reason not to sleep with some guy you just met."

"Oh, and I bet you've known the slutty twins for years now. I bet you're all just really good friends and they're not out there looking for some random guy to fuck." Meredith stands and crosses the room. "You act all high and mighty, but you're no better than anyone else, Derek. You're pissed because I showed interest in someone else. You're pissed because I might actually be able to make a life here in New York without your help. And you're being an asshole because you're trying to squirrel me away—keep me all to yourself." She barely takes a breath. "You know, I'm happy you saved me and everything, but I'm not some prize to display on your mantel. I'm not going to stay here forever and if I start to meet other people, you have to let me go."

"So that's it? You're just waiting for the moment someone else gives you a bed to sleep in. I'm invested in your life now, Meredith. I care. And I'm sorry if rains on your fucking parade. I'm not a saint, but you're seventeen years old. Do you really want to be that slut who fucks some random guy at a party?"

As soon as the words leave my mouth, I feel my stomach drop. "Meredith, I didn't mean that," I say as I stand. "I'm sorry."

Meredith's jaw tightens and she crosses her arms over her chest. I'm painfully aware of the fact that we're both only in our underwear. "I decided to stay with you against my better judgment. Did you know that? Even Alex wasn't sure if I should stay here with you, but I assured him I'd be okay. I told him you'd never do anything to hurt me. Alex was afraid you'd try something against my wishes. I knew you'd never do that—not after you saved me. But right now, I'd rather be in that alleyway with my mouth covered by that rapist asshole than standing here with you!"

She flees into the bathroom and drags her clothes out from under the sink. I can only watch as she tugs my shirt over her head and stands there in just her black panties. I turn away and give her just enough time to pull her dress over her head.

"I didn't like seeing you with him. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you," I plead.

It's like I'm watching it all over again. I'm watching her leave the first time—after she spent the night on my couch; and I'm watching her the second time—after we kissed—when she fled to Virginia; and I'm watching her walk away from me in DC. She's always running. Always going. Meredith's not just running from her mother and the pain she caused, but she's running from everyone she's ever met.

I turn back to her and she's tugging on her shoes. "Don't run, Meredith."

She straightens and glares at me. "Don't fucking tell me what to do"

I reach out to touch her arm, but she pulls away. She's defiant and angry; a dangerous mix. "I want to help you. I want to be here for you. You have to know I didn't mean what I said. Just seeing you with him…with someone else…" I meet her tearful eyes. "I'm sorry."

Meredith scrubs her hand over her eyes. "I'm tired of constantly being judged. Why can't I just do what I want? Why does everyone feel the need to protect me?"

"Because we care about you—everyone you know. Alex, Cristina, Izzie, Mark. Me. Even your mother. She loves you. You're loved, Meredith."

"That's not an excuse, Derek. You can't make decisions in my life just because you don't like what I'm doing."

The moment of realization settles down upon me and I know—beyond a shadow of a doubt—that I'm falling in love with her. It all makes sense. My intentions with Melissa and Sasha were the old me; they were part of an era before Meredith existed in my life. The wild, disgusting playboy; the entitled male who took anything offered. Before Meredith, I would never have thought twice about having sex with both girls. I wouldn't have cared if I found a girl beneath Matt in Mark's guest room. I would have high fived him, actually, and congratulated him on being a rock star. But the girl beneath Matt wasn't some random drunk girl; she was Meredith.

I should have known earlier, really. Or maybe I did know. Alright, I've known for a while that I care about her more than a friend. I've known since day one, I guess, but the solid, horrifying realization that it's in fact love—now that's something much grander than I had thought. The defining moment, of course, was the night I picked up Sara at Owen's birthday party. I could have had her that night. She wanted me to take her, but I couldn't. I couldn't because all I was thinking about was Meredith. I imagined her home alone, watching hours of television and eating cold pizza. I imagined being without her. And then I imagined being with her. It's all I could think about. I wanted to kiss her then. I wanted much more, but the laws wouldn't allow it. I now know that's as untrue as anything.

The real truth is: I'm different. She's made me different. She's changed me without even knowing and the gratitude I have for her is impossible to measure. I'm falling in love and changing and molding myself into someone new, and all I want to do is keep her safe and happy.

But I'm selfish by nature, and she needs to know how much she's changed me.

I'm too shocked by the realization that I might love Meredith to notice her slipping past me. By the time I realize she's gone, the door is shut behind her and the elevator is taking her down to the ground level. I rush to pull on my pants and button my shirt—I even throw a wave to Mark—but by the time I reach the lobby, and then the subway, Meredith's nowhere to be found. I call her three times, but she doesn't pick up. She's ignoring me. Or maybe she left her phone behind. It doesn't matter because I don't know where she's gone and I can't let her slip through my fingers.

I flag down a cab to take me to my apartment. I watch as we head down 7th past 49th, 48th, 47th, but it feels too slow. I'm antsy. Surely she's gone to my apartment. Where else could she be?

Meredith's not in the apartment when I get home. There's no sign of her. I call again and hear a beep from her bedroom. On her bed, beside the hair dryer, is her phone. I press my back to the door frame and stare into the darkness of her space. Where else could she be?

New York hasn't been a friendly place for Meredith—Perry Street, Washington Square Park, Central Park—they've all held bad memories for her. She's only been safe in one place: my apartment. Where else would she have gone?

And then I remember the one place that was safe; the one place we had a good day.

Manhattan Beach isn't safe at night.

I catch the closest cab, and after an argument with the driver, he agrees to drive me all the way out to the beach. The drive takes forever. For some reason, I bring Meredith's phone and all I want to do is keep calling and calling. I don't look through her phone because I have no right. Meredith should be able to give me only the information she wants me to know. But I want to look so badly. I want to see who she's communicating with. I want to see who she texts when we watch TV together or whose Facebook she still follows. I keep the phone nestled in my pocket.

As we reach the beach, I notice a few cars still parked in the lot. Most everyone is probably an angler, trying to catch a few fish. Occasionally, you'll find a homeless person trying to find food in the trash cans and hoping to barter for a fish. I hope the heat has driven them away. I pay the cabbie and exorbitant rate and hop out of the car. Luckily, the parking lot is well-lit all through the night, but as soon as you stray from the comforting spheres of light, you're plunged into the dark unknown of the shore.

Just as I guessed, the beach is littered with night fisherman. They set up their midnight camp with chairs, coolers full of beer, and snacks, ready to fish until the early morning. I notice a dark figure down the beach, sitting right where the shoreline starts to curve, but as I approach, I realize it's a couple in an embrace. I look further out, but I doubt Meredith would have strayed so far. I head towards the other end of the beach and find only fishers, but just before I turn around, I look up into the lifeguard post and see an outline. I walk down, with my shoes in my hand, and approach the stand. "Meredith?" I ask against the wind.

She sniffles. "Derek?"

I feel all-consuming relief. "I'm coming up," I warn, not like I'd turn away if she asked.

Meredith shifts on the bench to give me room, so I slide in beside her. I dig her phone from my pocket and set it on her knee. I can barely make her out in the darkness, but I can tell her hair is tousled from the wind. "I didn't look through it. I just thought you might want it."

She palms her phone. "How'd you find me?"

I stare out into the inky ocean darkness. I feel the sand building between my toes. My hair already sticks with sea salt. "You weren't at the apartment."

Meredith nods. Her jaw is set and her mouth is downturned.

"You're not a slut," I whisper.

"You didn't mean it," she says and forgives me. I'm relieved all over again. "Why did you say it, though?"

I'm having that moment all over again—the moment I know we're more than just friends. And the only way I can explain why I said what I did, is to admit to her what I know.

Meredith stares at me and I can just barely make out the shape of her face from the glow of the city. She blinks and her eyelashes fall against her cheek with a whisper. She wets her lips and tucks a wayward strand of hair behind her ear. It's easy to forget she's only seventeen. Running has aged her, or maybe a drunken mother and a suicidal father have expedited the process. It doesn't matter. Whatever the reason, Meredith seems older than she should. It hurts to think of her as jaded already, but she is. How could she not be?

Fear builds in my stomach. Fear of rejection. But I decide then, even if Meredith doesn't want me back, I'll keep her safe under my roof. I'll help her in anyway. And I'll never turn my back on her.

"I said what I said about you, and acted like I did, because…" my voice floats away in the wind. Now, in the darkness, is the time to tell her, but I can't get the words out.

"Derek?"

I lower my eyes to my lap. Why is it so difficult to finally admit to her how I feel?

"When I first found you, all I felt was fear," I begin. "I didn't know what I had stepped into and I knew it was a bad choice to bring you into my life, but I couldn't just leave you there." I meet her eyes. "I don't know when it changed from fear, though. It didn't take long." I smile to myself. "You're like a wildfire, all-consuming, but beautiful to look at. You're warm and a force to be reckoned with. Letting you leave after we kissed on the rooftop was the hardest thing I've ever done." I stare at my clasped hands. Meredith is silent beside me, but she never looks away.

"The reason I was angry tonight was because Matt doesn't deserve to see you like that. He doesn't deserve to have you like that, because you deserve better than a drunken hookup with a douche bag like him. I was jealous," I admit in a whisper.

Meredith's voice cracks when she says, "How?"

I meet her eyes. Her lips look cracked from the salt air. "How what?"

"How could you be jealous? The girls you were about to…" she looks away finally.

"Those girls were part of how I used to be before you. They were exactly the kind of women I used to pursue—fast, easy, heavily discovered territory. They're like the Times Square of women—flashy and bright, but everyone has been there." Meredith smiles. "You're not like that," I whisper.

"What am I like?" she asks, but she's not fetching for compliments; I can tell Meredith desperately needs to know how I see her to really understand her worth.

"You…" I gaze across her face. I'll never truly understand her beauty because every time I look at her, she grows more beautiful. "You're perfect. You're an undiscovered alcove at the end of a beach. You're untouched and unique—beautiful and mysterious. You make me feel good. When I see you, something in the pit of my stomach springs to life—as if it didn't exist until you walked into my life. I'm amazed by you. Your strength of character and the certainty you have. You're brilliant and I expect you'll achieve wonderful things in your life. And I want to be there when you do."

Meredith holds my gaze, but I can see the tears in her eyes. I've pushed too far. I've said too much. She's not interested in me and I've made a fool of myself.

She takes my hand, her phone long forgotten. "I've been in love with you for so long," she whispers.

It feels like every single nerve-ending in my body has been set ablaze. I smile wider than I ever have and laughter bubbles through my chest. "Meredith," I whisper and drag my thumb along her lips—mostly to find them in the dark. I lean in, keeping my finger pressed to her only to replace it with my mouth.

She comes to life in my arms and pulls herself closer. I wrap my arms around her waist and draw her body to mine. Our lips move in synchronized waves and after a moment, I open her mouth with my tongue, tasting her for the first time in weeks. Our desperation is heightened from our original embrace and I can barely focus. I hold the back of her head, just below her hair line, and feel each movement of her jaw as she kisses me. Her neck is hot beneath my hands and her hair is soft and silky. I lavish the inside of her mouth and can taste the traces of alcohol. Meredith kisses me back just as fully, and her hands travel up my chest and across my shoulders. Our thighs are pressed next to one another and all I want is to be closer to her, but I can't draw her into my lap.

Meredith's hip turns toward me and her bone presses against my side. A soft, quiet groan passes through her mouth and into mine. I skim my hand down along her side, feeling the outline of her breast, only to rest my palm against her hip. I pull away for air and Meredith draws her bottom lip into her mouth. I kiss her teeth away and pull her lip in-between mine. She cups my ear with a sigh and her breath washes across my face. She holds my thigh, about halfway up, and I have to control the stirring in my jeans.

"Should we go home?" she asks as I kiss across her cheeks.

I pull away, my hands still holding her hips; her hands resting on my thighs. I brush her hair back behind her ears. "Meredith, I—" I can't sleep with you yet. I'm afraid of pushing you away. I'm in love with you, too. There are too many things to say, and I'm afraid of them all.

"Just to sleep, Derek," she smirks. She lifts her hand to press against my heart. "I'm tired."

I laugh and take her hand, standing up with her beside me. "Come on, Sleeping Beauty."

I climb down the ladder first, Meredith followed closely behind. She's shaky as she climbs down, so I hold onto her hips. It's hard not to stare at her ass when it's right in front of my face. Meredith hops down on the sand next to me. "I saw that," she glares at me, a smile tugging across her lips.

"Saw what?"

"Don't play games with me, Derek Shepherd." She leans in and presses her lips to mine.

"I wouldn't dare Meredith Grey," I kiss along her jaw to her ear. I can feel her cheek flush. "Come on," I lace my fingers with hers, "it's going to take forever to find a cab."

We walk back to the parking lot and as luck would have it, a yellow cab is waiting under a street lamp. Meredith falls asleep before we even reach my apartment, but I'm satiated to just watch her sleep.