fifty-shades-of-grey

my smile. He opens the door for me and I climb in. Whoa… it’s low. He moves round thecar with easy grace and folds his long frame elegantly in beside me. How does he do that?“So what sort of car is this?”“It’s an Audi R8 Spyder. It’s a lovely day, we can take the top down. There’s a baseballcap in there. In fact there should be two.” He points to the glove box. “And sunglasses ifyou want them.”He starts the ignition, and the engine roars behind us. He places his bag in the spacebehind our seats, presses a button, and the roof slowly reclines. With the flick of a switch,Bruce Springsteen surrounds us.“Gotta love Bruce,” he grins at me and eases the car out of the parking space, and upthe steep ramp where we pause for the barrier.Then we’re out into the bright Seattle May morning. I reach into the glove box andretrieve the baseball caps. The Mariners. He likes baseball? I pass him a cap, and he putsit on. I pass my ponytail through the back of mine and pull the peak down low.People stare at us as we drive through the streets. For a moment, I think it’s at him…and then a very paranoid part thinks everyone is looking at me because they know whatI’ve been doing during the last twelve hours, but finally, I realize it’s the car. Christianseems oblivious, lost in thought.The traffic is light and we’re soon on the I-5 heading south, the wind sweeping overour heads. Bruce is singing about being on fire and his desire. How apt. I flush as I listento the words. Christian glances at me. He’s got his Ray-Bans on so I can’t see what he’sthinking. His mouth twitches slightly, and he reaches across and places his hand on myknee, squeezing gently. My breath hitches.“Hungry?” he asks.Not for food.“Not particularly.”His mouth tightens into that hard line.“You must eat, Anastasia,” he chides. “I know a great place near Olympia. We’ll stopthere.” He squeezes my knee again, and then returns his hand to the steering wheel as heputs his foot down on the gas. I’m pressed into the back of my seat. Boy this car can move.The restaurant is small and intimate, a wooden chalet in the middle of a forest. Thedécor is rustic: random chairs and tables with gingham tablecloths, wild flowers in littlevases. Cuisine Sauvage, it boasts above the door.“I’ve not been here for a while. We don’t get a choice – they cook whatever they’vecaught or gathered.” He raises his eyebrows in mock horror, and I have to laugh. Thewaitress takes our drinks order. She flushes when she sees Christian, avoiding eye contactwith him, hiding under her long blonde bangs. She likes him! It’s not just me!“Two glasses of the Pinot Grigio,” Christian says with a voice of authority. I purse mylips, exasperated.“What?” he snaps.“I wanted a Diet Coke,” I whisper.His gray eyes narrow, and he shakes his head.