fifty-shades-of-grey

“Would you like to go?”“To Paris?” I squeak. This has thrown me – who wouldn’t want to go to Paris? “Ofcourse,” I concede. “But it’s England that I’d really like to visit.”He cocks his head to one side, running his index finger across his lower lip… oh my.“Because?”I blink rapidly. Concentrate, Steele.“It’s the home of Shakespeare, Austen, the Brontë sisters, Thomas Hardy. I’d like tosee the places that inspired those people to write such wonderful books.”All this talk of literary greats reminds me that I should be studying. I glance at mywatch.“I’d better go. I have to study.”“For your exams?”“Yes. They start Tuesday.”“Where’s Miss Kavanagh’s car?”“In the hotel parking lot.”“I’ll walk you back.”“Thank you for the tea, Mr. Grey.”He smiles his odd I’ve got a whopping big secret smile.“You’re welcome, Anastasia. It’s my pleasure. Come,” he commands, and holds hishand out to me. I take it, bemused, and follow him out of the coffee shop.We stroll back to the hotel, and I’d like to say it’s in companionable silence. He atleast looks his usual calm, collected self. As for me, I’m desperately trying to gauge howour little coffee morning has gone. I feel like I’ve been interviewed for a position, but I’mnot sure what it is.“Do you always wear jeans?” he asks out of the blue.“Mostly.”He nods. We’re back at the intersection, across the road from the hotel. My mind isreeling. What an odd question… And I’m aware that our time together is limited. This isit. This was it, and I’ve completely blown it, I know. Perhaps he has someone.“Do you have a girlfriend?” I blurt out. Holy crap - I just said that out loud?His lips quirk up in a half-smile, and he looks down at me.“No, Anastasia. I don’t do the girlfriend thing,” he says softly.Oh… what does that mean? He’s not gay? Oh, maybe he is - crap! He must havelied to me in his interview. And for a moment, I think he’s going to follow on with someexplanation, some clue to this cryptic statement – but he doesn’t. I have to go. I have totry to reassemble my thoughts. I have to get away from him. I walk forward, and I trip,stumbling headlong onto the road.“Shit, Ana!” Grey cries. He tugs the hand that he’s holding so hard that I fall backagainst him just as a cyclist whips past, narrowly missing me, heading the wrong way upthis one-way street.It all happens so fast – one minute I’m falling, the next I’m in his arms, and he’s holdingme tightly against his chest. .I inhale his clean, vital scent. He smells of fresh launderedlinen and some expensive body-wash. Oh my, it’s intoxicating. I inhale deeply.