Read Online Fifty Shades Trilogy Bundle: Fifty Shades of Grey; Fifty Shades Darker; Fifty Shades Freed by E. L. James - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: E. L. James
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surprised. How was coffee? I know you hate coffee.”
“I had tea. It was fine, nothing to report really. I don’t know why he asked me.”
“He likes you, Ana.” She drops her arms.
“Not anymore. I won’t be seeing him again.” Yes, I manage to sound matter-of-fact.
“Oh?”
Damn it. She’s intrigued. I head into the kitchen so that she can’t see my face.
“Yeah … he’s a little out of my league, Kate,” I say as dryly as I can manage.
“What do you mean?”
“Oh, Kate, it’s obvious.” I whirl around and face her as she stands in the kitchen doorway.
“Not to me,” she says. “Okay, he’s got more money than you, but then he has more money than most people in America!”
“Kate he’s—” I shrug.
“Ana! For heaven’s sake—how many times do I have to tell you? You’re a total babe,” she interrupts me. Oh no. She’s off on this tirade again.
“Kate, please. I need to study.” I cut her short. She frowns.
“Do you want to see the article? It’s finished. José took some great pictures.”
Do I need a visual reminder of the beautiful Christian I-Don’t-Want-You Grey?
“Sure.” I magic a smile on my face and stroll over to the laptop. And there he is, staring at me in black and white, staring at me and finding me lacking.
I pretend to read the article, all the time meeting his steady gray gaze, searching the photo for some clue as to why he’s not the man for me—his own words to me. And it’s suddenly blindingly obvious. He’s too gloriously good-looking. We are poles apart and from two very different worlds. I have a vision of myself as Icarus flying too close to the sun and crashing and burning as a result. His words make sense. He’s not the man for me. This is what he meant, and it makes his rejection easier to accept … almost. I can live with this. I understand.
“Very good, Kate,” I manage. “I’m going to study.” I am not going to think about him again for now, I vow to myself, and opening my course notes, I start to read.
IT’S ONLY WHEN I’M in bed, trying to sleep, that I allow my thoughts to drift through my strange morning. I keep coming back to the
I don’t do the girlfriend thing
quote, and I’m angry that I didn’t pounce on this information sooner, before I was in his arms mentally begging him with every fiber of my being to kiss me. He’d said it there and then. He didn’t want me as a girlfriend. I turn onto my side. Idly, I wonder if perhaps he’s celibate. I close my eyes and begin to drift. Maybe he’s saving himself.
Well, not for you
. My sleepy subconscious has a final swipe at me before unleashing itself on my dreams.
And that night, I dream of gray eyes and leafy patterns in milk, and I’m running through dark places with eerie strip lighting, and I don’t know if I’m running toward something or away from it … it’s just not clear.
I put my pen down. Finished. My final exam is over. A Cheshire cat grin spreads over my face. It’s probably the first time all week that I’ve smiled. It’s Friday, and we shall be celebrating tonight,really celebrating. I might even get drunk! I’ve never been drunk before. I glance across the hall at Kate, and she’s still scribbling furiously, five minutes to the finish. This is it, the end of my academic career. I shall never have to sit in rows of anxious, isolated students again. Inside I’m doing graceful cartwheels around my head, knowing full well that’s the only place I can do graceful cartwheels. Kate stops writing and puts her pen down. She glances across at me, and I catch her Cheshire cat smile, too.
We head back to our apartment together in her Mercedes, refusing to discuss our final paper. Kate is more concerned about what she’s going to wear to the bar this evening. I am busily fishing around in my purse for my keys.
“Ana, there’s a package for you.” Kate is standing on the steps up to the front door holding a brown paper parcel.
Odd
. I
“I had tea. It was fine, nothing to report really. I don’t know why he asked me.”
“He likes you, Ana.” She drops her arms.
“Not anymore. I won’t be seeing him again.” Yes, I manage to sound matter-of-fact.
“Oh?”
Damn it. She’s intrigued. I head into the kitchen so that she can’t see my face.
“Yeah … he’s a little out of my league, Kate,” I say as dryly as I can manage.
“What do you mean?”
“Oh, Kate, it’s obvious.” I whirl around and face her as she stands in the kitchen doorway.
“Not to me,” she says. “Okay, he’s got more money than you, but then he has more money than most people in America!”
“Kate he’s—” I shrug.
“Ana! For heaven’s sake—how many times do I have to tell you? You’re a total babe,” she interrupts me. Oh no. She’s off on this tirade again.
“Kate, please. I need to study.” I cut her short. She frowns.
“Do you want to see the article? It’s finished. José took some great pictures.”
Do I need a visual reminder of the beautiful Christian I-Don’t-Want-You Grey?
“Sure.” I magic a smile on my face and stroll over to the laptop. And there he is, staring at me in black and white, staring at me and finding me lacking.
I pretend to read the article, all the time meeting his steady gray gaze, searching the photo for some clue as to why he’s not the man for me—his own words to me. And it’s suddenly blindingly obvious. He’s too gloriously good-looking. We are poles apart and from two very different worlds. I have a vision of myself as Icarus flying too close to the sun and crashing and burning as a result. His words make sense. He’s not the man for me. This is what he meant, and it makes his rejection easier to accept … almost. I can live with this. I understand.
“Very good, Kate,” I manage. “I’m going to study.” I am not going to think about him again for now, I vow to myself, and opening my course notes, I start to read.
IT’S ONLY WHEN I’M in bed, trying to sleep, that I allow my thoughts to drift through my strange morning. I keep coming back to the
I don’t do the girlfriend thing
quote, and I’m angry that I didn’t pounce on this information sooner, before I was in his arms mentally begging him with every fiber of my being to kiss me. He’d said it there and then. He didn’t want me as a girlfriend. I turn onto my side. Idly, I wonder if perhaps he’s celibate. I close my eyes and begin to drift. Maybe he’s saving himself.
Well, not for you
. My sleepy subconscious has a final swipe at me before unleashing itself on my dreams.
And that night, I dream of gray eyes and leafy patterns in milk, and I’m running through dark places with eerie strip lighting, and I don’t know if I’m running toward something or away from it … it’s just not clear.
I put my pen down. Finished. My final exam is over. A Cheshire cat grin spreads over my face. It’s probably the first time all week that I’ve smiled. It’s Friday, and we shall be celebrating tonight,really celebrating. I might even get drunk! I’ve never been drunk before. I glance across the hall at Kate, and she’s still scribbling furiously, five minutes to the finish. This is it, the end of my academic career. I shall never have to sit in rows of anxious, isolated students again. Inside I’m doing graceful cartwheels around my head, knowing full well that’s the only place I can do graceful cartwheels. Kate stops writing and puts her pen down. She glances across at me, and I catch her Cheshire cat smile, too.
We head back to our apartment together in her Mercedes, refusing to discuss our final paper. Kate is more concerned about what she’s going to wear to the bar this evening. I am busily fishing around in my purse for my keys.
“Ana, there’s a package for you.” Kate is standing on the steps up to the front door holding a brown paper parcel.
Odd
. I
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