Fifty Shades Trilogy 01 - Fifty Shades of Grey

dashed hopes, dashed dreams, and my soured expectations.
    I have never been on the receiving end of rejection. Okay… so I was always one of the last to be picked for basketball or volleyball – but I understood that – running and doing something else at the same time like bouncing or throwing a ball is not my thing. I am a serious liability in any sporting field.
    Romantically, though, I’ve never put myself out there, ever. A lifetime of insecurity – I’m too pale, too skinny, too scruffy, uncoordinated, my long list of faults goes on. So I have always been the one to rebuff any would-be admirers. There was that guy in my chemistry class who liked me, but no one has ever sparked my interest – no one except Christian damn Grey. Maybe I should be kinder to the likes of Paul Clayton and José Rodriguez, though I’m sure neither of them has been found sobbing alone in dark places. Perhaps I just need a good cry.
    Stop! Stop Now! – My subconscious is metaphorically screaming at me, arms folded, leaning on one leg and tapping her foot in frustration. Get in the car, go home, do your studying. Forget about him… Now! And stop all this self-pitying, wallowing crap.
    I take a deep, steadying breath and stand up. Get it together, Steele. I head for Kate’s car, wiping the tears off my face as I do. I will not think of him again. I can just chalk this incident up to experience and concentrate on my exams.
    Kate is sitting at the dining table at her laptop when I arrive. Her welcoming smile fades when she sees me.
    “Ana, what’s wrong?”
    Oh no… not the Katherine Kavanagh Inquisition. I shake my head at her in a back-off now, Kavanagh way – but I might as well be dealing with a blind, deaf mute.
    “You’ve been crying,” she has an exceptional gift for stating the damned obvious sometimes. “What did that bastard do to you?” she growls, and her face – jeez, she’s scary.
    “Nothing, Kate.” That’s actually the problem. The thought brings a wry smile to my face.
    “Then why have you been crying? You never cry,” she says, her voice softening. She stands, her green eyes brimming with concern. She puts her arms around me and hugs me. I need to say something just to get her to back off.
    “I was nearly knocked over by a cyclist.” It’s the best that I can do, but it distracts her momentarily from… him.
    “Jeez, Ana – are you okay? Were you hurt?” She holds me at arm’s length and does a quick visual checkup on me.
    “No. Christian saved me,” I whisper. “But I was quite shaken.”
    “I’m not 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?”
    Crap. 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 round 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 must I 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 to 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.”