Free Fifty Shades of Grey by E. L. James

working.” I giggle. “I think I’d better have a beer. I’ll go get us a pitcher.”
    “More drink, Ana!” Kate bellows.
    Kate has the constitution of an ox. She’s got her arm draped over Levi, one of our fellow English students and her usual photographer on the student newspaper. He’s given up taking photos of the drunkenness that surrounds him. He only has eyes for Kate. She’s all tiny camisole, tight jeans, and high heels, hair piled high with tendrils hanging down softly around her face, her usual stunning self. Me, I’m more of a Converse and T-shirt kind of girl, but I’m wearing my most flattering jeans. I move out of José’s hold and get up from our table.
    Whoa. Head spin.
    I have to grab the back of the chair. Tequila-based cocktails are not a good idea.
    I make my way to the bar and decide that I should visit the bathroom while I am on my feet.
Good thinking, Ana
. I stagger off through the crowd. Of course, there’s a line, but at least it’s quiet and cool in the corridor. I reach for my cell phone to relieve the boredom of waiting.
Hmm … Who did I last call?
Was it José? Before that, a number I don’t recognize. Oh yes. Grey, I think this is his number. I giggle. I have no idea what the time is; maybe I’ll wake him. Perhaps he can tell me why he sent me those books and the cryptic message. If he wants me to stay away, he should leave me alone. I suppress a drunken grin and hit the “call” button. He answers on the second ring.
    “Anastasia?” He’s surprised to hear from me. Well, frankly, I’m surprised to be calling him. Then my befuddled brain registers … how does he know it’s me?
    “Why did you send me the books?” I slur at him.
    “Anastasia, are you okay? You sound strange.” His voice is filled with concern.
    “I’m not the strange one, you are.” There—that told him, my courage fuelled by alcohol.
    “Anastasia, have you been drinking?”
    “What’s it to you?”
    “I’m … curious. Where are you?”
    “In a bar.”
    “Which bar?” He sounds exasperated.
    “A bar in Portland.”
    “How are you getting home?”
    “I’ll find a way.” This conversation is not going how I expected.
    “Which bar are you in?”
    “Why did you send me the books, Christian?”
    “Anastasia, where are you? Tell me now.” His tone is so … so dictatorial, his usual control freak. I imagine him as an old-time movie director wearing jodhpurs, holding an old-fashioned megaphone and a riding crop. The image makes me laugh out loud.
    “You’re so … domineering.” I giggle.
    “Ana, so help me, where the fuck are you?”
    Christian Grey is swearing at me. I giggle again. “I’m in Portland …’s a long way from Seattle.”
    “Where in Portland?”
    “Good night, Christian.”
    “Ana!”
    I hang up. Ha! Though he didn’t tell me about the books. I frown. Mission not accomplished. I am really quite drunk—my head swims uncomfortably as I shuffle with the line. Well, the object of the exercise was to get drunk. I have succeeded. This is what it’s like—
probably not an experience to be repeated
. The line has moved, and it’s now my turn. I stare blankly at the poster on the back of the toilet door that extols the virtues of safe sex. Holy crap, did I just call Christian Grey? Shit. My phone rings and it makes me jump. I yelp in surprise.
    “Hi,” I bleat timidly in to the phone. I hadn’t reckoned on this.
    “I’m coming to get you,” he says, and hangs up. Only Christian Grey could sound so calm and so threatening at the same time.
    Holy crap
. I pull my jeans up. My heart is thumping. Coming to get me?
Oh no
. I’m going to be sick … no … I’m fine. Hang on. He’s just messing with my head. I didn’t tell him where I was. He can’t find me here. Besides, it will take him hours to get here from Seattle, and we’ll be long gone by then. I wash my hands and check my face in the mirror. I look flushed and slightly