Free Fifty Shades of Grey by E. L. James Page A

he should leave me alone. I suppress a drunken grin and hit the automatic re-dial. He answers on the second ring.
    “Anastasia?” He’s surprised to hear from me. Well, frankly, I’m surprised to ring 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,” I accuse. 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?”
    “Goodnight, 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 unfocused. Hmm… tequila.
    I wait at the bar for what feels like an eternity for the pitcher of beer and eventually return to the table.
    “You’ve been gone so long.” Kate scolds me. “Where were you?”
    “I was in line for the restroom.”
    José and Levi are having some heated debate about our local baseball team. José pauses in his tirade to pour us all beers, and I take a long sip.
    “Kate, I think I’d better step outside and get some fresh air.”
    “Ana, you are such a lightweight.”
    “I’ll be five minutes.”
    I make my way through the crowd again. I am beginning to feel nauseous, my head is spinning uncomfortably, and I’m a little unsteady on my feet. More unsteady than usual.
    Drinking in the cool evening air in the parking lot makes me realize how drunk I am.
    My vision has been affected, and I’m really seeing double of everything like in old re-runs of Tom and Jerry Cartoons. I think I’m going to be sick. Why did I let myself get this messed up?
    “Ana,” José has joined me. “You okay?”
    “I think I’ve just had a bit too much to drink.” I smile weakly at him.
    “Me too,” he murmurs, and his dark eyes are watching me intently. “Do you need a hand?” he asks and steps closer, putting his arm around me.
    “José I’m okay. I’ve got this.” I try and push him away rather feebly.
    “Ana, please,” he whispers, and now he’s holding me in