Пятьдесят оттенков серого

           “Andsunglassesifyouwantthem.”

           Hestartstheignition,andtheengineroarsbehindus.Heplaceshisbaginthespacebehindourseats,pressesabutton,andtheroofslowlyretracts.Withtheflickofaswitch,BruceSpringsteensurroundsus.

           “GottaloveBruce.”Hegrinsatmeandeasesthecaroutoftheparkingspaceandupthesteepramp,wherewepauseforthegatetolift.

           Thenwe’reoutintothebrightSeattleMaymorning.Ireachintothegloveboxandretrievethebaseballcaps.TheMariners.Helikesbaseball?Ipasshimacap,andheputsiton.Ipullmyhairthroughthebackofmineandpullthepeakdownlow.

           Peoplestareatusaswedrivethroughthestreets.Foramoment,Ithinkit’sathim…andthenaveryparanoidpartthinkseveryoneislookingatmebecausetheyknowwhatI’vebeendoingduringthelasttwelvehours,butfinallyIrealizeit’sthecar.Christianseemsoblivious,lostinthought.

           Thetrafficislightandwe’resoononInterstate5headingsouth,thewindsweepingoverourheads.Bruceissingingaboutbeingonfireandhisdesire.Howapt.IflushasIlistentothewords.Christianglancesatme.He’sgothisRay-BansonsoIcan’tseewhathe’sfeeling.Hismouthtwitchesslightly,andhereachesacrossandplaceshishandonmyknee,squeezinggently.Mybreathhitches.

           “Hungry?”heasks.

           Notforfood.

           “Notparticularly.”

           Hismouthtightensintothathardline.

           “Youmusteat,Anastasia,”hechides.“IknowagreatplacenearOlympia.We’llstopthere.