Пятьдесят оттенков серого
Chapter 13
Ishower,shavemylegsandunderarms,washmyhair,andthenspendagoodhalfhourdryingitsothatitfallsinsoftwavestomybreastsanddownmyback.Islipacombintokeeponesideoffmyfaceandapplymascaraandsomelipgloss.Irarelywearmakeup—itintimidatesme.Noneofmyliteraryheroineshadtodealwithmakeup—maybeI’dknowmoreaboutitiftheyhad.Islipontheplum-coloredstilettosthatmatchthedress,andI’mreadybysixthirty.
“Well?”IaskKate.
Shegrins.
“Boy,youscrubupwell,Ana.”Shenodswithapproval.“Youlookhot.”
“Hot!I’maimingfordemureandbusinesslike.”
“That,too,butmostofallhot.Thedressreallysuitsyouandyourcoloring.Thewayitclings.”Shesmirks.
“Kate!”Iscold.
“Justkeepingitreal,Ana.Thewholepackage—looksgood.Keepthedress.You’llhavehimeatingoutofyourhand.”
Mymouthpressesinahardline.Oh,yousohavethatthewrongwayaround.
“Wishmeluck.”
“Youneedluckforadate?”Herbrowfurrows,puzzled.
“Yes,Kate.”
“Well,then—goodluck.”Shehugsme,andIamoutthefrontdoor.
Ihavetodriveinmybarefeet—Wanda,mysea-blueBeetle,wasn’tbuilttobedrivenbystiletto-wearers.IpullupoutsidetheHeathmanatsixfifty-eightpreciselyandhandmycarkeystothevaletforparking.HelooksaskanceatmyBeetle,butIignorehim.Takingadeepbreathandmentallygirdingmyloins,Iheadintothehotel.
Christianisleaningcasuallyagainstthebar,drinkingaglassofwhitewine.
