Пятьдесят оттенков серого
Chapter 17
Hebringsseveralbottlesofbeer,andKateandIsitonthecouchwhilehe’scross-leggedonthefloorbetweenus.WewatchcrapTV,drinkbeer,and,astheeveningwearson,wefondlyandloudlyreminisceasthebeertakeseffect.It’sbeenagoodfouryears.
TheatmospherebetweenJoséandmehasreturnedtonormal,theattemptedkissforgotten.Well,it’sbeensweptundertherugthatmyinnergoddessislyingon,eatinggrapesandtappingherfingers,waitingnotsopatientlyforSunday.There’saknockonthedoor,andmyheartleapsintomythroat.Isit…?
KateanswersthedoorandisnearlyknockedoffherfeetbyElliot.HeseizesherinaHollywood-styleclinchthatmovesquicklyintoaEuropeanarthouseembrace.Honestly…getaroom.JoséandIstareateachother.I’mappalledattheirlackofmodesty.
“Shallwewalkdowntothebar?”IaskJosé,whonodsfrantically.Wearetoouncomfortablewiththeunrestrainedsexingunfoldinginfrontofus.Katelooksupatme,flushedandbright-eyed.
“JoséandIaregoingforaquickdrink.”Irollmyeyesather.Ha!Icanstillrollmyeyesinmyowntime.
“Okay.”Shegrins.
“Hi,Elliot.Bye,Elliot.”
Hewinksabigblueeyeatme,andJoséandIareoutthedoor,gigglingliketeenagers.
Aswestrolldowntothebar,IputmyarmthroughJosé’s.God,he’ssouncomplicated—Ihadn’treallyappreciatedthatbefore.
“You’llstillcometotheopeningofmyshow,won’tyou?”
“Ofcourse,José,whenisit?”
“Juneninth.”
“Whatdayisthat?”Isuddenlypanic.
“It’saThursday.
