Пятьдесят оттенков серого
Chapter 22
IhitGoogleimagesandenter“ChristianGrey”intothesearchengine.ThescreenissuddenlylitteredwithimagesofChristian:inblacktie,be-suited,jeez—José’spicturesfromtheHeathman,inhiswhiteshirtandflanneltrousers.HowdidtheygetontheInternet?Boy,helooksgood.
Imovequicklyon:somewithbusinessassociates,thenpictureaftergloriouspictureofthemostphotogenicmanIknowintimately.Intimately?DoIknowChristianintimately?Iknowhimsexually,andIfigurethere’salotmoretodiscoverthere.Iknowhe’smoody,difficult,funny,cold,warm…jeez,themanisawalkingmassofcontradictions.Iclicktothenextpage.He’sstillonhisowninallthesephotographs,andIrememberKatementioningthatshecouldn’tfindanyphotographsofhimwithadate,promptinghergayquestion.Then,onthethirdpage,there’sapictureofme,withhim,atmygraduation.Hisonlypicturewithawoman,andit’sme.
Holycow!I’monGoogle!Istareatustogether.Ilooksurprisedbythecamera,nervous,offbalance.ThiswasjustbeforeIagreedtotry.Forhispart,Christianlooksimpossiblyhandsome,calmandcollected,andhe’swearingthattie.Igazeathim,suchabeautifulface,abeautifulfacethatcouldbestaringatMrs.DamnedRobinsonrightnow.Isavethepictureinmyfavoritesandclickthroughalleighteenpagesofsearchresults…nothing.Iwon’tfindMrs.RobinsononGoogle.ButIhavetoknowifhe’swithher.Itypeaquicke-mailtoChristian.
