Пятьдесят оттенков серого

           GreyandIstepintotheelevator.

           Iamstrugglingtomaintainastraightface,soIgazedownatthefloor,feelingmycheeksturningpink.WhenIpeekupatGreythroughmylashes,hehasahintofasmileonhislips,butit’sveryhardtotell.Theyoungcouplesaysnothing,andwetraveldowntothefirstfloorinembarrassedsilence.Wedon’tevenhaveblandpipedelevatormusictodistractus.

           Thedoorsopenand,muchtomysurprise,Greytakesmyhand,claspingitwithhislong,coolfingers.Ifeelthecurrentrunthroughme,andmyalreadyrapidheartbeataccelerates.Asheleadsmeoutoftheelevator,wecanhearthesuppressedgigglesofthecoupleeruptingbehindus.Greygrins.

           “Whatisitaboutelevators?”hemutters.

           Wecrosstheexpansive,bustlinglobbyofthehoteltowardtheentrance,butGreyavoidstherevolvingdoor,andIwonderifthat’sbecausehe’dhavetoletgoofmyhand.

           Outside,it’samildMaySunday.Thesunisshiningandthetrafficislight.Greyturnsleftandstrollstothecorner,wherewewaitforthecrosswalktochange.He’sstillholdingmyhand.I’minthestreet,andChristianGreyisholdingmyhand.Noonehaseverheldmyhand.Ifeelgiddy,andItingleallover.Iattempttosmothertheridiculousgrinthatthreatenstosplitmyfaceintwo.Trytobecool,Ana,mysubconsciousimploresme.Thegreenmanappears,andwe’reoffagain.

           WewalkfourblocksbeforewereachthePortlandCoffeeHouse,whereGreyreleasesmetoholdthedooropensoIcanstepinside.