Пятьдесят оттенков серого
Chapter 3
He’salsoboughthimselfablueberrymuffin.Puttingthetrayaside,hesitsoppositemeandcrosseshislonglegs.Helookssocomfortable,soateasewithhisbody,Ienvyhim.Here’sme,allgawkyanduncoordinated,barelyabletogetfromAtoBwithoutfallingflatonmyface.
“Yourthoughts?”hepromptsme.
“Thisismyfavoritetea.”Myvoiceisquiet,breathy.Isimplycan’tbelieveI’msittingoppositeChristianGreyinacoffeeshopinPortland.Hefrowns.HeknowsI’mhidingsomething.Ipoptheteabagintotheteapotandalmostimmediatelyfishitoutagainwithmyteaspoon.AsIplacetheusedteabagbackonthesideplate,hecockshishead,gazingquizzicallyatme.
“Ilikemyteablackandweak,”Imutterasanexplanation.
“Isee.Isheyourboyfriend?”
Whoa…What?
“Who?”
“Thephotographer.JoséRodriguez.”
Ilaugh,nervousbutcurious.Whatgavehimthatimpression?
“No.José’sagoodfriendofmine,that’sall.Whydidyouthinkhewasmyboyfriend?”
“Thewayyousmiledathim,andheatyou.”Hisgazeholdsmine.He’ssounnerving.IwanttolookawaybutI’mcaught—spellbound.
“He’smorelikefamily,”Iwhisper.
Greynods,seeminglysatisfiedwithmyresponse,andglancesdownathisblueberrymuffin.Hislongfingersdeftlypeelbackthepaper,andIwatch,fascinated.
“Doyouwantsome?”heasks,andthatamused,secretsmileisback.
“Nothanks.”Ifrownandstaredownatmyhandsagain.
“AndtheboyImetyesterday,atthestore.He’snotyourboyfriend?”
“No.Paul’sjustafriend.Itoldyouyesterday.
