Пятьдесят оттенков серого
Chapter 6
Holyhell,isthishislife—constantnaggingphonecalls?
“Grey,”hesnaps.
“Hi,Christian,d’yougetlaid?”
“Hello,Elliot—I’monspeakerphone,andI’mnotaloneinthecar.”Christiansighs.
“Who’swithyou?”
Christianrollshiseyes.“AnastasiaSteele.”
“Hi,Ana!”
Ana!
“Hello,Elliot.”
“Heardalotaboutyou,”Elliotmurmurshuskily.Christianfrowns.
“Don’tbelieveawordKatesays.”
Elliotlaughs.
“I’mdroppingAnastasiaoffnow.”Christianemphasizesmyfullname.“ShallIpickyouup?”
“Sure.”
“Seeyoushortly.”Christianhangsup,andthemusicisback.
“WhydoyouinsistoncallingmeAnastasia?”
“Becauseit’syourname.”
“IpreferAna.”
“Doyounow?”
Wearealmostatmyapartment.It’snottakenlong.
“Anastasia,”hemuses.Iscowlathim,butheignoresmyexpression.“Whathappenedintheelevator—itwon’thappenagain,well,notunlessit’spremeditated.”
Hepullsupoutsidemyduplex.Ibelatedlyrealizehe’snotaskedmewhereIlive—yetheknows.Butthenhesentthebooks;ofcourseheknowswhereIlive.Whatable,cellphone–tracking,helicopter-owningstalkerwouldn’t?
Whywon’thekissmeagain?Ipoutatthethought.Idon’tunderstand.Honestly,hissurnameshouldbeCryptic,notGrey.Heclimbsoutofthecar,walkingwitheasy,long-leggedgracearoundtomysidetoopenthedoor,everthegentleman—exceptperhapsinrare,preciousmomentsinelevators.Iflushatthememoryofhismouthonmine,andthethoughtthatI’dbeenunabletotouchhimentersmymind.
