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So we get a whole bunch of dialogue where Christian blatantly lies about why he’s in Vancouver and says he was there to visit the farming division of Washington State University, blah blah blah.
See? Not here to find you at all, my subconscious sneers at me, loud, proud, and pouty. I flush at my foolish wayward thoughts.
Blush Count: 4.
Also your subconscious is an idiot, Ana. Stop listening to it.
He gazes at the selection of cable ties we stock at Clayton’s. What on Earth is he going to do with those? I cannot picture him as a do-it-yourselfer at all. His fingers trail across the various packages displayed, and for some inexplicable reason, I have to look away.
IT’S A BONER. IT’S ALWAYS A BONER. YOUR BONER, HIS BONER, WHATEVER. ONE OF YOU ALWAYS HAS A BONER FOR THE OTHER AND THAT IS ALWAYS THE REASON WHY YOU DO THINGS.
Just replace “inexplicable reason” with “boner” every time and the book would be much better.
You don’t even need to say “for some inexplicable reason!” Just say “His fingers trail across the various packages displayed and I have to look away.” Or even better, “I force myself to look away.”
LEARN TO WRITE.
“Is there anything else?”
“I’d like some masking tape.”
“Are you redecorating?”
If there were an award for the most oblivious character ever in the entire history of the English language, Anastasia Steel would win, hands down, no question.
This isn’t even cute or funny or amusing or anything. It’s just annoying.
WOOPS we got another blush moment. Official blush count for this chapter is now at 5, people.
“I’ll take that one,” Grey says softly pointing to the wider tape, which I pass to him. Our fingers brush very briefly, and the current is there again, zapping through me like I’ve touched an exposed wire. I gasp involuntarily as I feel it, all the way down to somewhere dark and unexplored, deep in my belly.
IT’S CALLED YOUR VAGINA, YOU WITLESS FUCK-BAG.
IT’S NOT THAT HARD.
YOU SHOULD HAVE LEARNED WHAT THAT WAS LIKE 15 YEARS AGO.
Somewhere deep and dark and unexplored. Are you joking right now.
People actually take this book seriously, guys. It’s written by a grown woman, from the point of view of another grown (though younger) woman, both of whom are afraid to directly refer to their lady-parts.
I just…I can’t even handle this anymore. What the hell.
So then Christian asks Ana for some rope (ughhh this whole joke has gone on way too long) and she gets some for him and ties it in a knot.
“Were you a Girl Scout?” he asks, sculptured, sensual lips curled in amusement. Don’t look at his mouth!
“Organized, group activities aren’t really my thing, Mr. Grey.”
What, because only people who’ve been boy/girl scouts know how to tie a knot? She’s worked at this hardware store for literally YEARS, I’m pretty sure she’d know how to tie a goddamned knot by now.
“What is your thing, Anastasia?” he asks, his voice soft and his secret smile is back.
I want to start replacing “smile” with “boner” every time I see it. I think it would make this book much better.
“Books,” I whisper, but inside, my subconscious is screaming: You! You are my thing! I slap it down instantly, mortified that my psyche is having ideas above its station.
JUST ADMIT THAT YOU LIKE HIM AND SAVE ME SOME OF THE AGONY OF READING THIS.
IS IT REALLY THAT HARD TO BE OPEN WITH YOURSELF ABOUT HOW YOU FEEL ABOUT SOMEONE?
WHY ARE YOU SO ADAMANT THAT YOU DON’T LIKE HIM.
YOU’VE HAD A CONSTANT BONER FOR HIM FOR THE PAST WEEK, JESUS.
So then Ana asks him what else he needs, and he says what else would you recommend.
“For a do-it-yourselfer?”
He nods, gray eyes alive with wicked humor. I flush, and my eyes stray of their own accord to his snug jeans.
I literally cannot even begin to describe with words the number of boners there are in those two sentences. These two are literally drowning in their own boners, and it’s getting ridiculous.
“Coveralls,” I reply, and I know I’m no longer screening what’s coming out of my mouth.
He raises an eyebrow, amused, yet again.
“You wouldn’t want to ruin your clothing,” I gesture vaguely in the direction of his jeans.
“I could always take them off.” He smirks.
“Um.” I feel the color in my cheeks rising again. I must be the color of the communist manifesto.
First of all, boners.
Second of all, YOU USED “UM” AS A LINE OF DIALOGUE WHAT THE FUCK DOES THAT EVEN ACCOMPLISH.
IT ADDS NOTHING TO THE STORY OR THEIR CONVERSATION OR ANYTHING EVER AND I HATE IT.
Third of all…
I know, I know, most copies of the Manifesto have more red on their covers.
But I just like the idea that Ana’s face turned this weird, off-white yellowish color with some brownish-maroon spots.
THE COLOR OF THE COMMUNIST MANIFESTO.
YOU REALLY EXPECT US TO JUST ACCEPT THAT. OR THINK IT’S CHARMING, EVEN.
Goddammit Ana. Goddammit E.L. James.