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“Christian Grey has asked me to go for coffee with him.”
[Kate’s] mouth pops open. Speechless Kate! I savor the moment.
Seriously, Ana, this girl is your best friend, and as soon as Christian Grey got involved you just turned into an asshole towards her. All you’ve done this chapter is ogle Christian Grey and complain about Kate talking too much. She’s your friend, you’re the one that decided to live with her, either deal with it or find a new friend. Either way, stop complaining.
“Ana, there’s something about him.” Her tone is full of warning. “He’s gorgeous, I agree, but I think he’s dangerous. Especially to someone like you.”
“What do you mean, someone like me?” I demand, affronted.
“An innocent like you, Ana. You know what I mean,” she says a little irritated. I flush.
Blush count….fuck it, I’ve lost track. I think 4 now. Maybe 5. GOD WHY DOES SHE FUCKING BLUSH SO MUCH.
Since when does being a virgin mean you can’t handle going out and getting coffee with someone? What, does she need a goddamned chaperone like this is a middle school dance?
Sure, Christian is probably a creepy, dangerous stalker-man, but he’d be a creepy dangerous stalker-man regardless of how many people Ana had slept with.
So Kate finally agrees to switch cars, after acting like Ana’s goddamned mother (she literally says “Don’t be long, or I’ll send out search and rescue.” what the fuck).
I emerge from the suite to find Christian Grey waiting, leaning up against the wall, looking like a male model in a pose for some glossy high-end magazine.
“Okay, let’s do coffee,” I murmur, flushing a beet red.
Blush Count: 5 or 6. Or 7. Or a million. Either way, the girl blushes too goddamned much.
Also why does everyone in this book fucking murmur? JUST SAY YOUR SHIT. JUST USE THE WORD “SAID.” YOU DON’T NEED TO USE “MURMUR” OR “WHISPER” OR WHATEVER.
Ana and Christian leave together, making awkward small talk which causes Ana to blush yet again. They go to take the elevator and run into a couple who was making out inside and it’s awkward and then they leave the elevator and Christian starts holding Ana’s hand, which is apparently a BIG DEAL for her, because he’s doing it IN PUBLIC and NO ONE has ever held her hand before (that isn’t sarcastic. She literally says that no one has ever held her hand).
They get to the coffee shop and Ana orders tea (because she’s a special snowflake and doesn’t like coffee. omg so original) and she goes to get a table while Christian gets the drinks.
I surreptitiously gaze at him from beneath my lashes as he stands in line waiting to be served. I could watch him all day… he’s tall, broad-shouldered, and slim, and the way those pants hang from his hips…Oh my.
ENOUGH WITH THE “OH MY” SHIT. SERIOUSLY. STOP IT. IT’S NOT CUTE.
Also why can’t you just look at him? “From beneath my lashes?” Seriously? I’m trying to figure out how you’re even doing that, and unless your eyelashes curve down, I don’t think you can really do that, unless you’re squinting like crazy.
Please, someone, explain to me how you can gaze at someone from beneath your lashes, because either it’s not really possible unless your eyelashes are curved down, OR it IS possible because it happens ALL THE TIME because your eyes are just naturally UNDER YOUR GODDAMNED EYELASHES.
I hate you so much sometimes, Ana. I really do. And by “sometimes” I mean “all the time.”
Once or twice he runs his long, graceful fingers through his now dry but still disorderly hair. Hmm… I’d like to do that. The thought comes unbidden into my mind and my face flames. I bite my lip and stare down at my hands again, not liking where my wayward thoughts are headed.
Blush Count: a billion. Stop it, jesus.
“Not liking where my wayward thoughts are headed”? Seriously?
OH SHOOT I’M THINKING ABOUT SEX. WOMEN AREN’T SUPPOSED TO THINK ABOUT SEX, THIS IS SO WRONG AND BAD I SHOULD STOP IT.
Ughhh if I had a penny for every time I wanted to murder someone for saying something about how men think about sex more than women, I would have a lot of goddamned pennies.
Women think about sex JUST AS MUCH as men do, but maybe it’s not as publicized or accepted. If you think women don’t think about sex, then you must know different women than I do, because me and all my lady friends think about sex plenty.
Also, jesus, Ana wasn’t even thinking about sex, she was thinking about playing with a dude’s hair. Did we somehow get transported back to the 1800’s? How is playing with a dude’s hair a bad thing? OH NO A WOMAN TOUCHING A MAN WHEN THEY AREN’T MARRIED, FOR SHAME!
Seriously. What even.
And then we get a huge sentence describing the table that they’re sitting at. WHY. WHY IS THAT NECESSARY INFORMATION. WHY DO I NEED TO KNOW THAT THE TABLE IS MADE OUT OF BIRCH WOOD. WHY.
And then we get a whole paragraph describing their drinks/food.
There are times when it is painfully obvious that this book was originally fanfiction.
THIS IS ONE OF THOSE TIMES.
In bad fanfiction (not in good fanfiction, mind you, there is a big difference, and there are TONS of amazing fanfiction out there, so please don’t think I’m bashing the form in its entirety) the author always spends WAY too much time describing pointless things, mostly clothes (like when they spend 4 hours talking about how the vampire character puts on lots of black and red lace and corsets and make-up while listening to My Chemical Romance and crying) but also a lot of the time food. Unless the clothes or the food are vitally important to the story, or described in an interesting/compelling way, DON’T PUT IT IN THERE. WE DON’T NEED TO KNOW THAT. WHY DOES IT MATTER THAT ENGLISH BREAKFAST TEA IS ANA’S FAVORITE? IT DOESN’T. DON’T TELL US. MOVING ON.