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RECAP: Oh jesus, a lot happened last chapter. So after their coffee date, Ana wants Christian to kiss her (although she doesn’t actually say anything about that to him or let him know in any way), and when he doesn’t do that she assumes it’s because he hates her and doesn’t want her anymore. She goes, cries in a parking lot, and goes home. Later she and Kate take their last exams ever of college. They come home and find a present from Christian to Ana sitting on their front steps, even though Ana never told Christian where she lived. Her and Kate go out drinking with José, and Ana has FIVE MARGARITAS and is somehow still coherent, even though she’s never gotten drunk before. She drunk dials Christian, then goes outside to get some fresh air. José then nearly sexually assaults her (he kisses her even though she is CLEARLY trying to push him away and she keeps telling him no), but is stopped by Christian Grey, who found Ana even though she never told him where she was (he had her cell phone traced). Ana and Christian go back inside after Ana pukes all over, and they dance together, which turns out to be a horrible idea, because Ana then passes out on the dance floor.
So. Ana wakes up in the hotel that Christian Grey is staying in.
In Christian Grey’s suite.
In Christian Grey’s bed.
THIS IS IN NO WAY SHADY AS HELL.
I glance at the bedside table. On it is a glass of orange juice and two tablets. Advil. Control freak that he is, he thinks of everything.
So, giving your friends advil and orange juice to help their hangovers makes you a control freak? I guess I am quite the control freak then, because I not only do that but I also offer them food…damn.
Apparently we’re supposed to believe that after 5 margaritas, a beer, some champagne, some sexual assault, some puking, some dancing, and some passing out, Ana doesn’t have a hangover. She doesn’t even feel that bad.
I want Anastasia Steele’s life. If I had that kind of night, I’d be dead 5 times and if I did wake up, it would be with the one hangover to rule them all.
Christian Grey then knocks on the door and comes in without waiting for Ana to answer, which is…polite?
Holy hell, he’s been working out. He’s in gray sweat pants that hang, in that way, off his hips and a gray singlet, which is dark with sweat, like his hair. Christian Grey’s sweat; the notion does odd things to me.
Ummm…I don’t know about you guys, but when I see a sweaty dude I don’t immediately hop on the train to Boner City, but apparently Ana does.
IN OTHER NEWS.
I JUST GOOGLED WHAT A SINGLET IS.
To be fair, there are less ridiculous ones than this. However, there are also way more ridiculous ones. I encourage you to check it out. Maybe not while you’re at work.
He comes and sits down on the edge of the bed. He’s close enough for me to touch, for me to smell. Oh my…sweat and body wash and Christian. It’s a heady cocktail – so much better than a margarita, and now I can speak from experience.
I don’t care how attractive someone is. When they sweat, they don’t smell nice. Maybe some people smell better than others, but sweat is not a good smell.
Also, I don’t know what kind of margaritas Ana was having, but clearly they weren’t very good ones if she thinks Sweaty Christian is better.
“Did you put me to bed?’
“Yes.” His face is impassive.
“Did I throw up again?” My voice is quieter.
“Did you undress me?” I whisper.
“Yes.” He quirks an eyebrow at me as I blush furiously.
“We didn’t-?” I whisper, my mouth drying in mortified horror as I can’t complete the question. I stare at my hands.
“Anastasia, you were comatose. Necrophilia is not my thing. I like my women sentient and receptive,” he says dryly.
That is quite possibly the creepiest way to say “I didn’t rape you in your sleep.” I mean, I guess that’s a good thing to say, that you’re not into necrophilia, but I am so thoroughly creeped out right now that I can’t even function.
Then Christian says something that I guess Ana thinks is making fun of her? Maybe it is, I don’t know. But she gets all sassy, which she should have done sooner, I think.
“You didn’t have to track me down with whatever James Bond stuff you’re developing for the highest bidder,” I snap at him. He stares at me, surprised, and if I’m not mistaken, a little wounded.
Aww, poor little stalker man is sad that Ana isn’t flattered by his stalking. Poor li’l guy.
“Firstly, the technology to track cell phones is available over the Internet. Secondly, my company does not invest or manufacture any kind of surveillance devices, and thirdly, if I hadn’t come to get you, you’d probably be waking up in the photographer’s bed, and from what I can remember, you weren’t overly enthused about him pressing his suit,” he says acidly.
Firstly, Christian, just because the technology is available online doesn’t make you any less of a creepy fuck for using it.
And secondly…I guess you’re right about the thing with José…but that doesn’t justify you stalking her…even though you did end up being very valuable…
GOD WHY ARE ALL OF THE DUDES IN THIS BOOK REALLY AWFUL PEOPLE.