my heel, vaguely amazed that I don’t trip, and without giving him a second glance, I disap-

pear down the sidewalk toward the underground garage.

Once underneath the dark, cold concrete of the garage with its bleak fluorescent light,

I lean against the wall and put my head in my hands. What was I thinking? Unbidden and

unwelcome tears pool in my eyes. Why am I crying?I sink to the ground, angry at myself

for this senseless reaction. Drawing up my knees, I fold in on myself. I want to make

myself as small as possible. Perhaps this nonsensical pain will be smaller the smaller I am.

Placing my head on my knees, I let the irrational tears fall unrestrained. I am crying over

the loss of something I never had. How ridiculous.Mourning something that never was –

my dashed hopes, dashed dreams, and my soured expectations.

I have never been on the receiving end of rejection. Okay… so I was always one of the

last to be picked for basketball or volleyball – but I understood that – running and doing

something else at the same time like bouncing or throwing a ball is not my thing. I am a

serious liability in any sporting field.

Romantically, though, I’ve never put myself out there, ever. A lifetime of insecurity

– I’m too pale, too skinny, too scruffy, uncoordinated, my long list of faults goes on. So

I have always been the one to rebuff any would be admirers. There was that guy in my

chemistry class who liked me, but no one has ever sparked my interest – no one except

Christian damn Grey. Maybe I should be kinder to the likes of Paul Clayton and José Ro-

driguez, though I’m sure neither of them have been found sobbing alone in dark places.

Perhaps I just need a good cry.

Stop! Stop Now! -My subconscious is metaphorically screaming at me, arms folded,

leaning on one leg and tapping her foot in frustration. Get in the car, go home, do your

studying. Forget about him… Now!And stop all this self-pitying, wallowing crap.

I take a deep, steadying breath and stand up. Get it together Steele.I head for Kate’s

car, wiping the tears off my face as I do. I will not think of him again. I can just chalk this

incident up to experience and concentrate on my exams.

Kate is sitting at the dining table at her laptop when I arrive. Her welcoming smile fades

when she sees me.

“Ana what’s wrong?”

Oh no… not the Katherine Kavanagh Inquisition. I shake my head at her in a back-off

now Kavanagh way– but I might as well be dealing with a blind, deaf mute.

“You’ve been crying,” she has an exceptional gift for stating the damned obvious

sometimes. “What did that bastard do to you?” she growls, and her face – jeez, she’s scary.

“Nothing Kate.” That’s actually the problem. The thought brings a wry smile to my

face.“Then why have you been crying? You never cry,” she says, her voice softening. She

stands, her green eyes brimming with concern. She puts her arms around me and hugs me.

I need to say something just to get her to back off.

“I was nearly knocked over by a cyclist.” It’s the best that I can do, but it distracts her

momentarily from… him.

“Jeez Ana – are you okay? Were you hurt?” She holds me at arm’s length and does a

quick visual check-up on me.

“No. Christian saved me,” I whisper. “But I was quite shaken.”

“I’m not surprised. How was coffee? I know you hate coffee.”

“I had tea. It was fine, nothing to report really. I don’t know why he asked me.”

“He likes you Ana.” She drops her arms.

“Not anymore. I won’t be seeing him again.” Yes, I manage to sound matter of fact.

“Oh?”

Crap. She’s intrigued. I head into the kitchen so that she can’t see my face.

“Yeah… he’s a little out of my league Kate,” I say as dryly as I can manage.

“What do you mean?”

“Oh Kate, it’s obvious.” I whirl round and face her as she stands in the kitchen door-

way.“Not to me,” she says. “Okay, he’s got more money than you, but then he has more

money than most people in America!”

“Kate he’s– ” I shrug.

“Ana! For heaven’s sake – how many times must I tell you? You’re a total babe,” she

interrupts me. Oh no. She’s off on this tirade again.

“Kate, please. I need to study.” I cut her short. She frowns.

“Do you want to see the article? It’s finished. José took some great pictures.”

Do I need a visual reminder of the beautiful Christian I-don’t-want-youGrey?

“Sure,” I magic a smile on to my face and stroll over to the laptop. And there he is,

staring at me in black and white, staring at me and finding me lacking.

I pretend to read the article, all the time meeting his steady gray gaze, searching the

photo for some clue as to why he’s not the man for me – his own words to me. And it’s

suddenly, blindingly obvious. He’s too gloriously good-looking. We are poles apart and

from two very different worlds. I have a vision of myself as Icarus flying too close to the

sun and crashing and burning as a result. His words make sense. He’s not the man for me.

This is what he meant, and it makes his rejection easier to accept… almost. I can live with

this. I understand.

“Very good Kate,” I manage. “I’m going to study.” I am not going to think about him

again for now, I vow to myself, and opening my revision notes, I start to read.

It’s only when I’m in bed, trying to sleep, that I allow my thoughts to drift through my

strange morning. I keep coming back to the ‘I don’t do the girlfriend thing’quote, and I’m

angry that I didn’t pounce on this information sooner, when I was in his arms mentally beg-

ging him with every fiber of my being to kiss me. He’d said it there and then. He didn’t

want me as a girlfriend. I turn on to my side. Idly, I wonder if perhaps he’s celibate? I

close my eyes and begin to drift. Maybe he’s saving himself. Well not for you,my sleepy

subconscious has a final swipe at me before unleashing itself on my dreams.

And that night, I dream of gray eyes, leafy patterns in milk, and I’m running through

dark places with eerie strip lighting, and I don’t know if I’m running toward something or

away from it… it’s just not clear.

I put my pen down. Finished. My final exam is over. I feel the Cheshire cat grin

spread over my face. It’s probably the first time all week that I’ve smiled. It’s Friday, and

we shall be celebrating tonight, really celebrating. I might even get drunk! I’ve never been

drunk before. I glance across the sports hall at Kate, and she’s still scribbling furiously,

five minutes to the end. This is it, the end of my academic career. I shall never have to sit

in rows of anxious, isolated students again. Inside I’m doing graceful cartwheels around

my head, knowing full well that’s the only place I can do graceful cartwheels. Kate stops

writing and puts her pen down. She glances across at me, and I catch her Cheshire cat

smile too.

We head back to our apartment together in her Mercedes, refusing to discuss our final

paper. Kate is more concerned about what she’s going to wear to the bar this evening. I

am busily fishing around in my purse for my keys.

“Ana, there’s a package for you.” Kate is standing on the steps up to the front door

holding a brown paper parcel. Odd.I haven’t ordered anything from Amazon recently.

Kate gives me the parcel and takes my keys to open the front door. It’s addressed to Miss