Fifty Shades of Shade - "The Fifty Shades of Grey Parady" (5 page)

             
“The photographer, Ramiro.”

             
I laugh. “No, Ramiro’s just a good friend of mine. Why did you think that?”

             
“The way you smiled at him, and he at you. And I at he. And you at you.” His gaze spellbinds me.

             
“He’s more like family.”

             
He seems happy with the response. “And the guy I met yesterday at the store? Is he your boyfriend?”

             
“Doug? He’s just a friend, too.” I wonder where he’s going with this.

             
“And the man who pumped my gas this morning on the way to the hotel? Is he your boyfriend?”

             
“I don’t know, I wasn’t with you at all. But no.”

             
Shade smirks, pleased with the answer. “You seem nervous around men.”

             
Crapshit
, that’s personal. “I find you intimidating.”

             
“You should be intimidated by me.” He nods for no reason, except as an excuse for a literary pause. “You’re very honest. You’re a mystery, Miss
Stool
.”

             
Me? Mystery? Miss
Stool
? You’re? All his words confound me.

             
“There’s nothing mysterious about me.”

             
“I think you’re very self-contained.”

             
Am I?
How am I managing that?
I don’t know, Subconscious, stop asking me so many questions.

             
“Except when you blush, of course, which is often.”

             
“Do you always make such personal observations?”

             
“Have I offended you?” He takes a bite out of a blueberry muffin. Even the piece of muffin being chewed in his mouth is sexy.

             
“No.”

             
“Good.”

             
“But, you’re very high-handed.”

             
He raises his eyebrows. They sparkle, somehow.

             
“I’m used to getting my own way,
Chastity
. In all things.”

             
“Why haven’t you asked me to call you by your first name?” I feel brave asking him. I even puff my chest out a little before losing my breath. How did this conversation turn so serious? Is he trying to turn me off?

             
“The only people who use my given name are my family and a few close friends. That’s the way I like it.”

             
What a control freak. Maybe Melissa and him should hook-up instead. Melissa-Shade. I slap myself in the head for thinking it. The person at the table next to me looks at me weird. Shade gives me a sidelong glance.

             
“Tell me everything about your family,” he says.

             
“My mom lives in Alabama with her husband. My stepdad lives in Montesano.”

             
“And your father?”

             
“Died when I was a baby.”

             
“And is he still dead?”

             
“Yes.”

             
“I’m sorry.” A troubled look crosses his face.

             
“And your mother remarried?”

             
I snort, loud and drawn-out. “You could say that.”

             
“You’re not giving much away. I remember you asking me personal questions.”

             
Holy high-heeled crap nuggets!
He remembered the “gay” question. I’m mortified. I start babbling nonsense to not think about it.
             
“Mango stamp wiggle waggle.”

             
“That was gibberish,” he coolly point out.

             
“My mom is a hopeless romantic. She’s on her fourth husband.”

             
Sebastian raises his eyebrows.
They had gone back
down from the last time he raised them.

             
“Do you get along with your stepfather?”

             
“Rick?...He’s taciturn.” That was my word today on my word-a-day calendar.

             
“Taciturn like his stepdaughter,” Shade prompts.

             
My eyes begin to roll at him, but I stop them halfway with my two fingers. The rolling of my eyes is so strong it eventually won.

             
“You lived with him?”

             
“Yes, my mom met Hubby number three when I was fifteen. I stayed with Rick.”

             
He frowns, curiously.

             
“Tell me about your parents,” I ask.

             
He shrugs. His shoulders making an ethereal chime sound.

             
“My dad’s a lawyer and my mom is a pediatrician.”

             
“What do your siblings do?”

             
“Windsor is in construction and my little sister is in Paris, earning Michelin stars or something.” He doesn’t like to talk about himself or his family. I wonder why. It’s almost psychological-like.

             
“I hear Paris is nice. But it’s England I really want to visit.”

             
“Because?”

             
Concentrate,
Stool
. Stop getting girl boners.

             
“It’s the home of Shakespeare, Jane Austen, the Brontes, E.L. James. I’d like to see the places that inspired them to write great books.”

             
“I see,” he says, vacantly.

             
Books remind me of studying for some reason. “I better go. I have to study.”

             
“For your exams.”

             
“Yes.”

             
“I’ll walk you back to your car.”

             
“Thank you for the tea, Mr. Shade.”

             
He smiles a smile that hides a secret smile.

             
“You’re welcome,
Chastity
. It’s my pleasure.”

             
He holds out his hand. I take it, bemused, befuddled, bewildered, besmirched, bereft, bedazzled. We walk out of the coffee shop.

             
“What are those on your legs?” he suddenly asks.

             
I look down. “Jeans.”

             
“Jeans.” He sounds out the word. “Do you always wear those?”

             
“Do you have a girlfriend?” Okay, so I don’t like to segue.

             
His lips quirk up in a half-smile—or half-not-smile, depending if you’re an optimist or cynic.

             
“No, Chastity, I don’
t do the girlfriend thing.”

             
Does that mean he’s gay? Or maybe he’s attracted to farm animals. Picturing him kissing a dog, I stumble headfirst into the road.

             
“Shit,
Chastity
!” Shade cries. He pulls me back into him, just as a cyclist is whizzing by
,
barely missing me.

             
It happened so fast. I was suddenly in his arms, against his chest. I inhale his scent. He smells like soap and clothing. Richboy.

             
“Why are you smelling me?” he asks. Then I open my eyes and stop. “Are you okay?”

             
My brain answers him.
Kiss me! I need to be kissed by you. Why won’t you kiss me?

             
“
Chastity
, you should stay away from me.”

             
What?

             
“I said you should stay away from me.”

             
Weirded out by him answering the question in my mind, again, I move on. What did he mean he’s not for me?

             
“I’m going to stand you up and let you go.” He let’s go and I
immediately
fall
to the ground
. I don’t know why my br
ain didn’t relay the message to
my legs. I stand up.

             
The adrenaline that spiked through my body goes away. I just realized the one man that I wanted, Sebastian Shade, rejected the crap out of me. I was devastated.
He really doesn’t want me
.

             
“Thank you,” I say, hiding humiliation.

             
“For what?” he frowns.

             
“For saving my life and then ripping my heart out, you bastard.”

             
“Excuse me?”

             
“I mean, for saving my life,” I correct, voice lowered. 

             
“Well, he was riding the wrong way that idiot cyclist. I’m having him killed as we speak.”

             
I hear a blood-curdling scream of torment from nearby.

             
The realizations come back and haunt me—
He doesn’t want me. What was I thinking? Sebastian Shade is out of my league. How do they get that leaf shape in the coffee milk?

             
I make my way to the front of the hotel with Shade walking behind me. I just want to leave.

             
“Thanks again for the tea and the photo shoot,” I say, walking away.

             
“
Chastity
, I—” This make me stop in my tracks. I hear an anguish in his voice that gets my attention. I just want to leave this embarrassment behind and go. But something makes me stay another moment. Maybe the decision-making part of my brain just got a temporary cancer.

             
“What, Sebastian?” I snap.

             
“Good luck with your exams.”

             
That’s freakin it?

             
“Thanks.” I can’t disguise the dry sarcasm in my voice. I think it’s the English tea I drank.

             
“Good-bye, Mr. Shade.” I turn and leave him for the hotel garage.

             
Stop!
My subconscious tells me. But I don’t. I continue on. I’ve never felt this way about any man before, and he rejects me. I knew I didn’t have a chance with Sebastian Shade, but still. I find myself crying on the shoulder of a person who just got out of their car next to me.

             
“Can I help you, Miss?” the kindly old man asked me, confused.

             
I take a deep, steadying breath and I collect myself. I head for Melissa’s car, wiping tears as I do. I tell myself to put Sebastian Shade out of my thoughts. No more, finished, finito. I will not think of him ever again.

             
Sebastian Shade.

             
Damn i
t!

             
I put my pen down. Finished. My four hundred and thirty-second and last final exam is over. That’s it. A Cheshire cat grin spreads on my face (cliché #5). I look over at Melissa who is across the room still scribbling. She finally finishes. A Cheshire cat grin (duplicate cliché, bonus points!) spreads across her face as well.

It’s Friday, we should celebrate. I’m going to get drunk tonight. For the first time ever. What could go wrong?

Melissa and I get back to the apartment.

“
Chastity
, there’s a package for you.”

Odd, I haven’t ordered anything. And there’s no return address. I hope it’s not a Hello Kitty vibrator from my mom again.
Moms
.

“Open it!” Melissa exclaims. She grabs the champagne from the kitchen, in celebration of no more pencils, no more books, no more teachers’ dirty looks.

I open the parcel. There’s a note inside:

Why didn’t you tell me there was danger? Why didn’t you warn me?