Freed (Fifty Shades as Told by Christian #3) - E.L. James Page 0,58

is the last game I’m going to play. It’s getting late; behind me, Elliot is watching. I don’t know where Ethan and Mac are. The final hand is in play, and both players beside me fold in turn. I have two jacks, and because this is the final game and I’m on a roll, I raise, and toss $16,000 worth of chips into the pot. The opponent on my left, a woman who must be in her fifties, folds immediately. “I’ve got nothing,” she grumbles.

My remaining opponent—who reminds me of my dad—glances at me, then back at his cards, and carefully, counting out chips, he matches my bet.

Game on, Grey.

The dealer collects the folded cards and briskly lays out the flop.

Hallelujah.

A jack and a pair of nines. I have a full house.

I stare impassively at my rival as he fidgets, checks his cards once more, his lively, dark eyes flitting to me and back to his cards. He swallows.

He’s got jack shit.

“Check,” my challenger says.

Showtime, Grey.

Slowly, for full effect, I tap my finger on the green baize, then gather my chips together and place $50,000 into the pot. “Raise,” I state.

The dealer responds, “Fifty-thousand-dollar raise.”

My opponent huffs, picks up his cards, and tosses them in disgust into the center of the table. Inside, I’m dancing. I’ve made $134K. Not bad for forty-five minutes of play.

“I’m done,” says the lady beside me, and she nods in my direction.

“Thanks for the game. I’ve got to go, too.” I toss a generous chip to the dealer as a tip, gather the rest of my winnings, and stand.

“Good night.”

Elliot steps forward and helps me with my chips.

“You’re a lucky son of a bitch,” he says.

Just before midnight, we board the plane.

“I’ll have an Armagnac, Sara, thank you.”

“Now you start drinking!” Elliot exclaims.

“We all came out on top,” Mac observes. “Must be your luck rubbing off on us, Christian.”

“I’ll drink to that,” says Ethan.

I smile, settling into the plush leather of my seat. Yes. My win is a good omen. What a great way to end a most enjoyable evening.

Sunday, July 24, 2011

As we begin our descent into Boeing Field I reach for my seat belt and chuckle to myself. I’ve spent most of today buckling and unbuckling.

Elliot, sitting opposite me, looks up. “What’s so funny?”

“Nothing. I just wanted to say thank you. For today. It’s been amazing.”

Elliot glances at his watch. “Technically, it was yesterday.”

“I had a blast. You’ve acquitted yourself well as best man. Your one remaining duty is to make a speech. Doesn’t have to be a long one.”

Elliot pales. “Dude. Don’t remind me.”

“Yeah.” I make a face. “I’ve still got to write my vows.”

“Shit. That’s heavy.” He’s horrified. “But this time next week it’ll all be over. You’ll be married.”

“Yeah. And on this plane.”

“Cool. Where are you taking Ana?”

“Europe. But it’s a surprise. She’s never left the U.S.”

“Wow.”

“I know. I never thought that I, I would…I can’t…” My voice trails off as a sudden unexpected surge of emotion sweeps over me. Is it fear, exhilaration, anxiety, or happiness? I don’t know, but it’s overwhelming.

Fuck. I’m getting married.

Elliot frowns. “Dude, why? You’re a good-looking guy. You’re a douche, but, hey, that’s because you’re a master of the universe with a big swinging dick.” He shakes his head. “I never understood why you weren’t interested in any of Mia’s friends. They were always crushing on you. Man, I thought you were gay.” He shrugs.

I smile, knowing my whole family thought I was gay. “I was just waiting for the right woman.”

“I think you found her.” His expression softens, but there’s a wistful look in his vivid blue eyes.

“I think I have.”

“Love suits you,” Elliot says, and I roll my eyes at him, because it’s possibly the sappiest thing he’s ever said to me.

“Get a room, boys,” Mac exclaims, and we touch down on the tarmac.

“I’m never going to let you forget that you’re the only groom in the Pacific Northwest who remained sober at his own bachelor party.”

I laugh. “Well, I’m just grateful I’m not handcuffed naked to a lamppost somewhere in Vegas.”

“Dude, if I ever get married, that’s exactly how I’d like to finish my bachelor party!” Elliot says.

“I’ll make a mental note.”

Elliot laughs. “Time to wake Ethan.”

Taylor is at the wheel of the Q7, driving Elliot and me back to Escala. Mac and Ethan, after some backslapping good-byes, have already left in a waiting cab. “Thanks for this evening, Taylor,” I say as I stretch out in the back. Elliot looks