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- Э. Л. Джеймс
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”
I
wouldn
’
t
have
figured
him
for
a
Britney
fan
.
The
club
-
mix
,
techno
beat
assaults
us
both
,
and
Christian
turns
the
volume
down
.
Maybe
it
’
s
too
early
for
this
:
Britney
’
s
at
her
most
sultry
.
“
‘
Toxic
,
’
eh
?
”
Christian
grins
.
“
I
don
’
t
know
what
you
mean
.
”
I
feign
innocence
.
He
turns
the
music
down
a
little
more
,
and
inside
I
am
hugging
myself
.
My
inner
goddess
is
standing
on
the
podium
awaiting
her
gold
medal
.
He
turned
the
music
down
.
Victory
!
“
I
didn
’
t
put
that
song
on
my
iPod
,
”
he
says
casually
,
and
puts
his
foot
down
so
that
I
am
thrown
back
into
my
seat
as
the
car
accelerates
along
the
freeway
.
What
?
He
knows
what
he
’
s
doing
,
the
bastard
.
Who
did
?
And
I
have
to
listen
to
Britney
going
on
and
on
.
Who
…
who
?
The
song
ends
and
the
iPod
shuffles
to
Damien
Rice
being
mournful
.
Who
?
Who
?
I
stare
out
the
window
,
my
stomach
churning
.
Who
?
“
It
was
Leila
,
”
he
answers
my
unspoken
thoughts
.
How
does
he
do
that
?
“
Leila
?
”
“
An
ex
,
who
put
the
song
on
my
iPod
.
”
