THANK YOU! HOPE YOU ENJOY AND HOPING THE PACE IS GETTING A BIT BETTER! :)

IN TOO DEEP

Chapter 7

CHRISTIAN POINT OF VIEW

"20 dollars, sir," Taylor wagers convincingly as we start wandering through the backyard together, carrying our plastic water bottles and our golf clubs.

I laugh as I unscrew the lid on my bottle, taking a sip. "20 dollars, Taylor? How about we raise that to 50?"

Dull as it probably is to admit to, I live for these moments of waking up early on Saturday mornings to play a round of golf with Taylor, my head of security and one of my closest and longest friends. We've been doing this non-stop for 7 years since Taylor first admitted to me that he's fond of a good challenging game of golf, and we haven't looked back ever since.

I find it relaxing, the distraction golf with Taylor provides. Rarely do I feel I am able to let loose and relax as much as I am when I'm with Taylor, playing a boisterous round of golf in the backyard.

Taylor hesitates, clenching his jaw in thought. Then, just like I knew he would, the offer proves too tempting. "Fine, you're on," he agrees, wincing when we shake on it, legitimizing our bet. "Gail's not gonna be happy I'm gambling with my money again though."

"Live a little," I say, inhaling in a lungful of the frosty morning air.

"Easy for you to say when you have no misses to answer to anymore. I'm still left in the doghouse after losing that 100 last week." Gail is Taylor's wife. They've been married for over 23 years and have a beautiful 15 year old daughter. Although Taylor isn't officially on duty on weekends, we both like our competitive morning games of golf. He's really the only person I'd consider to be a friend.

We wedge a tee into the ground and I grab the balls out of my jacket pocket. A few years back, I specifically had someone over to make my backyard into a makeshift golf track. It isn't as big as the usual golfing field is, of course, but it does well for us.

"So," Taylor grunts meaningfully as I take the first go.

I line up sideways after putting my ball on top of the tee, getting into position with my club. "So what, Taylor?"

"So, have you given anymore thought into what I mentioned last week?"

He throws me off, disrupting any small bit of concentration I had. I turn back to look at him while running my gloved fingers through my hair. Last week, Taylor mentioned, on behalf of his wife, a woman my age that his wife is close friends with. Apparently Gail is under the opinion that it might do me some good to 'get back into the game', as Taylor puts in. In other words, start dating again.

I'd given it a brief bit of thought, but decided against it ultimately. I'm too busy.

"My schedules too tight, Taylor," I tell him. "I work 9 to 6. Added with the fact that I have a 17 year old daughter that is extremely demanding, I don't much have the time for it." It's a lie, of course. I'm not really all that busy. I do get free time to myself, especially on weekends. I'm just not ready yet. 3 years and still, I don't feel ready.

"Your schedules too tight?" Taylor repeats, and I know he's seen straight through me. He huffs out a laugh, shaking his head. "Man, it'll take you less than 2 hours to go on a date with this woman. Dinner, dessert. That's it. Gail thinks it will do you some good."

"Really, I appreciate the suggestion but I'm fine, Taylor," I say tightly.

"She's not coming back, if that's what you're hoping?"

I have to turn away from him, hiding my face. Instead, I line up again, gripping the club tight between my gloved fingers. "I know that, Taylor. And I'm not expecting her to."

"She's already moved on, sir. It took her- what? 5 minutes after the divorce was probably settled before she was jumping into that guy's arms." He's telling me shit I already know, interfering with my concentration. "You need to get back out there. Even if you aren't waiting around for her, like you say... it's the healthiest thing to do."

He's right, and I know that. I'm not waiting around for her, but... there's always a small glimmer of hope inside me that she'll get tired of the new asshole, that she'll run back to me, to Kate, and we'll be one big happy fucking family again. My feelings for my ex are more... complicated than I can describe.

On one hand, I hate her with all I'm worth. I resent her, I loathe her. Yet... there's a part of me that isn't quite ready to give her up completely yet. It's pathetic; 3 years and she doesn't give a shit about me. Her actions and how happy she is with this new asshole show otherwise; That picture I saw on my daughters Facebook page, all of that.

I know, even if she did decide to come back out of the blue, I probably wouldn't take her back. Too much shit has happened, too much trust has been broken. I think it's the whole fear of the unknown that scares the living shit out of me. If I start dating again, it's a completely different scene than what it was, say, 17 years ago where there wasn't as much advanced technology or so called rules.

I'd married Kate's mother the instance we were out of high school and of age, mainly because it was right and expected. I'd gotten her pregnant with Kate, and that was the way it was supposed to go. But dating now, in this day and age?

The thought is absolutely daunting...

"I got married straight after I turned 18, Taylor," I point out to him in frustration. "She was my 1st girlfriend, I got her pregnant with Kate, and we got married as soon as we could. What the hell do I know about the whole dating scene?"

"She managed it fine with that new fucker, didn't she?" One of the reasons I like and trust Taylor so much, is that when it happened, when she decided to leave me, he was on my side, he had my back. He feels exactly the same way I do, he felt just as betrayed as I did at the time. He calls the asshole boyfriend 'the fucker'- mirroring my thoughts precisely on the guy now fucking my bitch ex. "Who's to say you won't either? It might help bring some confidence back in you that you've been lacking ever since it happened?"

"Like I said, I appreciate the suggestion, but I'm fine," I say dismissively, pulling my arm back. Smoothly, I whirl the club down, hitting the ball. It sails far into the air and I whistle appreciatively as it goes. "I have a wonderful daughter who I get along well with. As far as I'm concerned, that's all I need in my life right now."

Taylor groans in aggravation and I know I'm being stubborn. But it's just the way I feel.

"Just think about it," Taylor keeps up as I hike up the lawn to where my ball is. "It's all I'm saying. Keep it in mind." He follows me while practicing his swing. "Even if it's just for some harmless fun, it might do you some good. And I know Katherine will be happy to see you getting back out there and making an informed decision to move on with your life." Reaching over, he claps me on my back, a gesture of friendship, comrade. "This lady Gail knows, she's a real pretty, nice girl. Who knows? You might have some fun with her?"

I line up again, trying to focus, but then Taylor's at it again, catching me off-guard.

"Or maybe you're already back in there, you sly bastard," he laughs, and he slaps me on the arm. "You keeping her all to yourself while letting Gail worry?"

"What?" I turn to glance at him in confusion.

He jerks his shoulder, pointing out back towards the house, grinning. I look where he's looking and see her. Anastasia is standing by the window of my daughter's bedroom, peering outside at the lawn. I think perhaps she's watching us play. The realization and wrong assumption makes my cheeks sting.

"That's Anastasia, Taylor. She's my daughters best friend."

"Oh, whoops." Taylor cringes in embarrassment. "Sorry. Must be something wrong with my eyesight these days. Thought she looked older than your daughter is from where we're standing all the way back here?"

"She's only 17," I explain, shaking my head, horrified at the thought. How could Taylor even begin to get the impression?

While I'd enjoyed speaking to her last night, I'd never once considered looking at her in that particular way. Nor should I ever, of course. I would only be a pervert to, especially seeing as she's my daughters age, she's her friend.

She may seem wiser and more mature for her years, and yes, now that Taylor has made me think of it, she's beautiful and charming with her certain innocence and intuition.

I remember the way her finger stroked mine softly when I accidentally held her hand for longer than I'd meant to last night. How good it feels to succeed in making her laugh, in holding and obtaining her attention and interest.

The way she'd looked at me with those large blue eyes of hers when she stood near my daughter's closed bedroom door. How she appeared almost daring, almost... now come to think of it, as though she was wanting or expecting something from me before she went back into my daughter's bedroom.

I shake my head, turning away to carry on with our game.

Now Taylor's got me overthinking things. He's got me entertaining thoughts I shouldn't even begin to be thinking about in the 1st place.

ANASTASIA POINT OF VIEW

When I wake the next morning, I almost forget just where I am. I'm in a room that clearly isn't mine, the walls covered with posters of 'hot guys' and guys in bands- Kate's version of 'hot' anyway. Early Saturday light streams in from her white see-through curtains.

I sit up slowly against the headboard, staring down at my best friend Kate. I'm always the one who seems to be waking before Kate; Every time I sleep over here, I'll wake to find her still sleeping heavily. She basically falls into a coma when she sleeps, her blonde hair strewn around her pillow, her breaths shallow and restful.

Being careful as possible not to wake her, I grab my phone, checking the time on the screen. And it's only 8.00 in the morning... Sometimes I wish I was able to sleep in as well and late as Kate seems to be able to. She always looks so comfy.

Last night comes into mind as I trace around my lips with my fingers distractedly. Last night, sitting downstairs on the step, speaking to Mr Grey. I cannot suppress how glad I am to have had a moment in private with him, where we could hold a decent conversation together.

Then I remember the way he was crying in the kitchen and I immediately feel glum and not so happy. I've never really seen a man cry before. It depresses me that I found Christian, of all men, crying in the dead of the night in the kitchen. And to know it was over his ex wife too...

It's just really sad to know he's hurting. Maybe it's me idolizing him a bit too much because of this silly crush I'm nursing on him, but he's the last person I feel should be grieving over his divorce.

He's amazing. Funny, inspiring. A great dad to Kate, so interesting to talk to, amazing voice, wonderful body. Charming, and not to mention, downright hot. Like fire sizzling hot. And he doesn't even know it.

He doesn't even know how gorgeous and wonderful he is. Maybe it's the fact that he's so humble and ignorant of his own good-looks and charms that makes him appeal to me so much? I don't know.

I actually felt an urge to kiss him last night. Which is ridiculous, I know.

But for a moment there, while listening to his spine-tingling voice as he spoke about being a supposed 'old man', I actually felt really tempted to lean down and kiss him while I was helping him up off the bottom step.

I'm sure he didn't even really need me to help him up, because I've seen him doing his early morning runs and even play golf with his security friend Taylor and I'm positive his knees didn't play up on him all those times that he did.

But there was a second there where I'd stared at his mouth, and I'd wondered how it would feel to be kissed by him, and what would happen if we did end up kissing. I know it would cause some serious problems and major conundrums if we ever did, and he probably doesn't even see me in that way whatsoever to begin with.

I just really wanted to kiss him, especially after seeing him upset and emotional the way he had been.

I really need to get my crap together and stop fantasizing or wishing for something that is unlikely to ever happen.

Curling my legs out of the sheets, I climb off the bed, moving around her room quietly in just my socks. I head towards the window, pulling back the white lace curtains gently as I peer out at the view.

Kate is so lucky. The Grey's even have a marvelous backyard, with a well-kept and maintained green yard that goes on for miles. It's also the area where Mr Grey, I mean Christian, loves to play his game of morning golf on early Saturday's.

The instance my eyes sweep over the raised part of the lawn, I see them standing together, talking animatedly while holding their long golf clubs. Christian Grey and his security guy, Taylor.

Christian's all rugged-up for the morning in a fleece blue jumper and denim jeans, with white sneakers. He always seems to wear only one white glove- on the dominant hand he uses to powerfully swing his club. It ashames me to admit I've been observing him playing golf with Taylor a lot, that I know all about that glove.

My infatuation is bordering on disturbing probably.

My best friend's sleepy, thick voice brings me back to the now. "Hey, what you looking at over there?"

My cheeks feeling warm, I immediately close the curtains up, turning back around to look at her. "Nothing, sleepyhead. Welcome back to the real world."

She sits up, her heavy-lidded blue eyes blinking around the room. "What time is it?"

"8.30 in the morning, I think."

"8.30?" Her voice is like a whine. "It's too early!" She flops back down onto her back with a sigh. "I'm going back to sleep."

"Fine then. I'm gonna go downstairs and get some breakfast then." I ask, even although I already know what her answer will be, "Want me to make you something?"

"Like you even need to ask," she grumbles into her pillow.

"Okay." I smile at the back of her tangled, blonde head. "Eggs on toast?"

"Hell, yes!"

I laugh as I grab my bag, unzipping it to slip into a warm woolen cardigan over my tank top. I head downstairs towards the kitchen, putting fresh coffee in the pot because I know Christian likes his coffee after a golfing session. Yes, I've been here enough times to know that, silly as it is. I find a pan and turn on the stove, getting all my ingredients prepared for breakfast.

I hear them on the patio talking just as I've switched on the toaster to toast some bread.

"Good game, Taylor," Christian says. "Here's your money."

"Very good game, sir. So what should I tell Gail?"

"Tell Gail fine, whatever she says. Get her to send her details through and I'll give her a call to set something up. Dinner, like you say."

My heart seems to stop when I make a bit of sense of Christian's words. Dinner? Send her details through? He must be going on a date or something. It shouldn't bother me the way it does. I mean, realistically nothing could- or should- ever happen. I'm his daughters friend, someone he could never see romantically. I'm way too young for him, and he's way too good for me, after all.

And after last night, how sad he was in his kitchen when he thought no one was looking, he definitely deserves to be happy, even if that means dating someone or meeting someone new. Besides, it has nothing to do with me. It's none of my business.

Trying to shake off whatever strange thing it is I'm feeling, I plop in four slices of bread, trying to focus on my main task of breakfast at hand instead of eavesdropping. Fortunately, the coffee starts brewing loudly in the maker, drowning out their voices.

Once the stove is heated enough, I pour in some oil, then crack the eggs. Then the toast pops up in the toaster, so I focus on spreading butter. I turn to locate a knife in the kitchen drawer to see Christian striding into the room, done with his golfing session. He peels off the velcro strap on his white glove, lifting his head to look at me. He seems to still from walking when he notices me making breakfast.

"Good morning, Anastasia," he says, in that spine-tingling voice of his.

"Morning," I murmur, turning away quickly. The conversation I overheard won't seem to leave my mind. I wish it would. Again, it has nothing to do with me whatsoever.

"Did you sleep well?" he asks.

"Yeah, I did. Really well. You?"

"I didn't sleep too bad. What's for breakfast this morning?"

"Eggs on toast," I explain, keeping my eyes low on the butter I'm spreading. "Would you like some as well?"

"Of course, thank you." He wanders behind me and I fight against the temptation to turn and see what he's looking at. "And you already turned the coffee pot on, I see?"

"I did."

"Thank you." I sense him standing around behind me as I put toast on three individual plates, but I'm not sure what he's doing. "Where's that daughter of mine?"

"Still sleeping upstairs." I wonder if he notices how I am only able to answer in short sentences.

"I guess I shouldn't have asked. Of course she's still upstairs sleeping."

I hear a strange noise behind me, the noise of a zipper being pulled undone. And, stupid me, of course I immediately turn and look.

He removes his fleece jumper, folding it over his arm. Then, without preparing me whatsoever, he grabs the neck of his shirt, and he tugs, pulling the shirt he is wearing up and off his body. I almost drop the knife I'm holding, my eyes going right there to his bare chest.

Mr Grey has taken his shirt off in front of me a few times before. In all those times, I couldn't have looked away even if I'd had superhuman determination. It's embarrassing but his body is amazing, even for a near 40 year old. Toned skin and abdominal s, with muscular biceps. And there I am, frozen, ogling him as he waits for the coffee maker to finish, completely unaware. He truly takes my breath away.

Why am I so weird?

I hear the eggs and oil splatter in the pan and that requires my concentration very well. I turn away hurriedly to lower the heat on the stove.

"Tea?" His voice startles me, and when I turn to look at him with a questioning look, I make sure my eyes are on nothing else but his. His gray eyes stare back at me, waiting. "Would you like a cup of tea?" he explains further, and I feel so stupid.

"Oh. Um, yes, please."

He's made me a cup of tea quite a few times of a morning when I've stayed here during the weekends. He knows how I like my tea just like I know he requires his coffee.

"Good golfing game, Mr Grey?" I force myself to ask as I flip the eggs over. Conversation would really help right now. I feel like I'm hyperventilating at the knowledge that he's making me a cup of tea without his shirt on.

"It was. Taylor won this time surprisingly."

"Oh, no." I know that he and Taylor sometimes bet money. "How much did it cost you?"

"50 dollars," he admits behind me, sounding apprehensive.

I laugh, "Ouch. Bad luck."

"Yeah, and now his wife Gail wants to set me up with this friend of hers..." I'm not entirely sure whether he's meaning to let me know that, but after last night, I'd hope he'd know that he can confide in me and trust me. "I have a feeling that's going to be a sheer disaster."

"Oh." I try to sound anything but disappointed. It shouldn't surprise me, particularly when I heard them outside talking about it. "Why?"

"Because I haven't dated in an extremely long time, Anastasia. I can't see it going so well at all."

"Well, you never know," I mutter, trying to sound supportive. I force myself to say it while keeping my eyes on the eggs, though it feels hard, "It might do you some good anyway. It's probably what you need."

"You think? How so?"

"Because maybe you've been alone for a long time? 3 years?"

"Tell me," he says, and immediately I'm drawn to him at the desperation in his voice. He's holding both our mugs in each of his hands, my tea, bag in. His coffee. "I haven't done the whole dating thing since I was at least 17 and I met Kate's mother. How much do you feel its changed compared to back then as far as the whole... dating game goes and the rules in place for it?"

His question makes me speechless. I stare at him for a moment, before averting my eyes, taking my mug from him. "Um, I'm not entirely sure how to answer that. I..." I hesitate, feeling my cheeks go red. How can I tell him that I've never even experienced going out on a date with someone before? 17 and not even a single invite out to the movies from a guy at school. "I guess I'm the wrong person you should be asking, Christian. I really don't have any, um... experience with that." I laugh nervously, just to break the ice.

CHRISTIAN POINT OF VIEW

"I haven't done the whole dating thing since I was at least 17 and I met Kate's mother. How much do you feel its changed compared to back then as far as the whole... dating game goes and the rules in place for it?" The instance the question leaves my mouth, I wish I was capable of going back in time and erasing it from ever leaving my mouth.

Last thing Anastasia wants is me, Kate's father, an old codger, asking her for advice. She probably thinks I'm so idiotic. Only when I meet her gaze again, I realize she looks... uncomfortable? She can't even look me directly in the eye. Instead, she obviously prefers to stare at the tea bag simmering away in the mug.

"Um, I'm not entirely sure how to answer that. I..." She finally answers, then she stops again. I notice her cheeks redden slightly, adding color to her alabaster skin. Now why do I find that so strangely adorable and endearing of her? "I guess I'm the wrong person you should be asking, Christian. I really don't have any, um... experience with that." A breathless laugh escapes her, one that sounds nervous.

Seeing myself outside from another angle, it occurs to me what I'm doing. I'm just standing there, in front of her in what probably is to her in an extremely imposing way, not wearing my shirt, blistering cigarette burn scars on show, an old 38 year old man standing before her, practically blocking her up against the counter and near the stove. It's truly no wonder she seems so uncomfortable right now.

She refuses to look at me, her blue eyes remain downcast on her mug. Then she brings it to her lips, holding it just inches below her top lip, her eyes still looking anywhere but directly at me, her lips parting as she blows to cool her hot drink off.

She doesn't want to see my disgusting body. I'm an old flabby man to her. What the hell was I thinking, taking my shirt off while she's in the room? Clearly I wasn't thinking at all.

She clears her throat gently, hoarsely, her eyes still on her mug. She's going to tell me off, tell me to put my shirt back on. It's revolting her, seeing me bare-chested. But then her dark eyelashes sweep up as her front teeth catch that bottom lip of hers, tugging, pulling... and her eyes glide over my stomach and up my chest in one sudden brief move. She doesn't look an ounce disgusted at all. I have no idea what to think. She may as well be from another planet.

"I'm honestly... not the best person to ask for dating advice," she murmurs softly, surprising me.

Here I was, bracing myself for her to call me out on being inappropriate, that I'm disgusting her.

"I mean, um..." She shakes her head a little, releasing her lip from her teeth, and I can hear her breathing going heavier for some reason. It's like she's struggling how to breathe. "I wouldn't... know." She drags her eyes down to the liquid in her mug again, her voice dropping to a whisper. "I mean, I just..." I see her roll her eyes, like she's annoyed at perhaps herself, then she clears her throat again. "I mean, all I can really tell you is that... you should just try to be yourself. That's really all, um... I can give you, as far as advice goes."

Using her other hand, she reaches up, scratching the side of her neck. I see her eyes roll in annoyance again.

"Be myself?" I repeat.

"Yeah, just... be yourself." Then she says, so low I suspect I've misheard her, "I mean, I've never had a boyfriend or been on even one single date before so..."

I can't help the smile that comes across my face after drinking a mouthful of my coffee. "What?" I demand, unable to believe her. "Did you just say that you've never even been on one single date before?" I know my daughter Katherine has been out on a couple of dates before.

At 15, I had the pleasure of intimidating some boy that intended to take her out to the movies. It's the highlight every father looks forward to when it comes to their daughters; Interrogating and putting off any potential boyfriends. But how can Anastasia possibly not have been on even one single date before with a boy?

"I haven't," she admits, pursing her lips over the rim of her mug. She drinks a mouthful of her English Breakfast tea, her throat muscles moving as she swallows.

Before I can ask her more out of general curiosity, a shrieking noise comes from the stairs, alarming me. "Gross, Dad!" Katherine stands there, still dressed in her pajamas, her blonde hair frizzy. "Oh, my God! Can you please put a shirt on and stop embarrassing me in front of my friend?" She covers her eyes in disgust. "Jesus!"

It must be an instinctive, automatic thing a father does. He has the power to embarrass his own daughter without even trying.

"I apologize," I say to my daughter, putting my coffee down. "I was just about to go take a shower anyway." I grab my shirt, covering myself back up quickly to appease her. "Sorry, Anastasia."

I think I hear her mutter something that sounds faintly like "Don't be" but I could be mistaken.

"How about you keep your shirt on next time?" My daughter whines, shaking her head. Finally moving her hands away from her face, she shakes her head again, staring at me with her eyebrows raised. It's a look that, sadly, reminds me of her mother; a spitting-image. "Not everyone wants to see your body, okay? Especially not my best friend! It's so frigging embarrassing!"

ANASTASIA POINT OF VIEW

"Not everyone wants to see your body, okay?" Kate is almost screaming, while her father looks so embarrassed. Even with his shirt put back on, he goes to extra lengths to drape his fleece jumper over his stomach. I wish she wouldn't overreact because, really, I definitely wasn't complaining, but she's over-blowing it out of proportion. "Especially not my best friend! It's so frigging embarrassing!"

He mutters something about being really sorry, then he grabs his coffee cup, stalking out of the room upstairs to go take his shower, I guess.

But wow. I slurp in another sip of my tea while turning to check on the eggs, realizing I'm well overcooking them. His body. Wonderful sense of humor, charming, humorous when he wants to be. Humble. A great dad to Kate. So fascinating. And that body. The whole package. I mean, wow.

HOPE THIS ONE WASN'T BAD, I HAVE A FEELING IT WAS TERRIBLY WRITTEN. I WILL TRY UP THE PACE A BIT. LOVE TO KNOW WHAT YOU THINK ABOUT CHRISTIAN STARTING DATING AGAIN BY GAIL SETTING HIM UP WITH HER FRIEND? I THINK WE ALL KNOW HOW THAT WILL TURN OUT ;) SORRY IF I AM WRITING ANA A BIT CREEPY, I KNOW A REVIEWER SAID. SHE HAS JUST GOT IT BAD IF THAT MAKES SENSE? HOPING IT ISN'T HORRIBLE, I STILL GET SO STRESSED! THANKS FOR BEING REALLY KIND!