Saturday, June 11th 2011 - evening
.
Mia and Ana join the ten other women onstage.
"Gentlemen, the highlight of the evening!" the MC announces, straining to be heard over the babble of apres-dinner conversation. "The moment you've all been waiting for! These twelve lovely ladies have all agreed to auction their first dance to the highest bidder!"
Abruptly, I see the shock on Ana's face, and around the edges of her mask, extending down the edge of her gown, I see her go pink, and grin at the realization that this is a shock to her.
Yes, Ana, I've had my fair share of getting pulled into things by Mia as well.
"Now gentlemen, pray gather around, and take a good look at what could be yours for the first dance," the MC continues, "Twelve comely and compliant wenches." I know he's playing it up, joking, because otherwise, this would be a very different story.
I make my way in front of the stage, threading my way through tables, stopping to say hello to a few people on my way over. Once I, and the throng of other men, are in place, the MC begins the raffle.
"Ladies and gentlemen, in the tradition of the masquerade we shall maintain the mystery behind the masks and stick to first names only. First up we have the lovely Jada."
Jada is a young lady in a long navy blue taffeta gown, with matching mask. She is bidded off for $5,000.
As the next girl is auctioned off, I glue my eyes to Ana, who, beside Mia, looks very engrossed in whatever conversation they are having. Mia looks very animated, and Ana a little unassuming and shocked.
What the hell is Mia telling her?
"And now, allow me to introduce the beautiful Ana," the MC says, and I perk up immediately.
I see her cast a nervous glance at Mia, who urges her to center stage. Ana steps forward-I'm half afraid she'll trip and tumble right over the edge-but she's fine, surprisingly graceful as she comes to rest in the middle of the platform.
She looks extremely uncomfortable and embarrassed and out of her element, and I can't help but chuckle at her.
Ana catches me smirking at her and narrows her eyes.
"Beautiful Ana plays six musical instruments, speaks fluent Mandarin, and is keen on yoga," the MC bullshits. "Well, gentlemen-"
Before he can finish, I call out, "Ten thousand dollars."
"Fifteen," someone counters. The entire crowd turns to stare at who's spoken, the man standing by the stage. As abruptly as my rage and possessiveness has risen, it dissipates as quickly when I see that it's Flynn standing there, gazing at me with humored challenge in his eyes.
I can't help but smile at him, amused now. I know he won't outbid me, but you can bet as sure as hell, that he's going to urge a fair amount of money out of me.
Flynn nods at me in greeting.
"Well, gentlemen!" the MC calls, just as oblivious as everyone else, especially Ana. Oh hell, what is she going to think of this? The thought fills me with amusement. "We have high rollers in the house this evening."
"Twenty," I say now.
Around us, everyone has fallen silent. We are the stars of the show now.
"Twenty-five," Flynn counters.
How high is he going to go? I wonder.
Whatever. It's for a good cause.
"One hundred thousand dollars," I decide on.
Flynn holds up his hands, palms forward, laughing. I smirk at him.
I win.
"One hundred thousand dollars for the lovely Ana!" the MC cries excitedly, "Going once... Going twice..." He looks pointedly at Flynn, who shakes his head and bows deeply, conceding defeat. "Sold!"
The applause and cheering explode in a deafening burst, and I step forward to help Ana off the stage, kissing the back of her hand on the way down. I tuck it into the crook of my elbow, and lead her toward the exit.
Now is our opportunity. I'll kill the next person who tries to stop us. Including my sister... Maybe.
"Who was that?" she asks as we stride away from the crowd.
I gaze at her. "Someone you can meet later. Right now, I want to show you something. We have about thirty minutes until the First Dance Auction finishes. Then we have to be back on the dance floor so that I can enjoy that dance I paid for."
"A very expensive dance," she says lowly, and I'm pretty sure I hear disapproval in her voice.
"I'm sure it'll be worth every single cent." I grin down at her.
.
I take her into the house, up two flights of stairs, down the hall, and through the second door on the right.
As I shut and lock the door behind me I say, "This was my room."
Sudden, apprehensive emotion floods my chest as I watch her take it in, appraising the plain white furniture, the double bed, desk and chair, bookshelves filled to the brim, kick-boxing trophies-which my parents thought would help tame my school brawling, and redirect all of my anger, which in a way it did. I found a real passion in kickboxing, but Elena was the one who introduced me to the lifestyle which created the biggest shift. Movie posters, and two framed posters of famous kickboxeres-Guiseppe DeNatale and Romie Adanza dominate the wall.
Her gaze shifts, over to the bulletin board over my old desk-photos, Mariners pennants, ticket stubs from concerts and recitals... It's strange to watch her take it all in, the room of my childhood. I find myself wondering how things would have been different if, by impossible circumstances, I'd met Anastasia when I was fifteen.
Her eyes come back to me, and I can feel myself stirring again. Watching her stand in the middle of my room, appraising it all, is strangely alluring... The lust, which I've fought back too many damn times this evening, opens up wide inside me.
"I've never brought a girl in here," I admit.
"Never?" she barely breathes.
I shake my head back and forth, slowly.
She is the first, as always. For maybe more things than I've realized.
The lust roars like a lion inside me now, not wanting to be ignored, demanding to be felt. I'm harder than I've been in a very long time, and the need to bury myself inside her is insatiable. To feel that smooth, warm skin against mine, to feel it under my hands...
I can hardly think through the delirium the lust instills.
"We don't have long, Anastasia, and the way I'm feeling right this moment, we won't need long. Turn around. Let me get you out of that dress."
She turns away from me, and I step up to her.
"Keep the mask on," I whisper in her ear.
I hear her groan, and smirk behind her back, where I know she can't see me.
I haven't even touched you yet, baby.
In one fluid motion, I unzip her gown, exposing that perfect expanse of back to me, the corseted strings of the black lingerie contrasting amazingly.
I help her out of the dress and sling it carefully over the back of the desk chair, then remove my jacket, placing it on top.
I take a moment to just stare, to drink in the tall glass of water that is Anastasia Steele. I don't think I'll ever get enough of her. Especially in that little outfit, and those stellar shoes.
I untie my bow tie, then the top three buttons of my shirt. "You know, Anastasia, I was so mad when you bought my auction lot. All manner of ideas ran through my head. I had to remind myself that punishment is off the menu. But then you volunteered." Abruptly, I am overwhelmed by this woman. So fucking impressed by her ability to adapt. She has exceeded all of the expectations I ever had of her. She's better than I could have dreamed. Unexpected, challenging, always doing what I least expect. "Why did you do that?" I can only breathe, awed by her.
"Volunteer?" she asks, "I don't know. Frustration... Too much alcohol... Worthy cause." She shrugs.
"I vowed to myself I would not spank you again, even if you begged me," I tell her.
"Please."
"But then I realized," I continue, "you're probably very uncomfortable at the moment, and it's not something you're used to." I smirk at her. Being the virgin that she was, she has never had to deal with anything of the sort. Everything about this is new to her, and it's all mine.
"Yes."
"So, there might be a certain... Latitude," I decide. Can I do this? Find balance? I don't think so. I'm not sure I can fully give it up, but I'm as sure as hell I'm not going back to it full-force again... A torrent of confusion and apprehension floods through my mind. "If I do this, you must promise me one thing." And this is vital.
"Anything," she vows.
"You will safe-word if you need to, and I will just make love to you, okay?"
"Yes," she promises, those full, perfect lips parting to accommodate her sudden shallow breaths.
I swallow hard, so many conflicting thoughts buzzing in my head, like a swarm of angry hornets. I don't think I can do this, but at the same time, I am. Doing it. Fear and panic and wariness and a whole sea of other emotions riot through me. But she wants this. And it's okay. Lovers spank their lovers all the time.
I step over to the bed and remove the duvet. I lower myself onto the edge of the mattress, and place a pillow beside me, to support her.
I gaze up at her for just a moment, and then tug her hard, so that she falls over my lap. I reorient my weight, moving her so that her body is resting on the bed, her chest on the pillow, face turned to one side.
I sweep her hair over her shoulder, so that I can see her face, and run my fingers through those bright blue feathers on her mask.
I can feel myself sinking, like settling into a hot bubble bath. The bliss, the peace surrounds me, along with a heady excitement that I've always loved. This is always how I imagined being high would be. The feeling was nothing until Anastasia walked in.
To compare how I felt before her, to how I feel now would be impossible.
Everything is intensified-the bad, the good...
"Put your hands behind your back."
She does, and I tug my bow tie over my neck, tying her hands quickly.
Oh, fuck she looks divine.
"You really want this, Anastasia?" I ask her. I can hear my voice, rough and low with need.
I watch her eyelids flutter shut, her lashes like butterfly's wings on her cheeks. "Yes."
"Why?" I urge, bringing my hand down softly, running it over the soft, soft skin of her ass. The panties do nothing.
She groans softly as I touch her. "Do I need a reason?"
"No, baby, you don't. I'm just trying to understand you."
I can't wait any longer, and understanding her aside, I want this, she wants this...
I bring my hand up, curling my other around her waist, to hold her still, and bring it down again, smacking her just above the junction of her thighs, where I know it will feel... Overwhelming.
That's one...
She moans, loudly, and I spank her again, in the same place.
And two...
Her succeeding groans light my blood on fire.
"Two. We'll go with twelve."
I hit her again, and once more, on either side, and then slowly, very slowly, peel off her panties.
I caress, then spank, caress, then spank. Again, and again.
Each time my hand makes contact with her behind, and as I watch it go pink under my palm, the lust grows stronger, more stifling, hotter.
Another, and another...
"Twelve," I finish, relieved that it's over. Relieved that I've gotten through it, that I haven't dissociated, that I feel... Satisfied with this. That I haven't lost fucking control, that she hasn't safe-worded.
I skate my fingers down, between her legs, and push two fingers into her.
Ooh... The warm, wet tightness that greets me is heaven.
I move my fingers in a circle, feeling every inch of her, and she moans loudly in response, and abruptly explodes. She shakes around me, tensing and spasming, her breathing harsh, her moans loud, intense, needful. Toward the end they quiet, and then cease all together.
"That's right, baby," I murmur when I know she's finished.
I free her wrists with my free hand, keeping my other hand where it is. She is exhausted, panting on my lap.
"I'm not finished with you yet, Anastasia," I tell her, and shift onto my knees without removing my fingers from inside her.
I free my hard-on and roll on a condom.
"Open your legs."
She does, exposing that lovely, moist part of herself to me, and only me, and I revel in it. This is mine. All fucking mine. I am one lucky son-of-a-bitch.
Positioning myself, I sink into her.
I clench my jaw at the sensation, as she sheaths me, surrounds me. She is warmer than I am, and so fucking soaked.
"This is going to be quick, baby," I caution her. I grip her hips, pull completely out of her, and plunge back in, sharply.
She cries out in response to my assault, but I hardly hear it. I'm already piquing, angels singing in my ears, going higher and higher.
Unexpectedly, she pushes back against me, meeting me thrust for fucking thrust, and my eyes roll back in my head.
Fucking yes.
But no. I don't want this to be over yet, and if she keeps doing what she's doing, I'm going to come like a kid watching porn for the first time.
"Ana, no," I hear myself grunt, hands tightening on her hips, in a vain attempt to stifle her movements. Oh fucking hell, she feels good.
She grinds that ass into me, in perfect synchronization with my beats, and that's it.
The angels chorus and the world falls away from me.
I come, pulsing inside of her, and she comes apart around me, triggered by my orgasm.
For an instant I am blind, only those eyes, so blue, filling my vision, my every thought.
Then clarity returns, and I realize I'm lying spent over her back.
I stir, kissing her back. How long have we been here? I've been lost in her scent, in her skin, in her warmth-for hours maybe.
"I believe you owe me a dance, Miss Steele," I remind her, glancing idly at my watch. It's only been fifteen minutes.
She hums gently, not moving.
I lean back, pulling her with me, into my lap.
"We don't have long. Come on."
I kiss her glossy hair and push her into a standing position, half-expecting her to fall over.
As we finish dressing once more-her more so than me-I find her appraising the bulletin board again, and I wonder what she sees there. I wonder what she could possibly be thinking, about teen-aged Christian Fucking Grey...
I watch her further inspect the photos and ticket stubs-Elliot, Mia and I on the slopes, myself in under the Arc de Triomphe at sixteen, in London and New York, and the Grand Canyon. Sydney, and China as well. The memories of those trips elicit a fondness that is different than something I've felt recently. It's almost a homesickness, for the boy I was then, though sullen and self-abhorrent, I was safe and adventurous. Somewhere along the way, I'd lost that. But I realize that I'm finding it again, with Anastasia.
"Who's this?" she asks.
I glance over, at the photo in the corner, and I'm surprised and ashamed to find the photo of the crack whore there. I don't know why I'd kept it...
"No one of consequence. Shall I zip you up?"
.
We rejoin the party just in time, as everyone assembles on the dance floor.
My mother and father start off the proceedings, as always, and the man onstage begins to sing a rendition of Frank Sinatra's "I've Got You Under My Skin."
It's as easy as breathing to take Anastasia into my arms, and begin to sway to the music, listening to every lyric, allowing it to seep right to my very core.
"I love this song," I tell her, staring into those heavenly blue eyes. Where just a moment before I felt as if I were floating on air, suddenly my mood sobers, and I'm very serious. "Seems very fitting."
"You're under my skin, too," she echoes back to me, and then, "Or you were in your bedroom."
I purse my lips in attempt to hide my humor, but I don't think I succeed.
"Miss Steele, I had no idea you could be so crude."
"Mr. Grey," she replies, "neither did I. I think it's all my recent experiences. They've been an education."
We turn slowly, brushing past another dancing couple. "For both of us."
She's teaching me so many unfathomable things.
The song comes to an end, and we release each other to applaud the singer, who bows graciously, and introduces his band.
"May I cut in?" Flynn's voice floats over my shoulder.
It almost pains me to do it, but I let her go, an odd bit of amusement filtering in as well. It would be like Flynn to push my buttons. He warned me he'd do it at our most recent appointment.
"Be my guest. Anastasia, this is John Flynn," I introduce them, "John, Anastasia."
She obviously looks very surprised, and I grin, turning and heading off in the opposite direction. I take up post on the edge of the dance floor, and watch them dance, converse. It kills me to not know what they're saying.
The minute the song is over, I dash back over to them.
"It's been a pleasure to meet you, Anastasia," Flynn tells her now, warmly smiling at her.
"John." I nod at him.
"Christian." Flynn nods back, and walks away.
I pull her vivacious body back to mine, and we begin to move to the music again.
"He's much younger than I expected. And terribly indiscreet," she says.
Intrigued, I tilt my head to the side. "Indiscreet?"
"Oh, yes," she enthuses, clearly catching on to my interest, "He told me everything."
Reflexively, I feel my shoulders tense. I certainly hope not. "Well, in that case, I'll get your bag. I'm sure you want nothing more to do with me."
I mean for it to come off as a joke-I think-but she stops dancing now, clearly panicked.
"He didn't tell me anything!"
I blink, potent relief flooding me, and I realize I wasn't joking. Flynn knows more than anyone-more than Anastasia, even. If he's told her everything, she'll not want anything more to do with me; that's for damn sure.
Conflict is suddenly at war inside me. I want to be with her so badly, to share my life, my world, with her. But if I can't tell her everything there is to tell about me, if she doesn't know everything, I feel like she wouldn't know all of me.
But I'm so ashamed...
I shake off the thoughts and pull her into my arms again. "Then let's enjoy this dance."
.
Anastasia steps away to use the restroom.
She takes longer than is usual, and I find myself beginning to panic. I excuse myself from the conversation I've been having and head over to the temporary restrooms.
She's not there.
Casually, I jog up to the house, to the powder room inside.
I knock on the door.
"Anastasia?" I call through.
There is no answer, and when I try the knob, I find it's unlocked. I swing the door open to reveal an empty room, and the panic really starts to set in.
I burst up the stairs, checking the restrooms on that level, as well as the ones on the third level, as well as my childhood bedroom. She's not in any of those places either, and the delirium elicited by the hysteria is beginning to cloud out any sort of logical thought.
I text Taylor. He'll be where she is, won't he? Won't he?
A mere twenty seconds later, my Blackberry beeps.
TAYLOR: Dining tent. Having a conversation with Mrs. Lincoln.
What the fuck?! She told me she wasn't even coming!
Trying to stay inconspicuous, but exploding with a multitude of indefinable emotions, I make my way back outside, and across the lawn.
Just as I burst through the entrance to the tent, I see them.
Elena is seated at a far table, mask off, glaring after Anastasia. Ana is stalking toward us, a stern look of determination and fury on her face. I can see the blue fire flickering in her irises, through the mask.
What the fuck were they talking about? Why the hell would Elena think it okay to approach Anastasia? Why is Anastasia so mad?
Though I'm angry and flustered, the panic quickly fades when I see her coming toward me, unscathed. I can't get rid of the awful images in my mind. They overcome me when I least expect it, when she's out of my sight for a moment too long.
Leila isn't here. She isn't going to hurt her.
"There you are," I say to her, and I can hear the relief in my voice. Unconsciously, I think, I frown over her shoulder at Elena.
I need to talk to her.
Surprising me, Ana says nothing, and stalks right past me. What the fuck? Is she angry with me? What the hell did I do? What did Elena say?
She will have to wait. Anastasia is slipping through the entrance of the tent, back onto the lawn now, and I turn, heading after her immediately.
"Ana!" She stops abruptly, turning to face me. I catch up with her quickly, in a few long strides. "What's wrong?"
"Why don't you ask your ex?" she spits.
Whoa. What the hell.
I feel the corner of my mouth twist in displeasure at her tone with me.
"I'm asking you."
She doesn't say a word, and we stand there, staring each other down, for too long a moment or two.
Something in her eyes falters, and she gives in.
"She's threatening to come after me if I hurt you again-probably with a whip," she barks.
Immediate respite hits me, and shockingly, humor as well.
"Surely the irony of that isn't lost on you?"
"This isn't funny, Christian!" she cries, seeing my ill-hidden amusement.
"No, you're right," I agree with her, "I'll talk to her." I force composure into my expression, still trying to force down that entertainment.
"You will do no such thing," she commands, folding her arms over her chest-which, might I point out, does amazing things to her breasts-and glaring at me.
I blink at her, surprised by her lingering anger. She really is very upset over this.
"Look," she says, "I know you're tied up with her financially, forgive the pun, but-" Abruptly, she cuts herself off, averting her eyes. Goddamn, what is she thinking? "I need the restroom," she finally says, leaving me abreast.
I sigh.
"Please don't be mad," I murmur, "I didn't know she was here. She said she wasn't coming." I reach up to trace her lower lip with my thumb. "Don't let Elena ruin our evening, please, Anastasia. She's really old news."
I'm hoping the last sentence will earn me a few points as I tilt her face up to mine and brush my lips against hers.
Mm... So soft...
She sighs, sweet breath bursting over my cheeks, and flutters her lashes at me.
I straighten and take her elbow.
"I'll accompany you to the powder room so you don't get interrupted again."
It isn't lost on me that the leftover panic from before still thrums in my chest. I'm not letting her out of my sight for the rest of the evening.
.
While Ana's in the restroom, my Blackberry begins to buzz. I pull it out of my pocket to see that Elena is calling me.
I sigh shortly and answer.
"What the hell was that about, Elena?" I snap immediately, my anger spiking unexpectedly.
"Christian-"
"I thought I told you not to talk to her, under any circumstances."
"Well..." She sounds ashamed, but after a momentary silence, she becomes indignant. "I changed my mind."
"Why did you change your mind? I thought we'd agreed."
"She needed to hear some things from me. She needed a warning. I'm worried about you. I just wanted her to know-"
"Well, leave her alone," I demand. "This is the first regular relationship I've ever had, and I don't want you jeopardizing it through some misplaced concern for me."
"Oh, Christian," she whines.
"Leave. Her. Alone. I mean it, Elena."
She's quiet for another minute, and I think she's going to hang up. But then she says: "You have to understand that I come from a place of concern for a friend, Christian. She hurt you so much. I had never heard you so broken up as I did last Saturday. Would you not feel the same if the situation had been reversed, if someone close to her had approached her in warning, out of concern for her as a friend?"
"No, of course not." I feel my frown deepen-of course one would be concerned for her, being involved with me, if they knew how black a soul I have-and I glance up, seeing Anastasia. She's much closer than I expected, and I wonder how much of the conversation she's overheard. "I have to go," I tell Elena, "Good night."
I hang up as she regards me, cocking her head to one side, raising an inquisitive eyebrow.
"How's the old news?" she asks.
"Cranky. Do you want to dance some more? Or would you like to go?" I glance at my watch. "The fireworks start in five minutes."
"I love fireworks," she enthuses.
"We'll stay and watch them then." I wrap my arms around her, pulling her close, burying my nose in her hair and inhaling her scent. "Don't let her come between us, please," I whisper.
"She cares about you."
"Yes, and I her... As a friend."
"I think it's more than a friendship to her," she argues.
I pull back slightly, feeling my brow crease. "Anastasia, Elena and I... It's complicated. We have a shared history. But it is just that, history. As I've said to you time and time again, she's a good friend. That's all. Please, forget about her." I plant a kiss on the top of her head, feeling how tense she stands in my arms.
She pulls back, I take her hand, and we amble back toward the dance floor.
.
We stay for the fireworks show-which takes me back to childhood memories once more-bid my family members goodbye, and head back to the car.
I'm exhausted and elated after our evening, despite the happenings with Elena. I feel as I'm basking in a warm glow, happier than I think I've ever been. This evening was... Fun. A lot of fun. I adored getting to spend it with Anastasia, and what I adore more is being able to take her home with me, make love in my bed, and fall asleep with her in my arms... I never want it to stop.
"Are you warm enough?" I ask her as we wait for the car.
"Yes, thank you." She wraps her wrap more tightly around her, hiding that perfect silky skin from my sight.
"I really enjoyed this evening, Anastasia," I indulge her, "Thank you." I mean it from the bottom of my heart. This is better than childhood memories. This is something entirely new, and I'm loving it. As terrifying as it is, it is also exhilarating.
"Me, too," she agrees, "Some parts more than others," she adds, grinning coyly.
I echo that smile and nod in agreement, watching her teeth close down on her bottom lip.
"Don't bite your lip," I warn.
She releases it. "What did you mean about a big day tomorrow?" she inquires suddenly, referring to what I said to Mia earlier, about our having to leave before the 'real party' got underway. Just an excuse for the younger people to bump and grind on the dance floor, really. I've usually long since retired by then.
"Dr. Greene is coming to sort you out," I explain, "Plus, I have a surprise for you."
"Dr. Greene!"
"Yes."
"Why?"
"Because I hate condoms," I explain lowly. I'm sick of their containment. I want to feel her... Every slick, warm, tight inch of her. Some small part of me reminds me she may not be impressed by the impromptu gynecologic appointment I've made in her honor.
"It's my body," she murmurs sourly.
"It's mine, too," I breathe.
She looks up at me, eyes lingering on mine, and I see the undeniable agreement in her eyes. It calls to me, a siren, deep inside, that expression. Suddenly, I want her again.
I'm not expecting it when she reaches up, and I flinch, but force myself not to move. Reminding myself that she knows the boundaries now.
Between her fingers, she pinches the corner of my bow tie, tugging it. I feel it come undone. Her fingers graze my throat as she releases the first button of my shirt, and it sends chills-the good kind-down my spine, straight to my dick.
"You look hot like this," she breathes.
I feel myself smile. "I need to get you home. Come."
When we reach the car, Sawyer hands me an envelope. Confused, I take it, glancing down at it. It's addressed to Anastasia, and I glance over at her as Taylor helps her into the car.
"Got it from a staff member, Sir," he explains.
No doubt from another secret admirer, I suppose.
I get in after her, sliding across the backseat, and hand the envelope to her.
Taylor and Sawyer slip in front, but I don't take my eyes off Anastasia.
"It's addressed to you," I explain, "One of the staff gave it to Sawyer. No doubt from yet another ensnared heart."
I hear the bitterness in my tone, and don't try to hide it.
She stares down at it for a moment, and then rips it open. As she reads it in the dim car light, I watch her face, watching the expressions pass over it: confusion, ambivalence, understanding, surprise, shock, anger, and back to confusion.
"You told her?" she says when she's finished.
"Told who, what?" I ask, not liking her tone, not liking what it may mean.
"That I call her Mrs. Robinson," she explains snappily.
"It's from Elena?" I feel the rage rattle my chest once more. For fuck's sake that woman is getting on my last nerve! What is with her lately? Why won't she leave Ana alone, despite my asking her to? Multitudes of times? "This is ridiculous," I mutter, "I'll deal with her tomorrow. Or Monday."
Her expression ambivalent, Anastasia slips the note into her clutch and pulls out the Ben Wa balls. She passes them over to me.
"Until next time," she murmurs, her voice low, her eyes dark.
I smirk at her, taking them. I squeeze her hand in the darkness of the car.
Suddenly, I can't wait to get home.