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This is such bullshit.  I jump up out of bed and head out into the hallway to call her. She immediately picks up.
    “You just can’t stay away from me, can you D?” she asks.
    “Serious ly, Erika, stop texting and calling me or I’ll file a restraining order on your ass, do you understand?” 
    “Oh , you will not. Stop being so bitter. What’s wrong? Doesn’t Isabel like you talking to your exes?”
    Bitter? She has no fucking idea just how bitter I am. “I told you not to ask about Isabel and I meant it.  What the fuck do you want?”
    “I told you in the texts, I want to meet in person so we can discuss some things.”
    “Discuss what? How you plan on trying to blackmail me again?”
    “I already told you that my contacting you doesn’t involve any money. I was just hoping maybe you would try and persuade me to keep my mouth shut,” she says cloyingly sweet.
    What the fuck does she mean by that?  “Look, if you have something to say, then just come out and say it.”
    “I will; in person.”
    I hate this woman and her bullshit games. “Whatever, Erika. When?”
    “Tomorrow if the weather allows at Dub’s Pub.”
    “Tomorrow is fine but I’ll pick the place. I’ll be damned if I’m meeting up with you at one of your local hangouts. We can meet at Vallagoise’s. I’ll text you the time later. I mean it, don’t text me again or call me at this number.”  Erika starts to stay something but I hang up on her, not wanting to hear anymore of her bullshit.
    I stand in the hallway for a few minutes feeling unsettled. When I turn a round to go back inside, Isabel is standing just inside the doorway looking at me puzzled.
    “Why are you out here?” s he asks. 
    Fuck. Don’t do it, Young. Don’t lie to her again. “I didn’t want to wake you,” I say, but even I can hear my own deceptiveness in my answer. 
    Isabel furrows her eyebrows at me and scans me up and down. “You know y ou’re a terrible liar, right?”
    What the fuck? Her reply takes me completely by surprise.
    “You’ve been lying to me all damned day and I’ve about had it. If you don’t want to tell me what’s wrong , then fine, but just stop lying, okay?”
    How the hell does she know me so well? I give up. I can’t argue with her. “Fine,” I tell her and we sulk back into her apartment.
    ***

Isabel
    After my spanking I just want to go back to sleep. Dylan’s lying is more than I can stand at this point. He’s never lied to me before, that I know of, but today he’s seems to be on a roll. He’s pouting from my scolding and he gets undressed quickly and crawls under the blankets. I crawl in next to him and snuggle up to him, but he seems put off. I was hoping for some nookie but I guess that’s not going to happen. I roll over on my side and fall asleep.
    I wake up to the sound of Dylan’s v oice. When I sit up I hear it - that fucking name again . He hasn’t said her name in at least three months and now suddenly he’s dreaming about her again after he proposes to me? Is that a coincidence? I doubt it. I get out of bed and try to contain my rage. I get on some PJ’s, shoes and my coat and head down stairs to check my mailbox and try to take my mind off of being so damned angry.
    When I get back inside the apartment, I thumb through the mail and find a letter addre ssed to me from Cherry Canyon Gallery, the gallery that is hosting my show and the gallery which Dylan sits on the creative board.
    Inside the envelope is a letter stating that I’ve been commissioned to paint a piece by an anonymous buyer. My heart skips a beat. Me? Someone specifically requested that I paint them a piece? I feel myself smiling like a loon. I look at the second letter and it’s from the buyer. In it are very specific instructions on what they want to be portrayed in the painting. And by specific I mean, very detailed descriptions. The sexual positions are frankly boring and very vanilla in nature, but whatever. Who am I to judge a