The Art of Submission by Ella Dominguez

off of Isabel. I immediately head
home and get packed. I call my people and get my business plane
chartered for Dallas and still no call or message from the Isabel.
The whole situation will just have to wait until I get back.
    The plane ride to Dallas goes smoothly. The
pretty redheaded co-pilot was making eyes at me, and normally I
might entertain the thought of indulging in her, but I just can’t
stop thinking about Isabel. What is it about her? Is it just her
paintings that I’m drawn to or is there more?
    We make good time, and it’s only 4:45 p.m. by
the time I arrive at my hotel. I no sooner start to get settled in
and Sawyer is at my door to pick me up. Fine. Let’s do this.
    It’s 10:30 p.m. when I arrive back at
the hotel and the semi-crisis has been averted. I check my messages
and nothing. Like a fool, I
check again. Yep. Still nothing. What gives? How thickheaded is
this female? This would be a non-issue had she never come to my
office, but as it stands – she did. Now she won’t even return my
fucking message. I’m tired. I’m going to sleep this off. I get
showered and settled in.
    Shimmering blonde hair… warm amber eyes…
inviting wet mouth… I am standing above her. She’s kneeling,
looking down at her hands. I lift her face to meet my eyes. I
slowly bend down and kiss her deeply. She tastes so good…..
    Alarm clock, loud and obtrusive. No… it’s too early . I just want to
sleep a little more and keep dreaming of Isabel. Okay. I’m awake. I
can’t take it anymore. I need to see this girl. If she doesn’t
respond or call me by this afternoon, I can’t be held responsible
for my or my alter ego’s actions.
    It’s 11:00 a.m. and I’m back in Denver.
Much to my dismay, there’s still no message from Isabel. On my way
back home, I take an out of the way detour and find myself in front
of her apartment building. I’m sitting in my car deciding on my
next plan of attack, when I see Greer coming out of the front
doors. Why the fuck is he here? He looks frustrated and I know it must be because of
Isabel; she seems to have that effect on men. I don’t like the
thought of her frustrating him or any other man, for that matter.
As he heads towards his car, he’s nervously looking around, but he
doesn’t see me. I get out of my car and head to the front entrance.
I buzz her apartment number. No answer. I buzz it again. Then… her
voice.
    “What?!” She snaps.
    Whoa….what’s she so pissed about? “Isabel.
This is Dylan Young. Can I come up?”
    There’s no response from the other end,
but the door buzzes open. I’ll take that as a yes. There’s no
elevator in the old dilapidated building so I head up the stairs to
the 3 rd floor. The stairwell
is dirty and moderately run down. I can hear loud music coming from
one the apartments, and what sounds to be a loud argument from
another. Interesting neighbors. Why is a girl as pretty and
talented as she is living in a neighborhood like this? She can
certainly do better . I’d love to help her
do better…
    I’m standing in front of her apartment
door, and I hesitate. Why the fuck am I so anxious? It’s just a
girl. Pull it together,
Young . I knock on her door and I hear shuffling. The
door slowly opens, and there stands the angel from my
dreams.
    She’s even more attractive than I
remember. She has a small snub nose and a light dusting of freckles
on her cheeks. Her lips are full and her mouth the shape of a
heart. Her eyes are almond-shaped and staring widely at me. Her
hair is just past her shoulders and wavy, and it isn’t just blonde;
it’s the color of champagne. She’s half standing behind the door,
peeking out at me from behind her long blonde lashes. She’s not
wearing a stitch of make-up and she looks absolutely stunning. With
her free hand, she’s fidgeting with a lock of her hair, twirling it
between her fingers. She gives me a nervous half smile then looks
down at the ground. No sweetheart, I want
to see those eyes….
    I