“Ouch!” I yelled out. What the fuck?

Smack! And then smack! again.

He was spanking me, or to be more precise, he was smacking me hard on my bare bottom. I felt like I’d just sat in ice cubes. I rolled off him, sat bolt upright, and pushed him to the side as I tried to find my panties.

“Hey, what’s the matter?” he said, a little fuzzy.

“I’m not feeling well,” I mumbled. “I’ve got to go.”

“Are you okay? I thought you were into it.” He watched me straighten my top and wriggle into my panties.

“Yeah, I’m fine. It’s just been a long night.”

Troy tried to focus on me and what I was doing. He moved back into the driver’s seat and fixed his clothes. He looked totally composed as I continued my wrestling with my panties. Watching me with disinterest in the rearview mirror, he waited patiently for me to fix my clothes. Troy made no offer of apology; he had dead eyes.

“Are you okay to drive?” he asked.

I knew I wasn’t, but I couldn’t deal with him trying to take me home.

I don’t know what I said, but soon I found myself in my car and heading up San Vicente back toward Hollywood. I rolled the window down and hoped the air whipping my face and hair would keep me alert. Driving was definitely not a good idea. I gripped the steering wheel tightly with both hands and tried to drive the speed limit and stay in my lane.

I made it home without killing anyone. I took two Tylenol and drank a big glass of water and hoped I wouldn’t feel as bad in the morning as I knew I was going to feel.

The water and Tylenol didn’t help. I woke up Sunday morning feeling horrible. When I did a scene-by-scene breakdown of the night before, my stomach became even more sour.

I was immobilized on the green marshmallow, surfing through 500 channels of nothing, when the phone rang. I would just have let it go to voice mail, but each ring seared right through my temples and into my throbbing head. After five rings, I feebly picked up the cordless.

“Hello?”

“Hey . . .”

I froze. It was Dave, his voice low and familiar. It had been four and a half months, but there wasn’t any need to say who it was.

“How are you, Dani?”

“I’m great, Dave,” I said, sitting straight up, trying not to sound half dead. “And how are you?”

“I’m good, I’m good.”