Paul needs not to do stupid things.
Originally published in our July 2015 newsletter
Paul groans when his phone rings, conscious but not really awake. He rolls right to grope for it, but hits Alex’s face before rolling back the other way towards his night stand. Instead of finishing unpacking at any point over the last four days, they’d rearranged the bedroom, twice. Paul isn’t entirely sure why, although he suspects it’s his fault.
He slaps his phone off, and breathes heavily, staring at the ceiling and debating consciousness. It’s a beautiful California morning and he has nowhere to be. Which means he should be writing if he’s not still sleeping. Alex makes an annoyed sound next to him, and as if on cue Paul’s phone starts ringing again.
He curses under his breath. It’s Carly.
He rolls himself out of bed and into the hallway so he won’t bother Alex with whatever this is. “God, what?” he says when he’s halfway downstairs.
“We won,” she says.
“What did we win?” Paul has no idea what she’s talking about, but he’s pretty sure that’s his fault and not hers.