Page 7 of Pack End Game

The incessant ringing gives up for a moment, sparing my eardrums, before starting up again.

"Whose phone is that?" I call out to the apartment, then remember I haven't shared a living space in years. Not since college, unless you count the three-week stint that my twin brother, Milo, spent living on my sofa when his last girlfriend dumped him for being more interested in March Madness than meeting her family.

Either the ringing phone belongs to me, or I need to grab the baseball bat I keep beside my bed and prepare to defend myself against an intruder sorely lacking in stealth.

So far today, I've only gotten off the couch for bathroom breaks and a snack run to the kitchen, which I'm pretty sure counts as exercise. The rest of my time has been spent binge-watching holiday romcoms that I missed last Christmas because I was so busy at work. I remember having my phone at some point after my snack run because I looked up the scent of an actor I thought was awfully attractive.

Grapes. Who smells like grapes? I wonder if he'll smell like wine when he gets older and inevitably turns into a total silver fox babe.

The damn phone stops ringing briefly, then restarts again.

Someone is really desperate to get hold of me. I hope everything is okay at the office, because I really don't want to put on real pants. I glance down the length of my body at the pajama pants with the space ship pattern that Milo gave me for our last birthday as a joke.

That's what I get for giving him a set of coordinated sex toys for last year’s birthday. In return, he held on tightly to a one-off joke I made about how the products are so good they would keep selling themselves if Quinn ever got sick of me and shipped me off to outer space.

I writhe around on the couch, shoving my hands into all of the usual nooks and crannies where my phone likes to hide, but my search comes up empty. The last thing I want to do is get up to search, and I swear the damn thing is too loud to be ringing in another room.

"Come out of your hidey hole, phone!" I shout frustratingly into the void.

As my search grows more desperate, I miscalculate my distance from the edge of the couch and go careening over the side. I splatter like bird poop on the floor of my living room, glaring up at the ceiling as my limbs try to remember how to function like a normal human being.

Why does the ringing sound louder down here?

I turn my head to the side and see the glint of my sparkly phone case peeking out from beneath the couch. "How the heck did you get down there?" I ask while snatching the phone out from underneath my former post and simultaneously cursing myself for not silencing the dang thing.

I don't even bother to check who's calling before answering with a breathless, "Hello?"

"Mia!" my brother screeches my name in an unusual pitch that would be hilarious if he didn't sound so panicked. "Finally! Why haven't you been picking up?"

Pushing myself upright helps to make me feel like I'm taking his call more seriously. "I'm so sorry, I'm at work and was in a very serious work meeting with my boss to talk about, uhm, work." A little white lie is totally permissible at a time like this, right? "Why? What's wrong? Are you hurt? What hospital are you at? Or police station? You know I would never judge you, but I would prefer to know in advance if I need to be your alibi. Blink once for no, twice for yes. And do it loudly, so I can hear your blinking through the phone."

"Please pause your rambling long enough to listen," Milo begs, his voice growing even more urgent.

"Okay, okay. I'm listening." In fact, I press my lips together as tightly as possible to keep any more words from spilling out. Sometimes I babble in high-stakes scenarios. I'm not actually the best person to call in an emergency unless the emergency has to do with an under-performing sex toy, in which case I'm definitely your gal.

Shit, I'm supposed to be listening.

I tune back in just as my brother concludes with, "That means he's stuck in the bathroom for the foreseeable future, and the studio doesn't have anyone available that could get here fast enough to film me for the live half-time update. That's why I'm calling you, Mia. I need someone who can get to the stadium in time to film me when the Sloths go to halftime. Otherwise, I won't even be able to blame the studio for firing me because I'm the one who thought it was a good idea to feed my camera guy gas station hotdogs thirty minutes before game time!"

"Don't you dare get fired from your job because I don't think I could survive you staying on my couch again," I warn. I'm already rising to my feet with the newfound energy of a twin whose sibling is in need of a superhero-worthy assist. "You know I would do anything for you, Milo. Just tell me when and where to be."

"Oh, thank fuck," he mumbles under his breath. "Your office is a twelve-minute walk from the stadium, and by my estimate, we'll be going to halftime in about twenty minutes, so I need you to leave now. I'll text you the exact location of the gate where I'll meet you with press credentials for the game."

"Twenty minutes?" I repeat with dread, eyes widening with horror as the consequences of my white lie hit much faster than expected.

Sure, my office is a twelve-minute walk from the stadium.

My apartment, on the other hand, is more like twenty minutes away. And that's if you travel by a steady jog or a slow run, neither of which I consider preferred activities. I'm not even sure I have the right shoes for such activities.

Milo doesn't seem to register my panic. "Make sure to bring your coat. The wind isn't as brutal on the field, but the temperature drop after sundown is a killer. Thank you, Mia! I owe you one!"

"Wait, Milo, I might need a little more..." I trail off as I realize he already hung up.

Shit. Fuck. Shit.

What the hell am I going to do? His request would be perfectly reasonable if I were actually at work like he expected me to be. My brother is one of my best friends, second only to Belle, who ranks first solely on the basis that she's more fun to gossip with. The last thing I want to do is let him down, no matter how pitiful I currently feel on the inside.

Glancing down, I remember I'm looking pretty pathetic on the outside, too, but there's absolutely no time to waste picking out the perfect outfit.