Tate groaned and burrowed further under the pillows. But Jameson refused to be ignored and suddenly the mattress was shaking underneath her. “What!?” she snapped, pushing herself up. “What time is it!?” “It's eight o'clock. C'mon, get up,” he urged. He was leaning over her, both of his palms flat on the mattress, shoving it up and down. “Eight!? Jameson, we just went to sleep like two hours ago! Go away,” she groaned, starting to lay back down. But he grabbed her arm, pulling her sideways off the bed. “No no no, time to get up. I have a surprise for you,” he offered, helping her to stand up. “I hate surprises,” she complained, but followed as he dragged her to the bathroom. “You'll like this, I promise,” he assured her. “Doubtful. I just want to sleep, Jameson. I'm sore in ways you can't even imagine.”
