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When I'm thinking it's right And to think we've found the time
The door to the bedroom slammed open, the sudden noise shocking Alex out of her slumber. She flailed, and the comforter wrapped tighter around her person with the thrashing of her arms and legs as she quickly attempted to right herself.
"What the fuck?" She shouted in alarm, freeing her right hand from the entangled fabric to viciously rub the sleep from her eyes, intent on identifying her assailant.
Her vision eventually cleared, and there stood Josh, casually leaned against the doorframe, a mischievous smile upon his face and a cocktail in his hand. "Get dressed, Sleeping Beauty. We're going to light up this town," he announced, sipping from the glass nonchalantly.
Alex huffed and covered her head with a pillow. "Just leave me. Your presence has exhausted me physically, mentally, and emotionally," she whined dramatically, the words slightly muffled beneath the fabric.
"Then we're doing something right," he reveled, no doubt with a smirk, as a chuckle slipped past his lips.
She lifted her weight from the mattress and threw the pillow previously shielding her face at him, but it simply bounced off the now vacant doorway.
There would be no further discussion on the matter, clearly.
After dressing as commanded by the wee warlord, Alex joined the foursome already pregaming in the kitchen. Danny dutifully passed along her drink like the attentive host he was. "You have a nice nap?" The drummer asked cordially.
"Yeah, I dreamt I was anywhere but here," she grumbled past the rim of her glass, still bitter over the manner in which she was awakened.
Unbothered by her surly attitude, Sam threw an arm over her shoulder and shook it ferociously. Even with the unexpected jostling, Alex was able to save her cocktail from spilling, like a pro. "We have our own little hostage," he announced with glee.
"And interacting with you four is my torture," she snipped, elbowing the bassist off of her. He theatrically faked an injury to his tiny bird chest. Utterly wounded by her light jab.
Josh interrupted his display of abuse. "A blissful torture, I'm sure," he mused with a wave of the hands.
Alex set him with a half-hearted glare. "You know, delusion is diagnosable," she challenged.
"Then, baby, we've all got the sickness," the frontman finished the last word with a screech that, to him, would have qualified as singing. She felt her eyes roll but couldn't bite back the smile overtaking her features. His absurdity was undoubtedly charming.
Chugging her drink, she slammed the empty back on the counter, where it clinked delightfully off the granite. "Whatever. Where are we going anyway?"
