God, she needed another couple hours of sleep. “What time is it?” she muttered, scooping up the phone.
Somehow she managed to answer the call before it went to voicemail. She blinked at the display, her eyes refusing to focus, and heard a small voice from far away ask, “Jo?”
A male voice. Not Miranda,she thought, brushing away the hair plastered to the side of her face. Thank you, Jesus.
Taking a shuddery breath, Joanne put the phone to her ear. “Hey,” she said as she stifled a yawn. “Who is this?”
“It’s me. Did I wake you?”
Me who?But what she said was, “No, not at all.” Then she yawned loudly and blinked at the LED display of her alarm clock, which read 2:45Shit.Her brows knit together in confusion. “Who’s this again?”
“Michael,” came the reply. A heart beat later, he prompted, “Your brother?”
“Oh, yeah, hey.” Joanne yawned again, her head drooping back to the mattress. “What’s up?”