Paul clearly believed in revisionist history. For someone who could hardly remember the last, say, fifteen hours, he had no problem filling Jameson in on all the details, many of which were completely untrue.

“After I sealed the deal with Becca, she was like, ‘Paul, tell me I’m worth more than a one-night-stand.’ What kinda girl talks like that after sex, honestly? She might as well have screamed, “Affirm me! Affirm me!”

“You slept with her?” Jameson said, suddenly feeling jealous. But why should he feel jealous? He was crazy about Prandi, not Becca. Right?

Righteous indignation swept through his veins. “You knew how I felt about her!”

He took a swing at Paul, who on account of his swollen eye, never saw it coming, but took it standing nevertheless.

“I’m sorry, did you say something?” Paul said, laughing. “I was distracted. I think a mosquito just bit me.”

When Jameson stormed out of the room, Paul called Sassy. “I think it worked. He’s on his way right now. You better be right about this.”