S C O T T

"Hold on," Connor said, honey-colored eyes widening. He held up a hand and shook his head, eyeing me, "she kissed you?"

I scratched the back of my neck, cheeks flushing at his choice of words, "Kind of.. but no, not exactly," I mumbled, leaning back against the the couch, "she kissed right next to my lips. Lips definitely did touch a little, though."

"Scott!" Connor cried, throwing his arms up in frustration.

I shot him a defensive look, "What?"

"I'm single, you know what that means?" Connor didn't give me a chance to answer before he continued, "that I have to live my love-life vicariously through you. So you can't go around and fuck up our love-life and just not kiss, Elle! That's basically ruining our love-life, do you understand what I mean?"

I frowned and ruffled my hair, shooting Connor an annoyed look, "I don't have a love-life. And you have Kelly, so why haven't you kissed her?"

"Fine," Connor called, turning on his heels dramatically. He started stomping his way towards the kitchen, "when I end up with an amazing love-life and a huge mansion, don't try to live vicariously through me."

The second I had gotten home, I went into my room, changed into pajama bottoms and a t-shirt, and came out and told Connor about Elle's partial-kiss. He practically lunged at me, demanding every detail and making him retell our entire conversation up to the kiss. And while I appreciated how pumped he was for me, I was also getting annoyed because he just kept pointing out how I should have pulled her back and kissed her.

And part of me thought that he was right.

Part of me wished I had stood up, pulled Elle back, and given her a proper kiss instead of her giving me one that barely touched my lips. But then the other part of me was thinking: this is Elle - sarcastic, rude, somewhat annoying - that you're thinking about kissing.

I groaned, flopping onto my stomach, burying my face into the couch cushions. I just wanted to shut off my brain and go to sleep, but all I could hear was Connor slamming the cabinet doors in the kitchen shut. And then open. And then shut again. I groaned loudly again and rolled over, propping myself up on my elbow to glare at the back of his head.

Connor turned around and ruffled his hair, dark eyebrows furrowed, "I went food shopping and I'm fifty-percent sure I have left the milk in my trunk."

"Your car's gonna smell awful," I snorted, snatching the TV remote off the table and flicking the tv on.

Connor groaned now and told me he'd be right back before slipping out the door, grabbing his car keys. I flicked through the channels, setting on an old Leafs' game. Hockey season was coming up, and everyone was getting ready for the season. And on TV, all they seemed to play was repeats of games to get everyone even more pumped.

I closed my eyes and leaned back, listening to the soft hum of the TV; the sounds cheering and the referee's whistle the only things I could really hear. I yawned and threw my arm over my eyes, snuggling even further into the couch.

I shot up when I heard my phone ring, eyes blinking quickly to adjust to the light. I pushed myself off the couch, stumbling a bit as I walked to my phone on the counter. I blinked and leaned against the counter, snatching my phone and accepting the call, not bothering to check the caller I.D. It was probably Connor, anyway, asking me to go to the store with him for a new jug of milk.

"Scott?" a familiar voice said, and I coughed, eyes widening, "This is Scott Wilson, right?"

"Yes," I answered quickly, my nerves through the roof. Coach Monroe was on the other line, and that meant he was calling me to let me know whether I made the cut or not, "it's Scott."

I could hear my heartbeating rapidly, and I rubbed my sweaty palms against my plaid pajama bottoms. The moment of silence between Monroe and I seemed stretched out, each second ticking by. I nervously swallowed, running a hand through my hair anxiously as I waited for him to say something. But all I was met with was the sounds of papers being ruffled together.

I cleared my throat and tilted my head back, eyes focused on the ceiling. I could hear the soft sound of rain against the roof and I blinked, waiting to find out if I had made the team or not.

"Sorry, everything's a mess," Monroe mumbled, and my grip on the phone only tightened significantly, "all right, Scott. You did really great out there today, and I've seen a signifcant improvement since day one."

The seconds ticked by, Monroe adding the suspense as he cleared his throat, more papers being ruffled. I gripped the edge of the counter nervously, tapping my sock-clad feet impatiently against the floor.

"And - "

"Scott!" Connor shouted, cutting off whatever my coach was about to say, "I accidentally locked myself out! Can you get the door?"

I jumped up nervously, my phone almost sliding out of my hand. Scrambling, I pushed myself away from the counter, "One second," I said to Monroe, before turning towards the door, "Connor, shut up! I'll be there in a minute!"

I heard Connor protest, but I bolted down the hallway, phone held between my neck in chin. I slid across the wooden floors and stopped, pulling open the bathroom door and going inside. I pulled the door shut behind me and sighed, all of Connor's shouts of protest being cut off for the most part.

"Sorry," I apologized, clicking on the speaker phone and setting my phone on the edge of the tub, "I, um.. roommate problems."

Coach Monroe snorted, "Well, Scott, I don't think it'll be a problem for you to find out that you made the cut. I'll see you tomorrow, twelve o'clock sharp."

I thanked Coach Monroe and thew the bathroom door open, sprinting down the hallway. I grinned and threw my phone on the couch, heart hammering against my chest, but this time in happiness. I grinned even wider, complete and utter euphoria rushing through my veins. I made the first cut. I was this much closer to making the team!

"I made the team!" I shouted, just needing to say it. I fist-pumped the air, not caring how ridiculous I looked.

Connor pounded against the door again, and even that couldn't shake off my smile. Still grinning madly, I walked up and unlocked it, throwing the door open before pushing it shut. He turned to me, and that was when I noticed the small, furry, wet cat he held in his arms.

The smile slipped off my face as I stared at the gray puff-ball in Connor's arms, "Is that a cat?"

Connor gently put the cat on the floor, ruffling his wet hair, a wide grin on his face, "Scott," he said, pulling my attention from the cat biting at his ankles, "you made the team!"

"I made the team!" I yelled back, before Connor rushed forward and egulfed me in a hug. I grinned and hugged him back, laughing as he attempted to spin me, only to have me awkwardly slide down. But I didn't care, "I made the team!"

We spent a few minutes doing that; just saying, 'I made the team' and Connor congratulating me, telling me he knew it would happen. My phone buzzed again and I sprinted across the room, seeing Elle's name flash across the screen. Smiling, I unlocked my phone and clicked on the message she sent me.

Elle:

congrats of making the team, you totally deserved it.. of course you had some help, but still proud :')

I grinned and typed back a 'thank you' message, before turning back to Connor. He had the tiny, gray cat held securely in his arms and they both sat on the couch. I quirked one eyebrow, a thousand questions running through my head. So, I settled and asked the most obvious question on my mind.

"Why do you have a cat?" I asked, furrowing my eyebrows. Waving my hand, I cut myself off before Connor could answer, "How did you even get a cat? I thought you went out to get milk from your car."

"Cute story," Connor said, putting the cat on the cushion next to him, "I had to park my car by the dumpsters because some asshole took my seat. Well, I walked over and this little guy was sitting by the dumpsters all alone. It's freezing out there, I coudn't just live him out there to die."

"The apartment complex doesn't allow animals," I stated, wondering how the hell Connor even managed to sneak a cat in.

"Easy," Connor smirked and leaned back, "I just put the cat under my sweater. Nobody's going to check there, so it works."

"We can't have a secret cat living in our room," I deadpanned, staring straight at my best friend, "if anyone sees him, we could get kicked out. Plus, you don't know what kind of diseases it could have gotten from the dumpster - "

"We're keeping him," Connor cut me off, crossing his arms and shooting me a determined look.

I turned my head, only to see the cushion next to Connor wasn't occupied. I cursed and looked around, seeing no evidence of the small cat anymore, "Where did it go?"

"I don't know!" Connor shot up, a panicked look on his face, "Find him!"

I didn't hesitate. Connor ran into the kitchen and I ran down the hall, poking my head into the bathroom. Pulling the shower curtain to the side, I saw the cat wasn't in there and pulled it closed. I walked out of the bathroom and pulled the door closed behind me, slowly walking down the hallway in search for the cat. Connor's door was shut, and that meant there was one place it could be.

My room.

I growled in annoyance and pushed my door open further, stepping inside the mess. I flicked on my light and looked around, gazing across the piles of clothes and strewn out hockey equipment. I heard a hiss and swung around, arm knocking a trophey off my shelf. The cat meowed and darted out from under my bed, a pair of boxers held between its death as it darted between my legs.

I turned and gaped, staring after the cat that had my boxers hanging out of its mouth.

I jogged out of my room and into the living room, just in time to see Connor swoop the cat up. He smirked at me and pulled the boxers from the cats mouth, tossing them in my direction. I glared and balled them up in head, narrowing my eyes at the cat.

"What should we name him?" Connor grinned, rubbing the top of the cats head.

"Satan," I muttered, pushing my boxers under a pillow before jumping on the couch. I stretched out, a reluctant smile coming onto my face when the cat nuzzled further into Connor's chest, "Or Miguel. It kind of looks like a Miguel."

Connor frowned and bit his lip, "How about Cat?"

"Nope," I stated, crossing my arms behind my head, "his name's Miguel."

Connor put Miguel down and the cat purred, running across the floor and next to the couch. I grinned down at him; even if he had stolen my boxers, he was kind of cute.

"Oh, and you might wanna get dressed," Connor called, making me cock my head to the side and arch on eyebrow, "Miguel's going to need all that cat stuff. I called, Elle, though, so you wouldn't be alone. She'll be here in fifteen!"

Oh shit.