Stolen Jerseys / ✓

2.01: chapter twenty

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."