2. Wes

TWO

"No."

There's nothing I hate more than being told no. Not because I don't like to listen – okay, I don't love listening, but who does — but because it sounds insanely mean no matter how nicely you try to say it. I'm constantly suggesting incredible ideas just to be shut down.

Wanna go for a drive and smoke? No.

Do you like Frank Ocean? No.

Do you also constantly battle with the fear of not being good enough? No.

Shit like that pisses me off. Not only do I feel incredibly out of place and downright insane, but it's hard to feel like anyone gets me the way I get other people. I spend so much time trying to make other people happy that answers, trying to understand people better than I understand myself, like that make me question my taste in friends.

As my best friend and housemate looks at me with that annoying as fuck glare in his eyes, that word is the last thing I want to hear right now.

I sigh. "Okay, at least hear me out."

"Nope. Not listening." Connor shakes his head as if he can make me disappear. And everyone says I'm the dramatic one. Yeah, right. "I don't want a new roommate already, Wes. We just moved in."

"Okay, first of all, we've been living here for over two months. And second of all, nobody asked how I felt when Catherine started sleeping over here nearly every night."

Since Connor started dating Nora's best friend, they've been all over each other. Of course, I've known from the beginning when they were sneaking around. I've seen how my best friend looks at girls, but there's only one look he reserves just for Catherine.

It was cute as much as it was painful to watch. They finally came clean and told his sister six months ago. Since we moved out of our dorms into a new house off campus, Cat has spent more time here baking in the kitchen with Connor like an old married couple than I've spent here.

"She's my girlfriend. Not an animal," Connor says, continuing to clean up his mess on the kitchen island. It's like living with an experimental toddler. All he does is bake things that taste bad and force-feed them to me and our other housemate, Archer.

Jarvis purrs in my arms, snuggling his chubby and fuzzy face into my shirt. I pretend to cover his ears with my free hand, holding him closer to me as I rock us back and forth. "It's okay, baby. He didn't mean it."

Connor rolls his eyes at us. "You and that stupid cat can sleep outside for all I care. I don't want him here."

I wish Jarvis could growl because I would have trained him to growl every time Connor says something mean to me, which is often. "Don't call him stupid! It's not his fault he's visually impaired."

It is his kinda fault.

No matter how many times we tried to cat-proof our house growing up, this fucker managed to play with the spring next to the door a little too hard that it ended up poking him right in the eyeball. He irritated it so much that he lost sight in his right eye. Now, he walks a little lopsided. Since then, he's grown a ton and has become one very slow lump of fur that I can't get enough of.

"Wesley, you're not keeping a cat here," Connor says again. It's embarrassing for all of us that he thinks I'll listen. I've known him my entire life. You'd think he knows me better than that by now. With a chuckle, he adds, "You can barely look after yourself."

"You're not the boss of me or this house. We all pay rent," I argue. Connor acts like he's my dad half of the time and the dad of the football team the other time. He cares so much about football and all of us that it's sickening. He's constantly trying to involve me in all of his mushy feelings and tells me how much he appreciates me and all that shit.

"Fine," he sighs, pressing his hands on the island. He grimaces as Jarvis yawns in my arm, showcasing his sharp teeth. "Then ask Archer how he feels about that moving in."

"Fine, I will." I turn on my heels, adjusting the heavy cat in my arms. "Where is that sexy bag of bones?"

One of the many perks about moving into a house off campus is that there are way fewer rules than being in a dorm, and there's also a ton of space.

We were lucky enough to get one of the bigger houses on Fire Ridge Row. We have three bedrooms and en suites, a kitchen, dining room and living area. It's much better than living in a stuffy dorm with these two fools. Now I can live in a spacious house with these two fools.

And the best part? A huge backyard to do whatever the fuck we want, including – but not limited to – parties, a very easy game of hide and seek, and a perfect place to host an outdoor movie night. There are large trees on both sides of the backyard, one of them close to the bathroom window that blocks out most of the sun. It also connects to a hammock against the opposite tree. It was perfect during those last few weeks of summer sun.

And, of course, Archer Elliot puts all men to shame as he stands outside on the cusp of winter in nothing but denim jeans and a backward cap as he chops wood.

Who does this man think he is?

I shake my head, stalking closer to him as Jarvis flinches in my arms at the harsh sounds of the axe hitting the wood. "Hey, Archie Boy."

He doesn't even turn around as he grumbles, "Don't call me that."

I let out a low whistle and get straight to the point. "How do you feel about getting a cat?"

The axe drops on the wood as he turns around, twisting around his hat as it shields him from the September sun. His eyes narrow. "What do you mean? Seems like you've already got one."

"Yes, I am very glad you have eyes, Archer," I murmur.

He ignores my comment. "Is this Jarvis?"

My eyes widen. "You remembered his name," I coo. Archer is a grump. Way grumpier than any twenty-year-old should be. There's no way he spends his free time thinking about or trying to remember my cat's name.

"Only because you don't shut up about the abuse he experiences at your mom's new place," he says, trying not to laugh as he eyes the cat suspiciously.

I wouldn't say abuse. Slightly neglected, sure.

Since my mom officially moved out a few weeks ago, the divorce with my dad has hit her like a truck. She's barely looking after herself, never mind a cat. Which means I usually have to go over there every few days and make sure she and Jarvis have eaten. The least I can do is take him off her hands for a while. Besides, I've missed my little partner in crime.

My dad couldn't care less, apparently. This is my third year at Drayton Hills with my dad coaching the football time I'm on, and he's been on my ass lately. I can't tell if he's doing that to distract me from his own guilt or because he might actually care about me. I don't know what makes him think I have to listen to him when he's been cheating on my mom for years. Fuck that.

"As long as he stays out of my room, I don't care," Archer says, turning back around to do whatever the hell he's doing.

I rub the top of Jarvis's head in the spot he likes and he meows quietly. "You hear that, buddy? You're moving in! I promise they'll warm up to you soon," I coo, walking back into the house. Connor is exactly where I left him, still cleaning up after himself. I can't help the smile that forms across my face as Connor's face falls. "It's two against one, I'm afraid."

He groans. "Fine. Whatever. Just don't let him wreck any of my stuff."

"What stuff do you even have to wreck?" I ask, genuinely confused about how empty this house is. He lobs a silicone spoon at me, but I dodge it, watching it fly past my face. I kneel down and drop Jarvis on the floor, allowing him to wander around his new home. Of course, he doesn't wander.

He just sits there.

Right at my feet.

Not moving.

Great.

"What do you think cats do, Connor? Because all he does is eat, sleep, and shit," I say, looking down at him as he curls up at my feet. "He'll just follow me around until he gets bored. He's a piece of cake, trust me."

"He better be," Connor mutters before picking up his phone when it lights up. He laughs a little when he types back a reply. "The girls are going out. Seems like they're cheering Nora up. Again. You in?"

For Nora Bailey, I'll do anything. But of course, I don't say that to her twin brother. Instead, I settle for, "Hell yeah."