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19-Intruder Alert

“whose cat is it?” Elliot questions, narrowing his eyes at Milo.

I panic as if I've been placed onto the hot seat. I schooled my features in front of the mirror a hundred times last night. I know what to say but I can't bring myself to be confident. I knew Elliot would ask this question. My Milo is a big cat. The small white spot near his head sets him apart from other cats. Elliot had played with Milo that day. Of course, he remembers Milo.

“It belongs to a friend of mine. I'm pet sitting him for a few days while she is abroad.” I feel proud of myself for not being a stuttering mess and reply exactly what I taught myself.

His eyes suspiciously linger on mine for a few seconds. Even if he wants to ask me further questions, he doesn't. That's good. I'm not in the mood to talk to him. I'm already tired. The past two days have been crazy and tiring. Dealing with all the paparazzies and media platforms wasn't easy. Dealing with a moody Elliot and his sexy smirking face wasn't definitel
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