Summary:

"The league wants me to hate him. The fucking press wants me to hate him. My parents... I mean they do hate him." Shane stopped to take a few deep breaths, like he was trying to prepare himself for something.

"Hollander, you really don't have to tell me this-" Scott's frantic words were to no avail.

"I did hate him. Or like... at least I used to. I thought I did. Thought maybe that was why I couldn't stop looking at him, cause I hated him." He laughed once. A choppy, wet laugh that wasn't very funny at all. "I did hate him. But then he kissed me."

or:

Scott Hunter goes looking for his hotel room. He finds a drunk Shane Hollander, instead.