He's Not My Type (The Vancouver Agitators, #4)

by Meghan Quinn

“Not to mention, I just don’t think I’m ready for that shit. I’m not . . . I’m not the same person,” I say softly. And that shuts every mouth. No more sarcasm. No more ridiculous talk. Thank fuck. “You’re not,” Pacey says. “And that’s okay. We all change during our journey through this crazy world, but you can also veer from today’s version of you. And I think I can speak for all of us when I say we don’t want to see you alone. We want you to have someone you can talk to at night and share this life with. If any one of us deserves it, it’s you.”

Posey sniffs off to the side, grabbing all of our attention. When he looks around the room, he says, “I think . . . I think there’s something in my eye.” Silas pushes his shoulder. “Just fucking cry if you’re going to cry. Be a goddamn man about it.”