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

by Meghan Quinn

Eli Hornsby—the pretty boy. Pacey Lawes—the elder of the group. And Silas Taters—the asshole.

I don’t know who this is or what she’s doing here, but she is easily the most beautiful woman I’ve ever laid my tired eyes on.

She turns toward me, her eyes connecting with mine, and fucking hand to heart, I feel this jolt of possession rock through me so fucking hard that I have to catch my breath. I can’t tell you the last time I felt something like this.

But hell, this girl has me all twisted up inside. One look and my palms started sweating, I felt tongue-tied, and my heart raced faster than when I was chasing down a puck against an opponent. With one look, she brought me back to life.

That’s exactly what this feeling is: a crush. But how could I not? She’s funny. Cute. Fucking adorable. Gorgeous. A breath of fresh air. I need to see more of her. It might be scary as shit, but I can’t end the interaction here. I have to ask her out.

Narrator: Unfortunately for Halsey Holmes . . . it wasn’t a one-and-done interaction. In fact, he’s seen her almost every day in the hallway of the arena, which has only enabled his crush to the point that when he runs into her . . . he burns. Poor, poor Halsey.

Some might say the author of his story could have cut out the last fifteen percent, and everyone would have still been pleased with the outcome.”

“Holmes isn’t happy, and he doesn’t have a lot of sex,” Posey says out of fucking nowhere.

“Are you his landlord?” Blakely teases. “More like his hairy godmother.” Posey makes himself laugh . . . and only himself.

“It is,” Posey says. “He was telling me the other day that he wishes someone could water his bonsai tree when he’s on away trips. He’s always worried it will die when he’s gone.” What the fuck is a bonsai tree?

Where the fuck does he come up with this shit?

“Sherman, right?” Silas asks, getting in on it. Oh, look who’s dead to me as well. Posey and Silas, both dead to me.

I’m shell-shocked, still unsure how this happened, so Eli grabs my phone from next to me, flashes the face ID at me, and hands it over to her.

“Here you go.” She hands me my phone back. “I sent myself a text, so I have your number too. Oh wait.” She reaches for my phone and taps away on it before holding it up and taking a picture of herself. “There, now you also have my picture as the contact.” Yeah, I won’t stare at that all night.

Mark my words, you and Blakely are going to be boyfriend and girlfriend by the end of the season.

“I don’t need your fucking suggestions when it comes to the bedroom.” “That’s right,” OC says with such conviction. “It’s because he has the girth-o-nater. He doesn’t have to say anything, just wield that thing like the goddamn orgasmic weapon that it is.”

In a calm, but firm tone, Halsey says, “My girlfriend is renting 2B from you, the one that got flooded.” Girlfriend? Um . . . okay. Wasn’t expecting that, but I have no problem going along with it if it means this problem will be fixed, so I snuggle in close, playing the part.

“Look at her, not me. Blakely is the one you should be apologizing to.” The snap of his voice actually makes my nipples hard.

“So what do you think is happening to the dead rat in her closet? It’s already been chewed apart by God knows what, which means there are probably fucking maggots everywhere. In her clothes, around the bedroom. This is a severe health risk and you’re going to subject her to that? My girl?”

“Over my dead fucking body. So you either get her apartment fumigated and disinfected, as well as every last possession she owns in there, or I’ll be speaking with my lawyer and, when I say I have no problem spending the money to teach you a lesson, I’m not fucking kidding.”

He cups the back of my head, keeping me close as he quietly says, “I’m not sorry for what I said and did.” “I know,” I reply. He gives me one more squeeze and says, “I’ll never be sorry for sticking up for you, Blakely.”

Like I have more than just Penny to rely on, like my roots here in Vancouver might have been disturbed when Perry left, but they’re growing back with Halsey’s presence.

I don’t want to admit it because the man is far too attractive for his own good, but God is he owning that couch . . . Just like he owned you in front of your landlord.

Yup, this is a different side of him for sure, and I’m feeling slightly out of breath. From his expressions, the subtle way he wet his lips, and his delicate touch as he zipped and unzipped my dress. I offer him a quick smile before I shut the curtain to the dressing room and then lean against the wall, taking a few deep breaths.