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

by Meghan Quinn

I might say something stupid like . . . do you want to go fuck?

Slap me in the ass because I need to be woken up from this dream.

A naked man could come flying in here, do the helicopter with his wiener, and they wouldn’t even blink an eye as silence falls around us.

“He didn’t hurt me, but yes, I’m walking weird because I sat on a light post several times last night.”

“I was cock-shocked, and I don’t know how to handle it.”

You stunned me. It was your eyes that captivated me first. And then you smiled, and I was fucking gone. I honestly don’t think I heard one thing the entire time you talked to me. I was so caught up in the fact that I was feeling something for someone. I hadn’t felt anything since my brother died.”

“I love you, Halsey. And I’d be devastated if you didn’t know that, if you believed you don’t deserve to spend time on this earth, because you do. I love you, and I need you. I don’t need your family. I don’t need you to solve any issues settled on your shoulders. Because none of that matters. What matters is you and me.”

“You chose me.” “And I’ll choose you every single time.”

But if I’ve learned one thing through such devastating loss, it’s that the sun still rises the next day. And the day after that. Life continues its motion. Waiting for your return. It’s okay to stay in that darkness for a while. It’s okay to grieve your loss. Live the pain. Mourn. But then, when you can, it’s time to climb out. When you can, it’s time to look at every element of your life and see that there is still joy in it.

And if you’re really lucky, you might find a love that reaches deep inside, finds the pain-filled hole, and holds it. Shares it with you. Carries it.