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

by Meghan Quinn

All I can ask for is that this was a one-and-done interaction. 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.

“Doesn’t matter. She’s⁠—” “Halsey!” My name is projected from the hallway, drawing all of our attention toward the locker room entrance. “Halsey!” The scream is shrill, practically at a pitch only dogs can hear. “Halllllllllsey!” “What the fuck is that?” Hornsby asks. “Is that . . . Posey?” Pacey asks just as Posey comes barreling into the locker room, looking slightly disheveled and breathing heavily. “Halsey,” he repeats, this time out of breath. “What the hell is going on?” Hornsby asks before I can. Posey hangs on to the open doorway while his lungs work overtime. “It’s happened.” “What’s happened?” Pacey asks. Posey presses his hands to his knees while bending over. The fucker skates for a living, and he’s out of breath? That doesn’t bode well for our defense. “Fuck, the adrenaline,” he mutters, then stands tall again. Hands on his hips, he says, “The news we’ve been waiting for.” He takes a few steps into the round locker, and with a bizarre expression of glee, he announces, “The time has come.” We all look around at each other, trying to see if anyone understands him. That would be a no. “The time has come for what?” Hornsby asks, his patience wearing thin just like the rest of us. “Stop being a nitwit and fucking tell us,” Silas says, walking up to the group. When did he get here? Posey looks me dead in the eyes with a huge smile and says, “She’s a free woman, man.”

“Blakely . . . she’s a free woman.” Wait . . . what? Blakely? Free? As in . . . “Holy shit,” Hornsby says while gripping my leg. “Dude . . .” “Who’s Blakely?” OC asks, looking confused. “You have to ask her out,” Posey says, approaching us now. “Want me to formulate a plan?” “Yes, a plan. That’s what we need,” Hornsby says. “We could do a flash mob,” Posey suggests. “Over my dead body,” Silas replies. “Don’t be a douche about it. Just ask her out.” “Don’t be a douche?” Pacey asks with a shake of his head. “Coming from the guy who had to fake-date someone to fall in love.” “You fake-dated someone?” OC asks. “What the hell is going on here?”

“That brings us to Eli Hornsby. Our former ladies’ man⁠—” “Coming from the biggest ladies’ man on the team,” Hornsby says, gesturing to Posey—which, that’s a fact. He is. He just doesn’t get called out for it. Posey continues. “On his birthday, he was looking for someone to bang, and he found her, Pacey’s sister.” “Can you not say it that way?” Hornsby asks. “And he got her pregnant,” Posey says with gusto. The fucking storyteller of the group. “It was a long road for them. Jesus, the amount of time it took for Eli to finally realize he could give in to loving her. 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.”

Ignoring him, Posey moves on. “But with Penny in our life, we met Blakely, who works for the team in VIP sales and marketing. We got to know Blakely even better when she filled in for Penny during her maternity leave. I thought our friend Halsey was next when it came to hopping on the love train, but nope, Silas pops in with a fake-dating relationship with . . .” Posey leans in and whispers, “A girl ten years his junior.” “You’re an idiot,” Silas says. “And he almost didn’t win her over, but thanks to my clever text messaging, he now has a live-in girlfriend, apparently the best sex he’s ever had.” “Dude . . . be respectful,” Silas growls. Posey holds his hands up. “Your words, not mine.”

Silence falls over the locker room as all six of us idiots stare her down, the realization that she could have heard the whole conversation hitting us simultaneously and causing us to scramble to find our words. Pacey’s lips seal shut, and his eyes widen as he looks at me for answers. He’s no help. Silas crosses his arms and grins, probably enjoying this far too much. Eli shifts next to me, bowing his head and almost trying to sink back into nothing as if he was never here. Count him out as well. And then there’s Posey, mouthing . . . “She’s here. She’s here,” while subtly pointing to the side, right at her. I know, you fucking moron, I have eyes! “Did I . . . interrupt?” she asks, looking insecure now. Christ.

“Holmes isn’t happy, and he doesn’t have a lot of sex,” Posey says out of fucking nowhere. Uh . . . what? Blakely brings her attention to me with a tilt of her head. “Not having a lot of sex, Holmes?” Kill me. Kill me right fucking now. “I mean, he has sex,” Posey interjects. “But not like the other guys, you know? He’s not a virgin if that’s what you’re thinking. Far from a virgin. Although there was a point in time when I wondered if he even had genitals⁠—” “Shut . . . up,” Silas mutters, thankfully. “Right.” Posey clears his throat.

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

“Is it a real offer?” she asks. My gaze snaps up to hers, and from the corner of my eye, I can see Posey’s obnoxious smile. The satisfaction that must be running through him right now. “Huh?” I ask, blanking completely. “The offer to stay at your place, is it real?” She can’t be serious. No way does she want to stay with me. She barely knows me. Sure, we’ve talked here and there, and I’ve told her she looked beautiful in her dress a couple of times. But stay with me? She might be desperate, but not that desperate. “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? “Don’t you have to spritz them with water gently?” she asks. “You would think,” Posey says, “but I believe Holmes lets his soak up its own water, don’t you?” Where the fuck does he come up with this shit? “Uh . . . yeah,” I answer like an idiot. “And he has the cutest name for his tree too, don’t you?” Posey asks me. Why is he doing this to me? Have I done something to hurt him? Have I somehow embarrassed him in a way that I’m unsure about? Is this revenge? “Sherman, right?” Silas asks, getting in on it. Oh, look who’s dead to me as well. Posey and Silas, both dead to me.

“Amazing.” Blakely brings her hands together, grateful to me for saving her day. “Let me have your phone so I can plug in my number.” 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. She types her number in, and when I look up at Posey, he’s giving me a thumbs-up while wiggling his eyebrows. I hate him so much.

“And how do you want to handle this?” Eli asks. “Because as far as I know, you’d never make a move.” “You don’t know that,” I say defensively even though I think it’s true, given my current state of life as a hermit.

“The only thing you’re getting from me is a trip to the plant store. You got me into this mess, and you’re going to help me get out of it,” I say. “Get out of it?” Posey shakes his head. “Oh no, we’re going to find a way to make this permanent. Mark my words, you and Blakely are going to be boyfriend and girlfriend by the end of the season. There will be so much kissing in your future that you’ll beg me to clue you in on what kind of lip balm I use to keep things so fresh.”

I laugh nervously. “Is Holden asleep?” “What do you think?” “I’m going to assume yes. Such a shame he doesn’t get to see the she-beast his mother turned into tonight.”

“You know, I thought it was homier in here.” Posey looks around my apartment. “It feels . . . cold. Is it the concrete walls and floors or the lack of area rug? Maybe both.” “Can you shut the fuck up and just help me?” I ask as I place a bonsai tree on the kitchen counter along with some of the supplies needed to take care of the stupid thing. I opted for the juniper bonsai tree because Posey insisted it looked more like a Sherman than the other varieties. The fucking thing was fifty dollars. Fifty dollars for a miniature tree.

“You know, I’m getting tired of the attitude,” Posey says as he comes up to me with a bag full of miscellaneous things like notepads, pens, lotion, and a whisk. He asked if I had one, and when I said no, he put it in the cart. You have to make it homey for her, he said. You have to make sure she doesn’t need a whisk and comes up short, he said.

“What the hell is this?” “My room.” He glances over his shoulder at me. “It’s a bed with stacks of books piled on the floor. Where is your dresser? Your curtains? Perhaps a rug to keep your feet warm when you first pop out of bed?” “Don’t need them.” “What the hell do you do with your money?” he asks with a shake of his head. “Invest. Save. I don’t know. Buy books.”

We watch in horror as it tips all the way over, right onto the console table and flat onto Sherman. “Noooooo,” Posey yells as the plant topples to the floor, and with a loud crack, the pot breaks. Wet soil scatters all over the floor along with a smushed plant. Posey falls to his knees and holds up the dilapidated bonsai tree. He glares up at me, clutching the plant to his chest. “You monster.” I grip my forehead, staring at the mess. Fuck, I don’t have time for this. “Don’t you have any remorse?” Feeling panic start to take over, I step back and press both hands to the top of my head. “Fuck, we won’t get this done in time.” “He was so innocent.” Posey strokes the plant.

My phone chimes with a text, and when I lift a brow at him, he winces. “Shit, was that to the group chat with you in it?” I pull my phone out of my pocket and read his text. Posey: You guys, we’re at DEFCON 1 over here. Holmes is about to wee himself from nerves. We need help. Taters, please grab a juniper bonsai tree and have it here in twenty minutes. Pacey, we need a vacuum cleaner like ten minutes ago. Get it here. Hornsby, we need two nightstands, preferably a white oak or black iron. You also have twenty minutes. I glance up at him. “I’m not going to wee myself.” “Say that to your quivering legs.”

“The curtains look like shit,” Silas says as all five of us stare at the room we haphazardly put together. “You think I don’t know that?” I ask. “Fuck, should I take them down?” “No,” Pacey says. “You don’t have blinds, so she’ll want curtains for privacy.” “Told you they needed to be ironed.” Posey leans against the wall, arms folded. “You are literally not allowed to say anything to me anymore.” I point at him and move out of her bedroom and into the living room, where the soil has been vacuumed by a brand-new vacuum courtesy of Pacey. Sherman has been replaced. Posey stupidly said he feels more attached and bonded to the new one. I punched him after that comment.

I’m just about to pick up the candle and hand it off to Posey when there’s a knock on the door. “Fuck,” I whisper. “She’s here,” Posey says. “Shit, am I sweaty?” I lift my arms and turn toward the boys. “Oooo, giant pit stains,” Pacey says. “Go change your shirt.” Hornsby leans in and sniffs me. “And throw on more deodorant.” Taters slaps me in the ass. “Hurry. We’ll distract her.”

I scuff my foot against the floor and say, “Read about one in a book. Sounded interesting, so I grabbed one.” “And you’ve been friends with Sherman ever since. That’s so sweet.” Yup, not looking like a fucking loser at all. Friends with a goddamn tree. Thank you, Posey.

“Can you just mind your own business?” I try to hit the up button again, but he blocks it. “Why won’t you admit it?” “Because what does it matter?” “You’re making a move without telling your boys. That’s why it matters. Don’t you think you should consult with us? Hell, she’s been there for one night, and you’re already hitting on her?” “I’m not fuckin’ hitting on her,” I say, feeling irritated. “And I sure as hell am not making a move. Also, you were the ones who told me to ask her out the day we discovered she was single.” “That’s different.” “How?” I ask. “It was our idea. We’re always right.”

“This mustard is amazing,” Posey says with his mouth full of a bologna sandwich, some of the manufactured meat hanging out of the bread, flapping as he talks about it. Fucking vile. “It’s new, and it’s really adding a special . . . je ne sais quoi . . .” “Don’t be a douche,” Silas says as he leans back against his locker. “Do you really eat one of those before every game?” OC asks, looking at Posey with a certain disgust in his upper lip. We all share the same sentiment. “How do you think I’m able to hold my own on the ice?” He lifts his shirt, showing off his six-pack. “This is built on bologna.”

“What’s your problem?” Posey calls him out. “Ollie and I got into a fight this morning, and I’m irritated,” he answers. “What was the fight about?” OC asks. Silas stares up at the ceiling for a second. “She wanted to be on top this morning, and I wanted her from behind, so she ended up cutting me off and well . . . yeah.” The room turns silent, and after a moment, Posey says, “Do you really think we’re going to feel bad for you that you’re a dumbass and wouldn’t let your girl ride you?” “I wasn’t looking for sympathy.”

“He took donuts to Blakely, and it’s obvious it didn’t go well.” Yup . . . the motherfucker. “Whatever happened to fucking privacy?” I ask him. He circles his finger in the air. “Around here, there is no such thing.” Clearly.

Posey leans in. “That’s really nice. Did she not like them? Were they the wrong kind? Fuck, were they cake donuts, not yeast? Always go with the yeast, man. I don’t know one person who will rave about a cake donut over a yeast.” “He’s right about the yeast,” OC chimes in. “What about a sourdough?” Silas asks. “An old fashion? Those are good.” “You would eat that over a classic glazed?” Posey asks before shoving the rest of his sandwich in his mouth. “No fucking way.” “I mean, they’re good,” OC adds, “but I have to agree with Posey. They don’t top a classic glazed.” “No one ever agrees with Posey,” Silas says.

“A lot of people agree with me. I’m the smartest motherfucker on this team. It’s why all of you are with women.” “If that’s the case, then the donut situation wouldn’t have gone bad. Ever think about that?” Silas asks. “This sorry asshole over here has his tail tucked between his legs because he tried giving a girl donuts, and it didn’t work out. Where were you with that?” “First of all . . .” Posey holds up one finger. “I can’t be held accountable for when people go rogue. I had no idea he was taking her donuts, and if I did know, I’d have heavily suggested yeast donuts, not cake.” “They were not cake donuts!” I shout, feeling frustrated with this stupid back and forth. The guys study me, then OC asks, “Were they yeast?”

Posey scratches his jaw. “I could have sworn it would have been a cake versus yeast issue. Did you say something unsavory to her?” “What would unsavory be?” OC asks. “Like . . . let me fuck you from behind despite you wanting to ride me,” Posey replies, glancing over at Silas. “Jesus,” he grumbles. “I wanted to spank her, okay? There are reasons for it.” “Ever think she didn’t want to be spanked?” Posey asks. “Trust me . . . she wants to be spanked.” “Who wants to be spanked?” Pacey asks, walking in from the training room. “Ollie,” Posey answers. “But not today. Silas is mad about it. Also, something is going on with donuts and Holmes and Blakely, but we haven’t gotten to the bottom of it.” “Were they yeast donuts?” “For the love of fuck!”

“Valuable information.” Silas slips on his socks now, the game looming closer. “We aren’t going to try to tell her what to do,” Posey clarifies. “We’re just going to dangle a carrot in front of her and see if she bites. And when I say carrot, I mean Holmes’s penis.” “We are not dangling my penis,” I say. Posey rolls his eyes. “Metaphorically. If she got a look at your penis, I’m pretty sure it would scare her away. That shit has girth.” “Can you not?” I ask. “Please, everyone sees it in the shower, along with Silas’s piercings and my perfectly shaped balls.” “When I say no one is getting a solid look at your balls, I fucking mean it,” Pacey says. “But he’s right, Holmes, you do have a lot of girth.” OC runs his hand through his hair. “Christ, didn’t know we were sneaking peeks at everyone.” “You don’t look?” Silas asks. “That’s a fucking lie.” “I just went with the eyes-up policy.” “Apparently, we don’t here,” I say while pulling on my socks as well.

I might be uncomfortable with the thought of easing myself in, but I know for a fact I’ll regret not doing anything. “Okay, what should I do?” A large smile stretches across Posey’s face. “First things first, you no longer wear a shirt around the apartment.”

He’s not wearing a shirt. That’s . . . that doesn’t seem like him. He’s the shirt-wearing kind of guy. I almost think he’d wear a shirt in the pool. That’s how prudish he seems. So to see him sans shirt throws me off. Until he slowly starts to turn around, coffee mug in hand, his head bent, blowing on the hot liquid. Holy. Fucking. Shit.

“I didn’t mean to startle you.” “You’re good,” he says as he lifts himself onto the corner of the counter, his long legs hanging off the edge, his thick thighs pulling at the fabric of his shorts while his calves nearly share the same diameter as my quad. Eyes up, Blakely. Eyes up.

Posey lets out a huge sigh, then at the top of his lungs, he shouts, “Frozen Fellas assemble.” I flinch from the projection of his voice before asking, “What the hell is Frozen Fellas?” “You know in Ted Lasso. They have the Diamond Dogs and go over the problems they’re facing. Well, I thought we needed a name, so I came up with Frozen Fellas. You know, because we’re men and we play hockey. Catchy, isn’t it?” “No,” I reply just as Pacey, Silas, and OC approach. OC sits across from us, and Pacey and Taters kneel in the seats in front of us but turn around so we can see them. Jesus Christ, they reported quickly. “Where’s Hornsby?” I ask. “He isn’t officially a Frozen Fella yet. He hasn’t signed the NDA. Something about him wanting his lawyer to look through it.” “You’re an idiot,” I say.

“Uh-oh,” Silas says while pointing. “I told you guys that was going to hurt him. We could plan all the ways he can get her to like him, but it comes down to his execution.” “What stupid thing did you say?” Posey asks. “Did you confess your love?” “Or stumble over telling her how beautiful you think she is?” Pacey asks. “Did you talk about your wiener?” OC asks, drawing all of our attention. He shrugs. “I don’t know, we talked about it yesterday, and I thought maybe it stuck in his head.”

“I don’t know,” I say on a huff. “I mean, fuck, do I really have a choice?” “No, and I’m glad you see it that way. Now, where are we on the furniture? Did you order it?” “Not yet,” I answer. “Why the fuck not? That was your homework. Pull out your phone, and we’ll do it now so you won’t have an excuse not to.” And this is why you don’t let your friends get involved in your personal life.

I pick up the phone and see that it’s a text from Posey. Jesus fucking Christ, this guy won’t leave me alone. Posey: Text her tonight. Remember, tell her about the furniture and ask her how her day was. With one hand, I text him back. Halsey: You don’t think that’ll be weird? That’s what a boyfriend would do. Posey: A boyfriend would FaceTime, you are texting. And it’s just being a friend. Now do it or I will run up and down these hallways screaming all night. Is that what you want to happen? Halsey: Jesus, you’re annoying.

“He’s lying.” Silas points at my face. “Look, he’s holding back a smirk.” OC leans forward, getting a better look at my angled head. He raises his hand and points above my head. “I can confirm, he’s hiding a smirk.” “Smirk is confirmed,” Silas says while slapping the bench with his hand. “Then it is Blakely,” Pacey says. “Wait, what about Blakely?” Eli asks, looking confused. “Can we all shut up? It has nothing to do with Blakely,” I say, not wanting the entire team to figure this shit out. But of course my friends are idiots, and they come flocking in front of me with chairs where they form a circle.

“Here is the gist of it,” Silas says, getting more involved than I expected him to. Posey must have gotten to him. “Blakely is staying with Holmes. Holmes loves her. Blakely was offered a potential new job that could make her move, and Holmes is unsure if she’s going to take it or not. He clearly doesn’t want to lose her because he’s madly in love. Therefore, Posey came up with an action plan called Break Blakely where Holmes walks around with his shirt off in the apartment and does nice things for her to show her that he’s boyfriend material. We’re in the early phases, but from the rocket in his pants today, and I’m not talking about the girth-o-nater, name courtesy of OC⁠—” “Thank you.” OC bows. “I’m going to guess that the earlier phases have started to make an impact, and our friend here is feeling the effects of some female attention from his unrequited love. And obviously, if you tell Penny any of this, we’re allowed to cut off one of your fingers, courtesy of the NDA agreement you just electronically signed.” “The finger thing was a holdup for me. I thought it was kind of weird,” Eli says. “We decided losing a finger was a good threat. We kept toes for skating balance, dicks for pleasure, and hair wasn’t threatening enough. A finger was a good option. It lets you know we’re not fucking around. But there was the amendment to the finger. Did you see it?” Pacey asks. Eli nods. “A trial of holding a stick without one finger. If it doesn’t go well, the group collectively...

Eli pulls on the back of his neck and says, “I wish I’d known what the secret was about before I signed the NDA. This is dangerous territory for me. Is there an out where I can mentally erase what you just told me and not go any deeper? I mean, the Frozen Fellas feels like a band I want to be a part of, but given the circumstances, I don’t think I can be involved and keep Penny out of it.” “I think that’s fair,” Silas says. “All in favor of excusing Eli from this discussion and all discussions involving Blakely and Holmes, say aye.” As a collective whole, the guys all say, “Aye,” then wait for me. Rolling my eyes, I say, “Aye.” “You are excused, but you will not utter anything you’ve heard to Penny regarding the Frozen Fellas and Break Blakely.” Eli holds up his hand as if he’s on the stand and swearing in to trial. “I shall keep my mouth shut.”

I go to stand, but Silas and OC grip one of my shoulders and sit my ass right back down. “Sorry, boss,” OC says. “But we’re going to need to see that picture.” “Yup, you’re not going anywhere until we see it.” Silas glares at me, and everyone turns to Posey, who is sitting there, looking like the fucking Godfather, ready to give the nod to have someone’s head blown off. “The picture,” he says in a terse voice. “Show it to us.” When I realize there’s no way they’ll let me escape without showing it to them, I mutter, “Jesus Christ,” before reaching for my phone out of my locker and finding the picture in the text. I click on the picture so they can’t see any of the text and show it. Immediately, Posey grabs it, and the boys flock around him, checking it out. “Hair is done. Makeup is on,” Silas says. “Casual clothes but not dressed up,” OC adds. “Not a sexy pose, just a selfie with a smile,” Pacey calls out. Posey rubs his chin, then sits back on his chair. After a few seconds of studying it, he looks up at me and says, “This is . . . not a ‘please come between my legs’ picture.” “Jesus fuck, Posey,” I moan.

“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.” “Stop talking about my dick. It’s getting weird.” “Dude, we’re never going to stop talking about that cannon,” Pacey says, causing all the guys to laugh.

“Nervous because I might murder you if you leave me, or nervous that you might like the job so much that you do leave me . . . in my time of need?” “How is this your time of need?” I ask her. “Uh, hello. I just had a baby, and I don’t feel like myself.” “Your boyfriend just jacked off to a picture of you.” “Doesn’t mean I don’t feel insecure.”

“Wait, what?” Penny sits up and leans over. “Two hundred and fifty thousand dollars? For one job? What does it entail? Nudity?”

Blakely: [Picture] Sherman says good luck, Daddy. Halsey: He does not call me Daddy. Blakely: That’s not what he told me. Halsey: Then he’s lying to you for attention.

I tiptoe across the concrete floor on bare feet, shoes in hand as I make my way to the kitchen. I made my lunch the night before as well as my coffee so all I have to do is put some ice into it when I get to work. Just need to grab some things, and then I’ll be on my⁠— “Morning.” “Jesus fucking Christ,” I say as I fly into the wall, clutching my shoes to my chest.

“Stop that.” I swat at his hand. “I’m giving you your bed back.” I move to the corner, stick my hands under the mattress, and lift on three, only to barely make it budge. “My God, what is this thing made of? Lead?”

“He seems to be doing okay. I’m glad about it. Now, please answer my question so I can continue to soar as the best social media manager to ever exist.” I glance at the question and read it out loud. “What’s your favorite Taylor Swift song?” “Oh, that’s easy,” Posey says. “Wait!” Penny holds up her hand and presses the record button. “Okay, go.” “Favorite Taylor Swift song has to be Shake it Off,” Posey answers. “Are You Ready For It,” Silas says. “Uh . . . that Romeo and Juliet one,” Eli answers. “Love Story,” Posey says. “Right, yeah, that one.” They turn to me and I say, “The 1.”

“Now, I have to talk to you.” “Talk to me?” I point at my chest. “Yeah, you.” She glances over her back and steps forward. “Word on the street is, you like my friend.” My eyes flash to Eli who looks guilty as shit. He bites his lower lip and says, “Listen, things got a little crazy last night, and I might have said some things out loud to prevent myself from . . . finishing too early. I was just saying stuff off the top of my head.” “Jesus Christ,” I mutter. “Well, is it going to be the finger or the belly button?” Silas asks. “The finger,” Posey says, looking irate. “We aren’t even going to test his ability to hold a hockey stick. For fuck’s sake, man, it wasn’t that hard to keep a secret.” “To be fair, I screamed like a girl when I said it out loud.” “How is that being fair?” I ask. He shrugs. “Please don’t chop off my finger.” “What the hell is going on?” Penny asks. “Nothing you need to know.” Posey grabs Eli by the shoulder and pushes him toward the locker room. “Wait,” Penny calls out. “I promise I won’t tell her . . . I actually . . . I need your help.” Posey pauses. “What kind of help?” Penny glances over her shoulder again, probably checking to make sure Blakely isn’t around. “Blakely was offered a new job, and it’s unmatched, like she would be stupid not to take it, but I don’t want to lose her, and that might be selfish, but I just had a baby, and I’m still highly emotional and very erratic, so I need you to make my best friend fall in love with you so she stays...

Posey leans in and says, “We have an entire plan that revolves around a shirtless Holmes attempting to get Blakely to fall for him, you know, since he loves her so much.” “I don’t fucking love her. I just have a crush is all.” “Don’t listen to him,” Silas says. “He loves her.” “You have a plan? Why didn’t you tell me?” she asks Eli. Looking like a deer caught in headlights, he looks among all of us and says, “I didn’t want to be in the middle. I didn’t want to be subject to getting my finger chopped off. There was a lot of pressure, and I really don’t want to be a part of this.” With that, he leaves, not even looking back. I don’t blame him. I want to take off too. “In his defense, the minute we told him what we were planning and that he couldn’t tell you, he stepped out. He said he couldn’t do that.” “Aw, look at him loving and respecting me.”

“Uh-huh and what are the other ways you planned on enticing her?” The boys fall silent, glancing back and forth between each other. “Uh . . . showing her his penis?” Silas asks. “No,” I say so fucking fast. “We are not showing her my penis or even talking about my penis.” “Why? Do you have a nice penis?” Penny asks. “An amazing penis,” Posey answers while holding his hands up and forming an obnoxiously large circle. “Stop that.” I swat his hands down. “What? I’m just being honest.”