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

by Meghan Quinn

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.