He’s Not My Type

“Want one?” Oden asks, holding out a piece of gum to me.

“I’m good,” I answer as I focus on wrapping the blade of my stick with tape.

He leans back against the locker bench and sighs heavily. “Do you ever get nervous before a game?”

Oden O’Connor was our newest acquisition this January. The front office made some moves to stack our team leading into the second half of the season, and one of the biggest ones was OC. With Rivers’s recent knee injury, OC was the perfect fill-in. Although on the younger side, he has impressive puck-handling skills and powerful legs underneath him.

“No,” I answer, not really in the mood to talk but also not wanting to come off as an asshole. “Why, you nervous?”

“Yeah.” He crosses his arms over his chest. “I only get nervous on special occasions, though. This is my first home game with the Agitators. There’s that unsaid pressure in the air that I have to prove myself.”

“Proved yourself last game with a goal and an assist,” I say as I snap the tape off and check my blade, making sure to secure the tape.

“Nah, it takes time to earn the trust from the fans.” He leans forward, resting his arms on his legs. “I know trust doesn’t come easy, especially when you’re filling in for a team favorite.”

I glance at OC and notice his tight shoulders and the worry on his brow. He hasn’t spoken to many of the guys on the team. I know Posey was trying to get to know him the other night but couldn’t break through his shell. He’s kept to himself a lot, but I’ve seen this tactic before—he’s easing himself in. I can tell he has a fun personality just from how he skates around during warm-ups and from his previous interviews, but he’s holding back as he immerses himself into the team. Probably smart.

“Don’t put added pressure on yourself that’s unnecessary,” I say.

He glances over at me. “You’re telling me if you were in my position, you wouldn’t feel the pressure of proving yourself?”

Hmm, great question.

If I were in his skates and traded mid-season to a new team, I’d probably feel the pressure. But I don’t think I’d let it get to my head, not how it seems like he is.

“I would,” I answer honestly.

He nods and pauses for a moment before turning toward me. “Jesus, I half expected you to tell me you wouldn’t feel the need to prove yourself and get my head out of my ass. What kind of pep-talker are you?”

“What?” I ask, surprised by the liveliness in his voice. See, I knew something was in there.

Eli Hornsby walks over and pats OC on the shoulder. “Leaning on the wrong guy if you want someone to tell you to take your head out of your ass. Holmes is on the gentler side. If you want someone to give it to you hard, ask Taters. He’ll punch you right where it hurts.”

“Not since he’s fallen in love,” Pacey, our goalie, says as he pulls up a chair and sits in front of me. “We’ve all softened since falling in love.” He looks at Eli. “Especially you.” He’s not wrong. Hornsby is completely gone for his girl, Penny, and now his little boy, Holden.

“Oh fuck off, you’re the softest of us all,” Eli says to Pacey.

I might agree with that. It didn’t take Pacey long to fall for Winnie. They’re now engaged.

“Nah . . . the softest, that would be Taters.”

Silas Taters, also called Potato by Winnie, a nickname that has now started to catch on in the group. He’s one of our wingmen and fell fast and hard for Ollie. She now lives with him, and we barely see him.

“So all of you have girls?” OC asks.

“Not our friend Holmes.” Eli pats me on the back with a knowing smile crossing his lips. “Although, there’s a girl he wished—”

“Can you shut the fuck up?” I ask, knowing exactly where that was headed.

Jesus Christ. I never should have told these idiots about my crush on Blakely because they haven’t been able to shut up about it. They think in some miraculous fashion, if they talk about it enough, she’ll become single, and I’ll get my chance. Manifestation, they tell me. They’re all fucking morons. Blakely is not breaking up with her boyfriend.

She’s madly in love—something I’ve not only heard from the source itself but also from Penny and Winnie.

And because of that, I’ve moved on. A crush is just that, a crush. I can walk away from it . . .

At least that’s what I’m trying to convince myself.

“You have a crush?” OC asks. “On whom?”

Great, now the new guy’s involved.

Feeling the tension grow in my shoulders, I say, “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.”

Silence falls over the locker room once again as we all attempt to decipher what the fuck he’s talking about. Did he eat some bad bologna?

Finally, Pacey—while pinching the bridge of his nose—says, “For the love of God, make sense.”

“I am,” Posey says in defense. “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?”

“It’s simple,” Posey says, leaning against Pacey’s chair. “Pacey, here, was the start of the love train. He fell in love with a hopeless wanderer up in Banff. Her name is Winnie, and she got lost in the woods, stayed the night in Silas’s cabin with the rest of us like the true champ that she is, and Pacey peed on her, said she was his, and now they’re engaged.”

“I didn’t pee on her,” Pacey interjects.

“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.”

“Not everyone can magically fall in love like Pacey,” Hornsby complains. “Love isn’t always perfect all at once. You have to earn it.”

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.” He smirks like the dick he is and continues. “But this entire time, we’ve watched Halsey slowly grow more and more infatuated with Blakely, trying to pretend he doesn’t care about her by masking his love with late nights with random women, but we all know he wishes those women were Blakely. And that he could hold her hand and go home to her warm, tender arms and bury his head right into her ample—”

“Enough!” I yell.

Posey continues to smirk. “And today, fellas . . . well, today is the day. Halsey Malachi Holmes is finally going to ask her out.”

All the boys turn toward me. Their waiting faces ready as if I’m about to raise my pointer finger and proclaim that today is the day.

Not going to fucking happen.

I shake my head. “No, I’m not. And my middle name isn’t Malachi.”

Posey’s gleeful expression falls flat. “What do you mean you’re not? Dude, she’s a free woman, ask her out.”

“Ooo . . . who are we asking out?” that very familiar female voice, who haunts me late at night, says as she enters the room.

Motherfucker, did she hear us?

My face turns beet red as Blakely steps up to our circle, looking so fucking beautiful in a pair of dress shorts with a white blouse tucked into her waistline. Her three-inch heels make her legs look so damn long it’s almost as if they have no end.

Will I ever stop getting butterflies whenever I see her?

Probably not. I’m doomed.

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.

Someone needs to say something.

Anything to make it seem like we weren’t talking about her.

Because the longer this silence goes on, the easier it will be for her to believe we were talking about her, which we were.

I take one more look at my boys and realize they have all abandoned me. What fucking friends they are. I rack my brain for something to say . . . anything that makes sense. But I come up short, and that’s when a bead of sweat trickles down my back, making me painfully aware of just how awkward and uncomfortable I am.

“Uhh . . . you know,” OC chimes in, immediately making him my favorite. “We were talking about a girl I know.” What a fucking champion. “I’m Oden O’Connor, by the way.”

“Blakely White,” she says, leaning in to shake his hand. Her long brown hair brushes near me, sending me into a near catatonic state from the lavender scent. “It’s so nice to meet you.”

“You too,” he says while dropping her hand quickly.

Blakely then looks at Posey and says, “What happened to you? We were talking with Camper over in marketing, and you just took off in the middle of a sentence.”

Jesus Christ, Posey.

He nervously smiles and says, “Bathroom emergency.” When her cute nose scrunches, he adds, “False alarm, but glad I hustled, you know just in case. Sorry about that. I think you were saying something about moving out of your apartment because you broke up with your boyfriend?”

That’s when he cut out and left? Right when she was talking about her breakup? Could he be any more fucking obvious?

Blakely sighs heavily. “Yeah, I had to find a cheaper place.”

“You, uh . . . broke up?” Eli asks. “Penny never said anything to me.” And this is why I like Hornsby. He’ll wiggle out the truth in a conventional, non-evasive way—unlike Posey.

“I haven’t really said anything to anyone,” Blakely says, “which seems weird that I’m talking to you guys about it, but yeah, we broke up a few weeks ago. I know Penny’s been busy with the baby, so I didn’t want to bother her. Anyway, I found a new place, but this morning, the pipe above my apartment burst and flooded my place. It’s been a nightmare, but you don’t need to worry about that. I came here—”

“Where are you going to stay?” Posey asks. “Clearly not there.”

“Oh, uh, trying to figure that out.”

“Does Penny know?” Eli asks. “I’m sure she would offer up our place.”

“Or ours,” Pacey adds, knowing Blakely is also good friends with Winnie.

Silas scratches the back of his neck and says, “Ollie would probably do the same.”

Blakely shakes her head. “No offense, Eli, but I’m not going to room with an infant. I love him, but not that much. And Winnie and Ollie would offer, but I’m also not going to stay with two happy couples having sex every chance they get.”

Understandable—

“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. “Anyway, he has a spare bedroom, and he’s not part of a happy couple, and for all we know, he doesn’t have an infant, so you know, you could stay with him.”

What the actual fuck is he doing?

Blakely, stay with me?

I can barely look at her or talk to her. Sharing a living space would probably send me into a nervous breakdown.

“Are you his landlord?” Blakely teases.

“More like his hairy godmother.” Posey makes himself laugh . . . and only himself.

Either Blakely is being polite or she’s unaware of the tension building in our circle. As much as I love Posey for everything he is, he’s putting me on the goddamn spot right now. I’m pretty sure it’s not something I can handle.

Hell, I know it’s not something I can handle.

What if she accepts? What the hell am I supposed to do? Live with my crush?

How would that fucking work? Me walking around the apartment, stumbling over my words and trying not to stare at her too much while she lives her life, probably taking on the opinion that I’m some sort of a goddamn nutjob?

No . . . this can’t happen.

Not to mention, there’s no way she would ever live with someone she barely knows. She has a good head on her shoulders, so she’ll probably find a hotel or—

“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.

“Aw, Sherman is such a cute name for a plant.” She smiles that smile that haunts me in my dreams, the one that grips my balls so fucking tight that I almost can’t breathe around her.

“His pride and joy,” Posey says. “And given the drought scare he had with Sherman a few weeks ago, I’m sure he would love someone to look after him.”

Blakely locks eyes with me and says, “Well, if you truly want someone to watch over him, I’m your girl. I could use the room because the hotel I’m staying in tonight is way more than I can afford for weeks on end. And I’d pay you for rent.”

“He doesn’t need your money,” Eli chimes in. “He’s loaded. The man has one of the best contracts in the league.”

Not necessary to put out there, but yeah, it’s true.

“Okay, well, I can take care of Sherman for free. That’s if . . . you’ll let me.”

Everyone in the circle turns their attention to me. I swear this feels like I’ve been sucked into an alternate universe where professional hockey players have pet bonsai trees with old man names and toss around spare bedrooms like candy. I woke up this morning thinking I have a game to prepare for, and that’s it. Now I might have a temporary roommate, but not only that. A roommate whose beauty and sweetness make me fucking lose all sense of myself.

Eli nudges me with his elbow, and I clear my throat. “Uh, yeah. That would be cool,” I say even though I can feel my entire body break into a full sweat.

“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.

“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. “I hate when it shows up as just the initials in the contact.” She hands me back my phone. “I have the hotel for tonight, but I’ll move in tomorrow. Thank you so much, this is a huge lifesaver, not to mention . . . wallet saver.”

“Yeah, sure. Of course,” I say while shifting uncomfortably.

“Okay, well, I came in here for Pacey. Would you be able to meet us in the media room? There’s a family who made a wish to meet you, and I want to brief you.”

Pacey stands. “Sure, no problem.”

I watch them leave together, and when they’re out of sight, I look straight at Posey. “What the fuck was that?”

“Uh, me doing you a favor. A thank-you would be appreciated.”

“That is not doing me a favor.” I lean back on the locker bench. “That is setting me up for failure.”

“How is that setting you up for failure?”

“I don’t know,” I say sarcastically. “How about the fact that I can barely talk to her, let alone look her in the eyes? Or that I don’t want to have her as a roommate because I have no fucking clue how to handle that. Or that I don’t have a fucking bonsai tree or know where to even get one.”

“Yeah, I went a little loose on the bonsai tree,” he says while rubbing his palm against his jaw. “But come on, this is your moment. She’s a free lady and now indebted to you. What more can you ask for?”

“I don’t want her indebted to me,” I say. “Jesus, that’s not how . . . that’s not how I want to handle this.”

“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. Call it gut instincts, but I was ready to ask her out when I first met her. Then the more I got to know her, the more I realized she’s way out of my league. She’s bright, and fun, and free. I’m the complete opposite. I can’t even remember what fun is. I live to play hockey, and when I’m not playing hockey, I escape into books. I keep a solid regimen so I don’t have to think or battle the thoughts in my head. I don’t know how to be any other way.

I don’t know how to survive any other way.

And throwing Blakely into the mix as my roommate? That will mess everything up.

I can feel it already.

“You wouldn’t have ever asked her out,” Silas says, arms folded. “Sorry, but it’s true. I usually don’t agree with Posey and his shenanigans, but I kind of agree with this move.”

“Thank you.” Posey bows like a moron. “Just doing the heavy lifting over here. I’ll take thank-yous whenever you want to toss them my way in forms of cash or bologna.”

“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.”

“You’re an idiot,” I say, blowing by him and heading straight to the restroom where I might dry-heave because, holy shit . . . Blakely will be living with me.