He’s Not My Type

“This is not going to work,” I say to Posey, who just sat beside me on the airplane.

“What’s not going to work?” He stretches his legs out and rests his folded hands on his stomach.

“This stupid plan you devised to convince Blakely I’m the guy for her.”

“You mean the Break Blakely Action Plan?”

“I told you, I didn’t like that name. And we shouldn’t be naming it anyway. I can’t go through with this.”

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.

“Dude, I’m just protecting you and your interests. He’s with Penny. If she found out about Break Blakely, you know she’d tell her. Is that what you want? You want Blakely to know that you purposely walked around this morning without a shirt on to entice her with your rippling chest?” He elbows me in the side. “You did that, right? You went shirtless?”

“I did, and I felt like the biggest douchebag.”

“Did she check you out?” Pacey asks.

“I don’t know. I was too fucking worried that I was making her uncomfortable to even notice.”

“Did she look uncomfortable?” Pacey asks.

“No. I don’t know. It was fucking weird, okay?”

“Did you get her breakfast?” OC asks.

“Yes, I did, and we sat and ate together and talked.”

“Then what’s the problem?” Posey asks. “It seems like you did all the right things. No shirt. Check. Breakfast. Check. Conversation. Check. How could this have gone any better?”

I rub my hand over my forehead and say, “I . . . I can’t seem to control what I say around her.”

“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.”

“None of that,” I say before looking out the window, thinking about this morning and how easy it felt to talk to her. How I didn’t even consider what I was saying and could just be me. “I talked about Holden.”

The boys fall silent for a moment before Posey quietly asks, “Did you talk about the accident?”

“No, nothing like that, although I’ve mentioned it. I keep mentioning him, and the moments we shared.”

“Is that a bad thing?” Silas asks, his voice gentler as well.

“That’s what I’m struggling with. At the moment, it feels right. It feels like I’m supposed to be opening up to her because she makes me comfortable, more comfortable than I’ve ever felt. But afterward, I feel this anxious panic. It’s a combination of regret and memories I don’t want to relive, things I’ve stuffed away for so long, and every time they resurface, it’s like I live through losing him all over again. And I can’t seem to stop myself. Talking about him to her comes out so easily. Then there’s the whole aspect of not wanting her to feel bad for me. I don’t want to play the pity card. I don’t want her looking at me as the guy who lost his brother, but then I can’t stop mentioning him. I don’t know what the hell is going on, and that’s why we need to stop this. We need to cancel everything. I can’t live with this pain at the forefront of my mind. I can’t possibly deal with it and play fucking hockey at the same time.”

The boys fall silent again, and I don’t blame them. I don’t know how to handle this situation either. I’ve been thinking about it all fucking morning, regretting talking about Holden, wondering if she thinks I’m seeking pity whenever I mention him. I’m not. I don’t want anyone’s pity.

I just . . . fuck, I just want her to like me.

I want her to see me as someone she can rely on and see herself with.

But fuck, I don’t even know who I am anymore without Holden—I don’t like who I am anymore—so how could I possibly get her to fall for me? Why would someone so vibrant and full of life consider me as boyfriend material? Husband material? She wouldn’t.

“Maybe,” Posey says, taking his time. “Maybe she’s exactly what you need, and there’s going to be some growing pains that go with it.”

“What do you mean?” I ask.

“I think he’s trying to say that Blakely might be the key to helping you through the trauma of losing your brother,” Pacey says. “And I say this delicately, man, but none of us have been able to talk to you about Holden. It’s rare if you ever speak about him, let alone hang out with us outside of hockey. Even when we’re in Banff, you spend most of the time reading. It’s not a bad thing, but we’re also worried.”

“He’s right,” Silas chimes in. “You’ve shut down, yet it seems Blakely pulls another side out of you. It’s not bad, it’s just different, but a good different.”

I shake my head. “I don’t want to go there.”

“You need to,” OC says, stepping in. “I lost a childhood friend back in college and I know it’s not the same as losing your twin, but it was too easy to push the world away rather than fight against that feeling and live your life, a life my friend would have wanted me to live. This might be the first step of you coming out of that place of denial. And yeah, it’s going to be really fucking uncomfortable and there will be days where you are sick to your stomach with reliving the pain you stuffed away, but dude, coming from experience, it’s so much fucking better living on the other side.”

Posey pats my leg. “He would have wanted you to live your life, man. We all know that about him.”

“He’s right,” Silas agrees. “And you can’t view talking about Holden with Blakely as a bad thing. Dude, don’t you see how special that is? The kind of effect this girl has on you? This is just the beginning of talking to her, getting to know her, so imagine what will happen when you spend a few weeks talking to her on a deeper level?”

“Could be magic,” Pacey adds.

And dammit, he could be right because that word . . . magic . . . I can’t deny that’s how it feels when I’m around her.

I feel light.

I feel safe.

I feel like she was brought into my life for a reason.

But the fear of giving myself over, that is buried so fucking deep.

I drag my hand through my hair. “So what, I’m going to grow an attachment to this girl, she’s going to pull me out of this funk I’m living in, then she’ll take a new job somewhere else, and I have to sit back and think, wow, that was fun, now what?”

“No.” Posey shakes his head. “That’s why we have the Break Blakely plan, because after we’re done with her, not only is she going to want to stay in your apartment and in Vancouver but she’s going to be head over heels in love with you.”

“She is,” Silas agrees, usually the most “realistic” one in the group. “Mark our words, you’ll be proposing by the end of the season.”

“And then the Frozen Fellas will be the groomsmen at your wedding. Eli pending with the whole NDA thing,” OC says. He’s starting to slip into the delirium that my guys live in, so I’m going to have to watch him. He’s levelheaded, I don’t need him being influenced by the others.

“So you good?” Posey asks.

“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.

MY PHONE CHIMES with a text as I shift out of the bathroom where I just took a shower. Towel wrapped around my waist, 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.

Posey: I’m going to bed, don’t fucking disturb me. You know how I need my sleep. If you require help with your texts, ask OC, he’s the newbie, and he should be in charge of texts.

Halsey: I’ll be fine.

I sit on the edge of my bed and pull up her name in my phone.

Her beautiful face displayed in the thumbnail of the contact actually gives me butterflies.

Jesus, I’m so pathetic.

Taking a deep breath, I type out a text message and press send.

No going back now.

Halsey: Hey Blakely. Heads-up, I have people stopping by tomorrow between three and five to deliver some furniture for the patio. Do you think you’ll be home?

I’m about to toss my phone to the side, not willing to wait around to see if she texts back, but then the dots indicate her texting, so I wait, my stomach twisting in a knot.

When my phone dings, my eyes immediately start reading.

Blakely: Hey! How was the flight? I’ll be home for sure. When you’re out of town, we get to work from home, which is always nice. And you got furniture? Oh my God, I told you, you didn’t have to . . . but also . . . please tell me a table was included in that purchase. LOL

A genuine smile passes over my lips as I text her back.

Halsey: Flight was good. Eli was nauseous on the flight for some reason, but other than that, it was smooth. And as for the furniture, I got a dining table that seats six, two lounge chairs, and a loveseat that rocks . . . oh, and a firepit for in front of it.

Blakely: Holy crap. That’s a lot and, even though you didn’t have to do that, I’m positively thrilled. A firepit? I’ll grab the marshmallows and sticks. Was the lounge for you and your reading? If you tell me no, I might cry.

Halsey: I’ll be using them for sure.

Blakely: Thank goodness. You could always use them for some naked sunbathing as well.

Halsey: Not really into that.

Blakely: Yeah, me neither. **sense the sarcasm**

Hell, she can’t tell me that shit, because that’s all I’ll think about when on that lounger now.

Halsey: Look out for peeping Toms.

Blakely: They wouldn’t be looking for me. They’d be looking for Frederick Garrlo.

Halsey: Pretty sure they’d be looking for you.

Blakely: You flatter me. Well, I’ll let the movers in with pleasure. Also, I watered Sherman today in the sink, as his soil was looking a touch dry. Once he soaked everything up that he wanted, I gave him some sun time. I’ll be honest, he’s the easiest, most calm plant I’ve ever had to take care of.

Halsey: Have you taken care of a plant that wasn’t calm?

Blakely: A few. One of those Venus Fly Trap plants. They’re unruly and rude. And then there was this donkey tail succulent that would shed a tail anytime you looked at it. I swear to God, they just fell off. My mom was livid when she came home. I told her I didn’t touch the plant, that it was just revolting since she left. She didn’t buy it. Fun fact . . . I stroked one of its strands unknowing that the tails easily fall off and they nearly shattered to the ground. I was so horrified I tried to glue them back, but the plant wouldn’t let me.

Fuck . . . she’s cute. I move toward my suitcase for a pair of shorts as I type her back.

Halsey: Sherman is heartier than that. I don’t think you’ll have any problems with him.

Blakely: I sure hope not. I’d hate to mess up the only job I have when it comes to staying in this apartment. Which by the way, I had my friend Kenzie over and she was confused at first. She was like . . . this is not a place she would ever picture me in. She liked it, but I’m more of a white walls, fluffy blankets kind of girl.

Yeah, I could have told you that. My apartment is not particularly welcoming or a place that I could see Blakely wanting to rent, which makes me think, should I add more than just curtains? Was Posey right about a rug? If I got a rug now, would it be obvious that I was trying too hard?

Probably.

I slip my shorts on and type her back.

Halsey: Feel free to change anything you want. I’m not much of a designer. I’m pretty sure I haven’t taken the tags off everything I’ve purchased.

Blakely: Like the whisk? I noticed. It’s okay, I don’t want to disturb your peace. I’m sure you enjoy the minimalistic look.

Halsey: I really don’t care. The only reason it’s so minimalistic is because I haven’t cared enough to do anything to the place. I don’t even have bookshelves for my books. Posey was disgusted when he saw my books stacked up.

I lean back on the mattress of my hotel bed, grateful for the departure from the air mattress back home. Those are made for maybe one or two nights, not as a regular bed, and I’m already feeling it.

Blakely: You don’t have shelves? Halsey Holmes, that’s sacrilege to a book lover. Don’t you know the essentials to anyone who loves to read is a bookmark, a favorite snack, bookshelves, and a guilty pleasure genre that you read and don’t tell anyone about?

Halsey: Guilty pleasure genre? I don’t think I have one of those.

Blakely: Liar. There has to be a type of book you like reading but are slightly embarrassed that you read it. For example, I don’t read much, but I am in the line of reading any autobiography from a reality show personality.

Halsey: Oh . . . well I guess there are a few things that I wouldn’t read in front of the guys. I like this one author, Lynsay Sands. She writes Scottish romances, and I can’t believe I actually typed that out to you, but yeah. There’s a series I like, one in particular where the heroine is shot in the boob with an arrow.

Blakely: Uh . . . pardon me?

Oh shit, you idiot.

See, this is what I’m talking about.

She just pulls it out of me. I say stupid things that I probably shouldn’t say.

Halsey: Maybe forget I said that.

Blakely: Ohhhhh no, that won’t be forgotten. You like an arrow to a boob?

Halsey: No! I mean . . . it was funny. Unexpected. Never read anything that had no problem shooting an arrow to a boob is all. I was caught off guard and it stuck with me. I don’t get pleasure over boob mutilation if that’s what you’re thinking.

Blakely: LOL. I was not thinking that, but now that you mention it . . .

Blakely: Just kidding. I don’t think you could hurt a fly, unless you’re on the ice. I’ve seen you check a few guys. That’s if they can keep up with you.

The flattery does obnoxious things for my ego.

Halsey: I’ve been in my fair share of fights. Trust me, I can hurt someone.

Blakely: I don’t believe it.

Halsey: Are you trying to get me to prove it to you?

Blakely: Maybe . . . how good are you at leg wrestling?

Halsey: Don’t even try.

Blakely: I have some powerful legs and hips. I’d give you a run for your money.

Halsey: Like I said, don’t even try.

Blakely: Well, now I feel like this needs to happen when you return. I’d say best of three but I’m not sure my stamina is as good as yours, so I think it’ll have to be all or nothing.

Halsey: Not going to happen. We’re not battling it out in a leg wrestle.

Blakely: Oh that’s cute, you’re scared. Anyway, I know you have to get to bed, get that beauty sleep and rest up those muscles. We need goals tomorrow. I’ll be sure to look out for the delivery. Can’t wait.

Halsey: Thanks. I appreciate it. Have a good night, Blakely.

Blakely: You too!

“WHAT THE FUCK did you eat today?” OC asks as he sits next to me on the bench, the last minute of the game playing out in front of us. We’re up four to one, two of the goals being mine, the other two belonging to Silas and OC, both with my assists. “I can barely keep up with your skating and I’m younger than you.”

“No need to mention age,” I say as Posey checks someone into the boards, causing the fans to boo. OC, Silas, and I are out of the game, giving our legs a rest, but hell, I think I could go another hour. My adrenaline is pumping, and my body is itching for more action.

“Seriously though, what’s going on with you? Take an upper I don’t know about?”

I shake my head and squirt some water into my mouth as sweat drips down my face, droplets falling off the ends of my hair. “I don’t know, just have a lot of energy.”

“That’s apparent.” He takes a deep breath. “Keeping up with you wore me the fuck out.”

“Maybe you’re out of shape?”

He glares at me. Seeing more of his personality makes me feel like we’ve been friends for longer than a couple of weeks. He feels so familiar, like I’ve known him for years. “I’m not out of shape. I can out lift you any day, outrun you.”

“Clearly you can’t outskate me,” I say, even surprising myself.

“Oh, fucking cocky now?”

The timer counts down from ten seconds, and the guys casually skate around the rink, knowing we’ve secured the W. When the buzzer goes off, we lift from the bench and hop onto the ice to line up and offer each other fist bumps. That was an easier win than expected. Usually the Polar Freeze give us more of a headache on the ice.

We head into the locker room but not before offering some fist bumps to fans on our way in.

The clatter of pads and skates sound off in the locker room as we all take seats and start stripping down.

“Fuck, I’m exhausted,” Silas says while glancing over at me. “I swear to God that felt like the most intense scrimmage of my life. What the hell got into you tonight?” He looks my way, and I shrug.

“Just doing my job.”

Silas shakes his head. “No, man, that was another level. Even your passes were faster. They were zipping so fast across the ice that I barely had enough time to react. I probably would have scored two more goals had I been.”

“Same,” OC says. “Keeping up with you was hard tonight.”

“Maybe you two should get your shit together then.”

“Ooo, you hear that?” Pacey says. “Holmes is talking a little smack over there. Not sure we’ve seen that side of him in a while. He’s always like . . . it’s all about the team, I love the team, teammates are great. Yay team.”

I give him an unamused look that makes him laugh.

“You know, he’s right,” Eli says, while tearing his jersey over his head with some help from Posey when it gets stuck on his pads. “You are all about the team, so what’s the difference?”

“Nothing,” I say, but when I glance over at Posey, I know he’s concocting something in his head. He has that puzzling look in his eyes, like he’s trying to solve the world’s greatest math equation.

“Wait . . .” he says, silencing the room. “Is this because of Blakely?”

And there it is.

“No,” I say. Even though, if I were honest with myself, talking to her last night felt really good. I went to bed with a smile on my face and a sense of fulfillment I haven’t felt in a long time. Also, I got a texted photo of her on one of the loungers earlier today, smiling brightly with a huge thank-you attached to the image. I thought about saving the picture to my phone but decided that might be a little creepy.

“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.

“Does this have to do with the NDA?” Eli asks. “I electronically signed it before the game. Fill me in.”

“Ah, our newest member of the Frozen Fellas,” Posey says. “Welcome.”

They all offer Eli a fist bump.

This has gotten out of control. Next thing you know, we’re going to have branded shirts, notepads, and pens for our next meeting.

Jesus, I could actually see that happening. I wouldn’t put it past Posey.

“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 gets to pierce the offenders belly button and add a permanent charm that shall never ever be removed.”

“Correct.” Pacey nods. “Belly button piercing with dangly, glitzy charm seemed just as offensive, so either way, don’t fuck up and tell Penny. Got it?”

With obvious strain, 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.”

“Good,” Pacey says, and Eli walks away, bringing the attention back to me. “So you talked to her last night? Did she get the furniture?”

“Yes, and yes,” I answer.

“Did you swoon?” OC asks.

“What? No. Jesus. It was nothing like that. It was a solid text convo. We joked a bit, and she thanked me for the furniture with a picture today.”

“She sent a picture?” Silas asks. “Let’s see it.”

“No, I’m not going to show you the picture.”

“You have to show us the picture,” Pacey says. “We have to see if there are any hints in it.”

“Hints?” I ask.

“Oh yeah, hints.” OC nods knowingly. “There are ways girls take pictures that can give us a good indication of their thoughts. Position, angle, clothes, expression. It all matters.”

“That’s absurd. It’s just a regular picture.”

“Says the guy who didn’t know he should walk around with his shirt off to get the girl,” Silas says. “Show us the picture.”

“Yeah, show it to us.” Pacey pokes my leg.

“It’s the only way to figure out what’s going on in her head,” OC adds.

That’s when I glance up at Posey, who’s sitting in a pulled-up chair in front of me, slowly rubbing his hands together with a smirk on his face.

“What’s with the silence?” I ask.

A maniacal smile crosses over his face. “Just pleased with myself. This is unfolding perfectly.”

“I’m out of here. I need a shower.” 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. “Of course it’s not.”

“Well from the way you were skating today, we thought that it was a nearly topless picture of her making a kissy face at you,” Silas says. “This is just a normal picture.”

“I know,” I say, snagging the phone from him. “That’s what I told you.”

OC scratches his cheek as he says, “So if Holmes was skating that fast and possessed that much energy on the ice from just a simple thank-you picture, does that mean . . .” He pauses, trying to put pieces together in his head. “Does that mean he really is in love with this girl?”

“No,” I say as the collective group says yes.

“I don’t love her,” I reiterate. “I just have a little crush, okay?”

“Ha, little, that’s funny,” Silas says.

I peel off my socks and shin guards, then ask, “Are we done here? Because you motherfuckers stink, and I don’t want to be around you anymore.”

Posey nods to everyone. “We’re done, but I’m glad to see we’re making progress. Remember to text her tonight, but keep it simple, nothing like sweet dreams, my little ball of angel glitter.”

I cringe. “Who the fuck says that?”

“You’d be surprised by the things that come out of Silas’s mouth when he speaks to Ollie.” Posey grins.

“Fuck off,” Silas says, taking the attention off me. Thank God. “I don’t call Ollie a ball of angel glitter. She would fucking laugh in my face.”

“I think I heard you call her your pet,” Pacey says.

“Uh . . . no,” Silas says. “It’s just babe . . . and good girl.”

“Fuck, do the girls love that,” OC says.

“They do.” Silas nudges me. “When you get to that point with Blakely, remember to call her a good girl whenever you can.”

“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.