He’s Not My Type

“Dude, she saw the air mattress.”

“What?” Posey says as he picks up a water bottle while we lean against the boards after skating around to warm up our legs.

“She asked me why I was sleeping on an air mattress. She went into my room and saw it, then put the pieces together and figured out that I gave her my bed. She proceeded to strip her bed bare and attempt to drag the mattress to my room.”

“Did she?”

“She couldn’t even lift it off the frame.”

“Did you help her?”

“No. I told her she was the guest, and I’m the owner of the apartment. Therefore, I decide who gets the bed. End of discussion.”

Posey cringes in horror. “Dude, you said that?”

“I know.” I grip my stick tighter. “Fuck, I felt my balls shrivel up as I walked away. The look on her face wasn’t good. I proceeded to clam up after that and haven’t talked to her since.”

Posey shakes his head while the rest of the guys finish up and start filtering past us on their way back to the locker room. “That’s a fucking setback. How could you tell her end of discussion?”

“I was embarrassed that she saw the half-dilapidated air mattress, and I didn’t know what to say. She caught me off guard when she attempted to drag the regular mattress out of her room. It was a clusterfuck, and I wanted her to stop, so I said end of discussion.”

“Who did you say that to?” Silas asks as he slides in next to us.

“Holmes said that to Blakely,” Posey answers.

“Nooooooo,” Silas says in a low voice. “Holmes, man, I know you’re new to this, but you don’t say that shit to women.”

“I fucking know,” I shout, which grabs the attention of our coach. “Shit, let’s move this off the ice.”

Together, we filter past the bench and down the hall toward the locker room.

“Wait up,” Eli says, catching up to us. “Christ, I’m sore.”

“From what?” Silas asks as we spot Penny at the end of the hallway with her tripod set up and a question for us to answer for social media.

“Uh . . . I’ll tell you later,” he says with a smirk. He leans into Penny and gives her a kiss. “Hey, babe.”

“Hey,” she says while pressing her hand to his chest. “Did you stop in to see Holden?”

“Yeah, he looked happy.”

“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.”

Penny stops recording and clasps her hands together. “Perfect, boys, thank you.” Then she turns to me and points her finger. “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 here and never leaves me.”

“Oooo, plot twist,” Posey says as he lets go of Eli. He gives him a once-over and says, “Your fingers are safe for now, but you’re currently on probation. Understood?”

Eli nods vehemently. “Understood.”

“Now.” Posey turns toward Penny. “Tell us more about this falling in love thing.”

“Well, I think if it were the right guy, Blakely would stay here, you know? And she did say how attractive Halsey is. She said you had an amazing body—”

“Told you the no shirt would work,” Posey says, swatting my shoulder.

“Wait, you did that on purpose?” Penny asks.

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.”

“He does, a lot,” Silas says.

“He’s a good man.” She turns her attention back on me. “Okay, enough about Eli. Let’s figure out how you’re going to make my friend fall for you. Going shirtless is not going to work. And no offense, I’m sure you have an amazing body, but she’s unfazed by that. You guys need to step up your game.”

“Going shirtless was just one thing on a list of ways we were going to entice her,” Posey says.

Penny folds her arms over her chest. “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.”

“We are not using my penis as an enticement. Hell, we’re not enticing her at all, okay? This has gotten out of control. We are dropping it—”

“To hell you are,” Penny says, coming right up to me with that pointy finger of hers. “You listen to me, Holmes, and you listen good. I did not exit a child out of my body to just sit here and raise it without a best friend by my side. Do you understand what a postpartum woman goes through?”

“Ehhh . . .”

“Underneath this pretty pink blouse I’m wearing are raw nipples. Yeah . . . raw. They are chapped and have been sucked on and tugged on and brutalized to the point that I’m not sure I even have feeling in them anymore. And my stomach.” She clasps her hand to her stomach. “It is jiggly but not, but also . . . jiggly. Explain to me how that works? It’s as if when I got pregnant, an extra layer of skin was added but never fully attached to the underneath layer so it just moves around freely. And my feet . . . they fit in nothing,” she whispers in a scary tone, and I can feel the hairs on the back of my neck rise. “Nothing. All I can say is thank God for my generation creating the casual but professional look by incorporating sneakers with trousers because I wouldn’t have anything to wear on my feet if it weren’t for the fashion trends right now. And don’t get me started on the underwear I have to wear now.” She grips my jersey, coming in closer. “They are . . . enormous. I could wrap your head and Posey’s head together in one pair. So you can understand I need my best friend. Therefore, find your balls, man, because you are going to make my friend fall for you so fucking hard that she won’t know what to do with herself. Got it?”

I swallow hard, staring down at the maniacal eyes of Eli’s girl, and I feel myself slowly nod.

She pats my cheek. “That’s a good boy.” She straightens out her blouse. “Now, what is the plan?”

Startled, Posey clears his throat. “Uh, what were you thinking?”

“Glad you asked.”

PENNY: Are you home yet?

Halsey: This doesn’t feel right. I don’t want to trick her.

Penny: Dear God, Holmes, didn’t I tell you to grab your balls?

Posey: I witnessed the balls comment. My balls actually shriveled up from it.

Silas: I’m still trying to dig mine out of my asshole after she mentioned raw nipples.

OC: Uh . . . am I supposed to be on this text thread?

Pacey: What’s happening?

Posey: Penny is part of the Frozen Fellas now.

Silas: Trust me, don’t fight it. She has raw nipples.

OC: Is she taking Eli’s place?

Silas: Consider Eli dead. I don’t think he can stomach the pressure. He’s softened since he’s become a dad.

Penny: There is nothing soft about him!

Posey: Christ, Silas, don’t anger it.

Penny: It?

Posey: HER! I meant her! Don’t anger her. That was my phone. Not me. I’d never call you it. Please God, don’t make my nipples raw like yours.

OC: You know, I think this Frozen Fellas thing has become a bit too much for me. I was all for it until raw nipples were brought into the conversation.

Penny: Are you calling me raw nipples as a nickname, new guy?

Posey: Oh dear God. It’s angered.

Posey: I mean she! She’s angered.

Silas: Well, there go my balls again.

Pacey: I can’t breathe, this is hilarious.

OC: NO! I didn’t call you raw nipples. I meant the topic of raw nipples.

Penny: Does a woman’s postpartum body offend you, new guy?

Posey: For the love of God, apologize and stop talking.

OC: Please forgive me. I will not say anything else. Just . . . don’t kill me.

Penny: That’s better. Now, Halsey. I’m telling you, make the dinner. She’s going to love it. Perry never cooked for her. This is the perfect way to ease yourself into her good graces. And sloppy joes is one of her favorite meals. Follow the instructions, and nothing will go wrong. Now DO IT!

Posey: Listen to her.

Silas: Please . . . please, Holmes, just do it.

OC: Penny is the best, everything she says is correct and awesome, and she’s so smart.

Pacey: LOLOLOLOL

Penny: Good boys . . . very good boys.

I PLACE the pan from the drawer on the stove.

You can do this. You can cook. It can’t be that hard. The instructions are so simple a child could make it. Nothing can go wrong.

I turn on the burner, then pull the ground beef out of my grocery bag and set it on the counter along with my other ingredients, ketchup being one of them. Who fucking knew?

Not sure where Blakely is, but I don’t bother looking for her while I open up the pre-chopped onions. It was a solid find for me because to hell if I was going to have Blakely find me in the kitchen crying while chopping.

I toss some oil in the pan, then throw the onions in the pan as well, taking a step back because fuck those things smell. I study the pan. See? Easy.

“Are you cooking?” Blakely asks, walking in from the balcony.

I had no clue she was out there but hope she really likes the furniture. I had her in mind with every piece I purchased. The table so she could work out there. The loungers so she could relax. And the loveseat so that maybe one day, we can sit in it together with an open fire.

“Yeah. Sloppy joes. I’m going to have extra if you want some.”

“I love sloppy joes. Do you want me to help?”

“Nah, I’m good,” I say.

“Are you sure?”

“Positive,” I say as I grab a wooden spoon, pretending I know what I’m doing as I stir the onions around. “I have stuff to make a salad to go with it. Do you like salad?”

She smirks. “Yes, I love salad.”

Of course she likes salad, you idiot. What kind of question is that?

I’m losing my confidence.

Between Penny scaring the literal crap out of me, the pressure of not fucking up my chances, and the insane conversation I had with Blakely earlier about the bed, I’m flustered.

“By the way, I moved your bed.”

I pause stirring and look over at her. “What?”

“I found these things that helped me slide the bed through the apartment. The hardest part was getting the mattress on them, but once I did, it was smooth sailing from there. And moving the air mattress was a piece of cake.”

“I told you I didn’t want the bed.”

I toss the ground beef into the pan, unsure if my timing is right, but hell, it’ll all cook down together.

“Your lower back says differently.” When my eyes narrow, she says, “Uh yeah, I looked up your injuries to prove a point. See, told you not to mess with me. The bed is yours. I’ll be snuggling up on the comfort of air tonight.”

“Blakely . . .”

“What?” She smiles proudly at me.

“You shouldn’t have done that.”

“Oh yeah, what are you going to do about it? Switch them back?”

“Yes,” I say. And without even thinking about it, I charge toward my room to switch the beds right then and there.

Blakely chases after me. “Don’t you dare!” she calls out, and when I reach the room, she charges past me and flops on the bed, arms and legs splayed out as if that will stop me from moving the bed.

“You realize I can lift you and the mattress together.”

“You wouldn’t dare shimmy me off this bed.”

“You don’t think I will?”

She shakes her head. “No, you’re too kind.”

“Watch me,” I say as I grab the comforter in one hand and give it a quick tug, dragging her with it.

“Nooooo,” she cries out as I wrap her up in the blanket and deposit her to the side. I quickly tear the sheets off and toss them her way, adding to her entanglement. “Stop that this very moment,” she calls out.

Ignoring her, I lift the mattress and put it on its side, then I drag the heavy-ass thing toward the doorway, only for her to throw her body onto it, sending the mattress into the wall and right out of my hands.

“You are not taking this anywhere.” She grips it like a spider, her expression determined.

I lift the mattress on its side again and wiggle it until she falls off to the floor. I regret it for a second, hoping I didn’t hurt her, but when I see she’s okay, I tug it again. I get it halfway out my bedroom door this time before she climbs on top of it. Only she doesn’t cling to the side. Instead, she straddles the top, grips it with her thighs, and holds on to the top of the doorframe.

“Try me, Holmes.”

“Let go of the door.”

“Never,” she hisses.

“Blakely, I’m not letting you sleep on the air mattress.”

“Well, guess who is not in charge of me? You. That’s who. So I suggest you put this mattress back on your bed and walk away. I have all freaking night and I will not give up, and the minute you leave this apartment, and you’re skating your little heart around that ice, I will be moving this mattress back to your room. I’m relentless and stubborn and refuse to let you win this match.” A smile passes over her lips. “End of discussion.”

I don’t know what it is—her sass, that smirk, or the reverberation of the words I used on her this morning—but it creates a sense of revenge inside me, bringing me to the stubborn motherfucker I’ve been known to be. Over my dead fucking body will she be sleeping on an air mattress.

“Fine,” I say.

“Fine?” she asks, thinking she’s won.

I move back into my room while she hops down from the mattress. I feel her eyes watching me walk into my attached bathroom. I reach into one of the drawers, grab a pair of scissors, and walk past her, headed right for her room.

“What are you doing?” she asks.

I remain silent, walking past Sherman, who now has a picture of a cat set up next to him. What the hell is that about?

I’ll ask questions later. I have a mission to accomplish at the moment.

“Halsey, why are there scissors in your hand?” She runs up to me, tugging on my hand, but I keep moving forward. “I asked you why you have scissors in your hand.” She tries to stop me from moving forward, but she’s no match, and I walk right into her bedroom.

“Halsey Holmes, you put those scissors down this instant.”

I step up to the air mattress, cock back my hand, and lean forward to jab just as she throws her body in front of me.

My hand stops just in time. “Jesus, Blakely, what the hell are you doing? I could have stabbed you.”

“You’re not popping this air mattress.”

“Yes, I am.” I move around her, but she moves with me, throwing her arms out and protecting the stupid thing.

Trying to outsmart her, I leap over her and cock my arm back again, only to be stopped by her climbing on my back and knocking the scissors out of my hand.

Because the air mattress is unsteady, and I’m surprised by her attack, I falter in my balance. I step to the side, missing the mattress completely, and fall to the floor, rolling my ankle in the process.

“Aw, fuck,” I cry out as I land flat on top of her, knocking the wind out of her.

Pain shoots up my ankle. She remains lifeless beneath me, and the scissors land inches from me on the floor. On a grunt, I reach for them and bring the tip toward the air mattress, just as she wraps her arms around my shoulders, holding me back.

“No, don’t.”

“It’s . . . happening,” I call out just as I make one last attempt. I lift and stab the air mattress, popping it with one big burst of air.

Relieved, I roll to the side and catch my breath as she tends to the air mattress.

“I can’t believe you did that.” She attempts to stop the air from escaping by covering the hole with her hands, but it’s pointless. “What did this mattress ever do to you other than provide you comfort?”

I wince as pain shoots up my leg. Fuck . . . that’s not good.

I crawl past the deflating air mattress and use the wall to help me stand. When I put even slight pressure on my foot, pain radiates through my leg, causing me to crumple back to the floor.

“You realize I’m just going to sleep on the couch now, right?” I feel her eyes fall on me. “Did you hear me? Couch? Wait . . . are you in pain?” She crawls toward me. “Are you crying?”

“No,” I grunt out.

“Oh God, wait . . . you are in pain. Is it your back? Should I get you ice? A brace? Tiger balm? Do they even still make that? What can I do?” She presses her hand to my back. “It feels hot. Does that mean you snapped something inside it? I think I read that once, that hot muscles indicate an injured muscle. Is that right? Did you injure the back?”

“My . . . my ankle,” I say.

“What?” she nearly yells. “Your ankle? Are you serious? I swear to God, if you’re not serious, I’m going to murder—”

Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.

The shrill sound blasts through the apartment, nearly curdling our ears.

“Jesus, what’s . . .” She pops her head up like a prairie dog and sniffs the air. “Is something burning?”

“Burning?” I ask, totally out of it.

“Yeah, it smells like . . . oh no, is it the sloppy joes?” she yells as the fire alarm sounds off in the apartment.

“Fuck. It is.” I go to stand again, but she pushes me back on the floor, landing me on my back.

“Shit, sorry, I didn’t mean for that to be aggressive, but don’t get up.” She points at me. “Stay right there. I’ll get the sloppy joes.”

“I can—”

She plants her foot right on top of my chest, and in a demon voice, she says, “Get up and I will bring that pan over here and use your nut sac as a trivet. Got it?”

I hold my hands up in surrender. “Fine.” I am just as terrified by Blakely’s demon voice as I am of Penny’s. Who taught who? Because surely, they weren’t raised with that voice, right?

She takes off, and from where I lie on her bedroom floor, I hear her open the sliding glass doors to the balcony as well as a few other windows.

“Shit, this is torched,” she says from the kitchen, causing me to shut my eyes in disappointment.

Yup, you idiot, good job. Not only did you burn dinner but you pissed her off. And you hurt your foot, right when we’re on a goddamn winning roll. Pretty sure this is not what Penny and the boys envisioned for me tonight. But fuck, I didn’t want her sleeping on a stupid air mattress. Is that too much to ask?

After a few seconds, she comes back into her bedroom, bringing the stench of burnt onions with her. Hands on her hips, she says, “I’m well aware the odor surrounding me is unpleasant so if you tell me right now you’re faking this injury, I will lose it on you.”

I shake my head. “I’m not faking it.”

“Okay, so you’re telling me you hurt your ankle?”

“Yes.”

She stares at the wall and nods before throwing her arms up in the air. “Great, I just hurt the ankle of our number-one player, ruining the chances of the Agitators winning the Stanley Cup. Great.” She leans against the wall and slides down it until she’s sitting.

Her hands cover her eyes and I’m unsure if she’s going to cry or if she’s going to scream, but to avoid both, I say, “You think I’m the number-one player on the team?”

“Holmes, I’ve been with you guys for a year. A fan for years before that. Of course I know you are.” She holds her hand up to me. “And I just jumped on your back without thinking about the consequences!” My ankle throbs, but I’m also riding a small high here. Blakely thinks I’m the best on the Agitators.

“Blakely. Look at me.”

“I can’t,” she says through her hands, which has muffled her voice. I chuckle. I can’t help it. She’s adorable.

I sit up and pull her hands off her face.

“There she is.” I lift her chin and find watery eyes staring back at me. “Blakely, I’ve rolled this ankle a million times. I’ve played with worse. I just need to see my trainer.”

“Your trainer. Of course. I need to get you to your trainer. I’ll drive you there. Come on, Holmes. Hop up, and I’ll take you. Oh, but you can’t hop up. Well, you might be able to hop, but not all the way to the arena—”

“Blakely?” She finally takes a breath and squints at me.

“Yes, Halsey?”

“There are crutches in the front hallway closet. You grab those, and I’m going to text my trainer to meet me at the arena.”

“Right, on it.” She bolts out of the room, and I pull my phone out of my pocket and text Grace, our trainer.

Make sloppy joes, she said. They’re easy, she said. But no, it’s easier for me to make a fool of myself than cook a simple dinner.

This was not what was supposed to happen . . . you dumbass.

BLAKELY DRIVES like she has precious cargo in the car. She refuses to go above the speed limit, and she asks if I’m okay every few seconds.

“Yes . . . I’m fine. Seriously, you don’t have to keep asking,” I say as my phone buzzes with a text.

Penny: How’s it going? I’m dying to know. Do we hear wedding bells?

I roll my eyes. If only she fucking knew.

Posey: How were the sloppy joes? I tried the recipe because I was curious. Really enjoyed the added onions.

Silas: Ha! I made them too. Fucking delicious.

OC: Is it weird that I cooked them as well, but only because I want to get on Penny’s good side?

Penny: Very smart, new guy. Very smart.

Knowing we have at least ten more minutes until we reach the arena by the way Blakely is driving, I text them back.

Halsey: Burned the fuck out of the sloppy joes because I was wrestling a mattress. I rolled my ankle, so we’re currently on the way to the arena to meet with Grace. I ended up popping the air mattress with scissors.

Silas: **BLINKS**

Posey: Uh . . . I don’t think that’s what we planned.

OC: Wait, so you’re hurt?

Pacey: Fuck, dude!

Halsey: Yeah, I’m hurt, and dinner was roasted.

Penny: This.

Penny: Is.

Penny: Perfect!!!

Silas: I say this with all the gentility that I can muster, but how is our center rolling his ankle perfect?

OC: Clearly, Penny knows all so we should just listen to her. Yay, you rolled your ankle!

Posey: Dude, have some nuts.

Pacey: I’m with Levi.

OC: I’m so confused!

Penny: Okay, it sucks for the team, but this is perfect for Halsey. He will be out for, what? A week or two? Blakely will be so distraught that she’ll want to take care of him every chance she gets, leading to them falling in love! Can’t you see, it’s perfect!

Posey: She’s right.

Silas: Huh, that does make sense.

OC: See, all hail Queen Penny.

Penny: Okay, pull it back, new guy.

OC: Sorry.

Halsey: She has a job. There is no way she will take care of me, and I don’t need to be taken care of.

Posey: Don’t be a stubborn motherfucker. Take this chance and go with it.

Pacey: Take it, dude.

“Are you still doing okay?”

I glance over at her, and her worried lip. “Yes, Blakely. Seriously, I’m good.”

“Okay.” Her eyes fixate on the road in front of her, but I can see the tension in her shoulders and the sorrow in her expression.

“I shouldn’t have tried to move the bed or pop it for that matter. Call me old-fashioned, but I just wanted to make sure you were comfortable. You’re my guest.”

“I know, and I’m sorry. I was being stubborn and trying not to get in the way and bother you, but I ended up making it worse. We burned dinner and popped an air mattress and made a mess of our rooms. And you won’t be able to play hockey. Do you think it will be for the rest of the season? I really am sorry.”

“It won’t be the rest of the season, and it will be fine. Okay? I should have just left everything alone.”

“No, I should have.”

I sigh. “Listen, Blakely. We can go around in circles about this, or we can just apologize to each other and not bring it up anymore.”

She stops at a red light and turns toward me, tears in her eyes. “I just feel really bad.”

Shit.

I don’t want to see her cry.

Ever.

Those tears about to pour over feel like tiny sharp knives digging into my chest.

I want to pull her into my chest, hug her, brush my hand over her hair, tell her everything is going to be okay, but I don’t own that privilege, so instead, I say, “I know, Blakely. But I promise you, it will be fine. Okay?”

She nods as one single tear streams down her cheek. She wipes it away and says, “I’m sorry, Halsey.”

“I’m sorry, too.” I offer a comforting side smile, unsure of what else to do.

She wipes at her eye, and as the light turns green, she starts driving again.

Fuck . . .

If only.

If only I could tell her that I don’t care about what happened, just that I care about her comfort, spending time with her, and making sure she’s okay. I hate that she’s upset. I hate that she’s holding this guilt. That’s the last fucking thing I want.

I want to see that shining smile of hers, those brilliant eyes full of joy. I don’t want to be the source of her pain and discomfort.

Feeling sick about it, I text the group.

Halsey: She feels so guilty. She’s crying. I can’t fucking take this. I don’t want her upset and holding on to this guilt. What the fuck do I do? Because anything I say doesn’t seem to penetrate her mind.

I glance out the window and see the arena up ahead just as my phone buzzes.

Penny: She will hold on to this guilt until she feels better. Let her feel her pain. Let her do what she can to make things right in her head. Accept her help.

Pacey: I don’t know Blakely well, but I know if this was Winnie, she’d want to do everything she can so that, in her mind, she’s rectifying the situation that she helped create. I agree with Penny. Let her work through this herself.

Silas: Same with Ollie.

Posey: And when she works through it, that’s when you take advantage of the time with her.

Penny: Correct, boys. I’m proud of you.

OC: I’m still thinking about how you used the word penetrate. I keep thinking about your penis. I think there is something wrong with me.

Halsey: You’ve lost a lot of my respect.

OC: I accept this.