Not Your Type (Chris Pine FanFic)

Chelsea

Drew gave her a larger than usual smile. Her roommates were much more peculiar today that the normal. She cocked an eyebrow at him and went into the kitchen. "If you want salsa so badly you'd better help me chop some veggies," she called over her shoulder. She heard Drew turn around and moments later her joined her in the kitchen.

"So," he spoke expectantly as she handed him tomatoes from their spot on the counter. 

"So?" Chelsea handed him the jalepenos and reached for the onion on the cabinet.

"Don't you think it's weird that Aaron's college roommates turned out to be so, um, successful?"

"Are you talking about Jeff, the guy in the weird band that cares," she paused midsentence and looked over the counter into the living room for Jeff. She saw the back of his head, his carefully coiffed hair that carried a horrible aroma of expensive hair products. "The guy that cares too much for his hair and club hops every weekend? I hardly count that as super successful."

"Yeah, that's true." Drew conceded, but the sigh that accompanied it made it clear he was talking about something else. "But..."

"But what?" Chelsea asked as Jeff interrupted their conversation.

"Drew! G! Are you making Garcia's amazing and famous salsa, because I've been telling Pine about it for the last twenty minutes." The sound of one man smacking another man's shoulder or back followed the statement.

"That's exactly what we're doing," Drew answered. Chelsea reminded herself to thank him. Jeff, though he drove her crazy with his narcissistic ways, was so devastatingly handsome she found herself less than eloquent around him. Sure, his hair had too much product in it, but his California tanned skin, dark brown hair, and green eyes could easily disarm even the most baggage laden woman.

"G, is it a family recipe?" Why did he call her that? It caused an ache in her stomach she wanted to ignore. Not a butterfly filled ache, but a deep longing for something she missed. More precisely someone. She wasn't G, no one called her that, but she used to call someone that. As her thoughts wandered another male voice spoke softly.

"That's Garcia? I thought you said Garcia was a man." The voice was incredibly familiar, husky and warm and it made her want to whirl around and see the face. Why is that voice so familiar?

"Well, Garcia has serious man tendencies," Chelsea's fist began to clinch around the tomato in her hand. Drew carefully took it away and smiled at her. She grinned mischievously, took the knife, and began to chop the onion. "Notice she's wearing the Manning shirt. That's pretty manly isn't it?"

The husky voice countered this point, "It honestly seems like everyone in America has jumped on that bandwagon. Not necessarily masculine, put on a..."

"Bailey jersey? Do you want me to go upstairs and pull my Champ jersey out to prove my manliness?" Chelsea interjected. Sure, being called manly was mildly offensive, but she truly hated being thrown on to the Bronco bandwagon. She turned on the faucet and rinsed her hands, preparing to turn and face Mr. Sexy-Voice and let him know just how much Bronco knowledge she actually had. "My mom has the world's ugliest Terrell Davis shirt. I'm sure she offered to buy me one back in 1997. I guess I should've taken her up on the offer for this moment right here. You know, she may have offered in '98 as well," Chelsea paused as she pondered TD and the Mile-High Salute. Truthfully, she probably did have some nineties Super Bowl junk stuffed in a box somewhere. 

"I told you, manly." Jeff began.

"Manly, perhaps. Bandwagon, never." Chelsea dried her hands on the towel hanging from the oven and turned around to face Jeff and his green eyes. The dazzling blue that she was greeted with took her breath away. Her gaze quickly shot away from the blue eyes and to Jeff's green ones. 

"Aren't you from Texas? Sounds like bandwagon hopping to me." Jeff stated, cocking his eyebrow in a look that mimicked the one she gave Drew earlier.

Words, Chelsea thought, I need words. She could see the blue eyes staring at her face from the corner of her eye. Then she couldn't help it, she glanced at him.

Oh sweet mother of Moses, she thought. Successful roommates. Oh holy hell. Aaron roomed with Chris Pine in college. Chris Pine, whom I watched not once but TWICE in 3D at the IMAX last summer. Suddenly she was having to remind herself to breathe.

"We went to college together in Texas," Drew stated calmly while handing Chelsea a bowl of chopped tomatoes. He locked his eyes on hers and without saying a word told her to calm down.

"Lubbock, we went to Tech. I grew up in Denver." She slowly pulled her eyes away from Drew's and went back to Jeff's. "I am a born and raised Denver Bronco fan. I'll even cheer on the Redskins because I love Mike Shanahan." Jeff smiled at her, she returned the smile and then looked at Chris Pine. Sweet mother of Moses, he's still there.

His eyes were ridiculous. IMAX did them no justice. Jeff was rambling, Chelsesa looked at him while he talked incoherently about football, seemingly to impress Chris Pine. She was listening, but really thinking about how insanely blue Chris Pine's eyes were. It wasn't natural. It certainly wasn't natural to be thinking about it as much as she was.

"... so that's why I think I'm a Raider fan," concluded Jeff.

"Good luck with that," Chelsea mumbled then turned around, picking up the cutting board covered in finely diced onions and jalepenos. She slid the mixture into the tomatoes, added the secret family spices, then began to squish (this was the Garcia family technical term) the ingredients together with her hands. She could see her hands shaking as she did this. Freaking Chris Pine, behind you, right now.

She should have taken that shower.

After putting the finishing touches on the salsa, she washed her hands and poured some tortilla chips into a bowl. She turned to place them on the counter. He was still there. Jeff was there, too. Evidently, while she focused intently on the salsa the three men had a great football conversation. She smiled faintly at the three as she set the snacks in front of them.

"Seriously, Pine, best salsa of your life." Jeff dug a chip deep into the bowl and crunched loudly.

"Best salsa of my life? That's a bit hyperbolic." Oh my word, he really talks like that. Chelsea was now seriously concentrating on not smiling like a goon and not staring as Chris freaking Pine took a bite of her homemade salsa.

Chris looked up at her. Chelsea let herself look him directly in the eyes in spite of a deep fear of getting lost in them.

"This just may be the best salsa of my life, no hyperbole involved," he smiled warmly at her. She smiled back, then promptly frowned. Chris Pine's eyes had traveled from her eyes to the side of her face. He was almost openly gawking at the long, red scar that traveled her hairline. She mustered all her strength to maintain the smile, even though she could feel the white-hot rage growing inside of her.

Of course, just like Jeff, vain and superficial.

Stupid scar.