Not Your Type (Chris Pine FanFic)

Chelsea

The drive from the restaurant to work had been remarkably quick. Chris had continued the small talk, asking her about growing up in Denver and if she skied. Chelsea told quick stories of cross country skiing in gym class and a few trips here and there. Skiing had never been her thing. Despite growing up in the mountains and going skiing with her friends all the time she was awful at it. He told her stories of a few trips to Aspen. It was moments like that, when he talked about his swanky hotel (Chelsea's words, not his) and the guided backcountry ski tour that she realized they came from two completely different worlds.

They pulled into the Disney cast parking lot, the same lot she had met him in the night before. This was it. Chelsea felt a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach.

"This was nice," Chris said without making eye contact as he pulled the car parallel to the sidewalk. He didn't park, he didn't stop the car. Chelsea suddenly felt like he was trying to get rid of her.

"Thank you for lunch, it was nice." Immediately she felt silly for repeating exactly what he said. Chelsea pulled the door handle and slowly got out of the car. Trying not to make her hesitation obvious, she really took her time hoping he would say something. At the very least that he would call to her and ask for her phone number.

Nothing.

Chelsea closed the door, pulled her electronic key out of her purse, and entered the park. Steadying herself she headed to clock in. She had prepared herself for this all morning. She had given herself and her roommates pep talks regarding this. It was just lunch, not a date.

As she made her way through the cast labyrinth underneath Disney's Main Street she did her best to cheer herself up. How many girls could actually say they had lunch with Chris Pine? She rephrased that, how many NORMAL girls could say they had lunch with Chris Pine? It made her special right? And he held her hand.

Chelsea stopped in the middle of a small, dark hallway and leaned against the cold cement. He had held her hand, but that in and of itself wasn't a big deal. It was the loose familiarity with which he held it, as if they had been holding hands for a decade. It was the way he laced his fingers through hers. It was the electric shock her nerves felt when he brushed his thumb back and forth across hers as they walked past the paparazzi. Her stomach flipped at the memory.

Immediately she felt stupid for reading so much into a hand hold. How am I? Thirteen?

It was just lunch. After all, he hadn't even asked for her phone number.

The day before had seemed forever long, waiting for the possibility of seeing Chris after her shift. Today was infinitely longer, knowing she would never see him again.