Not Your Type (Chris Pine FanFic)

Thursday

Chris sat in the junket, phone in his pocket. It vibrated in the middle of yet another question about his singing ability. It was all he'd been asked about the last few days. The rest of the actors all had done musicals before, but not him. Chris didn't mind talking about it, he questioned his abilities too. Though, there had been that one independent film in which he'd actually played guitar and sang. It was obvious not many of the reporters had done their research.

The attractive woman interviewing him wrapped up her questions and attempted to make small talk. As she discussed the hottest clubs in the area his phone buzzed again.

"Excuse me," Chris said as he stood, "I need to take this call." The woman was clearly disappointed, but didn't argue as he stepped to the side.

"Hello?"

"I've got your confirmation number, do you have a pen handy or do you want me to text it to you?" His assistant said happily.

"Text it to me."

Moments later he had all of the flight information on his phone, but there was hesitation in forwarding the text message. Over the last few days he had been so busy there had been very little conversation between himself and Chelsea. When he thought of her he made sure to send her a message to let her know, but her responses were short. Chris had been worried about the responses. But then he'd think about the unsolicited she'd sent him a message about football on Monday night. Before sending the flight information he scrolled back and reread the conversation.

Chelsea Garcia: Because you're in Europe, you're missing one amazing football game. I am starting to think Peyton Manning has been made into the bionic man. Google this game later, he's setting multiple records. Go enjoy some soccer, but know it's not the same as PM.

He was quite proud of his response.

Chris: Soccer is truly football, it's played with feet. Do you know what Peyton Manning makes me think of?

Chelsea Garcia: American football uses the foot. There's a kicker. Do you think about how you are witnessing football history?

Chelsea Garcia: And why are you awake? Isn't it late there, shouldn't you be sleeping?

Chris: The kicker hardly counts, how many minutes does the football actually touch the foot? It's not that late here it's only 2 am. I occasionally think about witnessing history, but it's not on the forefront of my mind.

Chelsea Garcia: How football history isn't on your mind is just ridiculous. Go to bed.

Chris: I think about you.

Chelsea Garcia: Seriously, go to sleep. You're being cheesy.

Chris: I'll go to bed. But it's true. It reminds me of when we first met.

The text message had caused a flurry of butterflies in Chelsea's stomach. She'd looked at that section of their texting conversations hundreds of times from Monday to Thursday. How much detective work would have had to been done to know that she lived with his roommate? Did he know when he came over that Thursday? The first picture snapped of them had been on a Sunday, playing football in the park. Was that staged? The fact that Chelsea thought about these things as much as she did over the course of four days was infuriating.

Work took Chelsea's mind off of the drama of her personal life. With Walt out of town and Alex being flaky, Chelsea worked many double shifts. She'd turned in her two weeks notice and signed her contract with the school district all by Wednesday. Chris had been right, Disney was quick to replace her and told her she didn't need to report the next week. This was heartbreaking. She wouldn't see Walt and it gave her no excuse to not go to Amsterdam.