Page 101 of Just My Type of wrong guy

She slowly lets go of my hand, her fingers slipping to the floor, and gets up carefully. I stay still with my eyes half-closed, watching her try to balance on the couch, trying not to make any noise. But the almost inaudible sound of the coffee table scraping the floor reaches me, and even with my eyes closed, I feel the weight of the hangover pulsing behind my eyelids.

We were drinking and talking, how did we end up sleeping here in the living room, and my God, what am I doing on the floor?

I take a deep breath and move my head on the pillow, feeling my hair slide down my shoulders, and only then do I open my eyes, seeing her standing, hands on her hips, staring into nothing.

My body feels heavy, and every muscle is sore. My head is throbbing, and I still can't see things right, but it’s not hard to notice that I'm in my underwear.

Just my underwear.

And she’s wearing my shirt.

And underneath... I have no idea if she’s wearing anything underneath, but I’d hate to have slept with her again and not remember a thing. Either way, we really are half-naked in the living room after spending the night drinking.

The shock sets in the moment she blinks four times, as if trying to wake up from a nightmare.

“Good morning?” My voice comes out rough, and she jumps back before looking at me.

“How much did we drink last night, A.J.?” she asks so emphatically that it takes me a moment to process the confusion on her face.

I sit up, muscles protesting, and look around. Beer bottles, wine glasses, cachaça bottles with cups scattered on the floor.

“A lot. Why are you wearing the tour shirt?”

“Why am Iwearingthis shirt, A.J.?” She crosses her arms, her expression more closed off. “Why are younaked?”

“I don’t know.” I try not to seem as lost as I feel. “Do you want to tell me something?”

A humorless laugh escapes her lips.

“Me tell you? You’re the one who said we should drink and unwind, and now…”

Alex interrupts her own sentence, and I feel my stomach drop.

“Do you think we…?” My voice disappears before I can finish the question.

“You think?” she asks back, and I jump up in a flash.

Alexandra stares at me, and I know she’s asking herself the same thing. I can’t be so out of it that I don’t remember. Right?

But what if…?

I stand quickly and, without thinking, grab the waistband of my underwear, pulling it slightly to take a look.

“It looks exhausted…” I shrug, and her mouth forms a perfect “O” with her shock. “But I’m not sure if it’s from the daily grind or because we exercised.”

“Shut up, Anthony!” She raises her hand as if she’s about to slap me, and I raise my hands in surrender, trying to hold back a smile. But Alexandra ’s not laughing.

“I told you I was weak with drinks, and now I wake up naked in the living room of the guy who said, ‘It’ll be okay, I’ll take care of you.’ Big help!” Irritation overflows in her voice.

“You were the one who made several liters of Brazilian drinks,” I remind the helpless maiden. “But calm down. Probably nothing happened. We’d remember. I, for sure, would remember if I’d slept with the most incredible girl I’ve ever met.”

Alexandra stares at me for a long second, but doesn’t move. When I take a step toward her, her gaze lights up with something I can’t name, but before I can get any closer, she raises her hand and stops me.

“Not today, A.J., not today.”

And then she takes a step back, leaving me standing here, unsure whether I should laugh or be concerned. But one thing I’m sure of: Getting over this night will be a lot harder than our make-out sessions from Friday.

Chapter Thirty-two – Alex

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