Page 112 of Just My Type of wrong guy

“No… It’s more like… I feel kinda… It’s not that I’m rusty, Iloveacting and I know I’m great at it.” Bia scratches the back of her neck, searching for words. “But you know when the industry just… shifts? It changed, and I didn’t see it happen…”

“Wouldn’t it make more sense to take a course over there? With the people who actually work in that market?” Daniele says exactly what I was thinking.

“Yeah, it would. But I’d have tobethere to do that. And I wanted to behere.” Bia raises her eyebrows, those honey-colored eyes sparkling, and we laugh at how hard she works to avoid saying it’s all about her guy.

“And what about you—any plans for when you go back?” Daniele asks. “A.J.’s been annoying me with research andquestions about MPB, the MPB scene. Are you planning to do shows when you’re home again?”

Before I even answer, I mentally note to ask A.J. why he’s talking to Dani about this. But then I delete the thought. The guy’s allowed to be interested in whatever genre he wants.

“Not yet. My manager’s handling all that. We thought it’d be better to release the songs I’ve written first, andthenbook shows, you know?”

“Funny you say that—he asked me for a list the other day. Brazilian artists who do MPB and also sing in English, like you do,” Bia adds.

“We’venevertalked about that.” I snap felling betrayed. “Not that I care if he talks to you guys about MPB, but I’m literally right there!” I say, under their judgmental stares.

“Well, it’s A.J., right? The guy’s not exactly stable,” Beatriz says, and both Daniele and I narrow our eyes at her.

But we don’t have time to defend our boy, our order number gets called.

Each of us ordered a bacon double cheeseburger with medium fries, which, as it turns out, was a mistake. They don’t serve them in those cute little branded boxes like at McDonald’s. Nope. They hand you a paper bag with a cup of fries inside.

Except the fries aren’t justinthe cup. They’reeverywhere. The whole bag is filled.

Daniele laughs at my reaction and swears they taste even better with Coke the next morning, reheated in the oven. As if I’d ever take leftover fries on a road trip.

She ignores my protests and says her backpack will be thrilled to carry some extra grease.

We eat while talking about how good the food is and what we expect from the last two weekends of tour. Daniele launches into all the content she’s planning to create during this final stretch to keep the socials alive while the next album isstill in the works. I’m about to dive back into my fries, when my phone buzzes in my pocket, I reach for it as it buzzes again, and I’m not even surprised to see A.J.’s name on the screen.

A.J.:Hey, Miss Petulant.

I read it with a warm little smile. I can’t even remember the last time he called me that, but I love it.

A.J.:How’s everything over there?

Me:Great, Golden Boy. You?

Typing that was way easier than I expected. No hesitation at all.

A.J.:Good food, good drinks, terrible company.

A.J.:I’d rather be home with you, watching good movies in good company while eating one of those awful mystery meals you make.

He’s teasing me.

Me:The ones you always eatandgo back for seconds, obviously.

Me:What can I even say about your kitchen skills, when I had to come to Five Guys just to get a decent burger? You promised me onemonthsago and I’ve never even smelled it…

A.J.:‘I’ve never even smelled it’ makes zero sense, even in Portuguese.

A.J.:Wait a sec, you’re atFive Guys?

Me:Yeah. With the girls.

A.J.:I expected a lot from you, Alexandra, but not betrayal. I can’t believe you’re out there eating another man’s burger.

I read it and burst out laughing.

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