Page 130 of Just My Type of wrong guy

“They know, know, or did you tell them?” I ask, with no accusation, just curiosity.

“I think they saw it on my face when I came in.”

“Then they saw it on mine too, right?” I laugh, shaking my head, not bothered by it at all.

“What changed?” A.J. asks, touching the hand I used to mark the line between us. “I know yesterday was amazing, but today… today was different.”

“You know my walls around love and how much my music means to me, and yet you still wanted me, and made me feel safe.” The truth spills from my lips like it’s the simplest thing in the world – because with him, it is. “Yesterday I wanted you, your kiss, your touch, to be near you… Today I realized that you have the most important feeling for someone you want to be with.” His eyes widen and mine dart to the door, afraid he might open it and run—thinking I’m about to say he loves me. “Admiration.”

“The most important thing wouldn’t be…”

“Few relationships that end amicably do so because of a lack of love, A.J. But when we don’t take care of what the other person does well, when we don’t try to understand what the other person loves, it’s because we accept it, think it’s cute and nice, but don’t admire it.” I shrug, feeling the weight of those words. “No one with the slightest bit of self-respect spends their life in a relationship with someone who will never admire them,” I say each of these words more to myself than to him.

Remembering that A.J. is different.

Not because he’s a hot, deconstructed guy, or because he’s also a musician. Not because I look at his hands and, honestly, want to be kneaded like dough.

He’s different because he crossed a continent just to see me sing; because he was amazed by my crowd of three hundred people; because he got angry when I decided to put my career on ice and because, with God’s help – or the translator’s – he gathered all the Portuguese he could to give me the conclusion of the most important song I’ve ever written.

“I admire you a lot,” he says, and I just nod because I’m sure.

We got out of the car like two teenagers coming home, a little awkward in front of the parents and entered the elevator like we were crossing the hallway, trying not to make any noise. As soon as the apartment door opened, it was like the bedroom door was locked right behind us.

A.J. takes my mouth with his and shoves both hands in my hair, a moan escapes me, and he growls against my neck. Holding me by the waist and lifting me up, Anthony makes me wrap my legs around his waist while he finishes undoing my already messed-up bun, keeping me pressed against the door.

“I’ve missed kissing you so much,” I confess, throwing my head back and feeling his tongue trace the path from my lips to my neck.

“You have no idea how horrible it was to be on that stage, with you right there the whole time,” A.J. complains and pulls his head back, breathless. “You tilted your neck and brushed your lips against mine at the end ofMaybe, are you crazy?” He squints, waiting for an answer.

“I’m a perfectly normal woman,” I say, playing coy. “But being near you makes me forget about that,” I whisper in his ear, and the next thing I feel is my body being pulled off the wall.

A.J. braces his hands on my bottom, holding me in the air as he carries me to the living room, where he throws me on the couch.

“What do I do with you, Alexandra ?”

“Do you want to grab paper and pen? Because I have a list of ideas...” I say, making him blush, but he pretends to be shy and kneels in front of me, pulling me closer.

“Seeing you kneel for me satisfied me more than most men who’ve been in my bed.” I gasp as he touches my back. “What a movie scene.”

“What kind of movie have you been watching, Alexandra ?” he says in shock, making me laugh with his silliness.

“A.J., I…”

My phone vibrates in my pocket.

My. Phone. Vibrates.

I swallow hard, taking it out and throwing it on the couch without thinking.

“Come here.” I pull him close by the collar of his shirt and finally kiss him. My lips take his, and then move down his chin and collarbone, and I feel myself melt in his hands, which run up my back and guide me by the neck. “Life is so unfair, you really smell good when sweaty.”

“Oh my God, Alexandra.” He jumps up. “I’m really sweaty. I think we should take a shower.” My smile spreads, and he shakes his head. “Each one in their own bathroom.”

“Anthony?”

“What?”

“Seriously, what’s wrong with me?”

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