Page 155 of Just My Type of wrong guy

A.J. moves closer, cradles my face in his hands.

“I like you, Alex. A lot. And whenever I can do something to make you happier, I will. Whenever I can love you better, I will love you. Because… even before everything, it’s always been you.” I stay silent for a few seconds, chest tight, throat closing, my heart needing a beat to catch up. “We used to call it friendship,” A.J. swallows, nervous, and I force my eyes to stay on his face. “And it was—still is—but pretending it wasjust that after we became something more was crazy…” His voice trails off.

I want him to know he’s not alone in this, so I say,

“I think you and I both knew since… since you agreed not to bring any girls home anymore,” I say, a little embarrassed by my own jealousy.

“Maybe I knew even before that,” he says, and it catches me off guard. My jaw drops, and he shifts his weight from one leg to the other. “There was no way the perfect harmony we created could bejustfriendship.” He shrugs at the end, like it’s the simplest thing in the world.

“You make me feel like I deserve to be in love with someone who makes me feel free and pushes me to be more than I ever believed I could be… and that’s the best feeling in the world,” I say, proud of us.

He stares at me, bites his lip and breathes deeply.

“I have to give you something. It’s kind of your Christmas gift… and you’ll have to thank Victor for it.”

“Victor?” My face, which was radiant a moment ago, twists in a puzzled frown.

“Before you came to the U.S., you were full of dreams for your career—new songs, shows… But I felt staying with us was like pouring water on a fire until it went out.” A.J. looks away, breathes deep. “So I talked to Dani about the scene in Brazil—the samba, MPB…”

“She mentioned it. Bia too. Not in those words, but they said you’d been asking about that stuff,” I say, confused why we’re discussing my career—or lack of one.

“Maybe I couldn’t do anything in Brazil, but I found out people here love Brazilian music. Some artists are bigger here than in their own country.” His wonder makes me laugh—he has no idea how bad we Brazilians are at loving our own. “Seeingyou away from your passion bothered me, so I thought…” A.J. swallows, making me even more anxious.

“You thought…?” I prod after almost a minute of him staring at me like he’s lost in thought.

“That you deserved a moment that was just yours. With a great setup. At a well-produced concert. And you smell like money, and Victor loves money,” he says, which makes me even more confused. “So, over the last few weeks, we did this.” He pulls a folded piece of paper from his pocket and hands it to me.

I scan the flyer, absorbing every detail—until halfway through, my vision blurs and I can’t read another word.

“It’s a show? My show… in Los Angeles?” My voice trembles in disbelief more than shock.

“A show by Alexandra Saldanha, rising star of Brazilian popular music. Fourth generation of a samba dynasty from Rio,” A.J. reads tenderly, handing me the credentials printed on the paper with proud eyes. “An open-ticket performance with only five hundred seats. Two hundred will be on sale; the other three hundred are reserved for label staff, investors, executives—handpicked by Victor.”

The enormity of Victor Winterstone putting me on the map hits me, and I stop smiling. A.J. sees the change in my face and moves in to cradle my cheeks before pulling me into a warm, silent hug as the fireflies dance around us.

“I hadn’t even thought about ticket sales in a place like this… But three hundred industry seats?” I gasp. “That’s pressure I never expected for my first solo show after Vicious.”

“But the good news is me, the guys, and the girls will all be there—right in the crowd—giving you every bit of energy you need.”

A.J. tries to calm me, but I’m serious—just months ago I was singing for 300 fans; now I have… this!

“I don’t know if I can do it…”

“But I know you can.”

“Why did you do this, A.J.?” I whisper, teary. “I feel like no matter how much I try, I’ll never repay everything you do for me.” My eyes search his, and the fireflies reflect in the eyes of the most incredible man in the world.

“I know you will. When you love someone, you do everything to make them better, to make them happy… You gave me my parents back, Alexandra. Nothing I do could compete with that—but I’ll spend my whole life trying.” He kisses me, and my tears turn to laughter as I leave the kiss with a sigh—because 2024 never stops surprising me, not even in its final hours.

“But,amor, look where we are. You kissed me in two places at once half an hour ago, brought me to a firefly sanctuary, and now you’ve given me a show gift—one that could change my life forever. I never imagined you’d do something like this when I left home.”

“So you have no idea why I brought you here?” he asks, all dramatic.

To tell me he loves me, I want to say. But after all of this, the only thing I can wonder is how he could think of anything else that would make me even happier.

“Of course not. Why?”

“‘Babe’ is quite cute, buy...” He pulls me into his arms, voice low as if he’s painting each word. “I thought that maybe…”

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