Page 17 of Just My Type of wrong guy

“No, or rather, I think I am, right? I don’t know how to recognize a beach,” he mocks, putting the hat back on, laughing at his own misery.

“So let's look at the beach from here.” He offers me his hand, and we walk to the railing, where our hands part.

I take a deep breath, letting my worries go for the first time in ages, and Rio stops and breathes me back. The sea-scented breeze blows constantly, cool enough to prevent the sun from being bothersome. Down below, the lagoon sparkles under the blue sky, winding its way between the buildings, while the sandy strips ofCopacabanaandIpanemastretch as far as the eye can see. The sea meets the land in gentle waves, and Sugarloaf rises imposingly.

“Your parents don’t like the music you sing?” I ask, watching him over my glasses.

I try to read his face, which is impossible with that huge hat covering his dark lenses.

“It wasn’t that. They just had other plans for me.”

The answer comes almost resigned, as if he’s apologizing for his parents.

“When... when you had a hit song, did they say anything?”

“I’ll never know.” A.J. responds, and the confusion on my face makes him continue. “They called, and I didn’t answer. But it was just one song, and then I ended up behind a burger joint counter, which is not a problem; it was just not what I went there for. Not that they knew, but…” A.J.'s words stumble, the sentence falls apart in the air, and finally, he swallows hard. Turning his neck to the side, he pulls his face away from my view, and I understand that talking about family is as painful for him as it is for me.

“I remember everyone loved that song.” I change the subject after a while, and the wind almost takes A.J.'s hat again when he turns too quickly, but I catch it in time.

“I bet you didn’t like it.”

I open my mouth to say it wasn’t exactly like that. I’m just a girl, and I like romantic songs too. But maybe he’s right.

“It’s not that I didn’t like it...” I start, and before I can explain, he’s already laughing loudly.

“I told you!”

“No, wait. I liked the song a lot, a lot. Then I remembered that you must have been a teenager singing about a love you never lived, or exaggerating a high school fling with a girl you never spoke to again after the breakup, and I started laughing alone.”

“Laugh?”

“Everyone was in lockdown, A.J., emotions were all over the place,” I defend myself from the judgment in his eyes. “And a teenager singing about how all the people from before didn’t mean what he thought, how all the joys and sorrows didn’t mean anything, because she was the only one, and from before they met, it had always been her... My God, you know?”

A.J. squints his eyes at me before clicking his tongue.

“In my defense, she doesn’t exist.” The information drops my jaw.

“I wrote that song when I was sixteen, locked in my room, because, believe it or not, I was an ugly teenager, had never kissed anyone. So I wrote that song and...”

“The rest is history?” I ask, and A.J. nods, looking back at the beach.

“And after that, you never had another hit or had problems with your manager, like Kesha?”

“A little bit of both... But what about your career, is it cool here in Brazil?”

He changes the subject again, and I almost argue that if we can’t talk about his family and career, I don’t want to talk about mine, but maybe it’s just... harder for him.

“It’s much smaller than it could be.” My answer is also short enough for him not to ask why. “Touring with you guys gave me visibility, followers, and all that, but I’m glad I’m staying with you for the European tour. It will help me a lot to establish myself.”

“I was scared of you when we first met, you know?”

“Didn’t seem like it, you were flirting with me all the time.”

“It was a joke, but Gui said you were cold-hearted and you... Are cool.”

“Thanks, but keep your distance or my cold heart will crush you.” I force a mocking smile, and he takes his phone out of his pocket, rolling his eyes at me.

“How about we take some touristy photos?”

---