Page 24 of Just My Type of wrong guy

And I would already be eternally grateful for that, and I said they were changing my life. The truth, however, is that they’re also fulfilling my dreams.

Having a song at the top of the charts.

I never thought that, with my mix of samba, MPB, and pop, I’d get anywhere near this. But here I am, at number one. And not with a dancey, catchy song that doesn’t resonate with me. But I made it, with their help, to the top of the country justwith voice and piano. And that makes the dreamer butterflies in my stomach fly everywhere.

“This is so crazy, A.J., it scares me sometimes... I know we reached this number because of the band, but...”

“But it’s still you, your face and your voice, right?”

“It was an impossible dream to feel all this, to live all this...” My eyes well up again and this time, I just let the emotion flow. “I had no idea what GenZ was when we were at our peak, I didn’t really understand what losing my mom meant, because I was trying to take care of my dad, and then I tried to pretend I didn’t care about the distance between us. All that, so some time later, these avalanches would bury me...” I take a deep breath, wiping away a tear, and laugh when I see A.J. blushing, as if he’s about to cry with me, but he holds it in. “All of that made me afraid of always being numb, of never noticing how amazing or horrible the moment is while I’m living it, and today... I just felt it, and it’s so good.” I confess, grateful for having checked my phone before getting up and preparing for the day.

I think I would have over-rationalized, taken away my own merit, and pretended everything was normal if it hadn’t been like this.

“You’re amazing, but I don’t need to keep telling you this, just thank you for letting me share this dream with you.” A.J. winks at me, standing up. “And, you know, this doesn’t need to be a concern for you anymore.” My furrowed brow makes him explain: “I’ll always be here to remind youto feel.”

His tender and honest tone brings out a genuine smile from me because, unlike what the tabloids, magazines, and gossip profiles think, this is A.J.

The guy who doesn’t need grand speeches to praise me because he knows I would never define myself by what others say, the one who prefers to share a dream with me rather than turning it into a competition of merits; and a friend who’s notonly willing to applaud my achievements but is also here to remind me totrulylive them.

Chapter Eight – A.J.

I get a little bit nervous around you,

get a little bit stressed out when I think about you…

Nervous - Shawn Mendes

Alexandra barges into my room, forty minutes later, dressed in her black and silver show outfit with her voluminous hair swept to the side, like the emotional girl from our call never existed.

“Are you going to get into the rockstar mood, or do I need to pick your outfit for our videos?”

Her eyes scan me from head to toe.

“Is it a crime for a guy to be in his hotel room shirtless and wearing shorts now?” I ask, and she walks over to my wardrobe. “I thought we were, I don’t know, taking photos, recording a story.”

“Top 10 is top 10, A.J. You know how much this means to me, so let’s do this right, please.” Alex huffs, failing to hide her nervousness, and I walk toward her.

“Hey, it's top 1 too, right?” I remind her of the position we reached in Brazil and get closer, wrapping my arms around her waist. “It’s really important.”

“I already hate this whole love-language thing, but you being a ‘physical touch’ person just makes me hate it even more,” she complains but doesn’t move.

“As if you didn’t love my hugs…” I raise my right eyebrow, and she shoots me a dirty look. But instead of denying it, Alex stands on tiptoes to inhale the scent of my neck.

“Wow, you really took that premium bath.”

“Stop sniffing me, you perv.” I move away, giving her a playful shove on the shoulder, and we both laugh.

“I’ll organize the room, wear something light, so your outfit doesn’t clash with mine, and don’t take too long.” She orders and turns, as if the room is a different space, not five steps from where we are.

I head into the closet, grab a pair of brown pants, put on a white ripped sleeve shirt, and grab one of my silver chains.

When I return to the common area, Alexandra has already positioned the couch in front of the window, letting the sunlight shine on it, and dragged the table to the middle of the room. Why? I don’t know.

“Better?” I ask as I approach, and she turns to study me.

Alexandra messes with my hair and motions for me to spin around.

“Just one more thing,” she says, pulling me over to the couch, where she grabs a red cap that matches her lipstick. “Now we’re getting somewhere.” She puts the cap on my head and adjusts the chain around my neck. “Over there’s better lighting, and I think the bed’s also a good setting for some shots.”

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