Page 25 of Just My Type of wrong guy

“Where do we start?”

“The bed.” I try not to laugh, and fail miserably, but the slap she gives my shoulder makes me rush to the furniture. “Sit at the edge, I’ll figure out the best position for the video.”

It takes four minutes for her to smile, satisfied. I know it’s a king-sized bed, but it still doesn’t make sense for her to move everything around like this. Finally, she sits beside me, keeping about an inch of space between us.

“Five seconds. Make a sexy face, no smiling.” She warns after triggering her smartwatch.

“Are we doing an indie album cover?” I whisper, as if the phone has ears.

“What?”

“You all frilly, and me looking like a homeless guy, sitting on a bed, facing the camera, with our legs in the same direction,” I explain, and she looks at me incredulously.

“A.J., I know what I’m doing. Don’t move, don’t speak, we’ll lose the shot. I’m setting it to three seconds this time.”

“Just saying…” She covers my mouth with her hand.

“Now it’s thirty photos, five-second intervals. Pay attention to the poses I ask for, A.J., or it’ll be impossible.”

“Why you so mad?” I look at her and Alexandra glares at me with deadly eyes.

“Wow, you’rereallymad!”

“I’m gonna kill you, Anthony.” She pushes me onto the bed and slaps me twice, but I control her and flip her over on the mattress.

“Calm down, dude, it’s just photos and a video, relax. No need for all this planning.” I pant over her, tossing my hair back to get it out of my face.

“You just don’t always need to be calm, some things need seriousness,” she spits the words out, trying to break free.

“Yeah, but those things definitely aren’t photos and videos for our Instagrams,” I retort, raising my eyebrows, slipping one leg over hers, pinning her to the mattress, and I manage to stretch my arm out to grab my phone from my pocket.

“A.J.?” Alexandra struggles to flip me over on the mattress again, and this time, I let her. But my phone is already unlocked.

“Here, look at the camera and tell me how it feels being the most streamed artist in Brazil.”

“Wanting to kill my music partner,” she retorts with a death stare.

“And what else, grumpy?”

“Grumpy is your mother, your motherf…!”

“Alexandra, don’t be mean, look at our fans and tell them how they made you feel when you opened Spotify and saw that you were the tenth most-streamed song in the world!”

She curls up against my body, trying hard not to laugh. But her face softens, and I see her relax.

“I didn’t open Spotify,” she confesses, eyes locked with mine. “I woke up to the alarm, grabbed my phone to turn off the noise and your messages were there.” The girl with the difficult smile up a grin so wide it reaches her eyes, and I pull her a bit closer with my arm around her shoulder. “Then I thought ‘I’ve been top 1 so many times with GenZ,’ but the truth is, I was like, fifteen, sixteen, seventeen. I had no idea how incredible it was back then, and today Ifeltit.”

Those words might not mean much to anyone watching the video, but I know what she means by that.

“Now it’s different...”

“Now I’m living the most incredible thing any artist can live, and I know it.”

I smile and kiss her forehead, stopping the recording right after.

“See, it wasn’t that hard, was it?” I ask casually as I get up.

“Of course, it was hard. You ruined all our photos.”

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