Page 27 of Just My Type of wrong guy

I laugh at the question, and for a moment, I’m speechless. Alexandra is the type of girl who gets attention without even trying. The loose hair, confident posture, and her smile... If she weren’t my friend, she’d be just my type.

“You got it. Now, go to my closet and get something more casual.”

“Alright, diva. Let the guys know we need five more minutes.” She sticks out her tongue at me and runs to the little door next to the closet.

Gui: You guys are really trying to act like a couple. Photos in bed? Not even me and Bia.

Thomas: “A.J. is the most amazing guy I’ve met, but don’t tell him,” seriously, since when does ChatGPT make these kinds of captions?

Rick: I think you guys are cute. A somewhat rebellious woman and a sensitive guy. I support it.

I read the messages, laughing, but Thomas’s catches my attention because I have no idea where that came from. I captioned the post with our photos and didn’t write any of that.

But when I open my Instagram, I’m face-to-face with Alexandra ’s post with six photos.

The first one is from the night of our first show in Rio, the second of us in disguise at the Christ, the third on the plane, doing each other’s hair in mustaches, and the fourth, fifth, and sixth are from today. Our indie album cover, the photo of her with her hand over my mouth, and the last one – me on top of her while she tries to hit me. I laugh at the choice because that’s sous. But it’s the caption that kills me.

Alexandra narrates her journey to meeting us, thanks the opportunity she got with the band, and dedicates two paragraphs to me:

We’re entering with a song in the global top 10 and stepping into our European tour with the right foot, and it all still feels like a dream, but I know it’s true because I have a guardian who reminds me of this every day.

A.J., thank you for not being the ghost I thought you’d be, but an angel – maybe a fallen one, but still an angel. Sharing this journey with you has made my days lighter, happier, and full of life. Thank you for being foolish and silly enough to makeme forget “that complicated thing” and live my dreams the way they deserve to be lived.

I rush to the post’s comments, curious to see what people are saying. But Alexandra was smart: by posting such controversial photos, she locked the comments. Only one person got in faster than her and left a sunglasses emoji and a red heart one too. The @ is one of my fans, and I smile seeing that my audience is treating Alex with kindness.

After that, I go back to the caption and read her thanking her fans and the Vagabonders, but I no longer pay attention to anything. Somehow her words stir places in me I didn’t even know could be reached, but I remember that this woman married the music and there’s no room for an ‘other’ in her life.

So I set out to bury the feelings she awakens in me.

popwhisper.com

A.J. AND Alex APART FROM EACH OTHER? ONLY FOR A FEW SECONDS!

While Guilherme’s busy touring with Vicious Bonds and Beatriz’s wrapping up her soap opera in Brazil – both flooding social media with lovey-dovey posts – A.J. Fortin and Alexandra are out here proving real chemistry isn’t just about cute captions. On their European tour, they’re practically glued at the hip: one minute they’re hitting up iconic landmarks, the next they’re holding hands and sneaking kisses in hotel lobbies.

Of course, their PR team swears they’re “just friends.” But let’s be real… only someone totally oblivious wouldn’t see what’s up!

Chapter Nine – A.J.

Don’t look down ‘cause we’re still rising up

right now and even if we hit the ground we’ll still fly.

Now or Never - Julie and the Phantoms

Twelve hours.

Five bad naps.

A terrible breakfast, and then we finally got to the hotel.

We’re staying in the penthouse of one of the nicest hotels in Madrid, with a panoramic view ofRetiro Park. As usual, after everyone drops their stuff off in their rooms and takes a shower, we meet in Guilherme’s room.

“Are the girls outside?” Thomas asks with a smile, and our lead vocalist, by the window, nods.

We all rush out to see our fans gathered outside the hotel, holding signs and gifts and looking all starstruck.

“I really wanna see them, even if I have five security guards with me,” Rick pauses. “But I’m dead tired. Can we try after lunch?” he asks, flopping on the white sofa by the window.

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