Page 29 of Just My Type of wrong guy

I take a deep breath, hating that we have to address this, but knowing it’s necessary.

“I think we need to talk...” I say quickly, watching her for any reaction.

“Yeah, we do,” she replies, swallowing hard, and moistening her lips.

Our eyes meet, and the air in the room gets heavier. Neither of us looks away, but anxiety sets in.

“Okay, let’s do this.” I clap my hands, trying to lighten the tension with a smile. “We count to three and speak at the same time.”

“Are we fifteen?” Alex props herself up on her elbow, incredulously.

“Come on, Alexandra. Let’s go.”

“Fine. I’ll count.” She straightens up and stares at me like, somehow, there could be a winner in our little Cold War. “One... two... three!”

“How are you dealing with the rumors that we’re a couple?” I ask, but even before the words leave my lips, I regret it and think about setting myself on fire or digging a hole in the ground, because Alexandra isn’t talking about this.

“There’s no exceptional place to visit in Madrid because apparently, all the beautiful places in Spain are in Barcelona!” I wait for her sentence to finish just after mine, feeling like an idiot, but that only lasts a few seconds because we both feel the same thing in each other’s eyes and burst into a weird, awkward laugh.

Our laughter echoes through the space, and for the first time, it feels like a real room.

“Okay, I guess my point is simpler.” My friend sits up, pulling her legs to herself.

“Is there any specific place you’d like to go?”

“Not even a specific restaurant, A.J., let alone a cool place.”

“Well, I don’t know if, or how much, you like soccer, but I really want to go toSantiago Bernabéu.”

“The stadium?” Alex smiles, excited. “I like the idea, but I think we can invite the guys to join us too.”

“Why?”

Alex settles herself on the sofa, leaning forward as she thinks about the answer, her smile playing with the idea.

“I don’t know, they’re all straight, right?” she asks, and I nod because, as far as I know, yes. “They must be crazy about Cristiano Ronaldo and would definitely pay a lot of money to sit in the locker room where he’s been.”

“Alexandra, I hate you so much,” I growl in Portuguese, and she smiles widely.

“We know that’s not true!”

“Now...” I change the subject and swallow hard because it feels a bit strange to talk about this.

“A.J., these rumors don’t bother me. It’s just silly speculation. There’s nothing between us, for me, what matters is this here,” she says, tapping her finger between us.

“Do I have your word?” I ask, offering my pinky to her, and she frowns at me.

“What?”

“Swear Alexandra, you know.Honestly.” I shrug, because it’s an obvious thing.

“Yeah, A.J.” She interlocks her finger with mine. “You have my word.” Her tone is so casual and unhurried that I feel bad for thinking Alex would freak out.

“I was scared, but I’m glad you don’t care about that.”

Alexandra looks at me for a few moments and sits, her legs crossed in lotus position, her eyes always on me.

“For some reason, from the beginning, you welcomed me, A.J. Maybe because of ‘that complicated thing’… and I, who learned to push people away for fear of disappointment or, I don’t know, just fear… I embraced you back”, She tosses her hair back and looks at me again “That kept me from feelinglost among the boys, the musicians, the crew... I was far from everything I knew, but I had you.” Alexandra rests her hand on my right thigh, a calm look in her eyes, but suddenly, a small storm clouds it, and her hand pulls away. As if she had said more than she intended, opened up more than she wanted.

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