Page 36 of Just My Type of wrong guy

Still, I remember that my best friend is Daniele, and Alexandra is, at most, a premium friend. And premium friends can kiss, but the strong hands of the guy with intense green eyes hold my waist tightly enough to remind me that this is a matter for another day.

Chapter Fourteen - Alex

Stop this train I want to get off

And go home again I can't take the speed it's moving in

I know I can't, but honestly, won't someone stop this train?

Stop This Train - John Mayer

Since we got to Europe, we’ve been traveling by bus between the countries. “It’s cheaper” and “it’s less polluting than planes” are the usual arguments, but we all know it’s just to save money.

We, the “team,” get chartered buses. Some are sleeper buses, which are pretty comfy. Others have beds, which sounds like a plus… until you realize they’re single beds, and there are no seat belts. So, you just lie down knowing you’re probably going to fall off in the middle of the night.

But Vicious Bonds, oh, they have their own bus. Two floors, all decked out, really beautiful. Four separate areas – two upstairs, two downstairs – plus a couple of chairs for anyone who doesn’t want to sleep in a bed.

After the meeting with Victor, the last thing I wanted was to get on a bus with twenty other people and pretend everything’s fine. So, without thinking too much, I asked the guys if I could take one of the chairs. Everyone said yes, except A.J.

He took me to his room and tried to get me to say what was wrong. I took the bed, but left the conversation for later.

The comfort of the double bed helps me close my eyes, but the light coming through the crack in the window shows me that I need to get up. It’s already enough that A.J. didn’t have hisown room the whole trip because I freaked out. I turn to the side and grab my phone from the wall holder. I keep ignoring Thalia’s thirty-six messages and open the conversation with A.J.:

Me:Awake over there?

The word “typing” doesn’t show up right away, but that’s normal. They did a two-hour show last night. They’re all exhausted.

Me:I’m up. Whenever you want your room, just come.

I lock the screen and jump out of bed carefully so I don’t fall.

Even though the bus feels so steady I can barely feel it move, I never get used to it. I stretch with a heavy sigh – a mix of sadness, exhaustion, and the echoes of a rough night. Before I let myself get too down, I tap my face three times, take a deep breath, and grab my toiletry bag from the suitcase, heading to the bathroom in the “room.”

I do my usual morning routine and put on a layer of makeup. Staring at my reflection I don’t see the girl who spent yesterday afternoon crying by herself. Since I left Brazil, I’ve never missed my father as much as I did yesterday. But sometimes you have to make sacrifices—and this isn’t about him; it’s about me, the girl who loved music so much that now she has to handle everything on her own.

Or maybe... not so alone, I realize, as I bump into A.J. when I leave the bathroom.

“A chocolate for your thoughts?”

He shakes a bag of Maltesers, but I’m not that easily sold.

“I was wondering how your night in was one of those chairs.” I hum, walking to the bed and sitting beside him.

“Uncomfortable. I laid down in Rick’s bed after twenty minutes in the chair and stayed there till now,” he complains, flopping back onto the mattress, and I don’t know how he manages to make me laugh in under a minute.

“Sorry, A.J., I don’t know what’s going on with me…” I try to hold it in, but just imagining those two guys, who are both at least two meters tall, sharing a bed, cracks me up.

“I know,” he replies, much more serious than me, and crosses his hands behind his head like it’s a pillow. “Meeting with Victor, they’re almost always traumatic,” he adds when he sees the confusion on my face.

“Why?”

“In our case, there’s a lot of pressure.” He shrugs, and I lie down beside him.

“But you’regiants.”

“We’re still not bigger than One Direction was, and that’s his benchmark.” A.J. stretches his arm and opens the curtain, letting the late summer European sun flood the room and warm us.

“Wow.” I sigh, processing the info. “He really sets nearly impossible goals, must be to keep you humble!”

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