Page 43 of Just My Type of wrong guy

“I sent some messages to Thalia, and she got me a ticket,” I lie, winking.

There were no tickets left, and her manager just let me in. Alexandra crosses her arms, furrowing her brow as she alternates her gaze between me and her cousin.

“This is the time when you hug your friends who made a surprise for you and stuff…” Thalia says, and thank God I understand the words, because when Alexandra tries to translate, I pull her by the waist and hug her.

“You smell so good.” I inhale the scent of her hair involuntarily.

“I always smell good, A.J.” she scolds me, pulling away. “Now wait here, I’ve got two and a half minutes.”

Alexandra heads towards what I believe is her dressing room.

Thalia calls one of the three men walking around, and when he gets close, he brings me a stool. I’ve been doing two-hour shows for two years, I don’t need to sit, but the support team is so small, and they’re running around so much that I choose not to be rude.

I grab my phone and go straight to the band’s group chat. Family photos, couples, and typical foods fill that space, so I post a picture of the stage and close the conversation. Then, I open the one with Thomas, who has unread messages.

Thom:Why are you in Brazil?

Me:How do you know that?

Thom:The GPS we set up on all the phones alerted me.

Me:Oh, nothing. Just... sightseeing.

Thom:I just saw your pic in the group. Did you go to sing?

Me:Technically no.

Thom:Explain that properly…

Me:I came to watch a show, but I’ll sing a little bit.

I lock my phone screen when I see Alexandra coming back through the small hallway, wearing ankle boots, dark jeans,and a leather jacket. Stylists don’t always know how to plan wardrobes for places that are forty degrees.

“You really are a best-seller with a great cover, huh?” she says and kisses my cheek. “Thanks for coming,” she yells on her way to the stage.

“Are you going to sing our song?” I ask, holding her hand.

“Of course I am.” She frowns like it was obvious.

“It’s going to be amazing, and you look beautiful,” I compliment her.

But, as always, she doesn’t need my compliments. Or anything that isn’t... the music. Grabbing the microphone and singing is the only thing that makes Alexandra smile from ear to ear, and that’s contagious.

The second part of the show is more electric. The guitar guy gets more space to take risks, and the girl who was playing cajón changed to a drum kit during the break.

Alexandra sings what Thalia tells me are three of her songs and two covers of Brazilian songs. After that, the leather jacket and tight pants make perfect sense with her singingMan, I Feel Like a Woman, and I even get a little moved when she starts singingYou Give Love a Bad Name; why, of all the women in the world, did it have to be her singing Bon Jovi?

But the song ends, and the little crush I thought might show up inside me calms down, making room for two songs that take the crowd to another level of madness. I realize she’s singingGenZsongs even before Thalia tells me.

They sing, dance, and throw presents on stage. Very lively and happy, I can say, satisfied to be living this dream that feels as much theirs as it does hers.

At the end of the songs, Alexandra talks to the audience, throws the four picks she used during the show to the fans, who are much more well-behaved than the Vagabonders would everbe, and after she introduces the musicians and thanks them, the lights go out.

But she hasn’t sungMaybeyet, so I understand this is the bonus track. And the crowd gets it too, because they start shouting the name of our song. The others who get it are Hammer and my security guys, because the seven huge men come to the front of the stage and make a human barrier, like he knows I’m about to break the only rule he gave me.

The lights go out, and the guitar’s melody begins, shy at first but taking its place in the space. Then, the spotlight hits Alex. She floods the room with her voice, eyes closed, the tenderness in her words and the delicacy with which she plays change the atmosphere and make my heart race. Unlike anything we’ve ever lived, this night is about her, and the moment Thalia puts a microphone in my hand, I know exactly what to do.

With two steps, I’m in the audience’s view, and the tone of my voice following hers catches Alexandra’s gaze. Her eyes widen, and her jaw drops for a moment, but my friend soon smiles at me, and I smile back, walking toward her as the crowd goes crazy.

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