Page 51 of Just My Type of wrong guy

Right now, she’s my guest, my friend, and my stage partner.

And whether I like it or not, none of that explains this need to kiss her – a need that’s been quietly consuming me since yesterday.

***

Dani <3:You ghosted me after texting?

I unlock my phone. Alex had been death-staring me every time I touched it during the movie.

Unfortunately, I only realized I should’ve stayed off my phone after telling Dani I’ve been all kinds of confused around Alexandra.

I:Finishing the movie. Be back soon.

I toss the phone on the table and try to focus on the screen, where that bastard Frollo is threatening Esmeralda.

The TV light casts shadows on Alexandra ’s skin. I should be watching the movie, but it’s heavy – and nothing like her. The glow moves across her face, lighting her dark skin with soft freckles I hadn’t noticed before.

God, she’s gorgeous.

But that doesn’t mean anything.

I’ll explain it to Dani tomorrow.

Until then, I need to stop looking at her.

“So…?” Alex asks, wiping a tear as the credits roll.

“That was really good. I just don’t get how people think it’s a kids’ movie...” I mutter, sighing under the weight of the emotional damage.

And the overwhelming urge to kiss her.

“Weren’t you the one who said you wouldn’t be traumatized by acartoon?”

“Well, turns out... I was wrong.”

“So, where are we hanging his poster, huh?” she teases, going straight for the emotional bruise.

“Never. I refuse to look at that level of heartbreak every day,” I shoot back, completely scandalized, and Alexandra bursts out laughing as she stands up.

“Aww, such a crybaby.” She throws a pillow at me. “I’m off to bed, Golden Boy. Don’t wake me up! I need to kick this jet lag ASAP.”

“I’ll walk you.” I get up and throw an arm over her shoulders, thinking about last night, when we did this same thing at her place — when everything still felt... normal.

“I can go by myself,” she protests, but then she laces her fingers through mine where they rest on her shoulder.

“I just wanna make sure you don’t get lost or something…” I tease. “And I really did like the movie — it’s just physically painful to remember how awful humanity can be.”

“Yeah. Some people really are just bad.”

“And some people really are just good. Like Quasimodo — raised in hate, but made of love.”

We walk the rest of the way in silence, and I pull away when Alex opens her bedroom door.

“‘Raised in hate, but made of love.’ Wow, look at you, poet. You should write more music.” She winks, stepping into her room and closing the door.

Leaving me alone with all my thoughts about her… and a few new ones about myself.

Writing music…

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