Page 54 of Just My Type of wrong guy

“Easy, it’s just the security team,” he says, smirking.

Cold wind rushes into the car, and normally, I’d ask him to roll up the windows – but not now.

A.J.’s curls blow toward the backseat, and that smug little smile still plays on his lips.

There’s something hypnotic about this man — twice my size — driving with just one hand, the other resting casually on his thigh.

Outside, the gray-blue Manhattan sky looks almost like a frame around him, making the red of his shirt and the pink of his lips stand out even more.

“Do you really need them with you all the time?” I ask, already cursing Thalia in my head for putting that thought there.

A.J. nods.

“We have to...”

As he drives, I force my eyes away from him and try to absorb what’s outside.

Movies don’t do this place justice – not even close. It’s all more intense, more real. The skyscrapers tower around us as we head south, and the sidewalks overflow with people, proving once and for all that everyone really is hotter in the winter. I feel like a teenager, embarrassed by how wide-eyed I am. I try not to show it, but I know I’m grinning like an idiot.

Everything grabs my attention: the High Line, the low buildings of the West Village, the way sunlight hits the glass on the taller ones...

It’s all more beautiful than I imagined, because this time, it’s real.

A.J. drives with this calm that lets me soak it all in. It’s just past 3 PM, and the crisp autumn wind blows leaves along the streets while yellow cabs battle for space in the chaos of this city. Every street, every corner we pass shows me something I once saw on TV, lying on the couch with Dona Tereza – except now, it’s not a screen.

It’s right here.

In front of me.

It’s Real.

“A ridiculously overpriced coffee for your thoughts...” A.J. murmurs after a while.

I study his face before answering, torn between brushing it off or just being honest.

“When I was a kid, me and Mom had this list of impossible dreams. Like, truly absurd stuff. One of them was witnessing a historic moment — we imagined something like humans landing on Mars, not... COVID!” I add, making A.J. laugh. “We also had ‘fly without a plane or hang glider.’”

The crease on his forehead scolds me.

“I was a kid, okay?” As I grew up, we started adding difficult, but possible things, so the list wouldn’t turn into a pile of disappointment. And you’re actually helping me check one off — did you know that?”

“I am?”

He puffs up his chest a little, proud, and I give him a half-smile and nod.

“One of them was coming to New York — not just for the landmarks and selfies, but actually getting to know the city. And, well... look where I am now.” I shrug, and A.J. reaches out, touching my hand.

Our pinkies hook together, like a quiet little promise that this trip will be a happy one. For the first time in a longwhile, I smile with actual hope beating in my chest. Being honest felt... good. If I can enjoy this the right way — and not just once the tour starts — it’s because of him.

“You’re about to hit the Meatpacking District,” he announces like it’s supposed to mean something. I raise an eyebrow, silently asking for more info.

“This place used to be all butchers and meat warehouses,” he explains.

I glance out the window, not even a little convinced that this rich-people paradise used to be some meatpacking street.

“In the ‘90s, they started transforming it. First came the artists, then the underground clubs, and now... well, it’s this trendy corner of New York where everyone wants to be.”

“And why are we here?”

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