Page 59 of Just My Type of wrong guy

“We were on tour for six months. Wanting to slack off a bit makes total sense,” I say, throwing myself onto the couch. “And my name is A.J.”

“Oh my God – keeping the apartment clean is an issue, saying your name is an issue. Is there anything Icando?”

“Sit next to me and help figure out what to cook?” I pat the couch. “We also need to cut back on ordering food or we’re gonna die from junk.”

“You’re unbelievable,” she mutters, turning to head back to the kitchen. But I jump up and catch her halfway, spinning her around by the waist.

“I’m very much believable,” I say, pulling her closer. “And I have a proposal.”

She narrows her eyes like she’s not having it, but her body relaxes into mine.

“And what’s this proposal you’ve got?” she asks, raising one brow.

“Let’s order something different tonight. Tomorrow we go to the store and buy real ingredients.”

“There’s pasta in the cupboard. We could cook tonight.”

“Yeah, we have pasta and water, Alex. We haven’t gone shopping once. I’m not eating plain noodles.”

“If –and only if– we order food tonight, you’re on dish dutyandyou take out the trash.”

My eyes flick to the dishwasher she still hasn’t met.

“And after that, weeachsleep in our own rooms. That poor couch deserves a break.”

“And tomorrow we get breakfast out, then go grocery shopping,” I say, trying to sound like I’m in control, because I seriously can’t take her bossing me around anymore.

“And to do that, wego to bed earlytonight. No more staying up till 4 a.m.,” she insists, hands on her hips like my arms aren’t still around her.

“We could even run out the door in a fake panic so you can hail a cab with a travel mug in hand.”

“I liked your proposal,” she says, grinning – but her eyes aren’t playful. They’re teasing. “but… still sounds like an excuse just to grab me in the middle of the room.”

Her words make my skin burn everywhere we’re touching, and I drop my arms.

“Please. I was just trying to make you think clearly. We don’t even havefoodin the house and you’re off daydreaming.” I give her a little shoulder nudge.

“Sure. Because you’d only grab me if Ibegged,” Alexandra says as she walks past, slamming half her tiny bodyinto mine like she thinks she can knock me over. She’s definitely still feeling that hit.

***

It only took three episodes ofHell’s Kitchenand two ofMasterChefbefore we gave in and started watching specific YouTube videos like “How to roast a decent fish” and “What sauces pair well with red meat,” because whatever those so-called amateur chefs were doing on TV was way beyond our skill level.

If the gossip pages and the fan club were already curious about what Alex and I were doing together all over Manhattan before our little culinary experiments… now things were on a whole new level.

Luckily, we’re on break – my bodyguards, however, are not. And nothing stresses Hammer and his team more than our visits to Brazilian spots. Whether it’s crossing the city to get to Alexandra ’s favorite grocery store, hunting down specific ingredients in Brazilian markets, or heading to Times Square just to eat acoxinha[7]– those moments easily rank as the most chaotic when it comes to fan interactions.

It’s not like Americans don’t freak out, but Brazilians? They go feral for me and Alex as a duo. And it doesn’t look like that hype is dying down anytime soon.

On the bright side, the apartment’s cleaner, and we barely ordered takeout this week. Over the last few days, we burned two fish fillets and oversalted a quiche – it was garlic and cheese flavored, so maybe I wasn’t that mad about it. But we nailed the pasta and the risotto. I’ll say it: we’re improving.

Tonight’s dinner? Rice, beans, potato salad, and roasted pork. A meal fit for the gods. My rice is a disaster, so she’s in charge of that, but my beans turned out so good they didn’t even taste canned.

Cooking may not be our greatest passion, but we’re getting by. More importantly: we’re back to our nightly movie tradition. These days, it’s just one film before bed, to help us sleep better.

“I’ll admit it,” I say, unfolding the sofa bed while Alexandra reads the movie synopsis. “Having a routine isn’t so bad.”

“Having a routine isgreat,” she shoots back. “So, are we watchingAtlantisor not?” she asks, shifting her weight from one leg to the other, clearly done waiting for my answer.

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