Page 88 of Just My Type of wrong guy

“You know this song, Gui?” Richard asks, trying to break the ice.

“I was forced to. It must be something all women like this song. I don’t have any exes, but Beatriz loves it,” he complains, making everyone laugh. “But you’ll pick it up quickly, the harmonic progression is pretty common.” Our leader accepts Richard’s attempt to break the tension.

Seconds after Alexandra turns off the sound, everyone is in position.

Rick taps his drumsticks three times to mark the time, Guilherme starts picking the guitar, and Thomas joins with the bass, following the melody. Richard marks the beat on the cymbals, creating a soft, almost lazy rhythm, but full of expectation.

Beside me, Alexandra rests her arm on my shoulder and softly murmurs, in an almost teasing tone, “la-da-da-da, da-da-da,” feeling the music before she starts singing it. In one quick motion, she pulls my chin and sings the lyrics to the song I only knew the melody of until then.

Her voice slides into my ears like she’s telling me a secret. Her eyes locked on mine, she spits the words out with uncontrollable jealousy and rage.

Alexandra touches my chest and rolls her eyes as she sings,

Cause I know her star sign,

I know her blood type

I’ve seen every movie she’s been in, and,

oh God, she’s beautiful.

My breath gets heavier from the closeness, and a bead of sweat runs down my back. Without realizing it, the melodystarts to swell, and Alexandra bites her bottom lip while keeping her eyes on mine, as if savoring her own words and pushing me back.

The chorus explodes, and Alex spins on her heels, stopping in front of me, between me and my mic. With her back pressed against my chest, she lifts my hands off the guitar and settles them at her waist, guiding my touch into a choreography I was never briefed on—but one my body seems to know instinctively. Her body moves with the angry rhythm, exuding the anguish of the song, each note filling the space between us, and each pause holding the tension in the air.

She wants my attention. And she gets it.

Turning to face me, Alexandra sings about obsession and jealousy like a teenager. But that doesn’t matter. What matters is the way she slides her fingers from my shoulder to my neck, gently tugging my hair, testing boundaries, playing with fire, and there’s no way she doesn’t know she’s lighting it up.

She didn’t want me to play,she wanted me here. She wanted to mesmerize me, dancing for me, with her eyes on mine and her lips shaping every word, leaving me anxious and wanting those lips on mine, or on other parts of my body, with the same fury.

Alex spins back around, my hands go straight to her waist without her needing to guide them, and I feel Richard’s eyes on us, I know Dani is watching. Everyone’s watching. And the only thing I can do is thank the guitar between us, or I’d be done for right now.

Alexandra pulls away, and I pretend to play something for the few seconds she gives me to breathe. Stomping her foot like a stubborn kid and pouting, Alex murmurs the next verse in an almost-whispered tone. Her voice plays between irony and frustration, each question marked by a sharp, longing look.

She’s friends with your friends? Is she good in bed? Do you think about her?

Staring at me as she sings, she waits for answers that I can’t give. Alexandra slowly re-approaches, eyes locked on mine, before going back to the chorus. I stand here. Stuck. But inside, I’m on fire.

My body pulses for her. To be closer. To press our bodies together and hold her hair between my fingers. I lick my bottom lip when she pulls me by the hair in her direction again, and everything in me aches to touch her—not just her waist this time.

Half of me wants to tear her from this makeshift stage, and the other half wants the world to disappear. And that’s what scares me the most:how much I need her.

The last note echoes in the space, and Alexandra thanks the guys and kisses my cheek, satisfied, before dropping the mic and going back to the couch, where she laughs with the girls like nothing happened. Like she didn’t just mess up my entire world.

And me?

I’m completely screwed.

I look at the guys, asking for one more, and start the chords of ‘One Last Kiss’.

I close my eyes and try to lose myself in the music, but I fail. The only thing in my head is that this isn’t the song I want to sing to Alexandra. I’m craving a kiss from her, that’s obvious. And, like the lyrics of this song say, I want to have many last kisses with her, so many that we’ll always know that none of them is really the last.

But the song in my head now is the one Richard heard me write.

I open my eyes, pushing that thought away, and resolve to just give back what Alexandra gave me: desire and fun. I sing about how much I’d like to kiss her, searching for her eyes, butshe’s dancing with the girls, twirling in front of us, sending me little smirks full of mischief.

Daniele captures every moment for one of her videos, and my stomach tightens. My chest burns. And I’d rather die than accept that I’ll never kiss her.

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