Page 139 of Just My Type of wrong guy

“The world’s so twisted, huh? It scolds people for being good instead of going after the ones who take advantage,” she says thoughtfully.

“Yeah,” I agree, scratching the back of my neck. “And from my mom, I got patience. Life with her was light, no drama, just cozy days, couch, TV, hot chocolate.”

She studies me more intensely.

“So how’d you end up in music?”

“I think… just being a sensitive kid. Back then, everyonehatedgirls but still wanted todatethem; I liked the girls, but most of the time, I just wanted to date their brothers, who never looked at me back, at least, not in public,” I point out. “Music, and those movies and shows I watched with my mom, it let me express myself. Singing covers, rewriting lyrics, writing my own songs… it became how I learned to love and accept myself as a boy who liked boys… and girls.”

“So music was your bisexual awakening?”

“No! Lady Bird was,” I laugh. “I realized maybe Saoirse Ronan could make me just as happy as Chalamet.” Alexandra tries not to laugh. “I’m kind of kidding. I liked boys first. But in high school, I ended up falling for my best friend, who was a girl. And for a while, I really thought, ‘This is crazy, I like boys.’ But when she said she wanted to keep her distance because she was falling for me, my heart nearly stopped and I just kissed her. I kissed her, held her, and it felt right.”

I remember it fondly; it was special for me to realize I could love whoever I wanted and not be stuck in the box I was put in. But Alexandra is clearly trying not to roll her eyes in jealousy, so I close that chapter and shift the focus to her. “Now you know. But what about you? How’d you start?” I ask.

“You already know, A.J. I’ve told you so many times,” she says, playing coy and resting her head on the back of the couch.

“I know you’re the girl who sang before she spoke, but tell me: how’d you start writing?” I prop my feet up on the couch and look at her.

“I never thought I’d sing pop until I joined GenZ. When we debuted, our first album felt like magic, everything clicked, it was incredible.” The smile that lights up her face almost makes me smile too. “Then came the second album, and that was probably the most lifeless thing I’ve ever been part of. Gui andI rewrote four of the songs and started singing the new versions at the shows. The fans loved it and I realized that I wanted to dothat.”

I move closer just enough to intertwine my fingers with hers, gently.

“Did it take you long to write what you sing?”

“So long,” she says. “As you just saw, samba has so many classics. I wanted to honor them, you know?” Alex watches our hands intertwined, playing a little game of trying to catch my thumb with hers. “With all those classics being passed down from one generation to the next, it never felt like it needed anything else. But at the end of the day, my heart convinced me it did.”

“It did need you,” I say. “I love hearing you sing, and I can’t wait for everyone to hearThe Loneliest Girl in the City.”

“That’s not the title.”

“It’s not?”

“No. The title isUnbroken,” she corrects me, and her face lights up.

Somehow, despite everything, I’ve been feeling more whole too since she showed up, taking over my life with her warmth, her smiles, her constant presence.

“I love it,” I say. “I think it says exactly what you wanted it to.”

“Thank you, A.J. I’d still be ‘the loneliest girl in the city’ if it weren’t for you. But then my Golden Boy showed up and turned all my walls into bridges. I’ll be grateful for that forever,” Alex says, and I reach for her, pulling her onto my lap.

“I love seeing you like this, so full of joy, so hopeful, so alive…”

“I love seeing you,” she says, kissing me softly and letting her hand find my hair, tugging out the messy bun just to run her fingers through it.

“I never thought you’d be like this, you know?”

“Like what?” She frowns, narrowing her eyes at me.

“So sweet, so affectionate… always with the cute nicknames.”

“I’m your little box of surprises, A.J.” she declares, and I lean my head against the back of the couch.

“I feel like I’m in heaven every time you say that, you know?” I confess, and she frowns at me. “When you call yourself mine.

“I think it’s sexy. But just a little,” she teases, her fingers playing along my waist.

“Speaking of us… We’re heading to Guilherme’s the day after tomorrow, right? Dani won’t stop asking, either,” I say, and she gives me a sidelong look, eyes narrowed like she’s trying to guess where I’m going with this. “But I haven’t told them anything…”

---