Page 141 of Just My Type of wrong guy

I choose a lighter lipstick that won’t clash with the dress, swipe on some mascara, and just as I close the little tube and hold the lipstick in my hand, someone knocks on the door. The smile that spreads across my face at the thought of seeing A.J. is downright embarrassing. Whatever this man is doing to me—and to my stone-cold heart—it must be a crime somewhere in the world, but not here.

Here, he’s making another one of my dreams come true, letting me fall a little more in love with some piece of him I haven’t discovered yet.

“Come in!” I call cheerfully.

Beatriz slips inside and freezes.

“Sorry to disappoint, but it’s just me,” she says when she notices my smile fade. I wave her in.

“You’re not disappointing me, Bia. Stop being silly.”

She laughs.

“It’s written all over your face, you were hoping to see our two-meter-tall hyperactive kid,” she teases as she steps inside and closes the door and dumps her pile of clothes on the bed nearest me and flops down beside it.

“Really?” I groan. “I was trying to be a little more mysterious.”

“You two walked in holding hands, and you spent the whole day glued to that man.”

“I did not,” I protest, awkwardly turning to face her.

“Your butt didn’t touch a single seat today, Alexandra. Every time you sat, it was straight onto A.J.’s lap. Everybody noticed. If you were trying to keep it a secret…” Bia shrugs, and the corner of my mouth lifts a little.

I shake my head, feeling a bit calmer now that she’s laid it all out—because it’s okay if everyone saw. It saves us from having to make some kind of announcement.

“We weren’t,” I admit. “We didn’t plan to tell, but we weren’t exactly hiding either.”

“You two weren’t even trying to hide it during the tour, let’s be real. Those performances? My God. Just lock yourselves in a room,” Beatriz jokes, running a hand through her hair to fix a curl, crossing her legs like a proper lady.

In her long dress with a slit as high as my entire leg, she exudes elegance. If you look closely, you can practically see the wordheiressstamped on her forehead.

“Do his fans hate you?” The question flies from my lips, and I almost don’t know where it comes from.

I never thought I’d be the type of girl to care what others thought of my relationships. But maybe that’s because I never really had one before.

“No, everyone loves us,” she says, biting her lower lip in nervousness. But she pauses for a moment and adds, “Well, the international fans weren’t exactly thrilled at first. But… Guitaught me not to go online just to see what people hate about me, and that helped a lot.”

I turn my whole body toward her, disbelieving. Reading fan notes and random internet comments is the most soul-sucking thing I know. Even before A.J. and me, I only ever did it when I wanted to get mad.

“Wow, who would’ve thought not looking up hate comments would actually make you feel better?” I say sarcastically, and she rolls her eyes.

“I didn’t come here to talk about me, Alexandra. Tell me, how are you feeling?”

“Happy?” I answer, half questioning. “Nervous, excited, in love, scared I’m making a huge mistake…”

“Why?”

“What’s the future of this, Bia? I have a life there, and he lives here. And he has a life everywhere.”

Beatriz doesn’t answer right away. She folds her arms, frowning as she studies me.

“Guilherme and I are making it work just fine, thank you,” Bia teases, reminding me that it’s even harder for her. As an actress, she sometimes has to be away for months on end, and during the guys’ tour, she and Gui spent so much time apart.

“A.J. really loves you, truly. I haven’t known him long, and the guys treat him like he’s the most reckless person alive. But out of everyone, he’s the one I’d bet my life on—he’d never break the heart of the girl he loves.”

“Even more than Rick?”

“Rick’s my best friend in the band, but if I’m being honest—and I love him and my sister-in-law so much—I still have my doubts about relationships that start off… in such a wrong way.” She shrugs, not giving more detail. And I don’t ask.

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