Page 26 of Just My Type of wrong guy

“Alright, I’ll behave better now,” I promise, extending my hand to her. “Let’s go record the video first.”

“Didn’t we just record a video?”

“Yes. But if we post such a messy thing, Daniele’s going to kill us. Maybe the footage will work for a vlog… is more casual,” I reason, dragging her behind me toward the table.

But that’s a lie: I’m not sharing this moment with anyone else. There’s no way in hell they’re going to see this girl, her walls down, talking about her dreams in my arms.

“You can direct the video, but the photos are mine, deal?”

“And then we could play a little, what do you think?”

“It’ll be my pleasure to destroy you in FIFA,” she bows with a sarcastic laugh.

“Not if I destroy you in Super Smash first.”

“Good thing I can ask for a rematch after our lunch with the guys.”

“If I win, I’m not giving you a rematch.”

“I think I have a more dangerous weapon...” She moves closer and sits next to me, the sun almost blinding us both. “You know, on this tour, I’ve been the one choosing the girls you kiss, so...”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“Deny me a rematch and let’s see if you won’t kiss the biggest disaster this land of colonizers has ever produced,” she threatens, pushing me with her shoulders, and I’m so speechless that I grab the device to start recording.

***

“Ready to be humiliated?” Alexandra grabs the FIFA controller and flops beside me, with a sharp smile and confidence that only someone who’s been beating me at this damn game for two months can flaunt.

“Always so humble,” I laugh as I set up my Barcelona team. “But, you know, when you lose, I promise not to rub it in your face.”

“Oh, please. I’ve been playing this since my mom bought my first PlayStation. I’ll give you a dance and still post stories after.”

“Why are you like this?”

“Like what?” she mocks, looking at me sideways, her curls falling over her face, hiding her sly smile, making me swallow hard.

Beautiful, charming, and absolutely desirable, I think, but quickly erase those thoughts from my mind, even thoughthey’re true. Because Alexandra is my friend, and mixing things up wouldn’t be good for either of us.

I watch her sprawled out on the couch, wearing one of her classic “Samba is hot” shirts, and samba had never been this hot before her. Her crossed legs make the skirt ride up so high that it makes me want to look anywhere but at her.

“Unbearable.”

“Focus, A.J. I don’t want excuses when the score’s three-nil.” Alex snaps her fingers in my face, and I tie my hair back with a knot.

“You talk like you’ve already won.”

“Because I already have.” She shrugs.

The first match starts. Alexandra moves the controller like it’s an extension of her body, and I try not to look too nervous. When the timer hits fifteen minutes, the score is already two-zero in her favor.

I still lose three rounds of FIFA, but manage to tie two and win two of Super Smash before my phone buzzes with the guys telling me it’s time to go downstairs for lunch.

“Thank goodness, because I’m really hungry,” she pauses the game, we both know she only got excited because she was about to lose, and she gets up.

“You’re going out in these clothes?” I ask, pointing at her, and I see in her eyes when she realizes she has no chance of leaving dressed like that.

“Why? Afraid I’ll get more attention than you?”

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