Page 58 of Just My Type of wrong guy

“She just didn’t know you were a girl.”

“You’re seriously saying that?” Hands on hips, head tilted – everything about her is warning me not to answer honestly, so I stay perfectly still. “Rebeca didn’t say ‘a guy’ because she thought you had a boyfriend. She said it because this apartment is a…” – she looks at me for a second, searching for the word – “pigsty.”

“What?”

“A disaster, A.J.” Alexandra slumps over the island like she wants to scream, scanning the room.

I follow her gaze. Her eyes land on the pizza boxes and delivery containers piled in the sink, then shut tight when she sees the microwave — an actual war zone with crumbs and saucestains everywhere. And let’s not even talk about the overflowing trash. I don’t even remember the last time we took it out.

She straightens up and walks to the living room to our left, where cushions are scattered on the floor and a blanket’s draped across the couch — no wonder she looks so disappointed in our shared domestic skills.

“We need some basic hygiene, you know?”

“Idohave hygiene — I also have a cleaner,” I say, fully aware of how that sounds, and she gives me the kind of look you’d give someone who just kicked an old man.

“That’s not how this works, A.J. You don’t just let the place rot because someone comes to clean every two weeks.”

“She comes every Thursday!” I throw up my hands in defense. “She missed last week because of a personal issue.”

“You could’ve told me, I would’ve helped.”

“Oh, so the house has been a mess this whole time, andyou, Saint Alexandra of Sparkling Floors, didn’t notice?”

Her jaw drops. Then she tries not to laugh.

“You’re right, I dropped the ball,” she admits, clumsily trying to tie up her big hair into a bun before leaning against the wall.

“We’re still learning to live together, Alex. It’s fine.”

I walk over and take the hair tie from my wrist, fixing her bun myself.

“I’ll do better at keeping the place clean – but I’ll need your help.”

She studies my face while I finish tying it.

“Don’t worry. We’ll stay on top of it.”

“You better. Just because you refused help with rent doesn’t mean I’m turning into your maid.”

“We’re still on break. Let’s stay mindful, not go full clean freaks.”

“Just because we’re on break doesn’t mean we live like trolls, A.J. Sleeping at sunrise, waking up at noon, living off delivery – this isn’t sustainable!” she says, trailing her hand down my chest like she forgot her whole “I’m mad” stance.

But hearing her call me Anthony knocks me off balance.

“Don’t call me that.”

“Why not?”

“I hate that name.”

“The cleaner literally just called you that.”

“The agency gave her that name when she started. I’m too embarrassed to correct her now.Youcall me A.J.” I cross my arms, half pouting. “And I don’t get why you’re suddenly mad at this amazing life we’ve been living these past ten days.”

I don’t mention thatIactually have a routine. I hit the building’s gym early every morning, go for massages once a week, my skincare game is solid... But Alexandra just seemed so happy being carefree, I didn’t even bother bringing it up.

“A.J., we’ve been acting like two teenagers in a frat house,” she counters, and I roll my eyes to keep from laughing.

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