Page 70 of Just My Type of wrong guy

Not to mention him opening the door in boxers, and her acting all… all over him.

Haha, you slept badly.

Oh, you couldn’t last two hours.

Well, if he keeps moaning and groaning like that, I hope it’s over soon anyway.

And to think I talked to him about Mom.

Ugh, I hate that.

I wish I could go back and be one of those shallow people, with meaningless conversations and social media profiles that he can't connect with.

I put the soap in the dishwasher and select the quick cycle. After that, I wipe down the sink and, even though I want to clean the island too, I decide to go pack my bag instead — mostly to avoid listening to whatever circus is going on out there.

Perfect timing to have said I wanted to do something with him today. All because I was feeling grateful to have someone. But what’s the point of having someone if my person is out there sticking his dick in everything that moves?

Not that that’s a problem.

I’d just rather not hear it.

I take a deep breath and step into my room, slamming the door behind me to drown out yet another groan — and God help me if I ever find out what kind of sex they’re having.

I toss a large backpack onto the bed and start with the essentials: underwear goes into a toiletry bag first — because priorities — and I shove it to the bottom. Then I pick out four outfits: turtlenecks with either jeans or light pants, plus two pairs of thermal leggings to wear underneath and some seriously thick socks. I roll everything by outfit and pack it, relieved to notice the moaning has finally stopped.

One outfit per day, and an extra just in case.

I head to the bathroom to grab my hair and hygiene products. I even think about packing a shirt or dress for the show, but I wear the standard backing vocal outfit now, so I let it go. Whatever they hand me in the dressing room will do.

I finish up with two sets of pajamas — and that’s when A.J. lets out a shout that startles me, followed by the girl’s laughter.

What the hell?

That’s it. I’m done.

I open the door and shout:

“Alexa, volume max. Alexa, play Baby Shark!”

I slam the door shut again, just as I remember I still need to grab makeup.

If I keep remembering something every two minutes, this backpack won’t cut it.

I scan the cute, girly details in the room — the ones we picked out together — and head to the first closet door where I left my carry-on suitcase.

I start transferring everything from the backpack. Considering I still need to pack shoes, switching bags was definitely the right call. I go back to the closet for a pair of heels and some sandals, since I’ll be traveling in sneakers.

Suddenly, the music cuts off.

And someone — obviously A.J. — pounds on my door.

I take a deep breath and head toward it, reason fully on my side.

“What?”

I cross my arms, and A.J. raises his eyebrows with an incredulous laugh.

“I think that question’s mine…”

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