Chapter Thirty-Seven – Alex
When I take the most beautiful flight of my life, who will call me “love,” “sweetheart,” “darling”? Who will wait for me at home, polish the rare gem, be the pseudo-fruit, the skin of the cashew?
Caju – Liniker
“What can I do to make you as happy as I am right now? Just say it—I’d do anything.”
I didn’t really think when I said it. Coming straight from the perfect girls’ day to a surprise airport moment with the chance to go literally anywhere had me way too excited to be rational.
Living Disney—one of my oldest, biggest childhood dreams—completely swept me off my feet.
But the fireworks? The show? That moment when everything bursts into color and music and every childhood memory hits you at once? I couldn’t even breathe.
People would call it magic, I call it a miracle.
Feeling that happy, living that dream, with someone who means so much to me—that wasn’t even something I thought was possible. But A.J. has this stubborn, irritating, absolutely unfair way of breaking down every wall I try to put up.
I’d live this exact day on repeat if I could.
I want to come back here with time to visit every park, stay until my legs give out, see everything twice.
Still, when the final firework faded from the sky, I was floating and I wanted A.J.
floating with me. So when I asked what I could do to make him just as happy, I wasn’t thinking anything wild.
I was thinking about returning the favor. Taking him somewhere in Brazil he’s never been. A secret beach. A ridiculous road trip. Something random and unforgettable.
What I wasn’t ready for, was seeing it in his eyes. Realizing how badly Anthony Fortin wanted to kiss me. And the most surprising part? Not being able to kiss him, right there, beneath the fading glow of the fireworks … It shattered me.
I knew exactly what that meant.
I wanted it.
I wanted it just as much as he did.
Maybe more.
And not even this long, cold shower could wash that feeling off my skin. So I pull on my not-even-a-little-bit sexy pajamas, wrap myself in my robe, and step out of the room, quietly saying goodbye to my perfectly untouched bed.
The moment I open the door, my smile opens with it. A.J.’s stepping out of the room next door, and when he sees me, he gives me that little smirk—with the dimple, of course.
“We never agreed on which room…” he starts to explain, but I’m already biting down a wave of jealousy just from seeing him in a tank top, in the hallway, giving the whole world a view of what I want to keep to myself.
At least for tonight.
“Yes, we did. You just forgot,” I say, pulling my door shut and walking over to him. He shakes his head, but lets me lead him back into his room, our hands linked.
When the door clicks shut behind us, I don’t turn around.
His steps are heavy, purposeful, and when he stops right behind me and rests a hand on my waist, my legs go weak. I lean my body into his instinctively.
“So this is where you wanna sleep tonight?” His voice is low and rough, lips brushing against my ear, making me arch toward him. And I silently curse myself for reacting so easily.
But I nod, my head against his chest.
He tightens his hold, then gently turns me to face him, his hands slipping under my loose top, caressing my skin. His eyes scan mine like he’s reading something only he can see. My hand reaches up to the back of his neck and pulls him close, ready to close the distance between us.
“Wait.” A.J. ducks his head away and takes a big step back.
I rewind the last few seconds in my mind. There’s no way he’s backing out now.
“Did something happen?”
He shakes his head, eyes still locked on mine—but this time, filled with hesitation.
“I just… I need to know if you really want this. If it’s not just the perfect day talking.”
“What kind of question is that?” I ask, walking toward him. “My day was perfect because I was with you, A.J. I want this. I really do.” The words slip out of me so easily that the version of me from this morning would probably faint.
“Okay. But it can’t be like last time.” I raise an eyebrow, waiting for the reason. “I’m not forgetting anything in the morning,” he says, his voice firm. “I don’t want to forget.”
I take a breath, slow and deep, understanding exactly what he means.
“Well… it’s not like we ever truly forgot the first time,” I say with a little shrug, and a smile bloom across his face.
“But I’d rather not talk about it with anyone for a while.
I mean, okay, not everyone ,” I correct myself, because obviously he’s going to tell Dani, and I’ll definitely tell Thalia.
And maybe Daniele. And Beatriz too.
“I’m not gonna announce I kissed you through a megaphone, Alexandra,” he laughs, flipping his hair and biting his bottom lip, serving me his most shameless self.
“Are you sure?” I raise an eyebrow, letting the words hang between us while my eyes trace the way he walks away from the door like he’s got all the time in the world. “Because I could kiss you in a way that’d make you wanna scream it from the top of the freakin’ world.”
By the time I finish, he’s already standing in front of me—close enough for his scent to mess with my head. He glances at my lips. I catch a glimpse of his tongue as he wets his own. Our eyes lock. Neither of us moves. The air thickens with heavy breaths—, mine, shaky; his, deep and slow.
Then, A.J. slides one arm around my waist and pulls me in, his gaze never breaking from mine. He leans down, his mouth brushing over mine but not quite kissing just hovering, teasing, burning.
And when he finally bites my bottom lip, it’s gentle, lingering, sinful.
“Then do it. Kiss me until I’m at the Top of the Rock with a megaphone, telling the world how perfect for me you are.”
He lifts me up like it’s nothing, holding me in the air, our faces barely inches apart.
“You’re gonna ruin me, Anthony,” I whisper, wrapping my legs around his waist and pulling him in for a kiss.
The butterflies in my stomach don’t even have time to settle before they’re in flight again, ready to relive every spark of the first time: the heat, the rush, the need to have him closer, again and again.
But when his mouth meets mine this time, everything’s different.
It’s not my body that reacts first. It’s my heart—racing, reckless, unstoppable. As his hands slide down my back, tracing slow, distracted paths along my skin, I don’t just shiver. I melt . Like I’ve finally landed in the only place that’s ever made sense.
He threads a hand through my hair and sucks on my tongue, but instead of chasing urgency, I match his rhythm. I don’t need more. Not tonight. Because tonight, I’m not in a hurry. This time… this won’t end in the morning.
A.J. walks us over to the bed and lowers me onto the mattress with care, lying on top of me as his hand strokes down my leg. And I have to hold myself back from completely falling apart. Because tonight, this isn’t about desire, lust, or need.
It’s just about him.
His kiss, his touch, his smile, his desire to live all the good things life has to offer, the way he always effortlessly sees the best side of everything, and, deep down, it’s also that every time I try to see the good side of life… he’s the only thing I see.
A.J.’s lips seek mine with hunger and sweetness. He kisses me like it’s the only thing he’s ever learned to do right in his life. His hands glide over my body with the skill of a seasoned guitarist, and every inch of my skin burns, leaving a trail only he will recognize.
Without rushing, A.J. touches my face, caresses my hair, and supports himself on his elbows to watch me.
I take a deep breath under his dark, intense gaze, and he brings his lips closer to mine again, savoring my taste, sucking my mouth, and I let out a moan, with no other possible reaction, as his lips travel down the line of my jaw to my neck.
The moment his hot tongue touches my skin, I shiver, and he laughs against the curve of my neck before marking me again.
“Careful,” he murmurs, his voice low and wicked. “Better keep those moans quiet, Miss Petulant… we don’t want to disturb the other guests, right?”
Before I can even form a response, A.J. settles between my legs with such care it disarms me.
The weight of his body is almost imperceptible, but the weight of desire is not.
With a sudden push, I shove his chest and flip him onto the bed.
His breath catches with surprise, and I take advantage of the moment to climb on top of him, locking his legs with mine, as if I had any chance of controlling a man twice my size.
“Then maybe you shouldn’t make it so hard to stay quiet.” I say, my mouth brushing against his.
“If our house were a prison, more specifically your bed, I wouldn’t mind being sentenced,” he says, sliding his hand from the base of my breasts up to my neck.
“Oh, really?” I tease, almost forgetting that I don’t sleep with guys I’m not dating, and I grind against him before lowering my body onto his. “I think we can arrange that on Monday.”
I assure and finally kiss him, as if I want him to shout over the loudspeakers, put it on billboards, and announce to the whole world that he kissed me. A.J. lets out a grunt, and my hands slide down the hem of his shirt, trying to pull it up.
His body is hot, his eyes glazed over with desire, and when the shirt is halfway up, he stops me.
“We’re not doing this,” he says simply
“What ‘this’ Anthony?” I ask, irritated and embarrassed. “I’m not trying to take your innocence, just feel your skin.”
“Great.” He tries to pull me into a kiss, but I keep staring at him
“What does that mean?”
“Nothing, just that we’re not having sex,” the guy I’ve seen kiss dozens of people in the last few months says, like he’s telling me the time
I pull away from his chest, sitting back on top of him.