The Right Kind Of Wrong Girl. A. C. Meyer

with the pendants from a bracelet I gave her while staring outside, I wonder what’s on her mind.

      Hellen did an outstanding job with her. Malu looks gorgeous. She doesn’t look like a rebel girl anymore, but like a woman who’s aware of her own beauty and sex appeal. She seems all grown-up, mature, feminine. And I definitely should start dating soon, because I’m seeing things in her that I’m not supposed to.

      As we approach the gallery, I spot some movement on the seat beside me and look straight to Malu, watching her wringing her hands on her lap.

      “Hey, calm down. Everything’s going to be alright,” I tell her, holding her fingers on mine.

      “What if nobody comes to this shit?”

      “Watch your mouth.”

      “I mean it, Rafa. If it’s empty, Hellen will be fucking disappointed. We better go back home. Look, if you go straight ahead, there’s a turn on the road and…”

      “It’s not empty. Take a deep breath and watch your freaking mouth.” I’m laughing. She looks at me scared but then she also laughs.

      “Do you think so?”

      “I’m positive. At least the guys from the beach and from Tito’s bar are going to be there.” Her smile grows larger, and she exhales all the air she was keeping in.

      I stop the car in front of the gallery and a valet opens her door to help her out. People around us turn their heads to watch her with admiration, but she’s trembling so much she can’t even see what’s going on. I go around the car, and after I thank the valet by handing him the car keys, she grabs my arm.

      When we get inside the gallery, we’re greeted by Hellen right away.

      “Oh, that’s wonderful! You two look so beautiful.” She greets us with kisses and take a step back to admire Malu. “You look amazing, young lady. Are you ready? The press here is dying to know who’s our talented artist.”

      “Really?” Malu seems thunderstruck.

      “Yes. Rafael, you may take a look at the exhibition while I take our artist to meet some people.

      “Sure. Good luck, sweetie.” I kiss her forehead and watch her go away, still a bit apprehensive.

      I look around but can’t face any familiar faces. It’s still early, so I decide to take a look at the exhibition, even though I’ve already seen all the paintings. I walk through the hallway, but a waiter stops me to offer a glass of champagne. Holding on to my glass, I enter the exhibit room. About forty paintings are hanging around the gallery rooms, but right on the entrance, I’m greeted by No regrets. The large canvas with an image of Malu in watercolors opens the exhibition, greeting visitors as soon as they arrive. I can’t help but feeling a little uneasy seeing her so exposed. However, there’s no denying regarding the beauty of that painting and the model herself.

      This piece depicts a strong, brave, fearless woman, but, at the same time, highlights her femininity and delicacy. It’s a mixture between daring and innocent, erotic and sexy. I stay there for a couple of minutes, enjoying the beauty of her art and trying to make sense of how someone with so many shades, complications and rebellion was able to pour so many feelings in a single canvas.

      The whole night passed as a blur. The gallery was crowded, all the paintings were sold and, according to Hellen, some people have already made requests. They were really impressed not only by the beauty of her paintings but by the woman behind the artwork. I can’t help but feel proud of the way she blossoms when doing what she really likes.

      After people were all gone, Hellen locks the gallery doors with a huge smile on her face.

      “This night was a success, Malu! An event like this, with 100% sold, is pretty rare, you know. Even No regrets was sold.”

      “Really, Hellen? I still find a bit disturbing the thought of someone seeing me naked on their living room wall.” Her laugh makes me smile.

      “Shall we go home, Miss I’ve-sold-all-my-paintings?”

      “Let’s go!” she accepts all excited. We say good-bye to Hellen and head to the car.

      We cover the short way home from the gallery in silence. She turns on the radio and Mais Ninguém (which means no one else), a song by Brazilian band Banda do Mar, starts playing. Malu sings along in a low voice and the lyrics moves me in an inexplicable way.

      I just hope no one else comes

      Then I can have you only for myself

      I may steal your sleep

      I want your everything

      If someone else comes, I won’t even notice

      I change to another song, even though we’re close to her place. This strange feeling that song gave me is too much to handle.

      I stop in front of her building, without turning it off. She looks at me surprised.

      “Aren’t you coming up?”

      “I don’t think so…”

      “Oh, no! I need someone to talk to. Come on, turn this beater off and cut the crap.”

      “Malu, you may hardly call my car a beater.”

      “Yeah, playboy car” she says while frowning at me, to which I eventually give up and laugh. I enter the building through the garage and park on her spot, which I’m the only who uses anyway, since she doesn’t own a car.

      We enter the elevator, and she quickly takes off her sandals, remaining in her bare feet.

      “I can’t believe you’re touching this filthy elevator floor with your bare feet.”

      “I’m in pain” she says, with her sandals on her hands while stretching her toes.

      “Shit” I curse in a low voice, lifting her up. She throws her arms around my neck, smiles and smacks on the lips, as we usually do.

      I can’t tell if it were the dress, the booze, or the stunning song, but her lips touching mine make me feel thunderstruck.

      When she looks back at me, she comes across the way I’m gazing back at her, and, just like me, she can’t look away.

      The elevator stops at her floor, and I carry her all the way to her door. She unlocks it, and we get in. When I put her back on the ground, already inside the living room, she turns away to lock the door. At this moment, all this desire that I’m feeling anymore get the best of me. I hold her against the door letting my mouth rapture hers in the most passionate kiss we’ve ever exchanged. I’m kissing her as if my life depends on that.

      She drops the sandals and the small purse she was still holding and throws her arms around my neck, letting her hand walk all the up to my hair. Her body sticks to mine and I can’t think of anything else but how her kiss is so much better than all the others I’ve had before. My heart pounds faster when I feel her taste, pure and unblemished. And that reminds that she’s still a virgin. Shit.

      “Malu.” I call her, pulling my lips away.

      “Hmm” she moans against my mouth and I can feel myself getting even harder.

      “We have to stop.” My mouth is saying that, but my body is screaming: No! no!

      “Stop? Are you crazy?” She sticks her mouth back to mine, waving her body against mine. She’s going to be my downfall.

      “Yes. First of all, you’re a virgin…”

      “Oh, good one. Now tell me another one, because that doesn’t count.”

      “Second, having sex will change everything between us. I don’t want to lose you as a friend” I look into her eyes.

      She remains