Camila thought she had everything under control: a stable relationship, a comfortable routine, and a house shared with another couple without any major drama... until one night, after a few too many drinks, she mistakes her boyfriend. Well... her boyfriend, for his best friend. The uniform, the darkness in the hallway, his similar voice-everything contributed to the disaster. But what really throws her off isn't the mistake... but how much she enjoyed it. Now, caught between habit with Nico and the sudden spark with Julián, Camila will try to keep her secret buried. But desire is elusive, and the tension in the house rises like the temperature in summer. He doesn't pursue her, but he doesn't run away either. And every accidental brush begins to feel less accidental. With the Wrong Boyfriend is a daring, funny, and emotionally chaotic romantic comedy about those mistakes you don't plan for... but your heart won't let go of.
Chapter 1 The Mistake
The house slept under a blanket of darkness and stillness. Only the oscillating fan broke the silence with its constant hum, like a mechanical whisper that seemed to try to lull the entire world to sleep. From the hallway, the echo of distant laughter occasionally crept in, as if the walls held fragments of a conversation that didn't belong to them.
Camila slept alone, tangled in the sheets of the double bed like a human donkey, barely visible among the jumble of white fabric and pillows. The digital clock on the nightstand read 2:57 a.m., with red numbers that seemed to blink anxiously. To one side, a half-finished bottle of wine rested next to an empty glass and a dead cell phone.
Nico, her boyfriend, had left hours ago to cover his night shift at the airport. He worked as part of the security team, and that night he was assigned to work alongside his best friend and inseparable companion: Julián. It was almost a tradition for them to return together, still in their uniforms, tired but laughing about things they never fully explained. Camila loved that conspiratorial air between them, although sometimes she felt more like a spectator than part of the team.
More than once she had joked that they looked like catalog models every time they walked through the door. "Sexy security," she called them, half-seriously, half-jokingly, after a couple of drinks.
That night, however, something changed.
The lock turned carefully. The front door opened with a barely audible creak. Clumsy, shuffling footsteps entered, like someone trying not to make a sound but not entirely sober. Muffled laughter was heard, a poorly executed "shh," and then, a voice. Familiar. All too familiar.
"Where did I leave the locker keys?" that voice asked from the hallway.
Camila, in her sleep, recognized it. Or thought she recognized it. It was Nico. It had to be. Half-drowsy, still drunk on sleep and wine, she sat up in bed and rubbed her eyes. She swayed a little, trying to focus on the approaching silhouette. A tall, broad-shouldered figure in the dark blue airport uniform.
The smile that spread across her face was automatic, instinctive. It was the kind of smile born of desire, of tenderness, of pent-up longing. Without a second thought, she walked toward the figure and hugged him tightly around the waist, pressing her face to his chest. She smelled the familiar scent of night work: a mix of cigarettes, metal, and perfume. Her heart slowed. Everything was fine. Nico was back.
"I missed you," she murmured, letting the words slip out like a sigh.
Julián didn't know what to do. He didn't know how to react. He didn't even have time to warn her. He only felt her arms around him, her face warm against his chest, and then... her lips. At first, shy. Then more confident. The kiss grew with the intensity of a contained storm. It was deep, filled with something neither of them had planned to feel. Camila kissed him as if it were a certainty, as if she knew without a doubt that he was the man she'd been waiting for all night. Julián, on the other hand, was torn between the impulse to stop and the desire to stay right there, a little longer.
He tried to pull away.
"Cami, I..."
But she didn't give him any space. She pulled him closer, her lips searching for his as if he were the only real thing in a fog. Her body recognized him, even if her mind was mistaken.
Until, suddenly, a dry sound pierced the house: the door closing again.
They both froze.
Camila stepped back, frowning. The sound was clear. Another person had just entered.
"...Nico?"
The question escaped her before she could stop it. Julián didn't answer. He just looked at her, eyes wide open, breathing ragged, lips still wet. She observed him, for the first time with real attention. The angle of his jaw. The slight difference in height. The perfume... it wasn't the same.
Then she knew.
"You're not Nico!"
The silence that followed was thick, almost palpable. Julián scratched the back of his neck awkwardly. An awkward smile appeared on his lips, like a child caught with his hand in the cookie jar.
"No... but I didn't complain either," he said quietly.
Camila took a step back, her face flushed, not only from embarrassment but also from the burning memory of those lips. Her breathing became erratic. She brought a hand to her mouth.
"What... what just happened?"
From the kitchen, a voice boomed like an alarm.
"Cami?! Are you awake?"
It was Nico.
Camila looked at Julián, in shock.
"Oh my God, hide or something!"
Without thinking twice, she ran to the door and slammed it shut, leaning her entire weight against it as if it could contain not only Nico, but also the truth that had just been revealed. Julián was still standing in the middle of the room, his uniform wrinkled, his breathing heavy, his lips still heavy with the taste of wine... and guilt.
"Camila..." he whispered, as if he hadn't yet realized what he thought had happened.
"Don't say anything. Not a word. This didn't happen, did you hear me?"
She wasn't even looking at him. She just squeezed her eyes shut, trying to erase the scene from her mind. But the body had memory. And that memory was very much alive.
"Are you sure you believe this?" Julián asked, taking a step toward her.
Camila finally looked at him. And in her eyes, there was something more than panic. Something more primal. A fire that had been extinguished for a long time and, with a mistake, had been rekindled.
But there was no time to think.
"You have to get out of here. Now. Before Nico comes in and..."
Knock, knock, knock.
"Camila? Are you okay?" I heard a noise.
Camila froze. So did Julián. As if moved by a spring, he slid toward the closet and slipped inside without a word. She closed the door just in time, as if it were a comedy of errors and not the beginning of something much more complicated.
The bedroom door opened.
"What are you doing awake? Did you dream about something strange?" Nico asked, entering with a long yawn.
Camila smiled, tense, nervous, as if she had a bomb under her pillow.
"Yes... I dreamed you weren't there. And I was scared."
Nico approached, kissed her forehead, and sank onto the bed with a sigh.
"I'm dead. I love you, you know that?"
She watched him silently. She felt her heart pounding in her throat. Not for him. But for the breathing figure contained in the closet, just a few feet away. For the kiss. For the fire.
And for the desire that, now, she could no longer ignore.
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