Page 11 of Winging It with You

“I’m sorry,” I say, raising an eyebrow. “Was something supposed to have changed between growing up and now? Because every single door must be properly examined before bed and shut completely. Come on, Asher…I’m not a psychopath.”

Another Asher eye roll. He begins trailing a finger down his never-ending list of questions, but I think it’s my turn to pull out a few of his closet’s skeletons.

“That’ll be enough of that,” I say, swiping the notebook from his grip and tucking it under my arm.

“I have a few questions of my own. Let’s start with the basics—when’s your birthday? ”

“May eighth.”

Ah, a Taurus. That tracks.

“Excuse me. What’s the face for?” he asks, pushing my arm playfully.

“Just piecing you together, Asher Bennett,” I say, and his nose scrunches up. I’m pretty sure he hated that entirely. “Okay, how about what you do for work?”

He folds his arms across his chest. “I’m a biomedical engineer.”

“A what now?”

His face reddens.

“No one ever knows what I do when I mention that,” he says, reaching for his glass.

“We develop the technology and equipment to help diagnose certain medical conditions. Like right now, we’re working on this incredibly exciting and even more frustrating artificial liver…

” He’s lit from within and it’s the most animated I’ve seen him. “You know what? That’s not important.”

“Makes mental note to ask Asher all about artificial livers. Got it,” I tease.

His cheeks flush. “What about you?” he asks.

I slow-blink. “Really? Are you forgetting where you met me?”

“Uh…right.” Asher runs a hand through his blond hair. I bet it’s soft. “Do you enjoy it?”

“Flying is flying, I guess.”

Asher clearly picks up on my unintentional change in tone. “Is there something else you’d rather be doing?”

That’s a loaded question. “You could say that. I was a naval pilot in another life.”

“Oh, that’s amazing,” he says, and I can tell he’s being genuine. “Thank you for your service.”

I never know how to respond when someone says that, so I just smile and continue with our little game. “Anyway, I’m the one asking questions here, mister. If we win this thing, what would you do with the prize money?”

A faint smile grows across Asher’s face. “That’s a pretty big if .”

“So. Dream with me.”

He’s quiet for a moment, his gaze suddenly a million miles away.

“ If we were to somehow win,” he says earnestly, “I’d use the money to start a program for LGBTQIA+ students in STEM.

I’ve always wanted to work with students who have an interest in what I do, and it just seems like a great way to give back.

” He stares into my eyes from behind his tortoiseshell frames.

“I don’t know…that probably sounds boring. ”

I shake my head. “Definitely not boring.”

Silent appreciation flashes across his face. “Thank you for saying that. What about you?”

Well, now I just feel like an ass. “My answer isn’t as…philanthropic as yours.”

His grin returns. “So? Tell me.” Asher leans in a little closer, seemingly interested in whatever it is I have to say.

“I’ve been saving up for my own plane for a while.”

He nods his head. “Considering your profession, that makes sense.”

“Not just any plane,” I say after taking a sip from my glass.

“I’ve had my eye on this 1981 Cessna twin-engine for ages.

It needs a little love but it’s worth it.

” Asher’s looking at me like I’m speaking another language, which is about how I felt when he was going on about robotic organs or something like that.

“It’s a small four-seater plane. Nothing special but everything I’d need. ”

“That’s incredible,” he says, smiling. “If we win, you owe me a flight.”

“If we win,” I say, handing him back his notebook, which he slips into his bag, “I’ll be your personal pilot for life.”

He throws his head back and laughs. “Deal,” he says as the lights around us dim and dramatic music begins to blare throughout the room.

“Ladies and gentlemen, let’s give a warm welcome to the man who makes it all happen—your host, Dalton McKnight!” an unseen voice echoes. There’s no mistaking the show’s long-time and historic—by reality television standards—host as he flits across the stage.

Like most actors turned reality television hosts, Dalton has had a long career in front of the camera, getting his start on the sets of the soap operas my mom and Elise used to watch.

But if I remember correctly, it wasn’t until this gig that his career really took off, making him one of America’s most beloved household names.

Truthfully, that may be a stretch considering his stints in rehab and his seemingly never-ending list of toxic relationships, which without fail end up spread across the tabloids.

“Alright, trekkers, who’s ready to kick off the historic season twenty-five of The Epic Trek ?” Dalton shouts.

I’ve never wanted to sprint toward an exit faster in my life.

“They’re still clapping?” I hiss in Asher’s direction as Dalton seems to take his eighth clasped-hand bow following his introduction.

When Jo mentioned tonight’s mixer, I hadn’t realized it would be this… theatrical . Dalton is clearly the type to thrive on public validation, his ego visibly expanding to dangerous levels with each clap, threatening to suffocate us all.

“It’s so refreshing to be back with you all—my family,” he says from behind an alarming megawatt smile, resulting in a drawn-out collective awww from everyone around us.

“I can already tell that this season is going to be incredible. Can you feel it? Because I can!” he asks the crowd.

Their applause, now bordering on hysteria, is a resounding yes.

He’s in his element, the beloved master of ceremonies taking his rightful place in the limelight, and I’ve got to give it to him—he sure knows how to work a room.

“Before we wrap up for the evening, we’ve got a few housekeeping items to go over. Jo?” he says, turning toward where she’s waiting in the wings before joining him on stage.

Dalton may be Mr. Flashy, but Jo is all business.

And I’m getting the sense she’s really the one in charge around here.

She takes the microphone from his outstretched hand, ignoring the strained smile he’s throwing her way.

“Thanks, Dalton. First and foremost, we are on a tight schedule that doesn’t leave a lot of room for flexibility.

” A shared groan ripples through the crowd, but Jo doesn’t skip a beat.

“You all have been given detailed itineraries, so please , do me—and yourself—a favor and follow them. Meticulously. ”

She flips through the pages of her clipboard, clearly double-checking she isn’t forgetting anything. “We’ve got an early departure tomorrow—our hours are going to be long and tiring, trust me…I get it, so please try to get some rest while you can.”

People must take that as some unspoken cue to leave, because one by one, the chairs around us start emptying. “Can I have the contestants hang back for a moment?” she asks, sitting on the edge of the stage and setting her clipboard and mic down next to her. She waits for the others to leave.

“I’m going to level with y’all…” Jo says, the bite to her all-business tone replaced with something more relatable, friendly even.

“You’re about to embark on some of the most tiresome and draining weeks of your life.

You didn’t hear it from me, but production has made a lot of changes recently, especially to the challenges…

” Her brow furrows in a way that makes me think she isn’t at all happy about said changes.

“So don’t go into this thinking that if you’ve watched previous seasons of this show, you’ve got it all figured out. ”

How reassuring.

“Social media is going to be key to this year’s challenge,” she says, waving her tablet in the air.

“We’ve set up each team with a joint social media account that will be managed by their producer.

Your success in this competition will rely not only on how well you do in each of the challenges but also on audience participation and engagement and by how you connect with people online,” she continues.

“So make sure you put your best foot forward when the cameras are rolling. We’ll be coming around shortly to collect your personal phones, so if there’s any last-minute messages you need to send, now’s the time to do so. ”

I already messaged my family earlier, typing up a succinct explanation of the last twenty-four hours, so when the production team member comes around with a container, Asher and I each place our phones inside it without objection.

I can’t say the same for the others. Jenn looks like she had to pry Ellie’s phone from her hands mid–frantic typing.

“Before we call it a night, I want to run through the list of competitors this season,” Jo says, crossing her legs.

“Whether you choose to be friend… ly… or not is up to you.” I’m pretty sure she’s looking directly at Asher and me when she emphasizes this point.

“Either way, we get a good show, so it doesn’t make a difference to me, I suppose. ”

Jo flips through a few more pages on her tablet and begins reading.

There’s Bianca and Jackson Mitchell—a twin brother and sister duo with fiery red hair who look more prepared to go into battle than to mingle with the other contestants. Their pinched facial expressions lead me to believe they’ll be exceptionally pleasant to be around.

We’ve already met Jenn and Ellie, who are waving enthusiastically at everyone. I like them. Jenn is clearly filled with a warmth and kindness that is just so stereotypically Midwestern, and Ellie, well…I can tell she’s quickly going to become a favorite of mine.

Ivan Morales and Eddie Green, a pair of lifelong friends who served in the Army together.

Honestly, I could tell they were veterans right away by the way they carried themselves.

Despite their age and it no longer being required of them, they still have their hair cut in the classic military high and tight style.

The newlyweds from Florida—Griffin and Alana Peters. They’re allegedly on their honeymoon, but no amount of forced PDA could make me believe those two aren’t secretly miserable.

Garrick and Ivy Conners, a father-daughter duo from the Pacific Northwest, wave enthusiastically before foot-stomping the fact that Ivy was accepted to each of the eight Ivy league schools. How ironic.

Kiara and Ruby Moore are next—a pair of sisters and small-business partners from Nashville who allegedly have an organic candle business they plan to expand upon.

Dallas and Cameron, a pair of Gen Z influencers hoping to use this platform to raise awareness for…I’m not sure what exactly, to be honest.

And then there’s us.

Asher Bennett and the schmuck just dumb enough to join him on this crazy adventure. All I want to do is find some food, take a hot shower, crawl into bed, and try not think about cameras and social media and all the ways I’m going to completely fail at being Asher’s boyfriend.

I’ve never had much luck with that title.

Why would now be any different?