Page 15 of Winging It with You
“I just think I’d feel more comfortable if we had some rules,” he says quietly.
“For…?”
“Rules to make sure this …” he says, flailing a hand between us. “Rules or guidelines or whatever you want to call them, so it’s not immediately apparent that we aren’t actually dating and rules to make sure we don’t get carried away.”
“Ah, so this is about last night.”
“You said it yourself, Theo,” he says, and I’m now realizing his thigh is still pressed against mine. “We’re partners. And the last time I checked, partners have rules.”
“I guess that’s fair,” I say, but my intrusive thoughts shout something about how rules always end up getting in the way of fun. I would know. “What are you thinking?”
“No sex,” he blurts out almost immediately. And loudly too. Loud enough that several passengers waiting at our gate nosily crane their heads at us.
I choke out a laugh. “That’s both presumptuous and mildly disappointing.”
The flush returns to his cheeks. “I don’t mean to be presumptuous,” he says earnestly, but if I didn’t know any better, I could have sworn his gaze shifted down to my lips and back. “I just feel like it’ll only, you know…complicate things.”
“Well,” I say mulling over his proposed “rule.” “We wouldn’t want this entirely normal and not at all staged situation to be even more complicated.
” A gentle laugh slips through his pursed lips.
Reaching into my bag, I grab a pen and whatever loose paper I can find.
“I feel like we should be writing this down to, you know, make this whole thing even more official.”
Asher groans as I write in all caps NO SEX —underlining it twice—and I have to remind myself I’m now allegedly forbidden from liking these little sounds of his.
“Well, if sex is off the table, you aren’t allowed to fall in love with me.”
“Love?” he hisses, appearing to nearly choke on the bite he’d just taken. “Who’s the presumptuous one now?”
“Listen. I’m afraid it’s bound to happen,” I say, hoping Asher picks up on the humor in my voice as I write NO FEELINGS on our scrap of relationship paper. “We’re going to be sharing hotel rooms and kissing for the cameras…”
“Kissing, huh?” he repeats, and I’m trying hard not to stare directly at his now-parted lips and wonder if they are really as soft as they look.
“Oh, tons of kissing. Loads,” I say, intentionally laying it on thick.
“You heard Jo. They’re expecting romance and fireworks.
A couple that both checks the diversity box and is actually into each other.
And last time I checked , couples who are in love definitely kiss.
I mean, come on…we’re literally sharing one bed.
Have you seen any rom-com within the last twenty years? It’s bound to happen.”
“Hm” is all he can manage. I’ve screwed myself by mentioning kissing and the fact that we are indeed forced into such close proximity, because all I can think about now are things that would definitely be violating our very first rule.
“You have to stop looking at me like that,” he chokes out after a moment.
“And how might I be looking at you, Ash?” I tease, knowing full well how I’m looking at him. Like I’d watched him come undone right in front of me last night and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want to do it again.
“Like someone who hasn’t met a rule he didn’t take as a personal challenge,” he says, nudging me firmly with his elbow.
“It’s like there’s always something else behind those eyes of yours.
” Which is rich, because he’s the one staring at me from behind two deep emerald pools I could easily and willingly drown in.
The thought surprises me, but then again, so has Asher.
“Have you considered that this just very well might be my face?”
Despite his need for so-called rules, Asher seems lighter.
Still as tightly wound as ever but, I don’t know, more playful?
Slightly less guarded?
He shakes his head. “No, sir.”
I swallow hard. Okay, that has to be intentional. “Sir, huh? It’s like you’re trying to tease me now.”
“Oh, don’t start,” he says, shaking his head again at my ridiculousness, but even though Asher needs rules and is fresh off a breakup…after last night? I think we’re just starting to scratch the surface of his flirtatious charm.
“You know I prefer to be called sir ,” I say, quickly correcting him. “Keep up, Bennett.”
He rolls his eyes. “Rules. Let’s focus on the rules.”
“Ah, yes. Those .” I scrunch my face like I’ve just eaten something sour.
“Let’s see…” I tap my pen to my lips. “We’ve got no sex—which, let’s be honest, is a rather bleak way to kick off this whole rule thing.
” He ignores my side-eye. “And no feelings—again, good luck with that, babe.” Asher looks like he could kill me. “What else?”
He wraps up the second half of his sandwich, quickly tucking it away in the front pocket of his bag. “Let’s just make a pact to be honest,” he says after a moment. “I know we’re lying practically every second Arthur’s camera is on us…but let’s not lie to each other.”
His voice is sad, and I could be reading too much into things, but maybe it’s possible that all this—the breakup, the competition, even me—is weighing too heavily on him.
I don’t know what it is about this man that sends my protective instincts into overdrive.
From the little I’ve been able to piece together about Asher, it’s not hard to tell he’s experiencing one hell of an emotional whiplash.
I wish I could peel back his guarded layers and really get a sense of who this man is.
People have always been easy for me. To charm. To understand.
To sleep with, if I’m being completely honest.
But there’s something I can’t quite pinpoint about Asher Bennett.
One minute he seems so nervous to be around me he might pass out, cheeks red, all limbs, and the next, he’s cold and unreadable without a single warning.
Then there are moments in between where he seems less extreme.
Soft, content moments where there’s a warmth burning just beneath the surface.
That’s the man I’m determined to know.
“No sex. No feelings. No lies,” I say, recanting our list of rules. “Too easy.”
Asher fidgets with his bag strap, something I’ve noticed he does in the lulls of conversation. “I also think we need a safe word,” he whispers.
“A safe word? Explain…”
“I know myself, or at least I used to,” he says.
“I’m going to need a word or a phrase I can say when this whole charade feels too big and too complicated.
I don’t want to get confused or say or do the wrong thing, so it would help if we had something that would ground us back in reality. Is that dumb?”
“It’s definitely not dumb.” I hope he believes me. “I think I understand. You need something to hold on to. Something real. That’s not dumb at all.”
He stares at me with something that looks like relief.
“My friend Mark,” I continue. “You know, the guy I was trying to steal your mozzarella sticks for?” He nods.
“We joke and troll each other all the time, so he and I have this thing that when we want to talk about something serious, we say a phrase I introduced him to from my time in the Navy— Whiskey, Tango, Foxtrot. ”
He blinks. “You say what now?”
His momentary confusion is adorable. “ Whiskey, Tango, Foxtrot— the phonetic alphabet for WTF, or what the fu—”
“Oh,” he interjects. “Of course! That’s…cute. But why?”
“Honestly? I can’t remember how it started, but it’s become our version of a ‘friend check’ and we’ve been using it ever since. The moment either of us says it, the other knows it’s about to get real. We could use that if you’d like?”
“We can’t use your thing with your friend. That’s supposed to be special.”
I shake my head. “The entire US military uses that expression; I think we’re fine.”
“Nope, we need something that’s ours.”
“Ours?” I ask, the word choice making me smile. “I’ve got it.”
Asher signals me to go on with his free hand, clearly eager for whatever it is that I’ve got.
“If either of us says mozzarella sticks , it’s on,” I say, hoping it’ll elicit some sort of laugh or smile from him.
He barks out a laugh. “Mozzarella sticks? That’s what you’re going with?”
“Listen, it’s how all this started, so, if you ask me, that’s as official as it gets,” I say, extending my hand in his direction.
“Attention passengers in the terminal, Flight DL2302 will begin boarding in ten minutes.”
“Asher Bennett, do you consent to our newly finalized rules for this season of The Epic Trek ?” I ask, doing my best Dalton impression.
Placing a warm hand in mine to seal the deal, Asher nods. “I’d be foolish not to.”