Page 41 of Winging It with You

Asher

Bali, Indonesia

Par for the course, Theo and I barely survived today’s challenge.

On our way back to Arthur’s van, Jo lets us know the next elimination isn’t for two days, which means Theo and I have an extra forty-eight hours to agonize over the fact that we just might be going home instead of heading into the finals.

I’m pretty sure our only saving grace so far has been that viewers keep voting us forward online.

Jo doesn’t seem to mind, though. She reminds us it’s about the “whole package” and, according to her, our standing as the clumsy and borderline-chaotic “couple that could” is as good as reality-television gold.

I’ll take her word for it, because judging by the way Theo seems to be in his own head since we left the beach, you could have fooled me.

He doesn’t say much on the ride back to the hotel, but I chalk it up to pure exhaustion.

But after we take turns showering, doing our best to get rid of the sand lodged in every nook and cranny, it almost feels like our first night sharing a room, tiptoeing around each other.

As much as I hate to admit it, there’s a growing whisper of fear he’s pulling away now that our feelings are getting harder and harder to ignore.

Initially, what drove me to go through with the competition was the promise of what it could mean for my career.

But now, though one half of me is still pushing toward the finish line for the prize money, the other half is focused on the fact that Theo and I will probably go our separate ways if we lose.

He’s sitting in the armchair in the corner of our room and it dawns on me now that the thought of losing him twists my stomach in knots far more than losing the prize money does.

I’m not entirely sure how to process this information, but what’s growing clear is that if I don’t fully lean in to my feelings for Theo—or find the courage to talk to him about them—the only thing left to process will be regret.

“What are you thinking over there?” I ask, sitting on the end of our bed, wishing he was right next to me like he normally is.

Theo offers only a small smile. “Not a thing, guapo.”

I’d like to think that after spending nearly every waking second with the man, I’ve come to know Theo pretty well.

For the most part, his facial expressions are easy to read, and historically, his default setting seems to be sunshine and rainbows.

So this noticeable moody and broody act isn’t fooling anyone.

“Interesting,” I say, leaning back on my elbows. “Hey, you know what sounds good right about now?”

Theo raises an eyebrow.

“Some mozzarella sticks,” I say dryly.

He barks out a laugh, rolling his eyes. “Seriously?”

“Mm-hmm,” I say, nodding, extra pleased with myself. “They sound seriously delicious. Spill it…or, I mean, hand them over.”

He uncrosses his legs and shifts his whole body to face me as a far more serious expression darkens his face.

“Asher, I just…” he starts, rubbing his hands together.

Theo’s shoulders are stiff, riddled with a tension I haven’t seen until now.

I have no idea what I was expecting, but this sudden change in tone is making my palms sweat.

“I just don’t know if I can do this anymore. ”

His admission takes the air out of my lungs.

“Oh” is all I can manage, because my brain begins swirling around and around about how all of this is starting to sound just like Clint and his airport terminal confessional.

And then the beginnings of panicked thoughts come rushing in. About the remaining leg of the competition and how we’ve come too far to stop now.

But the thought of him leaving—of sitting in this stupid hotel room or getting on another flight without him—is a punch to my heart so strong it nearly brings me to tears.

“If I’ve done something that’s made you change your mind about all this,” I stammer out, my pulse racing far too fast. “About me. Theo, I…” But because I can’t untangle my thoughts or get my mouth to formulate what I think I need to say, I just stare at him awkwardly.

“No, that’s not it,” he says quickly, and for a fraction of a second, I can breathe again. “I don’t want to pretend anymore…” he whispers, looking down, his voice barely audible.

He doesn’t want to pretend? I’m sure under different circumstances, I’d be able to figure out what Theo is telling me, but right now, the only thing I seem to be able to center in my mind is that I’m losing him.

“I can’t pretend anymore because it’s too…real.”

That word rolling off the tip of Theo’s tongue makes my insides do somersaults.

Real .

He can’t pretend anymore because what he’s pretending is feeling too real. And like I’ve been piecing together from what he’s told me, when things get too real, he runs.

And then it hits me with the full force of a ton of bricks.

Theo wants to run.

The thought of him leaving is all-consuming and the only thing I care about—the only thing I need in this moment—is to convince him to stay.

Driven by some fundamental need to keep him with me, or because I’ve finally given myself the space and permission to admit that I want him, I get up from off the bed and cross the room toward Theo. His eyes are wide and filled with something close to concern.

I’ve never been someone who is good at this.

At using whatever sex appeal I may, or more likely, may not have at my disposal.

But something about it being Theo makes me feel more confident in my own skin.

Like I’m someone capable of inciting desire or want in someone else, so now, more than ever, I lean in to whatever it is I’m feeling and straddle him in the chair.

Theo raises a questioning brow but stays silent.

His hands instinctively reach for my hips at the same time mine snake around his neck.

He melts into my touch, which encourages what little confidence I have to do something like this.

I’ve always noted just how seamlessly our bodies fit together when we’ve been puppeteered by Jo for the cameras, but there’s something different when it’s just us.

Something that makes me believe in the right person at the right time.

Theo’s looking up at me, and it’s as if there’s a battle brewing behind those gorgeous eyes of his.

Desperate to know which opposing team is winning, I place a hand on either side of his face and lean in close, close enough to inhale the sweet spice radiating from his skin.

The need to kiss him is stronger than ever, but beyond that lies something more important—the desire to settle whatever doubts he may be feeling about us.

Hell, it may be more for me at this point, but that’s irrelevant because if I don’t have Theo’s firm lips on mine right this instant, I might just self-implode.

We’re just a few torturous inches apart, and Theo closes his eyes, his breathing wild. “Ash, I can’t keep doing this in front of the cameras and then coming back here and…” His voice trails off, and when he opens his eyes, they are filled with the weight of all the words he cannot say.

“Tell me,” I say, placing my forehead to his, and when I do, a small hum emanates from Theo’s chest.

He exhales, his breath hot against my skin. “Acting like this,” he says, touching my chest, letting his hand linger along my sternum, “and pretending how I’m feeling isn’t real. That this isn’t something that scares the hell out of me.”

“I feel like you’re getting ready to tell me you’re leaving,” I whisper against the side of his face.

His hand flexes on my hip. “Ash, it’s not that sim—” he starts, but I place my finger on his lips, because I need him to know how I’m feeling.

“But please just stay, because I can’t do this without you.” I hear my own voice crack as my admission slips through my lips. And it’s the truth; I couldn’t have done any of this without Theo.

Something seems to have unlocked within Theo, because his expression changes.

Whatever he’d been thinking seems to melt away.

Slowly, as if still a little unsure if this is right or wrong or another way to mess everything up, Theo lifts his hands to my face, and I happily lean into the warmth of his touch.

His thumb slides softly against my cheek as his other hand gingerly cradles the back of my head.

I can feel him pulling me toward him at the same time I realize he’s leaning in to close the short distance between us.

He’s going to kiss me.

He’s going to kiss me, and I can’t think of a time when I wanted anything more.

I can’t think at all, actually.

All I know is that Theo Fernandez smells like warmth and new beginnings and he wants this kiss as badly as I do.

“Baby…” he whispers, his lips a heartbeat away from mine.

I have to close my eyes because I can hardly see straight; the desperate anticipation of having Theo like this is dizzying.

There’s something different about the way he’s touching me.

Something inviting about his stare and deliciously unpredictable about his movements. “I don’t want to pretend with you.”

“Then don’t,” I whisper, my demand hot and desperate against his lips. “Please don’t pretend, because I don’t want to either.”

That does it.

He crashes his mouth to mine, and I pull him against me with every ounce of strength I have. I snake my fingers in the thick hair at the back of his neck, securing my hold on this beautiful man before me.

He parts my lips with ease, not that I would dare put up a fight, because all that my lips and body and mind want is more.

Theo’s tongue traces the lines of my bottom lip before intertwining with mine, our mouths hot and full of a matched urgency that causes a groan to build deep in my chest. My want for him was never in question—he’s stunning and captivating and everything you’d expect from a man who takes your breath away simply by smiling.