Page 51 of Winging It with You

Asher

Bali, Indonesia

I couldn’t tell you if it’s been a few hours or a full week since Theo left.

I lie on the pull-out sofa, turning so that my only view is the dark wall. Our king-size bed remains empty. The thought of wrapping myself in the sheets, our sheets, makes me nauseous.

I crush his pillow harder to my chest and inhale the sweet smell of him still lingering on the soft linen. I grabbed it the moment I got back to our room and have held on to it ever since.

Theo.

His expression when Clint dropped to his knee haunts me. It’s ingrained in my brain—I’ve been mentally replaying the pain ripple across his gorgeous face. Cold and alone, I’m desperate to hear him humming in the shower or to feel his hand in mine again.

But he’s gone.

He’s probably put a couple thousand miles between the two of us now. I would have. His phone is definitely off. Or he’s blocked me. Either way, I think I surpassed the record for outgoing calls that went straight to voicemail in an hour window.

I waited for him to come racing back through our hotel room’s door.

I even called the front desk to make sure an extra key was left in his name just in case he misplaced his.

Every sound I heard coming from the hallway made my heart stop, the anticipation of seeing his face sending spikes of adrenaline through my veins.

But the moment never came, and it was easier to just succumb to the painful silence of my remorse.

I should have begged. Gotten down on my knees and groveled.

Done something, anything, other than just letting him leave.

When I should have been screaming that Clint means nothing to me and it’s Theo I want to be with, I stood still as a statue, frozen in place and completely debilitated by the humiliation of it all.

Theo, the only man who made me feel something other than doubt and insecurity in who knows how long, left thinking that I’d chosen my past—the one he helped me heal from—over him.

I’ve spent the better part of my twenties fine-tuning my response to men.

Knowing which battles to fight and when to shrug off one-sided tensions was key to every prior relationship.

I focused on my professional growth, had as much sex as I thought a good significant other needed, and enthusiastically threw compliments around like confetti.

It took years to perfect and was easier than ever to finesse when Clint came into the picture all those years ago.

But all that went out the window when I met Theo, who offered me a mirror. Someone who raised an eyebrow at my bullshit and reflected back every falsehood I tried to wear as a facade.

He called my bluff on that very first day in the airport and has held all the cards since.

I groan. What have I done?

There’s a knock on the door. Three solid thumps against the barrier between me and the outside world. I ignore it.

Again, harder this time.

“Please, just go away,” I mutter into the pillow.

The peep of the key fob snaps my eyes open. Someone used a key to open the door.

I sit up on the makeshift bed, my heart now firmly lodged in my throat. All the blood rushes to my head, causing my vision to blur. Have I eaten anything? I can’t remember.

“Oh hell, you look like shit.”

Ellie.

I lay back down, turning away from my unannounced visitor, and wrap myself back around Theo’s pillow. “I’m not in the mood, Ellie.”

“Are you in the mood to shower, at least? It smells like…I don’t even know what in here.” I don’t need to be looking at her to imagine her pinched expression.

I ignore her question. Under normal circumstances, I’d be mortified at someone’s insinuation of my bad smell. Right now? I couldn’t care less. I’m pretty content continuing my shame spiral, thank you very much.

“Asher, what can I do?” she asks without a trace of her signature sarcasm. She sounds genuinely concerned.

But sadly, there’s nothing she could say or do to make the ache in my heart disappear.

I roll over toward her. She’s sitting on the edge of the bed, nudging an open pizza box I have no recollection of ordering with her foot. I see her grimace of silent judgment.

“I just want to sleep,” I say, covering my eyes with my arm. “Don’t you and your mom have to get going anyway?”

“Production has completely halted since…” Her voice trails off.

“Since I was humiliated on live television by my asshole of an ex?”

“Well, yeah. That . Have you talked to Jo?” I haven’t—and frankly, I don’t intend to. Ellie gives me a look when I shake my head. “You really should, Asher. She feels awful.”

For someone who’s prided himself on being a logical and rational thinker, I really am proving quite the opposite now. “There’s just… a lot to unpack here.”

Ellie nods, and on some level, she must understand it’s not as simple as just talking it out among friends, if we’re even considered that, and after everything that went down, I don’t know that I want to be.

Jo’s always been dialed in to everything that goes on with this show.

Do I believe that she had a hand in orchestrating Clint’s sudden appearance and shocking proposal?

No. But is there a small part of me that thinks she may have known about it and didn’t say anything?

I can’t be sure, and that’s what’s killing me.

Jo has talked about ratings and social media engagement and giving the viewers what they want nonstop since the moment I met her.

She’s literally pushed me and Theo to show more affection and be more playful with each other in the name of good television.

Is it really that far-fetched to think her eyes wouldn’t light up at the thought of a surprise proposal from a former lover?

“Look, all I know is that since Theo left, Jo has been pacing the lobby, a phone in each hand, trying to make this right.” It’s easy to picture. As annoyed with her as I am, I’d bet money that Jo Bishop is incredible in a crisis.

“Okay, but…” I start, but she interrupts me.

“If Theo means what I think he does to you, and I know you have weeks’ worth of photos on your phone that lead me to believe he does, I promise you Jo is the one person who can help you get him back. So do me a favor and just talk to her.” Ellie pats my leg, both patronizingly and affectionately.

“No promises,” I say, falling back into the bed, but I know she’s right.

Ellie gets up to leave, offering one last encouraging smile on her way out. “Oh, and take a shower. Immediately.”

“Run along, Ellie. You’ve been a pleasure, as always,” I say, the sound of her laughter lingering before the door shuts between us.

Hauling myself into the bathroom, I crank the shower as hot as it’ll go and climb in.

The last time I was in here, Theo’s arms were around my waist and his lips were trailing over every inch of my body.

I miss him so much it physically pains me.

Ellie’s right, he means more to me than I think anyone in my entire life has.

I go through the motions under the hot water, washing the self-pity and indecisiveness away as I concoct my plan to get Theo back.

Ellie was right about one more thing—Jo is my best bet at figuring out where Theo is.

Stepping out of the shower, I towel dry my hair and pad back over to my suitcase to grab some much-needed clean clothes.

Ping.

Jo’s phone, the one we’d been using sporadically this whole time, lies face up on the plush bedding, its screen illuminated from whatever notification just came through.

Ellie.

I reach for it, reminding myself to profusely thank that girl for swiping it on my behalf, and open up the camera roll.

Photo after photo of Theo and me fill the screen as I scroll.

Silly selfies in the back of the van as Arthur chaotically drove through yet another city.

Candid photos of Theo in various stages of undress, his strong body and handsome face permanently frozen in time for me to ogle whenever I want.

A photo of us kissing, which he insisted on taking with the elephants in the background, makes my chest tighten.

I miss him.

Just as I feel tears of longing pool in my eyes, the phone pings again—a social media notification. And another. And then another. And suddenly, the phone will not stop vibrating. I open Instagram to dozens, if not hundreds, of unread messages. “What the hell?”

I randomly select a message from an unknown user named @phil_d23 that reads Did you see this????

Phil has shared a post from another unknown account. I click on the photo and nearly drop my phone.

Theo’s handsome face stares up at me from the screen. He’s sandwiched between two adorable children, his niece and nephew, I’m assuming, and they’re all caught mid-laugh. Frozen forever in time in what looks to be a happy family moment.

The user’s name is @efernandez and she’s captioned the photo I love when my brother is in town! with a healthy amount of red heart emojis.

But then, I notice she’s tagged Eastside Farmers Market , which pulls up an exact location. Suddenly, I can breathe. Theo. Would it be the worst idea in the history of ideas to just…show up?

I race through my room, stuffing my few belongings into my bag before I talk myself out of it. I don’t care what it costs or how I’ll get there, but knowing exactly—well, kind of—where Theo is has ignited something within me. I’ve wasted too much time as it is.

I have to see him.

Throwing on my shoes while still shoving clothing into my bag with my passport between my teeth, I’m about to rip open the hotel room door to figure out my way to the airport.

But when the door opens, my escape route is blocked. Jo’s standing there, a phone squished between her ear and shoulder and her trusty tablet in hand. The same photo I was just looking at is enlarged on its screen.

“I found him,” she says. Her eyes show signs of immense exhaustion. And though she’s clearly in business mode, there’s a softness there that tells me everything I need to know about her. “I’m on hold with the airline now, but if we hurry, I think I can get you on the next flight out.”

She doesn’t wait for me to respond but just charges down the hall. I follow her lead like I have this entire time, ready for her to make the impossible happen.