Page 7 of Winging It with You

Theo

Los Angeles International Airport—Baggage Claim

Los Angeles, California

The jig is up.

Asher and I spent the flight in a comfortably uncomfortable silence, exchanging the exact amount of pleasantries and common courtesies warranted when traveling with someone you’ve known for all of three hours.

He’d been on edge since we took off, head constantly swiveling, quietly excusing himself to go to the bathroom at least half a dozen times, and fidgeting with his seat belt.

Based on the way he kept stealing glances at me as we crossed the continental US, I get the feeling he’s sizing me up every chance he gets.

It’s obvious he’s spiraling.

Or at least hurting.

The guy is practically one big tightly wound ball of stress, and it only gets worse as we deplane after touching down at LAX. I watch his slim shoulders rise as we step onto the escalator, descending into the sea of eager passengers clambering to grab their belongings.

That’s when I see her.

She’s short with dark hair pulled back into a low bun.

Dressed in all black with an annoyed expression plastered across her face, she stands holding a simple white sign that reads Asher Bennett and Clint Hanson .

Even behind her tinted aviators, I can tell she’s quietly judging everyone heading in her direction.

Asher nudges me, his sharp elbow landing right in my gut as if I hadn’t already been scanning the room for every exit to be prepared when this all blows up in our faces.

Her head tilts in recognition and she lowers her sign. We’re still about twenty or so feet away, but I can sense her looking between Asher and me.

We’re now ten feet away, and if we make it through this unscathed, I swear I’ll never eat another damn mozzarella stick in my life.

“Hi, um…that’s me. I’m Asher Bennett,” he says as we begin to close the space between us. I don’t have to know Asher that well to know he’s about as nervous as one can get. “And this is my boyfriend…”

She ignores him, stepping directly in front of me.

“Bullshit—who the hell are you?”

/////////////

“No, Dalton… You’re not hearing me. We’ve got a situation with the ga…”

Our firecracker of a production handler has been on back-to-back phone calls from the front passenger seat. After Asher and I wheeled our luggage to the curb, she seemed dead set on preventing us from stepping foot into the navy van, The Epic Trek written along the side in large, white block font.

“She was just going to say We’ve got a situation with the gays , wasn’t she?” I whisper to Asher from the back seat and his lips twist into the faintest of smiles. We’re still parked outside the pick-up zone.

What sort of equal-opportunity disaster did we just walk into?

“Don’t mind Jo,” our driver finally says, composed.

She shoots him a look. I lean in my seat to peek in the rearview mirror and see he’s dressed in a black linen bowling shirt that’s unbuttoned at the neck, revealing a chest full of graying hair that seems to be stealing the spotlight from the thinning wisps atop his head.

With one hand resting on the edge of the open window and the other casually resting on the steering wheel, he’s every bit what you’d expect of a television crew member.

“This job is her life…but she’s one of the good ones,” he says, staring back at me through the mirror.

“Arthur Davis at your service. Cameraman, designated driver, and not one for forced small talk.” I instantly love everything about his blunt honesty.

“Nice to meet you, Arthur,” I say, wishing I were able to shake his hand.

“I’m Theo Fernandez and this is my… boyfriend .

” That’s going to take some getting used to for both of us.

“Asher Bennett.” I keep glancing up at Jo, who taps her watch, a nonverbal cue that prompts Arthur to start the van, pulling out of LAX’s bustling loading zone and into the afternoon traffic.

“Pleasure,” Arthur says politely. I keep glancing up at Jo, who’s slowly shaking her head in what I can only imagine is frustration.

Arthur nods his head toward Jo, a smile growing across his face.

“She’ll get you boys squared away. Don’t you worry.

” Arthur’s got this whole I’m not going to worry about things I don’t need to worry about attitude.

Just then, Jo turns in her seat, removing her sunglasses and hooking them on the neckline of her shirt.

“I’m sorry about all that,” she says after a painfully awkward silence.

“I see y’all are already fast friends with my bestie, Arthur, but I’m Jo Bishop, your production liaison during filming, here to make sure that you”—she turns toward me—“ both of you are set up for success throughout the competition. Care to explain to me how all this came to be?”

I raise an eyebrow in Asher’s direction.

He swallows. “Long story short? Clint, who you were expecting, decided he couldn’t do this anymore, whatever that means when spineless men say such things. Insert Theo.”

Jo looks less than amused when I give a friendly salute.

“We met at the airport and after I explained my situation, Theo offered to pretend to be my boyfriend so that I could at least try to make it on the show.”

“I’m sure splitting the million-dollar prize had absolutely nothing to do with this selfless act, right, Theo?”

I choose to ignore her not-so-subtle character insinuation.

“That and I just couldn’t resist the opportunity to use this experience to launch myself into being a full-fledged influencer.

How does this sound,” I say, plastering the biggest smile across my face.

“ Swipe up for a ten-percent discount on this organic, all-natural facial cleanser. Use code THEO10 at checkout! ”

Jo and Arthur crack a laugh at my best Insta-famous impression.

“There won’t be any issue with the…partner switch-up?” Asher asks after a moment.

“Yeah, about that.” Jo gives us both yet another once-over.

She reaches beneath her seat and pulls out a thick black binder.

“After talking it through with the rest of production, I went over your application paperwork and it appears we were thrown a bone.” Jo begins riffling through the laminated pages, her manicured brows pinching together in concentration.

“Ah, here we go,” she says, pulling out whatever sheet of paper she’d been searching for.

“It would seem that as long as you are here and competing,” she says, nodding in Asher’s direction, “we’re in the clear. ”

Asher takes the page she extends to him. “I’m not following,” he says, scanning the document.

“Cliff? Colin?” Jo starts.

“Clint,” Asher corrects.

“It doesn’t matter,” Jo says, and I can’t help but snicker. I like her too. “He filled out the paperwork with you listed as Contestant One.”

“Meaning?” Asher looks as confused as I am.

“Meaning,” Jo says, taking the application back from Asher to slide back into its spot in her binder, “that as far as production is concerned, you’re the only contestant liable for competing this season. ‘Asher Bennett and Partner,’?” she reads.

“Liable?” he groans. I watch as Asher physically retreats into himself, putting his head in both hands.

“This was a massive mistake,” he says quietly.

I feel the urge to comfort him, but honestly, I don’t want to say or do the wrong thing when he probably just needs a moment to sort out his thoughts. I know I would.

“ Liable is an aggressive word,” Arthur says, weighing in for the first time. “I think what Jo means to say is that as long as you and whoever your partner is”—he raises an eyebrow at me—“show up and fulfill your end of the contract with production, there won’t be anything to worry about.”

“Exactly,” Jo says, nodding in agreement. “ We deliver a couple for our viewers to root for and you don’t get sued for breach of contract.”

Asher groans again, melting into the seat next to me as Arthur gives Jo a questioning look. He clearly is the more mellow one of the duo.

“And how exactly is that aspect of all this supposed to work?” I ask, finally sensing an opening in this conversation to interject. “The couple thing. How are we supposed to address the fact that we aren’t actually dating?”

Jo appears to mull over my question, her eyes pinched shut as she taps an index finger to her lips. “Here’s what we’re gonna do,” she says after a moment. “Truthfully, I’d be willing to bet that my boss wasn’t listening to a thing I was saying on our call. He just kept shouting at me to fix it.”

Arthur shakes his head at the mention of the show’s host, and I can’t help but wonder what the history is there.

“And that’s what I’m going to do,” she continues.

A small crack appears in Jo’s overly competent facade.

This is obviously an unexpected wrench in her plans.

A hiccup she absolutely didn’t anticipate waking up to this morning.

“All sorts of couples have been featured on the show, right?” she says, turning toward Arthur, who nods in agreement.

The pair couldn’t be more different, but watching Jo brainstorm in real time, it’s abundantly clear they are entirely in sync.

“Who’s to say how long the two of you have been together?” she asks no one but herself, really. “Maybe instead of an established long-term couple, we pitch this as more of a new fling. A couple nauseatingly in their honeymoon phase.”

Arthur nods against his headrest. “They’ll eat that up.”

“Right? Okay, what if we do this,” Jo says enthusiastically, twisting over in her seat to address us.

“Let’s keep it vague—elusive, if you will.

The only people who know about the true nature of this relationship are currently sitting in this van.

” She seems pretty confident that Dalton has already brain-dumped their prior conversation.

“So, if someone asks either of you about how long you’ve been together or starts getting into the nitty-gritty details of your dating timeline, just brush them off with something nondefinitive. Think you can do that?”

Asher remains silent.

“Seems simple enough,” I say, feigning confidence in Asher’s and my ability to pull off this whole charade. “How long have we been together, you ask?” I act out, turning toward Asher and nudging him with my elbow. “Oh, I don’t know, babe…it feels like a lifetime!”

Asher’s cheeks burn. “Kill me,” he groans.

Jo’s face drops. “That’s…a start,” she says, returning to facing forward.

Asher’s got his arms crossed now. He’s leaning dramatically away from me and staring out the van’s window.

My uniform is bunching in all the wrong places cramped in the back seat next to him, California’s perfect weather sending streams of sweat down my neck.

As we drive in silence, I’m aware that this is the first real moment I can truly process what I’ve gotten myself into.

What pretending to be someone’s boyfriend will actually entail.

On national television.

With everyone in my life watching.

And while meeting Asher the way I did is quite literally the answer to all my aviation problems served on one hell of a silver platter, the fact that my parents are going to be witnessing me race around the world with my so-called boyfriend is a can of worms I don’t know that I’m ready to open.

Especially considering how well that turned out last time.

The travel will be easy. Between my time in the Navy and the tempo of my profession, I’m used to living entirely out of a suitcase for days on end.

The boyfriend part? That’s another thing entirely.

I’ve missed about a dozen texts from Mark, his concern incrementally growing with each message, so I fire off a you’re the one who wanted me to be spontaneous text with a promise to check in periodically, hoping that’ll pacify his overbearing protectiveness.

A twinge of something close to homesickness pulls at my chest when I think of Mark, but out of habit, I shove whatever that feeling is down to focus on the matter at hand.

Asher turns to look at me with wide eyes. “Do you really think we can do this?” he asks, his voice quiet. I’m not sure if it’s nerves or if he’s trying to exclude Jo and Arthur from this conversation. He’s taken off his glasses, hanging them on his shirt collar. “Convince people we’re dating?”

“Dating?” Jo says, chiming in before I can respond. The woman clearly has hypersonic hearing.

Even though she’s not facing us any longer, I watch as Jo shakes her head. I’m determined to make her like me. “I need the two of you to be more worried about convincing the entire world you’re head over heels and disgustingly in love.”

Oh, right. That .