Page 12 of Winging It with You

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 willactuallyentail.

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 silverplatter, 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 ayou’re the one who wanted me to be spontaneoustext 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.

5

Asher

The Ambrose Hotel—Room 201

Santa Monica, California

The second we step into the hotel lobby, Jo shoves something rectangular into my chest.

“And what is this for?” I ask, grabbing the phone before it can fall to the floor.

“I could be wrong,” Theo says, abruptly getting up from one of the hotel’s overstuffed armchairs, “but I think it’s one of those new devices all the kids are talking about that lets you send messages to one another?” He walks over, those big arms crossed over an even bigger chest.

He laughs as I roll my eyes. “Wow, thank you, Captain Obvious.”

Theo bows theatrically. “It’s what I do. It’s who I am.”

---