Page 17 of Winging It with You

“I’m just going to issue a blanket apology for whatever hell I’ve gotten you into,” he says, the small crease just above his glasses smoothing. “Do you think all this is going to be hard?”

I arch an eyebrow. “What’s that?”

“The wholeboyfriendsthing. On television.” A flush of red creeps up his neck.

“I think it’s only going to be hard,” I say, softly tapping my index finger against his temple, “if we allow ourselves to get stuck up here.”

His eyes bore into mine now, and for the first time, I takenote of the copperish flecks floating in the deep pools of green. Precioso.

“So, your plan is to just wing it?” he asks, and I can tell he hates everything about that.

“Winging it has gotten me to where I am today…”

Asher looks at me skeptically. “Traversing the globe with a complete stranger after having agreed to accompany him on a reality TV show? Hmm…Your excellent decision-making skills aren’t impressing me, mister.”

I lift my glass in his direction. “To winging it,” I toast.

“Or something like that.” Asher smiles gently, tapping his own glass against mine. “So, I’ve been thinking.”

“Is that supposed to surprise me?” I interrupt. “Because if so, you’re going to need to try harder than that.”

Asher leans against the wall. “Oh, fuck off,” he says abruptly. An attempt is made to sound authoritative or serious, but a smile tugging at each corner of his mouth gives him away.There he is.

“The sharp tongue on this one,” I murmur against the rim of my own glass.

I watch as Asher retrieves a small notebook from his back pocket, setting his drink down on a nearby high-top table. “It’s probably best if we get to know each other a bit better,” he says, opening the notepad and tapping his finger against the page.

“You have…a list? A written list of questions?” Of course he does. “When did you have the time to do this?”

He shrugs his shoulders.

“Lay ’em on me,” I say, crossing my arms.

Asher gives his list a once-over. “What is your favorite day of the week?”

“Sunday.”

I watch as he scribbles down my answer in the margin of his notepad.Nerd.

“Why?” he asks, an eyebrow cocked.

“Because it’s the one day I give myself permission to not feel guilty for doing absolutely nothing.”

He smiles. “I like that…Okay, next question. Chunky or creamy peanut butter?”

My answer is typically divisive. “Chunky,” I say quietly.

“Get out.”

Iliterallylaugh out loud. “What?” He looks at me like I just stole money from the elderly or said I don’t believe in climate change. Which, of course, I do.

“I’m serious. That’s heinous, Theo.” But he’s smiling again, and I think I like Asher a whole lot more when he smiles. He takes his time jotting down some remark next to his peanut butter question—something character-damaging, I’m sure—then continues his line of questioning.

“Where are you from?” he asks, angling his body in my direction.

“Just outside Madison, Wisconsin. We grew up on a lake.”

He smiles and I’m curious to know why. “Do you have siblings?”

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