Page 19 of Winging It with You

His face reddens.

“No one ever knows what I do when I mention that,” he says, reaching for his glass. “We develop the technology and equipment to help diagnose certain medical conditions. Like right now, we’re working on this incredibly exciting and even more frustrating artificial liver…” He’s lit from within and it’s the most animated I’ve seen him. “You know what? That’s not important.”

“Makes mental note to ask Asher all about artificial livers. Got it,” I tease.

His cheeks flush. “What about you?” he asks.

I slow-blink. “Really? Are you forgetting where you met me?”

“Uh…right.” Asher runs a hand through his blond hair. I bet it’s soft. “Do you enjoy it?”

“Flying is flying, I guess.”

Asher clearly picks up on my unintentional change in tone. “Is there something else you’d rather be doing?”

That’s a loaded question. “You could say that. I was a naval pilot in another life.”

“Oh, that’s amazing,” he says, and I can tell he’s being genuine. “Thank you for your service.”

I never know how to respond when someone says that, so I just smile and continue with our little game. “Anyway, I’m the one asking questions here, mister. If we win this thing, what would you do with the prize money?”

A faint smile grows across Asher’s face. “That’s a pretty bigif.”

“So. Dream with me.”

He’s quiet for a moment, his gaze suddenly a million miles away. “Ifwe were to somehow win,” he says earnestly, “I’d use the money to start a program for LGBTQIA+ students in STEM. I’ve always wanted to work with students who have an interest in what I do, and it just seems like a great way to give back.” He stares into my eyes from behind his tortoiseshell frames. “I don’t know…that probably sounds boring.”

I shake my head. “Definitely not boring.”

Silent appreciation flashes across his face. “Thank you for saying that. What about you?”

Well, now I just feel like an ass. “My answer isn’t as…philanthropic as yours.”

His grin returns. “So? Tell me.” Asher leans in a little closer, seemingly interested in whatever it is I have to say.

“I’ve been saving up for my own plane for a while.”

He nods his head. “Considering your profession, that makes sense.”

“Not just any plane,” I say after taking a sip from my glass. “I’ve had my eye on this 1981 Cessna twin-engine for ages. It needs a little love but it’s worth it.” Asher’s looking at me like I’m speaking another language, which is about how I felt when he was going on about robotic organs or something like that. “It’s a small four-seater plane. Nothing special but everything I’d need.”

“That’s incredible,” he says, smiling. “If we win, you owe me a flight.”

“If we win,” I say, handing him back his notebook, which he slips into his bag, “I’ll be your personal pilot for life.”

He throws his head back and laughs. “Deal,” he says as the lights around us dim and dramatic music begins to blare throughout the room.

“Ladies and gentlemen, let’s give a warm welcome to the man who makes it all happen—your host, Dalton McKnight!” an unseen voice echoes. There’s no mistaking the show’s long-time and historic—by reality television standards—host as he flits across the stage.

Like most actors turned reality television hosts, Dalton has had a long career in front of the camera, getting his start on the sets of the soap operas my mom and Elise used to watch. But if I remember correctly, it wasn’t until this gig that his career really took off, making him one of America’s most beloved household names.

Truthfully, that may be a stretch considering his stints in rehab and his seemingly never-ending list of toxic relationships, which without fail end up spread across the tabloids.

“Alright, trekkers, who’s ready to kick off the historic season twenty-five ofThe Epic Trek?” Dalton shouts.

I’ve never wanted to sprint toward an exit faster in my life.

“They’restillclapping?” I hiss in Asher’s direction as Dalton seems to take his eighth clasped-hand bow following his introduction.

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