Page 26 of Winging It with You

“Here,” I say, shoving Asherthe grease-soaked paper bag containing a breakfast sandwich—a bacon, egg, and cheese on an everything bagel—from the only food option open at this hour. “I grabbed you this.” Our flight boards in less than an hour, and the only detail I could get out of Arthur on the way to the airport is that we’re headed to South America.

Asher looks at me from his spot sprawled out on the terminal floor, exhaustion swirling behind his glasses. “I’m fine,” he murmurs.

After our mutual…festivities…last night, he completely closed himself off. Again. He’d tiptoed around me like some cringe-worthy changing of the guard after I cleaned upthe mess I made in the shower, getting ready for bed and crawling in without a word and avoiding all eye contact.

“Come on, you should really eat something,” I insist, more forcefully this time. “I overheard Jo telling some of the crew we won’t have an opportunity to grab something when we land. Besides, how long has it been since you’ve had anything in your system?”

“You keeping tabs on me now, Fernandez?” Asher shoots back, a hint of a smile forming from the corner of his mouth.

“I believe that’s what boyfriends do,Bennett,” I say, echoing his nickname of choice, which makes that smile of his fully appear. I slide down the wall, claiming the spot on the floor next to him, our shoulders pressed against each other. Part of me was worried he’d flinch at the sudden physical contact, but he doesn’t seem to mind. Instead, he takes the bag from my outstretched hand, his glasses slipping down the bridge of his freckled nose as he opens it. “You’ve been…quiet. Alarmingly so,” I add.

Asher picks at the bagel but doesn’t say anything.

“If this is about last night…If I made you uncomfortable or anything, I’m really sor…” But my words trail off when Asher speaks.

“You didn’t.”

His shortness leads me to believe he’s not entirely telling the truth. “Are you sure?” I prod. “You seem to be avoiding me.”

“If you haven’t noticed,” he says, bumping his thigh against mine. “It’s kinda hard to avoid you.” I hate thinking I’m unavoidable. Some big burden that’s just in everyone’s way, even unintentionally. I’ve always been too much. Too loud or too impulsive. I’m pretty sure I used to drive my abuela crazy by bouncing all over the house when I was younger, and once I wasold enough to know better, I somehow figured out a way to channel the bubbly energy that came in waves into something a little more grounded.

Something that doesn’t make people leave.

“I just think I’d feel more comfortable if we had some rules,” he says quietly.

“For…?”

“Rules to make surethis…” he says, flailing a hand between us. “Rules or guidelines or whatever you want to call them, so it’s not immediately apparent that we aren’tactuallydating and rules to make sure we don’t get carried away.”

“Ah, so thisisabout last night.”

“You said it yourself, Theo,” he says, and I’m now realizing his thigh is still pressed against mine. “We’re partners. And the last time I checked, partners have rules.”

“I guess that’s fair,” I say, but my intrusive thoughts shout something about how rules always end up getting in the way of fun. I would know. “What are you thinking?”

“No sex,” he blurts out almost immediately. And loudly too. Loud enough that several passengers waiting at our gate nosily crane their heads at us.

I choke out a laugh. “That’s both presumptuous and mildly disappointing.”

The flush returns to his cheeks. “I don’t mean to be presumptuous,” he says earnestly, but if I didn’t know any better, I could have sworn his gaze shifted down to my lips and back. “I just feel like it’ll only, you know…complicate things.”

“Well,” I say mulling over his proposed “rule.” “We wouldn’t want this entirely normal and not at all staged situation to be evenmorecomplicated.” A gentle laugh slips through his pursed lips. Reaching into my bag, I grab a pen and whatever loosepaper I can find. “I feel like we should be writing this down to, you know, make this whole thing even more official.”

Asher groans as I write in all capsNO SEX—underlining it twice—and I have to remind myself I’m now allegedly forbidden from liking these little sounds of his.

“Well, if sex is off the table, you aren’t allowed to fall in love with me.”

“Love?” he hisses, appearing to nearly choke on the bite he’d just taken. “Who’s the presumptuous one now?”

“Listen. I’m afraid it’s bound to happen,” I say, hoping Asher picks up on the humor in my voice as I writeNO FEELINGSon our scrap of relationship paper. “We’re going to be sharing hotel rooms and kissing for the cameras…”

“Kissing, huh?” he repeats, and I’m trying hard not to stare directly at his now-parted lips and wonder if they are really as soft as they look.

“Oh, tons of kissing. Loads,” I say, intentionally laying it on thick. “You heard Jo. They’re expecting romance and fireworks. A couple that both checks the diversity boxandis actually into each other. And last timeI checked, couples who are in love definitely kiss. I mean, come on…we’re literally sharing one bed. Have you seen any rom-com within the last twenty years? It’s bound to happen.”

“Hm” is all he can manage. I’ve screwed myself by mentioning kissing and the fact that we are indeed forced into such close proximity, because all I can think about now are things that woulddefinitelybe violating our very first rule.

“You have to stop looking at me like that,” he chokes out after a moment.

---