Page 7 of Winging It with You

“I mean, I’m not one to point fingers.”

“Yet, here we are,” he says, rolling his eyes. “I’ll tell you what,” he continues, reaching into his bag on the seat next to him and holding up a quarter. “I’ll flip you for it. Heads, the sticks are yours.” He pushes the basket toward me, a sly grin spreading across his face. “But tails…” he says, rolling the coin across his knuckles. “Tails, you’re going to have to do something for me. Deal?”

“Anything you want, it’s yours.”

“Be careful what you offer.” There’s a forced edge to his voice, one that leads me to believe whatever forwardness he’s presenting doesn’t quite come naturally to him. I watch as a million little gears turn behind his big green eyes. As they catch the sun coming in from the window, giving me a calculated once-over, I realize I might not be at all ready for what’s to come.

3

Asher

United Flight UA2325—Seats 3A & B

BOS–LAX

“So, are you finally going to tell me what’s in Los Angeles?”

Shit. I still haven’t found the right time to bring up the competition. Not as we waited to board in unbearable silence. Not even as we awkwardly navigated around each other once we made it to our cabin—a surprise upgrade to first class after Theo had a brief, friendly conversation with the gate agent. And not when we settled into our seats and took off.

The poor guy has no idea what he’s gotten himself into.

It was almost too easy to get this man with me onto the plane—which is probably why my palms are sweaty and every red flag in my arsenal is flying on high alert. The coin we’d flipped bounced off the bar’s counter and skidded across the greasy restaurant linoleum between a few rolling carry-ons before settling near the host’s stand.

I thought he’d object when we both walked over and sawour fate, but instead, Theo put his hands in his pockets, shoulders raised and head cocked as if to say,Your move.

Tails.

For sure he’d backpedal on his wholeanything you want, it’s yoursline he so carelessly threw out there, right? But when I told him he needed to book a flight to Los Angeles, the man didn’t flinch. He just stepped away for a moment, cell phone in hand, as his friend—Mike? Mark?—trailed after him, a growing mixture of concern and confusion plastered across his face.

And here he is, intently staring in my direction, waiting for my answer.

Time to rip off the Band-Aid, Bennett.

“Oh, you know…” I say, fidgeting with my seat belt. “Sunshine, million-dollar listings…” Deep breaths. “And just a silly little production crew waiting for us.”

Theo tilts his head in my direction. “What was that last one?” he asks, now leaning ever so slightly in my direction.

“The million-dollar listings? Yeah, there’s a whole reality television series about them, actually, and they’re like, super popular with the gays and…” My voice trails off as I watch smile lines form around his amber eyes and his full lips curl up at the corners of his mouth. A dimple makes an appearance front and center on his cheek and it transforms his profile into something far more endearing than the initial impression I had of his picture-perfect face.

“What’s this about a production crew?”

My heart is racing and I’m not sure if it’s because I’m actually an anxious flyer, or the fact that I’m about to reveal a horrifically concocted plan—which, for the record, is not at all a reflection of my normal decision-making skills—or that I keepgetting whiffs of whatever spicy cologne is radiating off Theo’s larger-than-life body.

Saying that Theo Fernandez is attractive doesn’t quite cut it.

The first thing I noticed was how much space he takes up. His features are dramatic and angular. Arms and legs long enough to swallow you whole. I sneak a glance over at how he’s sitting in his seat.Those thighs.But it was his soft smile and kind eyes that made me question if the dizziness I was feeling back in the restaurant was from the mimosas or him. Neatly cropped dark, thick hair and manicured stubble accentuate his tanned skin, and while I know next to nothing about him, Theo exudes an aura of confidence that makes me shake with both excitement and unease.

“About that,” I say, wiping my hands on my pant legs. He’s following my movements, back and forth, until he finally raises his eyes to meet mine. “Don’t freak out.”

“I don’t freak out,” he says casually.

“Really? Everyone freaks out from time to time, especially under stressful cond…” He arches a brow as I begin to ramble. I’m doing it again. “Right. So, the production crew. Well, for starters, the reason I was at the airport today is because I’ve been selected to compete on the upcoming season ofThe Epic Trek.”

“The travel competition show?” he asks.

I nod.

“The one that’s competed in pairs?”

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