Page 76 of Winging It with You

“What the hell?” I turn and realize my board has somehow come loose from where I tied it and is now floating farther and farther away from me out into open water. “Shit!” I yell.

Placing the shears safely in the floating seabed, I dive off after our paddleboard, swimming against the force of the waves with whatever strength I have left. It seems that the harder I swim, the more distance is put between me and our seaweed-loaded paddleboard, but finally, after what feels like an exhausting eternity, my fingertips make contact with its edge, and I’m able to awkwardly turn it back to our nearly finished seabed.

But when I get there, panting and exhausted and vowing never to go near an ocean for the rest of my life, I see that Bianca isn’t at hers anymore. Instead, she’s already back on the shore hanging her final batch of seaweed with Jackson.

It’s over.

I slap my hands hard against the water, ignoring the spray of the salt water in my eyes. There’s no point in rushing now. The competition was intended to be the first to finish, and since Jackson and Bianca secured that title, I give myself permission to catch my breath paddling back to shore.

Asher and Jo meet me at the water’s edge with sympathetic smiles.

“Why didn’t you tie the paddleboard to the edge like before?” Arthur asks when he joins us, his camera still raised to his face.

“I definitely did.”

Asher hands me a bottle of cold water to help rid my mouth of the salty taste. He bends down and looks at ourpaddleboard’s tie. “It’s been cut,” he says, holding up the rope, which indeed has been severed.

We all look at Bianca, who’s now sandwiched between Dalton and Jackson as they capture whatever victory footage is needed for the day’s challenge. She makes sure to turn in our direction with a shrug, her infamous oh-so-pleased-with-herself smirk growing wider by the second.

22

Asher

Mahagiri Resort Nusa Lembongan—Room 416

Bali, Indonesia

Par for the course, Theo and I barely survived today’s challenge. On our way back to Arthur’s van, Jo lets us know the next elimination isn’t for two days, which means Theo and I have an extra forty-eight hours to agonize over the fact that we just might be going home instead of heading into the finals. I’m pretty sure our only saving grace so far has been that viewers keep voting us forward online. Jo doesn’t seem to mind, though. She reminds us it’s about the “whole package” and, according to her, our standing as the clumsy and borderline-chaotic “couple that could” is as good as reality-television gold.

I’ll take her word for it, because judging by the way Theo seems to be in his own head since we left the beach, you could have fooled me.

He doesn’t say much on the ride back to the hotel, but I chalk it up to pure exhaustion. But after we take turns showering, doing our best to get rid of the sand lodged in every nookand cranny, it almost feels like our first night sharing a room, tiptoeing around each other. As much as I hate to admit it, there’s a growing whisper of fear he’s pulling away now that our feelings are getting harder and harder to ignore.

Initially, what drove me to go through with the competition was the promise of what it could mean for my career. But now, though one half of me is still pushing toward the finish line for the prize money, the other half is focused on the fact that Theo and I will probably go our separate ways if we lose.

He’s sitting in the armchair in the corner of our room and it dawns on me now that the thought of losing him twists my stomach in knots far more than losing the prize money does.

I’m not entirely sure how to process this information, but what’s growing clear is that if I don’t fully lean in to my feelings for Theo—or find the courage to talk to him about them—the only thing left to process will be regret.

“What are you thinking over there?” I ask, sitting on the end of our bed, wishing he was right next to me like he normally is.

Theo offers only a small smile. “Not a thing, guapo.”

I’d like to think that after spending nearly every waking second with the man, I’ve come to know Theo pretty well. For the most part, his facial expressions are easy to read, and historically, his default setting seems to be sunshine and rainbows. So this noticeable moody and broody act isn’t fooling anyone.

“Interesting,” I say, leaning back on my elbows. “Hey, you know what sounds good right about now?”

Theo raises an eyebrow.

“Some mozzarella sticks,” I say dryly.

He barks out a laugh, rolling his eyes. “Seriously?”

“Mm-hmm,” I say, nodding, extra pleased with myself.“They soundseriouslydelicious. Spill it…or, I mean, hand them over.”

He uncrosses his legs and shifts his whole body to face me as a far more serious expression darkens his face. “Asher, I just…” he starts, rubbing his hands together. Theo’s shoulders are stiff, riddled with a tension I haven’t seen until now. I have no idea what I was expecting, but this sudden change in tone is making my palms sweat. “I just don’t know if I can do this anymore.”

His admission takes the air out of my lungs.

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