Page 96 of Winging It with You

“Oh hell, you look like shit.”

Ellie.

I lay back down, turning away from my unannounced visitor, and wrap myself back around Theo’s pillow. “I’m not in the mood, Ellie.”

“Are you in the mood to shower, at least? It smells like…I don’t even know what in here.” I don’t need to be looking at her to imagine her pinched expression.

I ignore her question. Under normal circumstances, I’d be mortified at someone’s insinuation of my bad smell. Right now? I couldn’t care less. I’m pretty content continuing my shame spiral, thank you very much.

“Asher, what can I do?” she asks without a trace of her signature sarcasm. She sounds genuinely concerned.

But sadly, there’s nothing she could say or do to make the ache in my heart disappear.

I roll over toward her. She’s sitting on the edge of the bed,nudging an open pizza box I have no recollection of ordering with her foot. I see her grimace of silent judgment.

“I just want to sleep,” I say, covering my eyes with my arm. “Don’t you and your mom have to get going anyway?”

“Production has completely halted since…” Her voice trails off.

“Since I was humiliated on live television by my asshole of an ex?”

“Well, yeah.That. Have you talked to Jo?” I haven’t—and frankly, I don’t intend to. Ellie gives me a look when I shake my head. “You really should, Asher. She feels awful.”

For someone who’s prided himself on being a logical and rational thinker, I really am proving quite the opposite now. “There’s just…a lotto unpack here.”

Ellie nods, and on some level, she must understand it’s not as simple as just talking it out among friends, if we’re even considered that, and after everything that went down, I don’t know that I want to be. Jo’s always been dialed in toeverythingthat goes on with this show. Do I believe that she had a hand in orchestrating Clint’s sudden appearance and shocking proposal? No. But is there a small part of me that thinks she may have known about it and didn’t say anything?

I can’t be sure, and that’s what’s killing me. Jo has talked about ratings and social media engagement and giving the viewers what they want nonstop since the moment I met her. She’s literally pushed me and Theo to show more affection and be more playful with each other in the name of good television. Is it really that far-fetched to think her eyes wouldn’t light up at the thought of a surprise proposal from a former lover?

“Look, all I know is that since Theo left, Jo has been pacing the lobby, a phone in each hand, trying to make this right.” It’seasy to picture. As annoyed with her as I am, I’d bet money that Jo Bishop is incredible in a crisis.

“Okay, but…” I start, but she interrupts me.

“If Theo means what I think he does to you, and I know you have weeks’ worth of photos on your phone that lead me to believe he does, I promise you Jo is the one person who can help you get him back. So do me a favor and just talk to her.” Ellie pats my leg, both patronizingly and affectionately.

“No promises,” I say, falling back into the bed, but I know she’s right.

Ellie gets up to leave, offering one last encouraging smile on her way out. “Oh, and take a shower. Immediately.”

“Run along, Ellie. You’ve been a pleasure, as always,” I say, the sound of her laughter lingering before the door shuts between us.

Hauling myself into the bathroom, I crank the shower as hot as it’ll go and climb in. The last time I was in here, Theo’s arms were around my waist and his lips were trailing over every inch of my body. I miss him so much it physically pains me. Ellie’s right, he means more to me than I think anyone in my entire life has.

I go through the motions under the hot water, washing the self-pity and indecisiveness away as I concoct my plan to get Theo back. Ellie was right about one more thing—Jo is my best bet at figuring out where Theo is. Stepping out of the shower, I towel dry my hair and pad back over to my suitcase to grab some much-needed clean clothes.

Ping.

Jo’s phone, the one we’d been using sporadically this whole time, lies face up on the plush bedding, its screen illuminated from whatever notification just came through.

Ellie.

I reach for it, reminding myself to profusely thank that girl for swiping it on my behalf, and open up the camera roll. Photo after photo of Theo and me fill the screen as I scroll. Silly selfies in the back of the van as Arthur chaotically drove through yet another city. Candid photos of Theo in various stages of undress, his strong body and handsome face permanently frozen in time for me to ogle whenever I want.

A photo of us kissing, which he insisted on taking with the elephants in the background, makes my chest tighten.

I miss him.

Just as I feel tears of longing pool in my eyes, the phone pings again—a social media notification. And another. And then another. And suddenly, the phone will not stop vibrating. I open Instagram to dozens, if not hundreds, of unread messages. “What the hell?”

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