Page 56 of The Show

I started at the slightly breathless but familiar deep timbre. Shaking off the trail of goosebumps which licked along my spine at the sound, I looked round into the wide grey eyes and broad smile of Penn Shepherd, which kickstarted the pitter-patter inside my ribcage again.

“Oooh, he’s worth waiting for darlin’.”

“Er, yes, thanks.” I found my voice, looking at Mrs. Fluorescent Pink then back at Penn, my brows creasing at whatever that mischievous expression he was wearing meant.

“How long are you two visiting the city for?”

I turned back to Mrs. F.P., “Oh, we’re…”

“Just a few days…” Penn’s arm snaked heavily around my shoulders and stayed there. “We managed to get away from the kids, so we thought we’d have a break here,” he winked, and all I could do was watch Mrs. F.P. lap up the charm oozing out of him like a cat with cream.

“Sounds heavenly. We remember those days, don’t we Buck?” She nudged her husband who nodded obediently. “But now our kids are all grown, the youngest is at college, so we take all the advantage of that we can.”

“We have that to look forward to. Ours still need full time attention.” Penn smiled conspiratorially at her, as though he had experience with taking a break from screaming infants, and held out his free hand. “We’re the Michaelsons, Marla and Chet, from Ohio.”

I choked hard, trying to breathe through the saliva which had caught in my throat until Penn smacked me on the back.

“You okay, babe?”

We were offered temporary reprieve from being fired any questions involving our fictional children when The Lions’ official tour guide clapped his hands for everyone’s attention. I used the opportunity to get to the bottom of Penn’s personality transplant, and who the hell Marla and Chet Michaelson from Ohio were.

“What are you doing?” I hissed.

“We’re undercover, remember? I’m creating a back story,” he whispered before his smirk dropped slightly. “I’m sorry I was late.”

For the first time that morning, I took a good look at him. Areally goodlook. He was back in a pair of low-slung jeans which fitted his ass in a way that should be illegal, and an aged, slightly frayed, dark green cotton t-shirt that looked softer than a puppy’s belly. A matching ball cap with a Body-By-Luck logo completed his look, thick tufts of blonde hair curling up the nape of his neck. He’d shaved again, which only emphasized his incredible jawline and the razor sharp cheek bones the entire Shepherd family had inherited from Lucian. It was hard to decide whether he looked better with or without the beard.

In short, he was looking goddamn fine. Finer than fine.

I tried to smile but my mouth had dried up. Had I really only just noticed how good he looked? That didn’t sound right at all.

“It’s okay, I wasn’t waiting long.”

“Looks like you were waiting long enough to make friends.” The corner of his mouth twitched.

I’d hooked up with enough guys to know Penn’s behavior wasn’t usual for the first meeting after a hot kiss and zero communication in between, though even without the hottest kiss in the world, Penn’s behavior was not normal. For one, he’d never winked at me, ever. Or smirked. And he certainly had never flirted, but that’s what he seemed to be doing.

Maybe he was high.

I tried to look at his pupils, though it was hard as he was currently listening to the tour guide, and the bill of his cap was pulled down so low that his eyes were in shadow. Plus, there were his lashes - thick and far too long - getting in the way of me seeing anything.

“Penn, are you okay?”

He turned, his eyes - almost silver today - boring through me and stripping me bare as he searched my face like it was the first time he’d ever seen me. “Yeah, I’m great.”

He looked back at the uniformed gentleman holding court, though Penn’s arm was still over my shoulders and my brain was working overtime to figure out what was happening to take in anything the guide was saying.

“Good morning, guys and gals! Welcome to The New York Lions; unofficially the greatest baseball team in the world, butofficiallythe greatest team in New York City. And if you don’t agree, you’re on the wrong tour…”

Next to me, Penn let out a huff while a few chuckles and whoops went out from the tour group. There must have been fifty people here now; more than half wearing Lions’ team jerseys with their favorite players’ names and numbers on the back. Not that I recognized any of them, but I did wonder if they’d be staying at the club once Penn was done.

I reached into my bag for my phone, switching on the recording button because I knew I’d never remember everything he was saying, and earned myself an impressed head nod from Penn in the process.

“Now, hands up; who knows who this is and why he’s here?” The tour guide was pointing up to a stone statue of a man standing next to a very large lion, and reminiscent of the one of George Washington outside Federal Hall.

“It’s King George,” offered up Buck, aka Mr. Fluorescent Pink, “and that’s his pet lion.”

“YES!” cried the tour guide, throwing a lollipop at Buck, who caught it with glee. He’d have made a good children’s entertainer if he ever hung up his tour guide uniform. “A true fan there, I see.”

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