Page 94 of The Show

After we’d returned to the city on Saturday, we’d all gone for drinks and I’d had to spend another three hours pretending nothing was happening. Another three torturous hours of barely looking at her, barely talking to her, and not touching her. How had I used to manage it?

I was amazed I hadn’t lobotomized myself.

In the end I couldn’t take it any longer, and after seeing Lowe stifle a yawn, declared an end to the night, at which point we’d dispersed. It was no co-incidence I lived a couple blocks away from her apartment, and when my driver had pulled up to take me home, I insisted she came too. We only made one stop, where I made good on my earlier promise to worship her all night.

I’d planned to spend the rest of the weekend in bed, but they were swiftly derailed once more by Abigail Slater. I thought staying at my place meant she wouldn’t be able to interrupt, but not long after we’d woken up, Lowe announced she had to go meet her parents for brunch; something I wasn’t invited to.

I could deal with missing out on lox and scrambled eggs, but the second Lowe returned to me her phone started buzzing, and it hadn’t really stopped in the two days since. Abigail Slater was quickly becoming the thorn I’d only just noticed was firmly lodged between my upper left ribs. I’d tried to ignore it, but after it had buzzed for the umpteenth time this afternoon with details of another guy for Lowe to date, I’d snapped that she needed to deal with her mother, and stormed off.

I ran into the park and along the path, until I spotted Rafe and Murray underneath the floodlights of the court we played on every Tuesday, as part of a city-wide league of three on three.

We’d been playing for years, and while our team won more than we lost, that’s not why we played. It’s not why anyone played, even though we all set a healthy level of competition. It was because the league was made up of guys we knew across the New York world of business, finance, politics - you name it, so as well as a good sweat out, it was an unofficial networking event, a way to conduct business outside the formal constraints of the office.

I dropped my backpack on the clay ground next to theirs.

“Weyhey! There he is. Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes?”

“Hey, bud, how’s your day been? Barely spoken to you all day!”

How was my day? How was my day?

“Shit, mostly. Though I have finally managed to get hold of August Chase, but that’s the only decent thing out of today.” I pulled off my hoodie and dropped it on the ground next to our bags, then started stretching out my hamstrings. “I can’t get hold of Marnie Matthews. I’ve called her fifteen times, so she’s obviously ignoring me which means I won’t get Jupiter…”

“Maybe she’s in space,” offered Rafe.

I stilled. Even though the twitch of his lip made it clear he was joking, it could actually provide a logical explanation for why she wasn’t picking up. I’d never not had my calls answered or returned before, unless you counted The Yankees senior exec board, which I didn’t, so it wasn’t a situation I was familiar with or enjoyed much.

“Yeah, maybe that’s it. Can you get Cody to find out, d’you think?”

“I was joking.”

I held onto Rafe’s shoulder while I stretched my other leg out. “I’m not, this is serious. I need to get hold of her or I’m fucked.”

“You’re not fucked. You’ll just have to come up with another solution.”

“I don’t want to come up with another solution. I want this one. Please, just ask him, Raferty. Please.”

He frowned. “Yeah, okay. I have to drop into the office on the way home anyway. I’ll ask him.”

“Thank you.” I dropped my leg down with a sigh and stood up straight.

“What’s with you? Why are you so pissed today? Where’s the cheery, annoying Pennington Shepherd we all know and love?” Murray slapped my face with each point he made.

I tried to push him away but wasn’t able to before he pulled me in for an exaggerated hug. The kiss on my cheek was a final straw.

“Get off, for fuck’s sake!”

“Okay, what’s going on?” Even though I wasn’t looking at him, I knew Rafe was staring at me, pinning me with the cross-examination intimidation tactics he used to practice in the mirror at our place on Beacon Hill.

It had never worked before, but I was finally going spill something. It wasn’t solely down to his penetrating stare; it was probably fifty-fifty with me simply having had enough.

I didn’t want to keep this to myself any longer. I couldn’t. The secrecy was unnecessary bullshit.

I looked up from the point on my sneakers which I’d been focused on. “It’s Lowe.”

Murray sighed, his face full of empathy. “Oh, mate, I’m sorry. You seemed to be getting on okay on Saturday, at least you didn’t have any nervous breakdowns like usual.”

My brow etched in confusion, then I realized that despite all of Lowe’s protestations and panicking about our friends figuring it out, we’d gotten away with our sneaking around. And it didn’t make me feel any better. “No, it’s not that.”

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