Page 44 of Penn

Penn’s posture shifts immediately, his shoulders going rigid as he surveys the crowd. He scans the room like a man on a mission, searching for King and Willa.

“Looks packed,” I murmur, my anxiety creeping up a notch. I don’t do well in crowded places like this—not since the threats started.

“Stay close,” Penn says, and before I can react, his fingers thread through mine like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

Heat floods me instantly, my pulse pounding in my ears as I glance down at our joined hands. His grip is firm, his thumb brushing lightly over my skin in a way that makes it impossible to focus on anything else.

God, I love how this feels.

Like I belong to him.

The space between us evaporates as he guides me through the crowded bar. Heads turn as we pass, whispers following us.

“Is that Penn Navarro?”

“Holy shit, it is.”

“Dude, get a pic—”

“Penn… can I get an autograph?”

“Not now,” Penn says to a female fan, his tone polite and leveled with a genial smile, but firm as he brushes past. “Maybe later.”

I glance up at him, surprised by how effortlessly he handles the attention. There’s no arrogance, no annoyance—just quiet control.

And damn if that doesn’t make me fall for him a little harder.

After a few more steps, Penn spots King and Willa tucked into a booth near the back of the bar, away from most of the crowd. Relief floods me at the sight of Willa’s warm smile and King’s easygoing wave.

King stands, clapping Penn on the back as we reach the table and then holds out his hand to me. “You must be Mila. It’s great to finally meet you.”

Before I can reply, Willa is there, giving me a quick hug, even though I saw her no more than thirty minutes ago. “Long time, no see,” she chirps, and I can’t help but laugh.

We settle into the booth, me on the inside with Penn sitting so close, our thighs touch. A waitress appears and we all order beers.

We lapse into easy conversation, the heaviness of the last few days momentarily pushed aside. It’s a relief to sit here, surrounded by laughter and lighthearted banter, without the weight of secrets or the looming threat hanging over me and Penn. I feel the tension slowly draining from his body, his shoulders less rigid, his jaw not clenched so tight. He’s relaxed in a way I hadn’t imagined possible, and it makes my heart ache a little. Penn deserves this—this carefree moment where he can justbewithout constantly watching his back or walling himself off from people.

And for me… it’s a glimpse into what life could be like if we manage to come out of all this unscathed. I’m not ready to let go of that feeling just yet. I lean in, eager to soak up the moment with new friends and maybe a meaningful relationship with a man I admire.

Willa’s laughter bubbles up over the thrum of bar chatter around us. “Okay, I’ve got one,” she says, her eyes twinkling with mischief. “What’s your guilty pleasure TV show or movie? And don’t you dare lie, Penn. I know you’ve got one.”

Penn, sitting beside me, lifts an eyebrow, leaning back against the booth with a cocky smirk. “Why do I feel like I’m about to be ambushed?”

“Because you are,” King replies with a grin, taking a sip of his beer. “Spill it.”

Penn’s lips twitch, and I brace myself, already knowing whatever he says is going to surprise the hell out of me. “Fine.” He exhales heavily, as if this is a confession he’s been holding on to for years. “I normally just watch ESPN, but I do have one guilty pleasure on TV.”

“What is it?” Willa presses.

His face flushes. “The Bachelor.”

I blink. “Wait… what?”

Willa’s jaw drops. “You? Mr. Hockey-Is-Life Navarro watchesThe Bachelor?”

“Only the finales,” he mutters, suddenly very interested in the condensation dripping down his beer glass. “I don’t sit through the whole damn season, but I gotta know who wins.”

King nearly chokes on his drink. “You bet on it, don’t you?”

---