Never: A MM, Opposites Attract, Fairy Tale Retelling Romance (The Pennymaker Tales Book 4)

by Tara Lain

  Peter laughed—maybe convincingly—and put a hand on John’s back. “We like to get our Lost Boys fans young.”

  Hooker extended a hand. “Pleased to meet you, John.”

  John tensed under Peter’s hand, but he gamely thrust out his hand to shake.

  Hooker said, “So what’s going to be huge?”

  Peter gave John’s back a little squeeze. “John and I were cooking up a game for him to introduce at school.”

  “Oh? And how did that save Wen’s job?” Hooker flashed his teeth in a gotcha grin.

  Shit. “Two different topics. I helped John’s brother come up with an idea he needed for work. John was overdramatizing a little, but I guess it was well received.”

  Behind them, the Boys started to play.

  Peter pulled John closer. “I better get up there.”

  John said, “Good to meet you.” He flashed his best clueless smile. Smart kid. Caught on quick. Of course, it didn’t take deep insight to see Vadon Hooker was somebody to avoid.

  Peter led John toward the stage, seated him as close as he could get him, then leaped up and started to sing right on cue. He glanced to be sure Hooker wasn’t stalking John, but he’d disappeared. A-men! Still, John kept glancing over his shoulder until he got caught up in the music and began bouncing in his chair.

  Peter attempted one of the ballads usually sung by Dudish and had to close his eyes and concentrate to keep from making a mess of it. When he opened them again, the funny little man in the plaid suit sat next to John, staring at the stage.

  Peter frowned, but the little guy—Pennymaker?—smiled, and John seemed to be perfectly happy. Still, any friend of Smee’s wasn’t necessarily Peter’s best pal. Who the hell was Pennymaker?

  As soon as the guys paused, Peter leaped off the stage and jogged toward John, who stood up and clapped. “Wow. That was so great!”

  Mr. Pennymaker jumped up beside him. “I second that entirely, my dear. Splendid. I can understand why the Lost Boys are so very popular.”

  John said, “Mr. Pennymaker says he thinks you guys should be famous.”

  Wingman called down from the stage, “We like the way you think there, sir.”

  Peter smiled, but he knew it was tight. Fame didn’t exactly work for him. Neither did questions. “I should get you home, John.”

  “Oh boy, are you going to come with me?”

  “Uh, yeah.” Peter put his hands on his hips. “Not like you should have walked here on your own to start with. If I let you go home alone, your brother will kill me.” The sad truth was he really wanted to see Wen’s face.

  John stared at his dirty sneakers. “He’s gonna ground me.”

  Mr. Pennymaker cleared his throat. “My dears, what if I were to give you a lift home? Then perhaps all the details of John’s little, uh, journey might not come to light. At least, not immediately.” He grinned. “You’ll still have enough time to come up with a good story.”

  Peter stared at him, and the look must have been suspicious because Pennymaker said, “My car is right outside, and you can give the address to the driver yourself so you’re assured I’m not kidnapping you.”

  John waved a hand. “Heck, who’d kidnap us? Between us, we haven’t got enough money for pizza.”

  That wasn’t totally true. Who sent Pennymaker?

  “I’m sure that can be remedied as well.” Mr. Pennymaker gave a little bow.

  “Heck yeah!” John could clearly be bought for pizza.

  Peter gave John a sideways look but nodded. Maybe he could find out something about the mysterious Pennymaker—since the man obviously knew how to find Peter. “Thank you, sir. We’d appreciate a ride.”

  Peter told Wingman he was taking John home and he’d be back in time for the performance.

  Mr. Pennymaker pressed his hands together. “Excellent. Right this way.” He plunged forward at an energetic speed and led them out the front door of Neverland where, sure enough, a limousine stood at the curb. Holy shit, what a limo. Green. Not the deep Jaguar green that was almost black. This was more like an emerald, shiny and sparkling.

  John pointed. “Wow, Peter, it’s the same color as your eyes.”

  Mr. Pennymaker pressed a hand to his chest. “Why, so it is. Let’s all get in.”

  The chauffeur, a large man with a battered face and wide smile who wore a black hat plus jeans and a T-shirt, held the door, and John leaped in.

  “Holy cow! This is rad!”

  Mr. Pennymaker stepped back and waved a hand for Peter to get in before him. He crawled into cush heaven, all dove-gray leather upholstery and walnut finishings. John was already opening every available cabinet and drawer. Peter put a hand on his arm. “Be polite.”

  “Sorry.” He sat back, but the reserve latest two seconds. “This is the coolest car I ever saw.”

  “So glad you like it, my dear.” Pennymaker leaned forward and said, “Murphy, John is going to give you the address where we want to go. Please take us there via the best pizza parlor in the neighborhood.”

  “You got it, Mr. P.”

  Mr. Pennymaker said, “Tell him, John.”

  John recited the address, then sat back, looking around and touching everything he could reach. “How long have you had this cool car, Mr. P.?” Obviously, the nickname appealed to John.

  “This is relatively new.”

  Peter glanced at the little man. “Sir, may I ask your connection with Neverland?”

  “Ah, I’m a fan of good entertainment.” He turned to John. “How do you like your pizza?”

  That seemed to be all Peter was going to get on the Neverland subject.

  Five minutes later they stopped at a pizza place Peter had to admit was one of the best in the world, and ten minutes after that, they pulled up in front of Wen’s apartment house. Peter got a little belly flip at the sight.

  John kept staring at the pizza boxes that lay on the front seat beside the driver, Murphy. It did smell incredible. “Hey, Mr. P., you’re going to come in for pizza, right?”

  “I wouldn’t want to intrude.” But he smiled like he knew he wouldn’t be.

  “Heck no. It’s your pizza.”

  “Hardly, John. I purchased it for you, but I’ll be delighted to eat it with you and Peter and your family.”

  “You’ll like my sister. She’s cool. And my brother too. He’s really different from Peter, but he’s great.”

  Funny how that made Peter feel weird. True but weird.

  Mr. Pennymaker glanced at Peter. “Ah, I see. Well, I look forward to meeting him nonetheless.”

  “Besides, you and Peter have to keep me from being grounded.” John laughed and stepped out of the open door Murphy was holding.

  Peter followed John and Mr. Pennymaker up the walk and into the small, plain lobby.

  John stopped at the foot of the interminable staircase. “Oh man. There’s no elevator, and it’s on the fourth floor.”

  Mr. Pennymaker walked up the first step. “Not a problem, my boy.” Like some plaid mountain goat, he took off up the stairs at speed, and John and Peter had to scramble to keep up.

  At the top, John said, “Wow. You’re really fit.”

  “Yes, well, I live in a similar building when I’m in Brooklyn, so I have lots of practice.”

  John fit his key in the lock—latchkey kid—and opened the door. “Hey, anybody home?”

  Michaela came rushing to the door. “John Darling, where have you been? I’ve been—” She saw Peter and Mr. Pennymaker and stopped. “Oh. Hello.”

  Mr. Pennymaker held out a hand. “I’m so sorry, my dear. I’m Carstairs Pennymaker. Peter and I conspired to take John to see a rehearsal of the Lost Boys and what was lost, I’m afraid, was the time!” He laughed. “We do apologize for worrying you.” He held out the boxes. “We brought pizza in recompense.”

  “Oh.” She eyed Peter and then looked at Mr. Pennymaker as suspiciously as a person could muster for the little elf. “I’m afraid I was so worried I called Wen.”


  John screwed his lips to the side. “Aw, Michaela. Did you have to do that?”

  “You’re almost three hours late, John. Even allowing for a stop at a friend’s, you were stretching my ability to make excuses for you. My God, you could have been lying in an alley somewhere!”

  “Most reasonable, my dear.” Mr. Pennymaker nodded seriously. “But you must place the blame on Peter and me for not being more responsible.”

  “John knew what time he was expected and that I’d worry.”

  “True, but we all got caught up.”

  She leveled Pennymaker with a gaze that would have done justice to a forty-year-old mom. “Excuse me.” She picked up the phone on the counter and dialed. “Wen. Hi. He’s home. Yes, fine. I haven’t heard the whole story yet, but apparently Peter had invited John to hear him sing and he didn’t tell me. They’re here now. Take a deep breath.” She listened. “Okay, see you soon.”

  She hung up, set down the phone, and crossed her arms. “Excuse me, sir, but who exactly are you?” Leave it to Michaela to ask the pertinent questions.

  “A lover of music and art, my dear.”

  John looked at his sister significantly. “We came home in a limo. A green one.”

  Mr. Pennymaker held the large cardboard boxes in front of him. “Why don’t we all settle down and have some of this delicious pizza?”

  John fidgeted. “I’ll help.”

  Peter gave him a glance that said Don’t be too eager to help or she’ll know you’re guilty.

  Michaela’s brows didn’t quite straighten, but she waved at the table. “I’m sorry. This is where we eat.”

  “Perfectly fine.” Mr. Pennymaker moved to the lumpy couch and sat as if it were a chaise at the Ritz.

  Michaela walked to the kitchen with John beside her.

  Peter said, “Can I help?”

  “No. Just sit.” Michaela’s narrow-eyed glance said she wasn’t entirely fooled.

  Peter wandered over and took a seat on the floor across from where Wen usually sat. “Do you have an interest in the club, sir?”

  “I find the club very interesting.” His bright eyes danced with zero information.

  John hurried in with plates and napkins that he sort of shuffled out onto the table. Then he plopped down in his seat with anxious eyes.

  Michaela placed a large plate that she’d transferred a pizza onto in the middle of the table. Peter gave her a grin. She might be suspicious of Mr. P., but she still wanted to impress him. She produced a cake server and started placing pieces of pizza on each of their plates.

  John grabbed for his, got a look from Michaela, and froze in the middle of transporting the pizza to his mouth. Peter froze too. Man, she’d learned that look from Wen.

  Chapter Fifteen

  As soon as everyone got pizza, Mr. Pennymaker immediately took a bite of his and grinned around it so John knew he could start. John had just bitten a giant mouthful when the door opened and Wen stood there staring at the tableau. “What’s going on?”

  Mr. Pennymaker rose from the couch. “Hello, Wen. I’m Carstairs Pennymaker, a friend of Peter’s. I’m afraid I was the cause of John’s truancy, and I brought pizza in an effort to make up for my lack of timeliness. I’ve been looking forward to meeting you.”

  Wen looked at each of them, some battle between frustration and anger warring on his face. “So I’m to understand that John was with you when he knew he was supposed to be home?” He glowered at John, who swallowed pizza hard and stared at his plate.

  “Yes, well, I lured him with a ride in a limousine, you see.”

  Wen’s jaw tightened. “So that’s your car outside?”

  “If it’s long and green like an asparagus, it’s mine.” He chuckled. “Won’t you have some pizza while we discuss culpability?”

  Michaela gestured to the plate she had sitting in Wen’s place.

  “Forgive me, sir.” Wen crossed his arms. “I’m afraid your excuse for John simply means he accepted a ride with a stranger, which is just as bad as disappearing.”

  John muttered, “He’s not a stranger. I was with Peter.”

  Wen narrowed his eyes but his lips softened a little. “I’m not sure that’s any better.” The look he gave Peter could kill.

  Michaela tapped the table. “Come on Wen, eat.”

  Though he looked way more suspicious than satisfied, Wen glanced at Peter like perhaps he was trying not to insult his friend. He took off his suit coat, draped it over the living room chair, and sank down at his spot at the coffee table. His glance met Peter’s. “So what do you have to do with this?”

  Hm. He wasn’t quite sure how to spin the story to embellish Pennymaker’s but not flat-out lie. “Mr. P. was listening to the Lost Boys sing with John.”

  “John was singing?”

  “No, I mean they were together.”

  “So where—“

  “I understand you’re in advertising, Wen.” Mr. Pennymaker chewed thoughtfully.

  “Uh, yes.” Wen dragged his eyes from John as he replied, no doubt Mr. P.’s nefarious plan. “Yes, I am.”

  “And you and Peter are working together on a campaign.”

  Peter took a quick look at John. How much did he talk?

  Wen nodded, though the crease between his eyebrows never let up. “In a manner of speaking. Peter’s a great artist, and he did a painting we used as the basis for an animation.”

  Sure is being conservative in light of the “you saved my job” statements.

  “And you and Peter have a relationship, I believe.”

  Wen’s eyes filled his face, and he stared at Peter, who in turn stared at John, who looked genuinely surprised.

  Peter swallowed, “Uh, where did you get that idea, sir?”

  “Oh, have I presumed too much?” Mr. Pennymaker smiled.

  Peter glanced at Wen, and their eyes bounced off in favor of other fascinations—like their shoes. What the hell would Wen say? Peter wasn’t touching this with a bass guitar.

  Wen seemed to get that Peter was not going to open his trap. “Uh, well, Peter and I are friends, sort of. I mean, I admire him a lot and everything. It’s just—”

  Mr. P waved a hand encouragingly. “Just—?”

  Wen’s mouth pressed into a line. “We don’t understand each other very well, and we tend to piss each other off.” He folded his arms.

  “How interesting. I would guess you two believe you understand each other very well. Perhaps too well.” He chuckled. “That might explain the pissedoffedness.”

  John nodded. “Hey Mr. P., that’s really smart. Peter kind of reminds us of our mom, and Wen thought she was a pretty bad mother, so maybe that’s why he gets upset at Peter.”

  Wen glared at John.

  “Yes, I see. And maybe there’s something in Peter’s past that reminds him of Wen, so he returns the favor.”

  Peter jumped up and stared at Pennymaker like a snake. “Did somebody send you to find me?”

  Wen really frowned. “I thought you two were friends?”

  Pennymaker ignored him and looked at Peter. “Who would send me, my dear?” He spread his hands wide.

  “You tell me.”

  “No one sent me to find you. I assure you. Any observations are based purely on—well, observation. We are usually given things to learn over and over until we realize the truth. Perhaps Wen needs to understand his mother better through you. I only assumed you might have a similar scenario.”

  John looked up at Peter. “Hey, I think he’s telling the truth.”

  Pennymaker nodded. “I assure you I am. Now finish your pizza, and we’ll discuss other things.”

  Do I believe him? The guy seemed totally sincere, but then that could be a part of his mojo. Hell, the pizza was beyond delicious. He sat back on the floor.

  John seemed happy to have focus returned to the food. “So what do you do for a living, Mr. P.? You must be rich, huh?”

  Michaela clapped a hand to her mouth to keep from spit
ting pizza. “John, don’t be rude!”

  “Sorry.”

  Mr. P. just smiled. “Quite all right, my dear. I’m in a number of businesses. I dabble in fashion, have an interest in music and art, invest in education, but most of my interests are in real estate.”

  Peter said, “So Neverland is right in your wheelhouse.” Maybe he sounded a little cold, because Wen stared at him.

  “Yes, yes it is. So, John, tell me what you’re studying in school.”

  Once again, the subject shifted uneasily. They babbled about how hard math was and whether John also had an aptitude for design. Peter’s gaze kept stealing to Wen’s face with its permanent frown. So damned pretty. He might act like a stuck-up old man, but he looked like an angel with his curly blond hair and wide blue eyes. A lull in the conversation made him look up. “What?”

  “Mr. Pennymaker wanted to know if you’d like a ride back to Neverland?”

  Mr. P. laughed. “You were wool-gathering there.”

  Peter shifted. “Uh, sorry. Yes, I have to get back for the show, so I’d appreciate a ride if you’re going that way.”

  “Wouldn’t miss it.”

  Peter took a deep breath to dissuade his dick from further participation in the conversation, then slowly rose and pulled down his T-shirt. Everyone else got up too. Peter glanced at Wen, and their eyes seemed to stick together. “So everything went well? The client liked it?”

  “Yes, a lot.”

  “I’m so glad.”

  “I appreciate your help. You saved the day.” He looked away and then back real fast.

  “Glad I could.” He wanted to think of something else to say, but—nothing. They just looked for another minute; then Peter sighed and walked toward the door. “Guess I’ll see you sometime.”

  “Yeah.” Wen sounded… sad, maybe.

  John leaped forward. “Wait a second. We’re friends, right? Friends see each other. Right?” His voice rose with every word and got a little more frantic. “We’re friends!”

  Peter turned. “Yeah, we’re friends.” He glanced at Wen, whose face said he wasn’t entirely sure about the “friend” thing. Shit. He turned to John. “We’ll see each other.”

  “Soon?” John ran over to Peter and hugged him around the chest.