Clint could listen to her speak for hours. In fact, he'd attended a lecture of hers before. Her beautiful, ripe mouth needed to be kissed and he loved watching the way her lips moved. Everything about her was beautifully understated and refined and he appreciated that. The fact that she was muggleborn flitted through his head occasionally usually followed by a tinge of regret that there's could never be anything more. Her long, pale fingers fit comfortably in his hand and that, more than anything, unnerved him. Something about Penelope Clearwater had him wanting more. Looking up, he gave her an easy smile. "I don't feel sorry for myself, rest assured," he said. "Money and fame tend to take that privilege away." He had more than enough to live comfortably for the rest of his life... opulent, in fact, and that didn't include the annual annuity from his father's estate.
The server arrived and he tossed out his order. Another ale and fish and chips would be on its way. When Penny slid her hand from his, he watched, a small smile tugging the corner of his lips. It was always reassuring that this was a two-sided situation. Leaning back against the wall, he listened and nodded. "Sounds right up your alley," he said, crossing his arms over his chest. He was almost envious of her lot in life. She could come and go as she pleased and he'd created this ridiculous persona to piss his father off and felt the need to live up to it. There were no symposiums or lectures that Clint Warrington could turn up to.
Her question caught him off guard and he raised a brow, wondering what he would be doing. "I'm not sure yet," he said, shrugging. "Most teams don't take players on in the middle of the season and I'm not even sure I'm ready to go back just yet."