Page 58 of The Professional
“Shall we eat?” Shay asked.
“Please dig in,” Rourke’s mother agreed.
Chapter Twelve
Forrest could only describe the dinner as… eventful. He learned new things about Rourke Tormey that he had never expected to. Forrest knew he was Catholic, he’d seen the cross he carried around his neck on a chain, but he never understood Rourke’s relationship with religion until he met his family and Shay. Forrest still didn’t know who Shay was to Rourke, exactly, but he understood the familiarity there. They were obviously close once upon a time, and Forrest almost—almost—felt jealous of their connection with each other. It was obvious how much Rourke cared about Shay, and vice versa, even with the snippy attitude toward each other. The little glimpse into another part of Rourke made Forrest want to be a part of his life even more, and if that meant going to mass with Nadene and spending more time withFather Shay, then Forrest would do it.
“Why can’t I get time off?” Forrest pouted at Conall and ran his fingers over the collar around his neck. They sat on the couch in Conall’s old room, legs entwined and snugged close. The massive guards standing by the door were watching them carefully, as though Conall was stupid enough to cheat on Sloan. Conall came back for a visit and it had aligned with Forrest’s free time.
“Because you’re our highest earner, Forrest. You bring in thirty percent of our profits.” Conall slapped him on the bare thigh, hard.
Forrest wore short pants, ones that barely covered his ass. There were certain men who liked him wearing the shorts, but this time he was doing it for himself because they made him feel sexy. He didn’t miss the way a couple of the guards eyed his bare legs like they were dessert.
“So?” Forrest pouted.
“Why do you want time off anyway?” Conall narrowed his eyes. “You’ve never asked for it before. What’s happening?”
“Maybe I want a vacation.” Forrest played with Conall’s hair. He’d grown it out long enough that he could loop his hair into a manbun, and it suited him.
“Really?” Conall’s expression of disbelief made Forrest’s stomach turn in embarrassment. “Bullshit. Now tell me what’s going on, or I’ll go ask Rourke myself.”
“Don’t!” Forrest ducked his head. “I met his mom last night. She’s nice.”
Conall frowned, forehead creasing. “You met Rourke’s mom? Okay. How did that happen?”
“He invited me to dinner.” Forrest got all squirmy at the thought. “I met a Father Shay too, have you heard of him?”
“I’ve met him once. Bit of a preacher, but he’s not a bad person.”
“Have you been to church?” Forrest gave Conall a once over, taking in the tight leather pants, clingy shirt, and bright red collar. “I can’t imagine you and Sloan being there would go down too well. You practically scream whore.”
Conall shot him a look. “I’m not a whore, I’m Sloan’s pet. There’s a difference.”
“Is there?” Forrest teased.
He shoved Forrest, eliciting a laugh from him. “Yes. You give your arse to everyone, I only give mine to Sloan.”
“That’s not fair. Where’s my sexy mob boss?” Forrest glanced at the boys by the door. They were wide-shouldered, muscled henchmen, and he was almost tempted to ask one of them to manhandle him, free of charge. He’d asked Rourke to fuck him last night, but Rourke waved him off and told him to go to bed. Forrest suspected that Shay had put him in a bad mood.
“You’ve got a sexy Irish mobster,” Conall said, smirking. “He’s just the quiet type.”
Forrest sighed when he thought about Rourke. Maybe he should push aside his stupid fantasy of being swept off his feet and focus on reality. He missed feeling like he meant something to someone. Who was he kidding? He’d never meant anything to anyone, except a good ass to fuck.
“Do you know what he’s done for Sloan in the past?” Forrest asked quietly.
Conall glanced away. “No.”
“Liar. I can tell when you lie.” Forrest leaned back on the couch and tilted his head back. “He’s hot and cold. One minute I think he’s into me, and then the next, he’s dropping me like he’s allergic.”
“Are you fucking?”
Forrest knew what he should have said—no. Conall was Rourke’s boss now, and Forrest didn’t want to get him into trouble, but Conall knew when Forrest lied, too, and there was no point in trying. “Once. We fucked on his desk.”
Conall whistled. “Jeez, never expected Rourke to break his own rules.”
“Right?” Forrest threw his hands up in the air. “Clearly he wants me.”
Conall sighed. “Listen, I don’t know Rourke’s history. I know his father betrayed Sloan, and that he did things for Sloan to make up for it. I asked Sloan about it, but he won’t tell me a thing because heknowsI’ll tell you.” They grinned at each other because since they’d ceased fucking, Conall and Forrest had become as close as they could. Best friends. “But he did say, and I quote, ‘everyone thinks Rourke’s a pussy cat, but when Rourke gets pissed off, people will find out he’s a fucking tiger who’ll rip their face off.’ Those are Sloan’s words, not mine. Sloan trusts him, and so I do.”
