“You’re as tired as I am.”
He slid the cloth down over my right asscheek and gave the left one a small slap that had me laughing.
“Cillian would’ve made that hurt,” I snarked.
“Ye’re gonna give me a complex, love,” he said, then pinched the spot he’d tapped.
Laughing, I shrugged.
After that, we stopped playing, and I rinsed the soap away. Rowen didn’t try to help me with my hair, and that was fine because it always took some effort. By the time I was done shampooing and conditioning, he was out of the shower and had crashed on the bed in a towel with his gun at his side.
It took a minute to hook my insulin pump back up. The nap had given me a second wind, so rather than try to sleep again, I snuck around and dressed in jeans and a clean white T-shirt, grabbed my holster and gun, then went downstairs. It took me a hot minute, but I found Conall nodding off in Sloan’s chair at the desk while Ronan stood nearby looking pained. I grabbed Conall’s hand and shook it.
“Huh?” Conall asked, startling upright.
“Ronan looks as bad as you. I had a nap. Why don’t I take you upstairs to sleep?”
Conall nodded, and instead of taking him toward his room, once we were on the second floor, I led him to our suite, but he didn’t protest. The moment he walked in the door he flopped on one of the gray fluffy couches and passed out.
“Really? It’s just me?” I glanced around. Ronan hadn’t followed us. Shrugging, I went and locked the door, not that it would do any good if shit went down, but it made me feel better. I sat on the couch at Conall’s feet.
It felt like no time had passed as the sound of pounding had me jerking upright, and I glared at the door. Conall had his arm flung over his eyes, so I rushed to the door to make the noise stop. Last second, I remembered we were on alert and grabbed my gun out of the holster before I flung open the door.
Irving stood there with a nasty scowl and his hazel eyes narrowed. Guess no one was having a good day. Maybe he’d gotten chewed out.
“There’s a messenger here to see whoever is in charge,” Irving said.
“He’s asleep.” I glanced over my shoulder into the dim room, then at the windows, and it finally hit me that it was dark outside. I was feeling weird again and probably needed to eat. I sighed.
Irving snorted and shook his head. “I knew you Mahers were all balls and no brains, but you didn’t wait long. The boss will cut off your dick.” An awful amusement curved his lips.
“Huh?”
Someone behind me yanked the door open farther, and Conall gently shoved me aside and stepped forward, forcing Irving to move back and let him into the hall. Irving was shorter than both of us, and Conall glared down his nose at him.
“If you spread that trash around, no one will need to worry about Sloan. I’ll cut your tongue out myself. Fallon is one of my men.” Conall clenched his hands into fists.
Irving shuffled back another step and a furrow formed on his brow. “You mean one of the boss’s men.”
Conall raised his eyebrows.
Irving flushed. “I didn’t mean anything by what I said, sir. I was just giving the kid hell.” He tried out a smile on Conall, but it didn’t seem like he was comfortable with it.
“Tell the messenger I’ll be down in twenty minutes.”
Irving huffed. “He wants to talk to whoever isin chargeright now. The boys thought maybe Shaughnessy was holding things together for the boss while Daire is at the hospital.”
“I know what you said. And no, Rowen’s one ofmymen, too.”
Irving stared at Conall, then nodded slowly while clearing his throat. “Understood, sir.” He turned on his heel and rushed off.
“Come with me,” Conall said, and his quiet tone was sad and pissed off all at once.
“Sure. You know, I don’t think old Irving has ever been invited to a sleepover. That’s probably why he was confused. Actually, he sounded jealous, don’t you think?” I winked at him.
Conall chuckled but picked up his pace as we rushed toward his bedroom. He opened the door, and I hesitated to follow him inside, but he just waved at me as he went to the closet and pulled out a blue suit, then grabbed a couple of things out of his dresser.
I’d never been in the boss’s bedroom, and not too surprisingly, it was clean and crisp. A wide bed with a gray upholstered headboard, wrinkle-free white sheets, and a neatly folded light brown blanket sat against a gray feature wall. It was fit for a king. Two in this case. I bet it felt great to fuck on that bed because it definitely looked comfortable—even if it was smaller than Rowen’s.
