Page 26 of Mob Knight

It doesn’t take long to get from my place in Brooklyn to Queens where the bar is. I thank the woman and slide out. I hang around outside just past the bar’s windows while I wait for my friends to arrive. I’m being too chicken shit to walk in there by myself just in case he actually is there. I don’t want to look like an idiot coming in on my own. Like I’m desperately looking for him. Again, there goes my ego assuming he’d even think I’d be there for him. I only have to wait a couple of minutes before Tracy arrives, and just as we’re hugging, Consuela gets there as well.

We head into the bar where we’ll wait inside for our last friend to show up. I know they run pretty amazing happy hour specials here, so it’s no surprise it’s crowded. We ease our way over to the bar and slide in, sharing a spot that really should only fit one person. All three of us are standing sideways to order.

I glance around to see if there are any tables available or even one or two stools. It’s standing room only for right now. There’s a redheaded guy behind the bar. Immediately, I know he’s an O’Rourke, even if he’s facing away from me. He’s not built like Cormac, and the hair’s too dark, so it isn’t him. When he turns around, I recognize him as Finn, the owner. I have a heart-stopping moment wondering if he knows who I am, and then I remind myself I’m probably barely a blip on Cormac’s radar in the grand scheme of things. I doubt he’s mentioned me to anybody. I need to get over myself, but clearly I want him to think about me as much as I’ve been thinking about him.

When our last friend, Tanya, arrives, I wave her over and step out of her way, so she can order a drink after I grab mine from the woman standing in front of me.

“I’m going to see if I can snag that booth over there. It looks like they’re leaving, and the waitress is going to clear off the table.”

I’m in two minds whether to ask the waitress if Cormac might be here today—I don’t know if he even comes to the bar—or trying to get Finn’s attention to speak to him and pass a message along to Cormac.

What would I even say?

I have nothing specific or anything important or even any reason to pass a message along to him.

Do I say I’m pissed off about what happened yesterday, and I want to let him know?

Hardly.

Do I want to thank him for shielding me from Pablo?

I’ve already done that.

I have no justifiable reason, so I don’t really have a message. I just want him to think of me. That’s utterly pathetic and utterly ridiculous since Cormac O’Rourke is the last man I should want paying attention to me. I shouldn’t be interested—shouldn’t even be attracted—to a mobster.

Most people would say that makes me clinically insane. It’s like those women who become pen pals with convicts and fall in love with them and get married—you know—through bulletproof glass visitation windows.

All right, maybe that’s a little overblown, but still, most normal people don’t go thinking about how they can get a mobster to ask them out. And that’s really what it is. I not only want him to think of me, but I want him to be attracted to me like I am to him. I hope he wants to spend time with me likeI want to spend with him. It’s all fucking confusing and batshit bonkers.

I ease toward that table, excusing myself as I bump into a couple of people, and a man apologizes when he steps on my toes. He turns toward me, and I get a look at him. There’s no way in hell I’m not looking at Cormac’s brother. They’re not twins, but they sure as fuck practically could be. Even if I didn’t know Cormac, this guy looks enough like Finn that he must be an O’Rourke. There’s no doubting it.

I stand there with my mouth open, catching flies, just blinking for a moment before I catch myself. His eyes narrow as though he’s trying to figure me out. I’m certain I look like the village idiot. I just wasn’t prepared to see a mirror image of Cormac right in front of me.

Cormac and Seamus have lighter hair than Finn and the other guys I saw in the photos, and he and Seamus have baby faces. I don’t believe they’re the youngest in their family.

“Excuse me, sorry about that.”

Now I’m apologizing to him when he’s the one who stepped on my toes. I feel flustered, and I’m not even sure why. I just want to get to the table and bury my face in my hands and pretend I’m invisible. Seamus watches me as he continues to assess me, and I think I know when he realizes who I am. At least there’s some element of recognition, but I don’t know why there would be. I’m positive I’ve never met him, and he’s probably never seen me. He wouldn’t have had a reason to. Before, a couple of days ago, Cormac didn’t know who I was, and I only know who Seamus is because of digging around on the internet.

“Shay, what are you up to?”

I peer around him, and—oh, fuck my life—here comes another one of them. This guy looks almost exactly like Finn, but again, just enough of a difference for them to be brothers or cousins but not twins. I recognize this guy as well, and I’mfucked every which way from Sunday because the New York mob boss is approaching me. Finn’s position is equal to Pablo’s—second-in-command—but Dillan O’Rourke is equivalent to Enrique Diaz.

I’ve met three out of the six who’s who of the Irish mob. My gaze darts around the crowded area, wondering if more O’Rourkes will come out of the woodwork. Finn walks over with a tray of drinks I recognize are ones my friends ordered.

I grabbed mine off the bar, but they were still waiting for theirs. The girls are behind him, and he places the tray on the table as he unloads a mixed drink, two bottles of beer, and four glasses of water. My friends thank him and slide into the booth, but I’m still standing there unsure what to do.

A deer caught in the headlights.

I nod and turn toward the table, but I find Finn blocking my way, and now Seamus is to my left, and Dillan is right in front of me. I’m not backed into a corner literally, but I certainly feel like I am figuratively.

Finn examines me, and Dillan’s staring at me. I don’t know if I should say something or if they’re going to say something. If I came here because I hoped to get a message to Cormac, now would be the time to come up with something to fucking say. Nothing’s coming to mind.

It’s just blank.

I want to ask if they know who I am because the way they’re looking at me is creeping me out, but that’s a rather conceited thing to assume. Why would they know who I am from Eve? Once again, that would mean Cormac thought about me enough to tell someone.

I look at Seamus, and I take a leap of faith.

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