Walking Disaster (Beautiful Disaster #2)

“Hey. I have to find a wide space. I don’t want some drunken idiot dinging the paint.”


Maybe. Or he was just prolonging the tongue bath his inner ear was getting from America. Sick.

Shepley parked on the edge of the lot, and I helped Abby out. She pulled and tugged at her dress, and then shook her hips a little bit before taking my hand.

“I meant to ask you about your IDs,” I said. “They’re flawless. You didn’t get them around here.” I would know. I’d purchased many.

“Yeah, we’ve had them for a while. It was necessary . . .”

Why in the hell would it be necessary for her to have a fake ID?

“. . . in Wichita.”

The gravel crunched under our feet as we walked, and Abby’s hand squeezed mine as she navigated the rocks under her heels.

America tripped. I let go of Abby’s hand in reaction, but Shepley caught his girlfriend before she hit the ground.

“It’s a good thing you have connections,” America said, giggling.

“Dear God, woman,” Shepley said, holding her arm before she fell over. “I think you’re already done for the night.”

I frowned, wondering what the hell it all meant. “What are you talking about, Mare? What connections?”

“Abby has some old friends that—”

“They’re fake IDs, Trav,” Abby said, interrupting before America could finish. “You have to know the right people if you want them done right, right?”

I looked to America, knowing something wasn’t right, but she looked everywhere but at me. Pushing the issue didn’t seem smart, especially since Abby had just called me Trav. I could get used to that, coming from her.

I held out my hand. “Right.”

She took it, smiling with the expression of a hustler. She thought she’d just pulled one over on me. I’d definitely have to revisit that later.

“I need another drink!” she said, pulling me toward the big red door of the club.

“Shots!” America yelled.

Shepley sighed. “Oh, yeah. That’s what you need. Another shot.”

Every head in the room turned when Abby walked in, even a few guys with their girlfriends were shamelessly breaking their necks or leaning back in their chairs to get a longer look.

Oh, fuck. This is going to be a bad night, I thought, tightening my hand around Abby’s.

We walked to the bar closest to the dance floor. Megan stood in the smoky shadows by the pool tables. Her usual hunting ground. Her big, blue eyes locked on me before I even recognized it was her standing there. She didn’t watch me long. Abby’s hand was still in mine, and Megan’s expression changed the moment she saw. I nodded at her, and she smirked.

My usual seat at the bar was open, but it was the only one open along the bar. Cami saw me coming with Abby trailing behind, so she laughed once, and then brought my arrival to the attention of the people sitting on the surrounding stools, warning them of their impending eviction. They left without complaint.

Say what you want. Being a psychotic asshole had its perks.





CHAPTER SEVEN





Seeing Red





BEFORE WE REACHED THE BAR, AMERICA PULLED HER best friend to the dance floor. Abby’s hot pink stilettos glowed in the black light, and I smiled when she laughed at America’s wild dance moves. My eyes traveled down her black dress, stopping on her hips. She had moves, I’d give her that. A sexual thought popped into my mind, and I had to look away.

The Red Door was fairly crowded. Some new faces, but mostly regulars. Anyone new walking in was like fresh meat to those of us who didn’t have the imagination for anything but showing up at the bar every weekend. Especially girls that looked like Abby and America.

I ordered a beer, chugged half of it, and then turned my attention back to the dance floor. Staring wasn’t voluntary, especially knowing I probably had the same expression on my face as every schmuck watching them.

The song ended, and Abby pulled America back to the bar. They were panting, smiling, and just sweaty enough to be sexy.

“It’s going to be like this all night, Mare. Just ignore them,” Shepley said.

America’s face was screwed in disgust, staring behind me. I could only imagine who was back there. Couldn’t have been Megan. She wasn’t one to wait in the wings.

“It looks like Vegas threw up on a flock of vultures,” America sneered.

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