Walking Disaster

late and there were only a few others on the far side of the restaurant,
and they were almost as drunk as we were. Except Shepley. He was too protective of his car to drink too much while driving, and he loved America more than his car. When she came along, he not only
watched his intake, but he also followed every traffic law and used his blinkers.
    Whipped.
    The waitress brought the check, and I tossed some cash on the table, nudging Abby until she scooted out of the booth. She elbowed me back playfully, and I nonchalantly threw my arm around her
while we walked across the parking lot.
    America slid into the front seat next to her boyfriend, and began licking his ear. Abby looked at me and rolled her eyes, but regardless of being a captive audience to the peep show, she was
having a good time.
    After Shepley pulled into the Red, he drove through the rows of cars two or three times.
    “Sometime tonight, Shep,” America muttered.
    “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
    B EFORE 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