Page 29 of Almost Beautiful (Beautiful 3)

She shook her head. “I don’t know why everyone makes a big deal that girls go to the bathroom in groups. Guys are just as guilty.”

Shepley shrugged. “I’m just making sure he doesn’t get into a fight while he’s in there.”

“He doesn’t need babysat,” America said.

Shepley made a face, as if America should know better. “He kinda does. The guy he just followed in there acted like he was going to slap Abby’s ass on the dance floor. Y’all didn’t see it but, unfortunately, Travis did.”

“What are you waiting for, Shep? Go!” I said, playfully pushing him toward the men’s room.

Shepley followed Travis, disappearing behind the crowd.

Finch crossed his arms, watching the spot where Shepley had squeezed through. “Whoever Travis was following can’t be from Eastern State. Few men had enough courage to flirt with you when it was just common knowledge Travis Maddox was in love with you. No one would be stupid enough to do that now that you’re his wife.”

“He won’t do anything. He said he was done with all that.”

Finch squinted his eyes. “Oh, sweetheart. He will try like hell to keep his word, too. I have no doubt. Just remember he’s human when he fucks up, okay?”

I nodded, looking in the direction of the bathroom.

America turned to me. “When he said he was done fighting, he meant The Circle, Abby. And they’ll be fine! So,” she said, fussing with her bun. “Does this place feel different now?”

“Why does everyone keep asking me that? I got married, not a lobotomy.”

America laughed out loud and then took a sip of her cocktail, blinking when she noticed two college kids approaching. “Oh, shit.”

“What?” I asked.

“They’re not gone five fucking seconds and we already have to fend someone off,” she complained.

“They’re not coming over here.”

America stared at me, unimpressed and unconvinced, then turned to watch the men approach with the same expression on her face.

“You’re both stupid. They want me. Hi, boys,” Finch said to the first one to reach us.

“Hey,” he said. His hair was thick and brushed over, similar to Parker’s. He was taller than me and lanky, but still fit, like the physique of a golfer.

If he’d seen me with Travis, I couldn’t imagine why he’d think he was my type.

The shorter one opened his mouth to speak. “You look—”

“We don’t, actually. We’re not thirsty, don’t want to dance, and definitely not lonely,” America said, interrupting. “I have a boyfriend and she’s married.” She pointed to me.

The maybe-golfer smirked, looking up at his much taller friend and then back at us. Great. He was one of those guys who thought taken women were a challenge.

“Hi married, I’m Ricky.”

Finch snarled at him. “Hilarious. Are you also from nineteen eighty-four? Who names their kid Ricky anymore?”

“Finch!” I hissed.

Ricky wasn’t fazed. “This is Justin. Nice to meet you.”

Justin was taller, his hair a lighter shade of brown, but he didn’t look much different than Ricky. He was trying not to fidget. Something about both of them was … off.

“We haven’t given you our names, so technically we haven’t met,” I said.

“I’m sorry,” Justin said. “Have we offended you somehow?”