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I looked down, ashamed. “Sorry. No, you haven’t. We’re just trying to help you out. Our boyfrien—my husband and her boyfriend are here, and they’ll be back in a minute.”
“So?” Ricky said. His cockiness was manufactured, forced. Red flags were shooting up all over the place, and not the Travis kind.
I sighed. “My husband doesn’t appreciate strange men talking to me.”
“Oh, he’s jealous?” Justin said. “That must get old.”
“Not really,” I said. “Thanks for saying hi, but you should get going.”
“I’m good,” Ricky said with a smirk.
I rolled my eyes. America was right. The moment Travis got back, there would be a confrontation and our fun night out would be over. Neither of these guys seemed like they’d be smart enough to walk away if Travis warned them to move along.
Ricky put one hand in his pocket, glancing around while he sipped his seltzer.
I quickly recognized that he wasn’t really trying to flirt with us, or even trying to talk to us.
He seemed to be waiting for Travis and Shepley to return.
I watched him intently, growing more suspicious with every passing second.
“Are you a cop?” I asked.
Both men turned to face me, surprised.
“What?” Ricky asked.
“Are you a cop? Because if you are, by law you have to tell me,” I said.
America craned her neck at me, confusion on her face.
Justin chuckled. “No. Not a cop."”
“What about you?” I asked, lowering my chin and glaring at Ricky.
Ricky gave me a once over, from my eyes to my knees, and then back up. He wasn’t interested in me at all. He was assessing me, trying to decide out how a nineteen-year-old girl could figure him out. He was there for Travis.
He didn’t answer, so I took a step toward him. “Get the fuck outta here. If you want to talk to him, you’re going to have to arrest him.”
Ricky stood taller, but he took a step back. “Which could be arranged. He’s not even twenty yet, drinking in a bar. I bet you all have fake IDs.”
I narrowed my eyes and leaned closer. “Then what are you waiting for?”
“What’s going on?” America asked, alarmed.
Justin looked around, a bit nervous. He wasn’t a cop, and if he was, he was likely a rookie, maybe even an informant, young-looking enough to be assigned to try to fool us.
A strong arm hooked around my neck, and Travis kissed my temple. “Hey, baby.” As predicted, he glared at the two men standing in front of us. “Who’s this?”
“Who?” America asked, playing dumb.
Travis wasn’t amused. He pointed to Justin and Ricky—if those were even their names. “These clowns.”
Ricky laughed once, getting back into character but clearly over doing it. “Clowns? We’re not after your bitches. Calm down.”
“Oh, you’re fucking brilliant,” Shepley said, already pulling off his jacket.
Before I could yell stop, Travis had already let me go and lunged for Ricky, taking him to the ground.
