Free Beautiful Disaster by Jamie McGuire Page A

moments before a small smile spread across his lips. “I don’t know why you put up with me, and I don’t know what I’d do if you didn’t.”
    I could smell the mixture of cigarettes and mint on his breath, and I looked at his lips, my body reacting to how close we were. Travis’s expression changed and his breathing staggered—he had noticed, too.
    He leaned in infinitesimally, and then we both jumped when his cell phone rang. He sighed, pulling it from his pocket.
    â€œYeah. Hoffman? Jesus … all right. That’ll be an easy grand. Jefferson?” He looked at me and winked. “We’ll be there.” He hung up and took my hand. “Come with me.” He pulled me down the hall. “Thatwas Adam,” he said to Shepley. “Brady Hoffman will be at Jefferson in ninety minutes.”
    Shepley nodded and stood up, digging his cell phone from his pocket. He quickly tapped in the information, sending exclusive text invitations to those who knew about the Circle. Those ten or so members would text ten members on their list, and so on, until the every member knew exactly where the floating fight ring would be held.
    â€œHere we go,” America said, smiling. “We’d better freshen up!”
    The air in the apartment was tense and buoyant at the same time. Travis seemed the least affected, slipping on his boots and a white tank top as if he were leaving to run an errand.
    America led me down the hall to Travis’s bedroom and frowned. “You have to change, Abby. You can’t wear that to the fight.”
    â€œI wore a freaking cardigan last time and you didn’t say anything!” I protested.
    â€œI didn’t think you’d go last time. Here,” she threw clothes at me, “put this on.”
    â€œI am not wearing this!”
    â€œLet’s go!” Shepley called from the living room.
    â€œHurry up!” America snapped, running into Shepley’s room.
    I pulled on the deep-cut yellow halter top and tight low-rise jeans America had thrown at me, and then slipped on a pair of heels, raking a brush through my hair as I shuffled down the hall. America came out of her room with a short green baby-doll dress and matching heels, and when we rounded the corner, Travis and Shepley were standing at the door.
    Travis’s mouth fell open. “Oh, hell no. Are you trying to get me killed? You’ve gotta change, Pidge.”
    â€œWhat?” I asked, looking down.
    America grabbed her hips. “She looks cute, Trav, leave her alone!”
    Travis took my hand and led me down the hall. “Get a T-shirt on … and some sneakers. Something comfortable.”
    â€œWhat? Why?”
    â€œBecause I’ll be more worried about who’s looking at your tits in that shirt instead of Hoffman,” he said, stopping at his door.
    â€œI thought you said you didn’t give a damn what anyone else thought?”
    â€œThat’s a different scenario, Pigeon.” Travis looked down at my chest and then up at me. “You can’t wear this to the fight, so please … just … please just change,” he stuttered, shoving me into the room and shutting me in.
    â€œTravis!” I yelled. I kicked off my heels, and shoved my feet into my Converses. Then I wiggled out of my halter top, throwing it across the room. The first cotton shirt that touched my hands I yanked over my head, and then ran down the hall, standing in the doorway.
    â€œBetter?” I huffed, pulling my hair into a ponytail.
    â€œYes!” Travis said, relieved. “Let’s go!”
    We raced to the parking lot. I jumped on the back of Travis’s motorcycle as he ripped the engine and peeled out, flying down the road to the college. I squeezed his middle in anticipation; the rushing to get out the door sent adrenaline surging through my veins.
    Travis drove over the curb, parking his motorcycle in the shadows behind the