Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 77582 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 388(@200wpm)___ 310(@250wpm)___ 259(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77582 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 388(@200wpm)___ 310(@250wpm)___ 259(@300wpm)
“I get that. Back when I was in high school, Bad Dog didn’t even have a girls’ soccer team. When my family moved here from Washington, I was so sad.”
Binx and I chat about catering gossip and female rage as I guide my tiny Jetta out of the field and onto the road. But when I glance over at the festively lit barn, where so many people I adore are still dancing and enjoying the wedding, I don’t feel angry anymore.
I just feel…sad.
If only things had played out differently, maybe I’d be leaving the party with a different McGuire sibling, one I know I could fall head over heels for. But I can’t turn back time or arrange to spend a passionate night with Wesley after he was a single man.
History can be rewritten, but it can never be changed, a fact that’s about to hit home in wild and unexpected ways…
Chapter 8
TESSA
The dive bar Binx guides me to is a “lakeside destination,” as advertised on the grungy billboard we pass on the way out of town, but it’s not in the same class as the bars and restaurants by the marina. It’s on the depressed side of the lake, the one once populated by a large trailer park that was, sadly, washed away in the floods a while back.
I’m sure the Turn Back It’s a Trap! bar and lounge was damaged, too, but the dive bar rose from the dead, like a creepy, clapboard zombie with two, flickering red windows for eyes.
In the glow of the headlights, I see peeling yellow paint on the walls and a spray-painted anarchy symbol near an official sign that reads, “No Firearms, Knives, or Weapons of Any Kind.”
“Wow, this is…” I trail off with a little gulp as I shut down the car.
“Creepy as fuck,” Binx supplies gleefully. “But don’t worry. It’s not scary inside. It’s actually swanky, in a faded, mid-century kind of way. The clientele is cool, too, mostly old folks from outer bumfuck getting wasted and teenagers scoring cheap beer at a place that doesn’t card. Bettie, the owner and bartender, is a doll. She tells the best stories and always cheers me up.”
I finish strapping Freya into her harness and cradle her in my arms, still not completely convinced. “And you’re sure they won’t mind me bringing her in?”
“Not at all, Bettie loves animals,” Binx says, swinging out of the passenger’s side.
Covering Freya’s ears, I add in a softer voice, “And if there are dogs in there, their owners won’t let them attack my emotional support weasel and rip her beautiful little body to shreds?”
Binx glances back at me with a bemused grin. “Um, no. Of course not. But you know she’s a ferret, right? Not a weasel?”
I laugh—nervously—as I shut the car door. “Yeah. It’s a joke. Mel started it. A nod to me preferring an actual weasel to the weaselly men around here.”
“Aw, got it,” Binx says, leading the way toward the entrance. “And I get it. I mean, I’m glad Mel found a great guy, but it’s not so easy for the rest of us. Half the men around here are douchebags and the other half…I’m related to.” She shoots me a narrow glance over her shoulder as she reaches for the door. “I can’t date McGuires, but you can. Have you ever thought about my cousin Maynard? Yes, he has a god-awful name, but he’s a great guy. Super cool, fun, loves going out on his boat in the summer… And his kids are almost grown, so you wouldn’t have to worry about stepmom drama.”
I shrug, playing it cool, like I didn’t spend most of the past eighteen months fantasizing about her brother pulling my hair while he took me from behind. “I’m on a break from dating right now, but thanks.”
“Girl, I hear that.” She swings the door wide, calling out as she steps inside, “Sometimes a girls’ night is all you need. Isn’t that right, Bettie?”
I peek past her, still cradling Freya close as I catch my first glimpse of an old copper bar with a scarred wooden top and the most adorable blue-haired woman behind it. Truly, she’s a tiny angel in a fuzzy pink sweater, with turquoise cat-eye glasses and curly turquoise hair to match.
“Binx!” Bettie’s eyes widen behind her thick lenses as she smiles. “Baby bird, get in here. We’ve missed you. What the heck have you been up to?”
My jaw drops as the door closes behind us and the dimly lit bar comes fully into view. Binx is right, it’s adorable. From the wood-paneled walls covered in vintage photographs to the doily-covered couches in one corner to the mismatched mid-century tables and chair sets—each topped with a glittering animal figurine and more doilies—it’s like your cool grandma threw a party and invited all her friends.