Page 17 of Kind of a Dirty Talker

“Yeah,” she says, her tone taking a turn for the melancholy once more. “Now I’m really the black sheep of the family. I’ll be getting the silent treatment from my parents, while Mom lights candles for me at church, for the foreseeable future.”

“I’m sorry,” I say. “I understand the older generation has certain standards for what they deem appropriate, but…you’re a grown woman. You’re successful and kind and fun and you have the right to do whatever you want with your body.”

Binx swipes a hand across her cheek, laughing as Freya leans in to lick her knuckles. “Thanks. But they don’t believe that. They think I’m wild and embarrassing and that my body is an extension of the larger, McGuire-family body.” She sniffs, confirming my suspicion that she’s crying. I’ve never seen Binx cry. She’s the kind who keeps emotions other than joy or anger closer to the chest. “I just want to be myself without losing my family. Is that so wrong?”

“Of course not, sweetheart,” I say, my heart breaking for her. “I’m so sorry you’re in this tough place.”

Freya grips Binx’s wrist, holding her hand prisoner for more vigorous, comforting licks.

Binx laughs and sniffs again. “Thanks, Freya. And you, too, Tess. You’re a good one. Mel’s lucky to have you as a friend.”

“I’m your friend, too,” I say. “I hope you know that.”

“I do,” Binx says, her voice lifting as she asks, “So…you want to go grab a drink somewhere? Commiserate about being the only single women at the party? Talk shit about Aunt Evie’s hideous orange dress?”

“I would, but I have the beastie,” I say, motioning toward Freya.

“That’s okay. I know a place that doesn’t care if you bring animals. As long as they’re on a leash. Cute little dive bar with cheap beer and fun mixed drinks. Do you have her harness in the car?”

“I do,” I say, not sure if I’m ready to bring my man-hating ferret to a Bad Dog bar, especially not a dive bar where the men are likely to be rough around the edges. “But if a guy gets close enough to hit on us, Freya might rip his heart out. She’s protective tonight.”

Binx stands, laughing. “No worries. No one will hit on us. I’ll scare them off with my short hair and bulging muscles. Bad Dog men like a frail, delicate woman. Not one who’s obsessed with weight training.”

“They don’t like women near forty, either, so we’ll probably be safe,” I say, warming to the idea of a little single lady time. “All right. Let’s do it. Should I follow you in my car?”

“Nah, I’ll ride with you,” Binx says as she jumps off the porch, juggling Freya easily in her arms. “I’ll leave my car here and get one of my brothers to pick it up in the morning. Wesley’s always up for a good deed and he’s less likely to be hungover than the rest of them. Even Barrett was tying one on tonight. Taking advantage of the fact that his wife’s all knocked up and can’t drink, I guess.”

At the mention of Wesley’s name, I hesitate, but then Binx loops her arm through mine and guides me across the gravel road toward the cars. “And on the way, you can tell me all the hot catering gossip. Is it true that Georgia Devereux threw a cake at her mother during her baby shower?”

I smile. “It was a cupcake, not a cake, but it’s true. Then she went wild on the appetizers, pelting her sorority sisters with grilled shrimp and canapes. Mel had to charge her mother an extra five hundred dollars for clean-up. Apparently, third-trimester baby rage is no joke.”

Binx clucks her tongue. “I guess. But to be fair, Georgia has always been a wild card. One time, in high school, she set fire to the wrestling mats in the gym because she was pissed that boy sports got more funding than girl sports.”

“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?”

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