Page 75 of Buckled in Barbwire

“That’s an insult to my most reliable boyfriends,” I laugh.

“You’re right. He’s more like a constant wedgie you can’t yank free.” She flips him off as we flee the scene.

“Where are you taking me?”

“Didn’t get that far, but we need cocktails or coffee for this discussion. You pick.”

My gaze trails to the familiar landscape blurring beyond the window. “I could use a stiff drink.”

“Booze it is. We’re going to take a serious load off. Screw those douche canoes for trying to rule our lives.” Bianca cranks up the radio.

We spend the ten-minute trip to Main Street belting out the best of Taylor Swift. Nobody does girl power anthems quite like her. That’s probably why the knot in my stomach is looser when Bianca parks in front of The Paddock. I slip the barbwire rings off my finger and lose ten pounds of pressure.

“Oooooh, such a rebel. The honeymoon is over!” Bianca dances in her seat while I tuck the bling in my purse.

“It never really started,” I grumble.

Her shimmying stops. “You didn’t bang like bunnies?”

“No.” Is that disappointment in my voice? Impossible.

But the upward lift of her brows confirms it. “Yikes. We’re going to need several rounds for this conversation.”

“Can I order a tub of ice cream too?”

“Whatever you want, babe.” She kills the ignition and pops open her door. “To the bar!”

Which is mostly empty when we walk inside. Late afternoon on a Thursday is apparently the time to swing by The Paddock. I’m all for drowning my sorrows in semi-private. We have our choice of spots and immediately stride for the rail where our stools await. A guy steps in our path before we make it halfway.

He lifts a plastic spoon to offer a recognizable treat, perched for effortless consumption. “Gummy bear soaked in vodka?”

“Absolutely!” Bianca cheers. “This is the proper way to kick off happy hour.”

“Don’t eat that!” I knock the lofted utensil away from her mouth.

She pouts, her lower lip sticking out far dramatically. “Why not? It’s a boost in the right direction.”

“You never accept candy from a stranger,” I scold. “No wonder Brody sent a chaperone to follow you around Germany.”

“Oh, stop. This dude is harmless.” But when she glances at the boozy bear distributor and sees his gaze on her tits, my bestie changes her tune. “Hey, buddy.” She snaps her fingers. “Eyes up here.”

His expression turns sheepish, a blush staining his cheeks. “You’re really pretty.”

“Aren’t you sweet,” she croons.

“But passing out from whatever he put in those is not.” I narrow my eyes at him and his jar of bloated gummies.

Bianca bumps me with her hip. “Get yourself married and turn into a fun sponge.”

“I’ll soak some sugar in liquor for you myself. C’mon.” I tug her to our seats.

“Now we’re getting somewhere,” she chirps.

The moment my ass meets the leather cushion, a familiar face is on the opposite side of the counter to greet me. “Hey, Paisley.”

My smile comes automatically. “How’s it going?”

“Just fine.” Tyler’s stare takes a noticeable dip to my bare ring finger. A furrow creases his forehead before a wide grin replaces the confusion. “Much better now.”

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