Eleanor made sure to leave such a bad taste of commitment in my mouth that I don’t think I could go there again. Which leaves me in the no-man’s land of not wanting to be a playboy like Thayden, and not wanting to get married.
Zoey looks like the marrying type. She deserves that—a guy who would completely treasure her and put a ring on her finger. She probably wants kids, the house in the suburbs—the whole thing. My dreams of that died when Eleanor cheated on me with multiple men, then walked out taking loads of my money with her.
Then again, I don’t know the Zoey behind the woman in my office. Maybe she’s out at bars partying every night. I glance around the room, seeing couples mingling, the redhead now flirting with a man who looks fifteen years younger than I am. The thought of Zoey in a place like this, flirting, maybe going home with a guy …
Nope. Time for a change of subject.
“How are things going for you? Any progress with dear old Dad?” I ask.
Thayden makes a face. “Still in a standoff. He insists that I change my lifestyle before he’ll make me an official partner, much less consider passing things down to me one day. And I can’t seem to make myself want to do what my dad wants. It’s less about giving up my life and more that I don’t want my dad to be able to blackmail me into good behavior. I’m not a child.”
He’s not, even if he’s almost ten years younger than I am. And though I don’t think too highly of Thayden’s revolving door of women, I agree that his dad shouldn’t be holding a business over his head to get his son to act the way Daddy thinks he should. I can’t even imagine that.
My parents are good people. Still living on the ranch because it’s what they know and love, not because they need the money. They’ve turned the whole thing into the kind of place that schools can take field trips, where families can come on the weekends and pick pumpkins in the fall or cut down Christmas trees in winter. Not a working farm, but kind of a living museum.
One that either my brothers or I will be taking over some day in the not-so-distant future. We haven’t quite worked out which of us is going to give up our city lives to do so. I make a note in my phone to call Mom when I get back to the office. I haven’t been home since Christmas, and I want to go visit her and Dad this weekend.
The waitress drops off our drinks, giving Thayden a coy smile as she brushes a hand over his shoulder. We order, and I raise my brows at Thayden as she walks away, an extra sway in her hips.
“Just to play devil’s advocate here. You think chasing every waitress you see is more important than taking over the company?”
“My boy, I’m not the one doing the chasing.” He grins, a single dimple popping out in his left cheek.
Rolling my eyes, I clink my glass to his. “To us. Guys who know what they should do and yet don’t.”
Thayden laughs. “Cheers. To the losers by choice.”
My husband is a horrible dancer. Which would be fine except he thinks he’s a GREAT dancer. He always wants to go out to clubs or is cutting up the dance floor.
He thinks the people who gather around to watch are enjoying his moves when they’re really laughing at him.
I’m so embarrassed. Should I tell him he’s terrible? Or that I don’t like dancing? I can’t be subjected to the humiliation anymore.
When it comes to truth telling, my roommate always asks these questions: is it uplifting? Is it encouraging? Is it beneficial to those who listen?
Your husband sounds like a fun guy. He also seems really happy, and I’m afraid your truth telling might take away something he deeply enjoys.
You can not go out dancing with him if you don’t enjoy it. Plenty of couples like different hobbies.
You can invest in dancing lessons. He’d probably enjoy it.
You could also embrace it. Get out there with him and get funky. Polish up some dorky moves of your own (I suggest starting with Elaine Benes from the show Seinfeld for inspiration) and wave your hands in the air like you just don’t care.