Chapter Thirty-Seven
August–three months after the wedding
Me: Who the fuck is this guy again? And what kind of name is Thom? Do I pronounce it like Tom?
Dom: Yes, pronounce Thom like Tom. He’s very sensitive about his name. I dated his best friend and then ended up housesitting for him while he was in Europe for the summer. He has great taste.
Me: And?
Dom: He even has one of those fancy massage chairs from Sharper Image. Maybe he’ll fuck you in it.
Me: You can’t be serious.
Dom: Shiatsu and chill.
Me: He’s twenty minutes late. You know my impatient Aries ass hates waiting on people.
Dom: He’s a very important businessman.
Me: I’m a very important businesswoman.
Dom: Maybe he needed to charge up his Tesla.
Me: Oh, god.
I sighed, thinking about how much I missed a certain blue-collar boy who’d never kept me waiting.
Later that night, I sat across from Thom at a pretentious bistro in downtown Austin. The aggressively industrial metal barstools made my bony ass hurt, and he made a snide comment about me not ordering a cocktail. Forty minutes into him yammering on about how Texas was a great place for tax shelters, I stood up.
“Where are you going?”
“Somewhere I give a fuck. I’m sorry, I just . . .” I gestured at him with my clutch. “I feel like I’m in a boardroom. Nothing about this is sexy, dude.”
His brows went into this weird squiggly line. “I’m trying to show you I’m a wolf in the workplace.”
“I’d rather have a fucking, I dunno, metaphors are hard.” I flung my arms around in discomfort. “A crow in a conversation.”
“I don’t think I follow.”
“Listen, during the talking stage of dating, guys are either way too sexual or they’re acting like it’s LinkedIn. There’s no middle ground.”
“I was told you owned some businesses. I thought this would interest you.”
I shifted my weight from one stiletto to the other. My high heels, although high-quality, were pinching my toes. Times like this, I missed my favorite cowgirl boots that I’d lost in Maine. “Yeah, when I’m at work. In my free time, I like to think of other things.”
He shot me a snotty stare as he picked up his gin.
I scoffed. “What was your favorite picture book as a kid?”
“What?”
“What book did you make your parents read you over and over again. Mine was Chicka Chicka Boom Boom .”
He stammered, “Um, I guess, The Very Hungry Caterpillar .”
I flashed him my best smile. “See! It would’ve never worked out,” I said, earning a chuckle. “But for real, lead with stuff like that, you know, authentic information.”
He brought his drink to his lips, trying to flash me a sexy look, if I had to guess. “Want to try again?”
I couldn’t even fight the freeing feeling of advocating for myself as I fished out a couple bills to pay for the meal. “Yeah, but not with you. Take care!”