Snowed In

She full on laughed at that, and in her laughter she looked even more gorgeous.

“So tell me Sammara,” I went on. “How the hell is it that you don’t have a boyfriend?”

She paused for a moment before answering. “Umm… because guys suck?”

“Most of us do,” I agreed. “Yeah.”

She giggled. “At least you’re honest.”

“Unless I’m lying,” I replied. “You know, just saying what you want to hear, so I can get into your pants.”

Her eyes went wide. “Shit, you’re gonna be honest about that too?”

“I could be lying about lying,” I shrugged. “You never know.”

Sammara looked off into the distance. She was so perfect, so flawless, I imagined her as some beautiful, porcelain doll.

“I’ve had lots of boyfriends,” she admitted, “but no one that really stands out. Or sticks around longer than a year or so.”

“Maybe it’s you?”

She laughed again. “Could be, but I doubt it. I’m pretty fucking awesome.”

“And modest.”

Her eyes flashed in the lamplight. She squeezed my hand. “I prefer the term realist.”

You’re about as real as it gets, I wanted to say, but didn’t.

“Maybe you’re not dating the right kinds of guys, then?”

Sammara shrugged. “Well, I date two types of guys. Almost exclusively.”

“Alright, let’s hear it.”

“The first is the insecure asshole. Things start off nice in the beginning, lots of attention, good times… then suddenly he wants to control me. He needs to know where I am, what I’m doing. Why I’m not with him. How come I have a life without him.” She sighed, obviously remembering. “This devolves quickly into paranoia, jealousy, insecurity… that sort of thing.”

“Very unattractive,” I agreed.

“Totally.”

“And the other?”

She took a deep breath. “The other guy is the bad boy narcissist. He’s attentive at first, but the relationship quickly becomes all about him. The harder I try to please him, the harder it is, because the bad boy narcissist doesn’t want to be pleased. He wants to be chased.”

“I see.”

“Things go south quickly in that one. Eventually the whole thing crumbles because the foundation of the relationship isn’t about us—”

“It’s about him,” I finished.

“Exactly.”

I felt her shiver. Realizing she was probably cold, I took off my jacket and draped it over her shoulders.

“A gentleman too,” she said, pulling it down around her. “Thanks. Your stock just went up a few points.”

“My stock huh? Is it time to sell?”