Yeah. I typed that. Why, I don’t even want to unpack this topic. Just some wild impulse. I flip the screen toward him, and Snow throws it a quick look.
I swear he’s barely holding back a laugh.
"I don’t, and I never have."
Then he gives me a subtle, meaningful glance, but the problem is… I have no idea what it’s supposed to mean.
And honestly, I’m shocked. The guy looks like he could be a model. I can’t believe no one has ever been interested in him.
My next question is ‘extremely’ subtle and tactful:
"Are you a virgin?"
This time Snow doesn’t even try to stop himself. He bursts out laughing, then says simply,
"No."
I just stare, piecing it together in my head.
My conclusion is: he’s only hooked up, then.
Maybe he’s not into serious relationships. Perhaps that’s not his deal.
For reasons I can’t quite explain, I feel a twinge of disappointment. I mean, he’s thirty-one, living in a basement, apparently not interested in starting a family, and obviously just into casual flings. Not that I judge anyone for that. But the truth is, I like him, and if that’s his outlook, we’ll never meet in the middle.
Snow gives me a sharp look, clearly noticing I’ve grown a gigantic frown on my forehead. I set the phone on my lap, unsure what else to ask.
I know it’s stupid. The first guy I like after crawling out of the still uncharted nightmare my life has been for the past year, and I’m already wondering if he’s meant for me. C’mon. He’s attractive, sure, but that’s just physical. So why bother with thoughts like that?
From time to time, Snow keeps glancing at me, as if he’s studying me, as if he can sense my mood. Then, out of nowhere, he says,
"For nearly twelve years I regularly met up with someone who was in an open marriage. But that ended a month ago."
Wow. That’s not the answer I expected out of all possible scenarios.
He doesn’t say more, doesn’t explain. His eyes stay on the road. He looks calm, kinda unbothered.
It seems impossible to get anything more out of him.
But there’s one thing pressing on my lips. This is the moment to ask.
I lift the phone and type another question:
"Are you a sorcerer, like me?"
It’s the key question, the one I probably should have asked before prying into his sex life. Duh. But it’s never too late to correct it.
Snow glances at the screen, then silence stretches.
Finally he gives me the bare-minimum answer:
"Yes."
Wow. I wait and wait, but nothing else comes. This dude is peculiar.
So the next few minutes pass in silence.
Part of me is frustrated, wanting him to expand, but another part knows I can’t offer detailed answers myself. If he pressed me, the whole thing would be one-sided anyway. Beneath all that turmoil, though, there’s something else, something I didn’t expect.
