Page 3 of Nail Me Down

He just laughs it off. “Hey, about that drywall in the basement, do you think—”

“Damon,” Holly stops him, giving me a sheepish look, “maybe now’s not the time.”

He just shrugs lamely and asks, “Ready to watch that new horror movie?”

“I thought we were watching the Calgary Outlaws baseball game tonight? Tate’s pitching.” Why the hell would I want to be a third wheel on a movie night?

“No game tonight. Gotta make the wifey happy. You in?” Holly’s back is turned as she’s hunting for a vase for the flowers, so I can’t make out her expressions.

“Is that what you want?”

“Yeah, man. Why else would I ask?” Damon claps his hand on my shoulder, shaking his head and makes his way through the open concept space and into the living room.

Holly finally turns around and is pouring water into the vase.

I lower my voice and redirect it to her. “I meant, is that what you want?”

But she doesn’t meet my eyes. Just shrugs.

I move toward the couch. “I’m gonna head home, man.”

“You’re leaving?” Holly’s voice is right beside me and I can’t help reading disappointment in her question. But I’m an idiot. She obviously doesn’t care what I do.

“Holls, which movie do you want?” Damon doesn’t look over his shoulder as he asks, and he’s already hovering over the one he clearly wants.

“You know me. I don’t really like horror movies—”

Damon’s still not meeting her eyes as he clicks on the film he wants. “Don’t worry. I’ll cuddle you all night.”

“You will?” There’s the real hopeful tone.

“I’m gonna go—”

“Sit down,” Damon interrupts, but that’s not the voice that I hear the loudest. It’s actually Holly’s softer tone that resounds in my ears.

“You should stay.” And maybe it’s not her words so much as the look she gives me, but I can’t read it properly. I know that because what I think I’m reading is something almost demure. And that is the last word I’d use to describe Holly.

So ya…that’s how I found myself sitting next to Damon and Holly watching a horror film on a Friday night. And when I say Damon and Holly, I mean, three minutes into the movie—after Holly grabbed a T-Shirt—Damon pulled her onto his lap and it was super awkward because Holly made a little protest on my behalf about being respectful and not rubbing it in my face, but Damon just ignored her. So I’ve been sitting here paying more attention to every one of Holly’s toe curls followed by a wince and a hand over the eyes. Damon has just chuckled.

We’re half way into this awkwardness from hell when Damon’s phone rings.

As he shuffles to grab his phone, he glances at the screen and practically tosses Holly off his lap and nearly into mine, mumbling, “I gotta take this.”

She’s not facing the screen anymore. Her elbow is on my thigh and her head is down, looking directly at my chest. And I only hope to God that she doesn’t register how heavy my breathing has turned.

“You okay?”

“Yup. I’m good.” She’s trying to shuffle off my chest when a scream pierces the room.

“Don’t look,” I rush to say and just as quickly, without thinking, I pull her into my chest. I’m so fucked. I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing. Fuck. Fuck. I have to let her go. Act cool. Nothing happened. “It’s over,” I mumble incoherently, but apparently it’s coherent enough.

She pushes away from me, as she should.

“Uh…let me check on Damon.” As if he’s a child who needs checking on.

I fly off the couch and catch Damon in the hallway whispering on the phone. The second he sees me, he mumbles something, ends the call, and shoves his phone in his pocket.

“I gotta go.”