Page 38 of Rough Cowboy
Sammy’s been great the last two weeks, but I’m also not disappointed he’s leaving town for a few days to some cattle auction. I’m not used to people lingering over me, worrying, fussing. I’m a grown-ass adult.
“It’s only a few days, and Silver will be here with you if you need anything.” He fills my glass with a light pink hue and fills his glass with beer.
“Silver is doing his damnest never to be in the same room as me.”
He works all day with Sammy, then hits Bucky’s bar and doesn’t roll in until the early morning hours of the next day.
I squirt a dollop of moisturizer in my palm and lift my plaid pajama top. I slather the lotion on my dry, growing belly. Turns out my hormone changes are stealing my moisture and a couple days of itchy dry skin was enough for me.
“He’s Silver. What can I say.” Sammy grabs the remote to the brand-new television hung above the fireplace. “Are you picking the movie or me?”
Titles pop up on the screen as he plops on the seat with the bowl of popcorn.
“I’m in the mood for anything.” I drag the end of the coffee table close to the chaise part of the sectional, where I cuddle up with the pile of pillows. “But I’m feeling thrillerjump scare.” I pull the blanket to my chin.
Sammy chuckles. “Thriller it is.”
The movie is chocked full of jump scares to the point I withdraw my feet from the edge of the chaise and rest them on Sammy’s lap.
“Do not go through that door,” I hiss at the main character, who seems to disobey all my orders.
“She’s gonna go through the door.”
“Don’t do it.”
“She’s gonna do it.”
She does it. She Strolls right inside, covered in blood, her hand shaking around a knife and breathing so loud the killer can’t miss her.
I prepare for the scare tactic I know is around the corner. But sure enough, I practically jump out of my skin when the moment presents itself.
Sammy’s laughter is a low chuckle.
“Shut up!” I throw a pillow at him.
“Every time.”
“You jumped too.”
“Bullshit.”
I settle back, surrounded by the blanket.
The jump scares help me to forget that Silver is off drinking at Bucky’s bar again tonight. Likely his outlet for getting laid too. I don’t care. I’ve barely given him a thought. He’s made the entire transition of moving in with Sammy easy and the right thing to do.
“Here comes another one,” Sammy warns.
“Shhh.”
The tension builds. I see the man’s face in the mirror’s reflection; still, when his face pushes to the screen paired with terrifying sound effects, I jump and scream.
Sammy roars in laughter.
“Stop!” I’d throw another pillow at him, but I’m rather comfy.
“Why do you even like these movies?”
“I like being on the edge.” I’ve lived my entire life on the edge: all but the last five months.
