door, he’d told her, “Fix yourself before the next guy comes along, yeah?”
That one still burned. In the game, she landed a particularly nasty blow. Just not nasty enough. Dang it. Time was running out. In twenty...nineteen...eighteen seconds, the hat would time out. If Cookie failed to drain Nick of his life essence by then, the match was as good as lost.
Pushing her dexterity to the limit, she played harder and downright filthy, upping the speed and veracity of her strikes. Nick got too busy defending himself to launch a counterattack and soon hemorrhaged energy.
“Yes!” she shouted when Prince Charming took a savage blow to the head. Down he went. Where he stayed, too weak to rise. A triumphant grin bloomed. “That, ladies and genitalmen, is how you deal with a pouty man-baby who thinks he’s ready to spar with the big girls.”
“Keep it down out there. I’m napping.” The grumpy voice came from the hallway, courtesy of her sixty-two-year-old roommate, Pearl Jean Levitt.
They’d met two years ago in the lobby of their cardiologist’s office. Cookie had insta-loved Pearl Jean for the same reason she considered roller derby one of the greatest sports in history. Both were brutally honest and absolutely bonkers.
“Good news. I won.” She tossed her controller and ended the feed. Enough of that.
“Yes, you won,” Pearl Jean replied, unimpressed. “Barely.”
A win was a win, right? “So you watched?” She switched off her dual screens and removed her wireless headset.
“Only because I couldn’t sleep. My sciatica is flaring. The gout is probably next.”
Cookie snorted. Pearl Jean excelled in three things. Complaining, illness, and expecting the worst.
Her cat, Sugars, jumped from the couch. His throne. He leaped onto her station and butted his head against hers, a demand for pets. Her chest swelled with love for the ridiculously spoiled feline as she scratched behind his ears. Her little house panther had watched the entire game, silently judging her for ignoring him and praying she failed.
“Your sciatica, huh? You went to bed for a headache.”
“A person can’t have three ailments at the same time?” Pearl Jean retorted.
“Can that same person be a medical miracle who’s contracted every disease known to man and even some that aren’t?”
“Hmph. Today’s youth. Too much sass, not enough class.”
“You know you love me.”
“Occasionally,” the old bat grumbled. “Perhaps.”
Grinning, Cookie anchored a nasal cannula in place and took a hit of the good stuff—oxygen. The tube connected to a portable tank. She’d needed this for half an hour, but she’d needed to not lose against her nemesis more.
Nick streamed for The Fog A.E., too. People loved to watch him practice. More people loved to watch her in combat.
“This boy, Nick,” Pearl Jean called, restarting the conversation.
“Why don’t you get up and march your butt into the living room so we can chat like civilized adults?”
“Is he the one who thought you were too sloppy to date?” her roommate continued, acting as if she hadn’t spoken.
“No.” That guy had taken one look at her T-shirt and yoga pants and laughed. He hadn’t gotten a second chance. He almost hadn’t gotten to take his next breath, either. In her mind. Only in her mind.
“Is Nick the one who said you’re fun to look at but terrifying to hang out with because you’re so bad at connecting with other people?”
“Nope. And how am I supposed to connect with someone who’s never lived my life, anyway? No, seriously. Why am I expected to share my baggage with someone who’ll never understand the constant terror of having a bomb in his chest? Besides, time is limited.” For her, very limited. “Why waste a minute considering a past I can’t change?” She was panting when she finished her speech. Climbing on her soapbox du jour took effort.
A pause. “Is Nick the one who complained about Cookie Standard Time and your constant tardiness?”
“No, that was Paul,” she grated. Her only other long-term relationship. The same guy who’d temporarily razed her self-confidence with his “horrible to be around” barb. “And no need to remind me of another reason I’ve been cast aside. Nick is the wannabe hero who said I needed to stop thinking about game strategy 24/7 and start living for the future.” Easy for him to do, since he had one.
Cookie had here and now.
When Nick had posted a one-on-one challenge via social media, she probably should have declined. Sometimes opportunities were like the Titanic. Big, luxurious and pretty, but destined to sink. Debuting a new hat during a livestream—a great opportunity.