At Any Moment (Gaming The System Book 3)

by Brenna Aubrey

  Shaking, I watched his impassive face in the mirror. “I’ll clean up the mess. Please…let me.”

  He didn’t look at me, grabbing extra towels to soak up the excess water on the floor. “No, you won’t.”

  “But—”

  “You aren’t cleaning anything. Don’t even try.”

  “Adam—”

  He stopped, straightened and looked at me in the mirror, bathroom trashcan still in hand. He met my gaze, his face dead serious. “Don’t argue with me, Mia. You aren’t cleaning. You’re a guest. My guests don’t clean.”

  A guest. That word sounded so weird. I’d lived here. For three months this had been my home. Adam had once called it our house. But now I was a guest. Moving out in a huff must have demoted me to guest status.

  He turned and finished up with the wet towels, grabbing them and throwing them in the second sink. “I’ll have Cora call the cleaning people in the morning.”

  I hadn’t had a chance to turn my attention to my reflection in the mirror until that moment. What I saw almost made me gasp again in shock. My head looked like a sheep that had some kind of weird molting sickness. Patches of hair hung by barely a thread. Huge clumps had been pulled out and some of it was still firmly rooted in its place.

  I’d been mentally preparing for this moment since I’d been prescribed chemotherapy. But it still struck me, almost taking my breath away. I sniffed and blinked, ferociously fighting new tears. Adam finished tidying the bathroom and then straightened, watching me watch myself in the mirror.

  “Mia, take a deep breath…”

  So I did. It was shaky and weak, like the rest of me. “I look like a leper.”

  He came up behind me, reaching around to belt my robe, which I had left hanging open (but, mercifully, I was still covered by the towel). The feel of his arms coming around me was… thrilling and alien at the same time. I wanted him to wrap them around me, pull me to him, whisper in my ear that I was still beautiful to him. I avoided his gaze in the mirror.

  I wasn’t beautiful to anyone.

  “Come with me,” he said, taking my hand and leading me out of the bathroom. He pulled me through my bedroom and into the hall toward his bedroom.

  “Where are we going?”

  “My room,” he said matter-of-factly.

  “I can see that. Why?”

  “Trust me.”

  I let him tow me along, his grip around my hand tightening. We went through his room and straight into the en suite bathroom. He stopped and bent to pull something out of the bottom cabinet. He had an ironic smile when he straightened.

  In spite of myself I laughed when I saw what it was. Electric clippers.

  “May I do the honors?” he said, waggling them in front of him. “I may have fantasized about shaving a beautiful woman’s head.”

  “Sicko.” My eyes narrowed at him. “Shut the fuck up and turn those on.”

  He grinned. “Oh God, please talk dirty to me. Hurt me, baby.”

  I playfully slapped his chest with the back of my hand. I grabbed a towel and laid it across the sink. “Don’t want to be responsible for plugging any more drains.”

  Then I bent over the towel while he plugged in the clippers. He gently placed them against the back of my neck and moved the clippers forward. They were cold and tickled my scalp, buzzing across my sensitive skin. I closed my eyes, waiting for it to be done.

  “Good riddance to this white hair with the pink and purple. It’s god-awful My Little Pony hair. I’ve never been so glad to see hair go!”

  I swallowed my laugh. “It’s platinum blond, you dolt.”

  “Dolt! Ah, you can do better than that. Come on, hit me hard.”

  The clippers slipped against the back of my ear, tickling me. I started laughing. “Bastard. Fucktard. Asshole.”

  “I’m shaving all your hair off. You’re going to be the chick version of Humpty Dumpty.”

  “Fuck you, prick,” I ground out between gritted teeth.

  “Damn, the reflection of this light off your head is blinding me. Can’t see a thing.”

  He purposely set the clippers against the sensitive back of my neck and I shrieked, laughing. “Pencil dick.”

  “Are you married to Mr. Clean?”

  “You better run when you’re done with this shit, ’cause if I catch you, I’m so kicking your ass.”

  “Sounds exciting,” he said, clicking off the clippers. “Done.”

  I didn’t move for a stretch of minutes, taking a long breath.

  “You ready? You need me to psych you up?”

  “Shut your hole, asshat,” I said, then cleared my throat and straightened, looking at myself in the mirror.

  Yeah, I was speechless. I looked like Dr. Evil from Austin Powers. My eyes flew to Adam, who was watching me very closely, probably expecting another meltdown.

  So I took my pinky finger, raised it to my lip and said, “I shall call him, ‘mini-me,’” in as best an imitation of Mike Myers’ portrayal as I could manage.

  Adam’s handsome face broke into a smile. His stance relaxed, as if he was relieved.

  I raised my hand to my naked scalp. “Shit, this feels so weird.”

  He held up the clippers. “Wanna do me now?”

  “Don’t even fucking think about it. How would the horny little interns fantasize about running their fingers through your hair if you were as bald as me?” And what would I fantasize about? I mentally added.

  He rolled his eyes in response. I ran my hand over my head again. “Feel this shit. It’s weird as hell.”

  He set down the clippers and obediently ran a hand over my head. He shot me a seductive look in the mirror. One that, in other circumstances, might have made my panties hit the floor fairly quickly. “Shit. I’m getting so turned on right now.”

  I elbowed him lightly in his hard stomach and he gasped as if I’d slammed him with a two by four.

  “You are the hottest bald woman I’ve ever laid eyes on.”

  “Fuck you.”

  He threw his hands up. “What? I’m serious. Ilia from the very first Star Trek movie? Did you see that? The one from the seventies?”

  I narrowed my eyes at him. “A long, long time ago.”

  “Yeah, she was this Deltan chick. So hot that sex with her killed any human dude who tried to screw her. Still not as hot as you.”

  I turned around and faced him, folding my arms across my chest. “You’re so full of shit.”

  “Am not. You see V for Vendetta? The bald chick in that one—Natalie Portman. She was hot. Very hot. But again… not as hot as you.”

  I bent my head now, trying to hide the fact that I was laughing. “You know of any other bald women?”

  “Demi Moore in G.I. Jane. Not even close to your level of hotness.”

  “Did you do an Internet search to look this up or something?”

  He gave me a funny look. “I watch a lot of movies.”

  I turned back to the mirror and ran a hand over my scalp. He came up behind me and put a hand on my head again. He bent toward me as if he might kiss me. My heartbeat raced and I tilted my head back slightly in anticipation. Would he kiss me? Did he want me?

  But before he connected, I watched him stiffen and draw back almost as quickly. We locked gazes in the mirror and I swallowed.

  “Ripley,” he said.

  “What?”

  “Ripley from Alien. You know… Sigourney Weaver.”

  I frowned at him. “She had hair.”

  “Not in the third one. She was bald—bald as you.”

  “You actually saw the third movie? I heard it sucked so much ass it could be a black hole.”

  “You are still hotter than bald Ripley from the ass-sucking Alien movie.” He shrugged. “I’ve seen a lot of bad movies, too.”

  I looked at myself again. “At least I still have my eyebrows and eyelashes… for now.”

  Adam shrugged. “You could possibly still keep those.”

  I glanced at him and shrugg
ed. “Maybe, maybe not. It’s not like I’m out to impress anyone.” Except him.

  “Are you going to get a wig?”

  The thought of putting a heavy wig on my head was not appealing to me in the least. It would make my head sweaty and hot and I just didn’t see the point. “I think I’ll just wear a hoodie every day.”

  He tilted his head, studying me. “Not a bad idea. I think I have a knit cap or two. Something to wear when it’s not eighty degrees out.”

  “Can’t stand the thought of a wig.”

  “You could wear bandanas. But be careful what color you wear in whatever part of OC you’re in.”

  I flashed him a phony gang hand sign. “Yeah, because there are so many gangs in Newport Beach.”

  He grinned at me and it made my heart flutter more than a little bit. He looked so much like the guy I’d fallen in love with. That brilliant, sexy man with the little boy’s impish grin.

  “I think this night calls for some ice cream and Farscape.”

  I frowned at him. “Farscape?”

  He raised his brows at me. “Seriously? You’ve never seen Farscape? It’s only the best science fiction that has ever been televised. I will have to force you to watch a marathon someday so that you, too, can appreciate the genius that is Farscape. And there’s a hot bald woman in that, too. Zahn. She’s not as sexy as you, either. And she’s blue.”

  I laughed. “Glad to know I’m sexier than the blue bald chick.”

  I couldn’t eat any ice cream. The chemo diet did not allow dairy, nor did it allow soy. I was doubly screwed in that department. No frozen yogurt, either. He muttered something about ordering a snow cone machine instead.

  We sat in recliners in his home theatre room to watch the episodes of this show from the early 2000s. I made it all the way through the first two episodes—the bizarre but amazingly done fantastical journey of John Crichton, hunky, brilliant astronaut from Earth who inadvertently discovered how to create a wormhole and ended up on the other side of the universe, where plants had evolved into humanoids, giant spaceships were creatures that were alive, and a strange, controlling race that looked exactly like humans, called the Peacekeepers, ruled with an iron fist of tyranny.

  It was late when the second episode ended. He clicked off the widescreen TV and came to stand in front of me. “Off to bed with you, baldy.”

  “I could so kick you in the nuts right now,” I muttered, yawning.

  “Yeah, you aren’t very frightening when you can’t even keep your eyes open.”

  “Where’s my paintball gun? I could so shoot you in the nuts right now.”

  He gasped as if in remembered pain. “You are going to trigger my PTSD from the paintball war with talk like that.”

  I half-heartedly kicked my foot in the general direction of his crotch and he caught my leg around the ankle, laughing.

  “Bed. Now.”

  And I didn’t have the energy to argue. It had been a long, harrowing day.

  ***

  The next morning, a tiny pixie-like woman with blond hair and the highest heels I’d ever seen showed up at the house with several garment bags slung over her shoulder. I’d met her once before, when I’d lived here with Adam before the breakup. Sonia was Adam’s shopper, who stopped by every month or so with new clothes for him.

  That was the day I’d discovered that what I had once thought was Adam’s knack for dressing wasn’t really a knack at all. He relied on Sonia to dress him. And she did a good job. Not only did she have great fashion sense but knew enough about him to determine his own style. Not that Adam would ever wear something he didn’t want to, and he did send some clothes away every time a delivery came.

  Sonia usually just had clothes delivered to the house from the department store where she worked at Newport’s exclusive high-end mall, Fashion Island. But today she paid a visit in person and I’d learn later that it was at Adam’s request that she stop by.

  Because now, Sonia wasn’t just Adam’s shopper, she was mine. And though the idea of someone else buying clothes for me didn’t thrill me at first—especially when she started talking about head-covering options and wigs—her suggestions soon intrigued me.

  She took my measurements and we looked through some magazines. She asked me a big long list of questions about my own sense of style and she had color swatches. She showed me the different things I could put on my head, from creatively-tied scarves to berets to “buffs”—a thin, tube-like knit cap that hugged my scalp.

  When she left, I gave Adam a tight hug and a kiss, thanking him. I actually didn’t need an excuse for wanting to be close to him but I took advantage of one whenever it popped up.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Adam

  Over the next few days all she seemed to do was sleep, eat and watch Farscape with me. I wasn’t sure if it was the natural fatigue from the chemotherapy or depression. I crammed my work into the times when she was asleep, opting not to go into the office. Jordan, my CFO, brought me the important stuff I had to see to every few days and—to his credit—asked about her health and seemed concerned.

  Though I was expecting “the talk” and eventually, I got it.

  “So, uh…can I ask—what’s going on with you two, anyway?”

  I looked at him over the paperwork he’d lined up for me to sign but didn’t answer.

  “Are you two, uh… you know…?”

  I started signing. “Friends? Yeah we’re friends.”

  “But you’re not…together…”

  “In what way does that concern you?” I asked, whisking the top paper off the stack and proceeding with the next one.

  He held out a hand, looked away nervously. “Okay…I’m just trying to watch out for you, man. After last time—”

  I clenched my teeth. “This isn’t last time.”

  “Are you sure about that? Adam, you have a big heart and I know you feel sorry for her, but she had you tied up in knots for months…”

  My pen froze and I straightened. “I don’t feel sorry for her. I love her. We’ve moved past that…or at least we’re trying to, until well-meaning people bring it up again.”

  Jordan took a deep breath and let it out. “Fine. Okay. Just…just be careful, okay? You have no idea how this is all going to…shake out…” His voice died out and he grimaced as if, in hearing what he was saying, he realized how ridiculous he was being.

  As if he had to remind me that I had no idea how this was going to end up. Her eighty-five percent chance had done that for me. That number hovered at the edge of my thoughts every damn day. It had stunned me speechless the first time I’d heard it at the doctor’s office and I’d buried it under a brave face ever since. Of course I had no idea how this was all going to turn out but I didn’t need Jordan’s reminder of that all-too-real fear.

  I didn’t say anything for a long while, burning my way through the stack, skimming each page to make sure of what I was signing. Then I straightened and put the cap back on the pen, looking at him. “Listen. I get what you are saying, but I’m okay. And she will be, too. She’ll pull through this.”

  He nodded, bent to take up the stack and then stopped, looking at me. “Yeah, she will. But after she does? What about then?”

  “I realize that she’s not your favorite person—” Likely because he preferred his women dumb as toast and Emilia far exceeded his maximum IQ limit for a woman. Some men were genuinely intimidated by a smart woman. But I had no patience for this today, no matter that it was well-meaning. I clenched my teeth. “She needs friends now. Support. Why don’t you be that instead of the constant critic?”

  Jordan frowned and didn’t say anything, shifting his weight from one leg to the other.

  “I know that my advice in the past has only made things worse for you but…Well, if you ever want to talk about it, I’m here for you, man.”

  “Your advice is shit.” I laughed and he tilted his head and smiled self-deprecatingly.

  “Hey! I was wondering if you wanted
—” Emilia rounded the corner from the hallway and into my office, obviously unaware that Jordan was here. She halted in the doorway and locked eyes with Jordan—whom she sometimes referred to as her nemesis.

  They stood and stared at each other in silence. She didn’t have anything on her head and Jordan was the first person besides me, her mom and my housekeeper to see her with no hair.

  “Hey Jordan,” she managed weakly, her face flushing red—and the color carrying through across her naked scalp.

  “Mia!” he said in a bright voice as if our previous conversation had never taken place. “Wow, you’re looking—”

  “Bald?” she interrupted, putting a self-conscious hand to her head. “Shiny?”

  Jordan hesitated awkwardly. “I was going to say ‘a lot better than I thought you would be looking after two weeks of chemo.’”

  Mia’s brows rose. “Oh—oh…thanks.”

  “I hope you are feeling okay?”

  Her mouth thinned a little but she didn’t look at me. “I’m feeling great, actually. Never better.”

  Jordan didn’t react to the obvious lie. Good for him. He fidgeted for a moment and then gestured to the stack of papers in his hand. “I better be getting along, but I’m glad I got to say ‘hi.’ I’m glad to see you are doing so well.”

  A brief frown crossed Emilia’s face, but she thanked him, and Jordan grabbed his stuff and left.

  “Wow,” she said when the front door downstairs had shut. She turned back to me with a sardonic smile curving her lips. “He must think I’m on the verge of death or something.”

  I grimaced. “No, he doesn’t. Why would you say that?”

  “Dude has never been that nice to me.”

  I laughed. She laughed.

  “I guess if he’s going to keep being that nice, I’ll bother to powder my head next time.” She rubbed her scalp again.

  “You brazen hussy,” I said. “Flashing all that skin!”

  She stuck her tongue out at me.

  “Now you’re just torturing me,” I said.

  She slunk around the desk in an overtly seductive manner, swiveling her thin hips in her yoga pants, and came up next to me. “Is it working?” she whispered into my ear as she put her arms around my neck.