Page 17 of Instigator

Wish falls silent for a few moments. “I don’t want to take advantage of you.”

“Or me you.”

“It really sucks that we’ve both had to deal with this,” he whispers.

Tears prick at my eyelids, and I lift my hands from the controller to wipe them away.

“It really does.”

Silence stretches between us, the only sound the rapid-fire thud of my heart and his steady breaths.

“Hey, Wish?” I finally venture.

“Yeah?”

“I’m really glad I have you in my life.”

His gusty exhale echoes in my ear. “Me too, Annie.”

Annie. Not Ceci.

There’s still a barrier between us, and it has nothing to do with our physical distance. Knowing he lives in Boston should change things. What if we were to run into each other? Would I recognize his voice? Would my stretch marks and surgical scars repulse him?

I clear my throat. “Are we going to play or what?”

His warm chuckle is so fucking comforting. Familiar. Our trust built from years upon years of playing together like this.

“Yeah, let’s play.”

We game for about three hours, until my muscles ache from sitting still for so long and my stomach rumbles, protesting the lack of food.

“I think I need to call it quits,” I finally say. “I need dinner.” And maybe an orgasm.

“Me too. I have meal prep waiting for me. What are you ordering?”

Because he knows I’m damn sure not cooking.

“I was thinking maybe the fall harvest bowl from this bistro near me. Sweet potato, brussels sprouts, and apples and cranberries. It’s so good. I had it for lunch, but I already want it again. It’s my current hyperfixation meal.”

Wish groans. “That sounds good.”

“Maybe one day we can go together,” I suggest carefully.

“Yeah, maybe.” He sounds wholly disinterested, and everything inside me deflates. “Listen, Annie, I’ve got to go. There’s someone at my door.”

“Sure. I get it.”

“Have a good night,” he says, before the line abruptly disconnects.

It hasn’t escaped my notice that he was still cagey with his details. Now I know he lives in my city—and what a mindfuck that is—and that he’s a bit younger than me, but nothing of substance. Nothing real. And can I blame him? I didn’t exactly pour out my heart to him either.

Darkness hovers at the edges of my mind. I need to get out of my skin—stat. It’s raining cats and dogs, so I’m not interested in going out to my favorite dive bar. Instead, I place the order for my harvest bowl to be delivered, then dash up to my bedroom.

With my favorite vibrating dildo, it takes less than fifteen minutes to get off, and by the time I’m dressed again, I’m in a much better mood. When my food arrives, I sit on the couch with my fork in one hand, my Kindle in the other.

It almost makes me feel better.

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