Page 87 of Instigator

“It’ll be too late. By the time we land…”

“Didn’t you say she’s a night owl? Call her. Tell her to pack a bag, take her home, and stop fucking whining, you big baby.”

Ignoring his taunts, I purse my lips. Or how about I surprise her? He’s right; she probably will be awake.

Okay. My mind made up, I finish stripping off my gear and walk across the dressing room in my towel. Ryan settles into the stall across from mine, but we don’t make eye contact while we’re showering. I turn my back so I don’t have to see the week-old, fading bruises on his shoulders.

It’s one thing to know my baby sister is having sex. It’s another thing entirely to see the aftereffects on her partner. Gross, gross, gross.

Though if Ceci were the one marking me…

Okay, I might come around on that one.

thirty-three

. . .

Ceci

I’m not expecting the doorbell to ring at three o’clock in the morning. Aidan texted a simple “landed” about forty-five minutes ago, and I have no new notifications since. I’m not on friendly terms with my neighbors, so for them to knock on my door in the middle of the night, something must be wrong.

After pulling on a robe and slippers, I rush down the stairs. I skid on the steps, catch myself, and skid again, landing with a solid thunk on the bottom one. Ow.

“Ceci?” Aidan’s voice calls through the door. “Are you okay?”

Standing, I take mental stock. My thigh hurts from the impact, more than my butt, but I am relatively unharmed. I rub at my sore leg as I hobble to the front door, opening it to reveal my disheveled ginger in a three-piece suit.

“What are you doing here?” I demand.

“Are you okay?” he repeats.

“I’m fine. Just bruised my ego.”

“Come home with me.”

I blink. “What?”

“Come home with me. Stay the night with me.”

“You want me to leave my house at three o’clock in the morning and go to yours?”

“You hate it here,” he says simply. “You’re awake, I’m awake. We can go to that diner again if you’d like. Or we can go back to my apartment, curl up in bed, and sleep.”

“I…”

“Only if you want to,” he adds. “You’re welcome at my place any time. I want to come home to you in my bed, even if all we’re doing is sleeping.”

“Okay,” I whisper.

His face lights up. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. Let me pack a bag.” I hold the door open, beckoning him in.

Aidan looks around the place with interest—not because he’s nosy, but because it’s mine. He hasn’t been here before. Hell, Bex has never been here before. Neither have my other book club friends. Colt has once when we were coding late into the night.

I don’t have guests. I don’t have visitors. Because he’s right: I hate it here.

I bought the house because I was supposed to. Because that’s what billionaires do—buy expensive properties in expensive neighborhoods. It’s an investment into real estate. But I’ve never felt at home here. It’s nothing but a place I live.