Page 21 of Instigator

“You’re alive,” my coworker says with a sarcastic gasp.

I cock my head in confusion. “Why would you think I’m dead? I’m right here.”

“You were majorly in the zone.”

“I brought you dinner,” Nick adds.

“Me?”

“Well, both of you,” he amends. “Bex said you guys were working late tonight.”

My stomach twists into knots. “I don’t want to keep you here. Go home. I’m fine on my own.”

“Shut up. We’re going to take a break, eat dinner, and then you can go back into your fugue state if you want. But you need a break.” She reaches a hand out to me, and with a heavy sigh, I rise from my desk chair and take it. “Come on. No more screen time.”

“Yes, Mom.” I roll my eyes, and she laughs.

Nick leads the way to the players’ lounge. Strictly speaking, we’re allowed to use the space, but it always feels weird. Like an imposition. I don’t venture outside of our office much.

Bex settles at a table in the center of the room, so I gingerly take the seat opposite her, my sore muscles protesting after not moving for so long. My morning Pilates session can’t compete against four hours of hyperfixation.

The hockey player dishes the takeout containers onto three plates—real china plates, not paper ones. I want to ask if I can help, but my eyes are still so tired, and I yawn, the exhaustion of using my brain for so long hitting me.

He sets a plate in front of me, and I blink at the sweet potato, brussels sprouts, apple, and cranberry salad topped with a chicken breast and goat cheese. My head whips up as I stare at him.

“How did you know?”

“What?” He blinks a few times, confused.

“This is my favorite dish from Olde Boston.”

“Oh. Bex mentioned you guys like going there.” He shrugs. “It’s no big deal.”

I pop out of my seat and round the table, hugging him from behind. “It really is.”

He clears his throat. “No it’s not.”

“Shut up and let me hug you.”

If I thought he was truly uncomfortable with physical affection, I wouldn’t do this. But he’ll soon learn there are very few boundaries between Bex and me, and as her partner, that extends to him.

“Okay.” His big hands come up to pat my forearm. “There, there.”

Bex giggles, then reaches for her phone and snaps a photo. That’s what makes Nick shrug me off.

“Enough,” he barks, as if he isn’t the world’s sweetest, gooiest cinnamon roll. “Eat your dinner, Bex Marie. I know you skipped lunch.”

“I didn’t mean to,” she says with a pout, picking up her fork. “It just… happened. We got busy.”

“Do I have to drop by every day to remind you to eat lunch?” His voice has a whisper of a threat, and I look away with the overwhelming sense I’m intruding on a private conversation between a couple.

“No, of course not.” She spears a piece of salmon from her plate. “You have road trips. You can’t come by every day.”

Nick grumbles under his breath.

“I’ll make sure she eats,” I assure him.

To my surprise, he rolls his eyes. “You’re just as bad as she is.”