Misato Ayame closed her apartment door and leaned against it, forehead pressed to the wood, and stood there for thirty seconds doing absolutely nothing.
The training field was done. The squad was fed and dismissed. The gate-bid strategy session had run forty-seven minutes and Blair had only interrupted twelve times, which was a personal record for restraint, and Jace had sat in the back corner looking at his phone and occasionally glancing up at Misato with something in his eyes that made her forget what sentence she was in the middle of.
She had kissed him.
She had grabbed his shirt and pulled him down and kissed him like she was trying to climb inside his mouth and live there, and he had kissed her back, and his hands had been in her hair and on her spine and everywhere she'd spent nine years pretending she didn't want hands to be.
