Maybe I should have been happy to see him, or at least offered up an attempt at a smile, a welcome, a "Hey, Crew, you're alive and not murdered by who knows what gang of imagined thugs who took your undercover self and turned you into a flayed piece of flotsam for the FBI to find in ten years." Yeah, maybe.
I'm not good at maybe.
But he beat me to the resounding ass kicking he had coming, sinking to the edge of the bed and kissing me like he'd actually missed me. He'd been home for a whole day and this was the first time I'd seen him since his appearance at the club. Sure, he was probably busy saving his job and dealing with Doreen and Robert and Olivia all, but seriously. Priorities. Still, I let him kiss me, grumbling around his delicious lips, refusing to let my hands slide through his thick, dark hair or trace over the stubble on his cheek-
Hey. Traitor hands. What the actual...?