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 ...