Mira had been staring. She flushed. She wasn’t into women; it wasn’t like that. But this woman was tough and brave, everything Mira wasn’t and wished she were, and it was hard to tear her eyes away.

Mira let out a loud, ringing laugh that was surprisingly endearing. “Oh, yes. Absolutely. We do most of the teaching at the university and a lot of the research grunt work, and the university insists we’re not workers, we’re just students, and we should be grateful for the so-called training we get. The undergrads pay sixty thousand dollars a year to attend, and the university has a multi-billion-dollar endowment, but they won’t pay a living wage to those of us who are actually teaching the classes.” That sounded about right. Mira sighed. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to go on about it. It’s just that after five years of grad school, starting my sixth, I’m sick of it.” Isabel gave her a smile. A real one, this time. “You don’t have to convince me. I’m not on your bosses’ side.”

None of them had set Isabel on fire like this grad student in a cute little sweater talking about labor organizing in Isabel’s living room.

Coming in from the cold and finding Mira making dinner was stirring something up inside her. She looked away. No point in dwelling on some domestic fantasy. She was just hungry, was all. She needed to get some food in her.

“It’s harder for women to be out there doing these things. But the labor movement wouldn’t be what it is without us. Especially us queer women.”

Isabel would just have to control herself. She had less than zero patience for any man who felt attracted to a woman and blamed her for it, and she wasn’t a hypocrite. She was an adult with self-control and not a fucking creep.

But being in the same room as Mira was stirring up the emotions she was having trouble keeping on a short leash. Or any leash at all.

Isabel’s face burned, her heartbeat pounding between her legs. Mira had pulled those pajamas off herself this morning before putting on the sweater and skirt she was wearing now. Isabel absolutely couldn’t be thinking about that, not after Mira had invited her in for the most innocent reason imaginable. Let alone picturing it in detail.

many things she shouldn’t be thinking about. Like how if Mira wanted some stress relief, the kind that involved Isabel’s face buried between her thighs, Isabel would be on her knees on this wood floor in an instant. There must be some way Mira loved to be taken care of, some way to make her go from buttoned-up to fully unraveled, flushed and panting⁠—

It had been embarrassing to make her the most basic fried rice imaginable the other night with whatever vegetables Isabel had scrounged up from the freezer. It was one thing for Isabel to make it for herself, and another thing to serve it to Mira, as though she couldn’t do any better. And it was about time that something was easy for Mira. She deserved to just come home and sit down to a nice dinner, for once, no matter what else was going on in her life

She had always retreated into her intellect to escape her bodily existence, and old habits died hard. Wasn’t there always something more interesting to think about?

She twisted herself under the sheets to get a better angle. She was giddy, flushed, and by her usual standards, wildly out of control. This time, she pressed her fingers against her clit, indistinctly imagining Isabel touching her—and the searing jolt of arousal made her moan, hips lifting off the bed, the bed frame creaking. Mira went still, her heart racing. She’d been far too loud in this very quiet room. Isabel was on the other side of the wall. Oh, god. Mira had been fantasizing about her. She wasn’t into women in that way. Maybe she was. Mira rolled over and groaned into her pillow. Now wasn’t the time to be reconsidering everything about her sexuality, her relationships, her desires…

Until the smile Isabel had given her yesterday. In one ordinary moment, Isabel had changed everything. Still, the second-guessing was a hard habit to break. “Although, now that I think about it, I guess I have felt this way in the past. Not this strongly. Mostly with my female professors and TAs, and trans girls I really looked up to. Which makes me think that maybe it’s not…” Vivian smiled. Mira said, “What?” “I think this is the gayest thing you’ve ever said to me,” Vivian said. “I mean, aside from the fact that you U-Hauled with this woman before you even realized you liked each other. I’m convinced now.”

“Listen to yourself. You’re obsessed with this question of whether you want someone or want to be her.”

Maybe she could just have what she wanted. It sounded like the easiest and the hardest thing in the world.

Mira laughed. This wasn’t a big revelation in the grand scheme of things. Transitioning in the first place had been the big upheaval in her life, and this was a small one in comparison. But she knew now that she was a woman who loved other women, and it felt good and right—like coming home to her apartment at the end of a long day.

“No. I don’t think I’d be able to keep my hands off you.” Isabel’s eyes widened. So did Mira’s. Had she just said that aloud? Isabel smiled—her first real smile tonight, and such a lovely one, too. Now that Mira allowed herself to do it, every moment of looking at Isabel was a gift. “Can I kiss you right now?” Isabel asked. Mira nodded. They kissed again. It was sweet and slow, and the way Isabel cradled her jaw was delicious, making her whimper and melt. Isabel was clearly restraining herself, and Mira matched her even though she wanted more.

Mira’s smile grew. “I guess there aren’t a lot of classicists named Mira Srinivasan-Levin, huh?” “I guess you’re special.”

undressed, and pulled the slip on over her head, shivering as the fabric tumbled down over her body. The silk was as cool and soft as she’d imagined, clinging to her in all the right ways, caressing her and teasing her. Very

Mira tensed up. She tried to regather her thoughts. Did Patrick ever interrupt the men on the committee?

Isabel’s gut twisted in anxiety. Maybe Mira’s phone had died. But any number of awful things could have happened to her on a cold, dark winter night. She would be with a partner while door-knocking, but what if something happened to both of them? Had she been in an accident? There was a pettier, uglier fear rising within her, too: that Mira was fine, and just hadn’t thought it was worth texting Isabel or being home on time. It didn’t make sense. This was the same Mira who sleepily clung to Isabel when she slipped out of bed at five, who snuck notes into her lunch box that made her grin and blush, who flung herself into Isabel’s arms when Isabel got home. Mira wouldn’t do that to her.