Jace: Are you going to sleep?
Clary: Aren't you tired?
Jace: I've never been more awake.
"We should probably go downstairs," he said again. She was sure she was making him uncomfortable with the staring, but she didn’t seem to be able to stop.
"All right," she said finally. To her relief, her voice sounded normal. It was a further relief to look away from him as she turned around. The moon, directly overhead now, lit everything nearly to daylight brightness. In between one step and another she saw a white spark struck off something on the floor: It was the knife Jace had been using to cut apples, lying on its side. She jerked hastily back to avoid stepping on it, and her shoulder bumped his—he put a hand out to steady her, just as she turned to apologize, and then she was somehow in the circle of his arm and he was kissing her.
It was at first almost as if he hadn’t wanted to kiss her: His mouth was hard on hers, unyielding; then he put both arms around her and pulled her against him. His lips softened. She could feel the rapid beat of his heart, taste the sweetness of apples still on his mouth. She wound her hands into his hair, as she’d wanted to do since the first time she’d seen him. His hair curled around her fingers, silky and fine. Her heart was hammering, and there was a rushing sound in her ears, like beating wings—
“You could have had anything else in the world, and you asked for me..”
Janowicz had a chance to continue making history, as the 1st Polish man to ever reach a Grand Slam final, but fell to nerves and Murray’s great play. Even in defeat he smiled and encouraged Murray, even Murray was surprised at his kindness.
He may have lost the match, but he won a fan in me.