She was in my space. Which meant both my attention and my thoughts were fixated solely on her. And I fucking hated it. I wanted her, I realized, and it was entirely inappropriate and horrendous bad luck on my account, but I did. I wanted Shannon Lynch. And worse than wanting her, I really fucking liked her. She had this sweet something about her, and I liked how it felt when I was around her. I liked the way she looked, the way she spoke, the way she carried herself. I liked a whole heap of things about her, and oddly enough, my liking her had nothing to do with what was under her clothes.
