“Okaaay,” he drawled. “Tell me what the problem is.” “That’s my problem,” I bit out. “I like her, Gibs. I think I really like her, man. Like really as in a lot. A lot more than fucking like. Christ!” He shrugged a shoulder. “Still not seeing the problem here, lad.” “I. Don’t. Want. To. Like. Her.” I spelled it out for him, fresh out of patience now.
