" I don’t even know what this” - I wave my hand between us - “is.”
His lips pinch. “About fifteen years in the making by my count.”
“Fifteen years? Are you saying you liked me back then? Because I won’t believe that.”
A scowl darkens his features, and he sets his hands low on his lean hips. “I wasn’t mooning over you, if that’s what you’re asking. But there was always something, Delilah. I don’t know what to name it. Not love. Not hate. But something. Like an itch that wouldn’t abate. You were always there, under my skin. "

― Kristen Callihan , Dear Enemy