"Don't look at me like that," she commanded, halting the movements of her pen just long enough to glance at me in the mirror.

I hadn't realized I was staring. "Like what?"

Another glance and a quiet huff. "Like you want to eat me."

Oh. Yeah. "Because I do?"

Not a good answer, I know. What else could I say? “Oh, sorry, it's just that your skin looks really soft,” or “I was wondering what you'd look like without the dress,” or maybe “sorry, but you're really hot.”

"You better fucking not," she growled out, and I shrunk away like a whipped dog.

I didn't know if I was allowed to speak after that, so instead we spent the rest of the day in awkward silence.