“How long were you standing there?” “Long enough to be both insulted and then eye-fucked—so approximately five seconds.” “I did not eye-fuck you,” I argued weakly, holding the lone boot out to him and nodding up toward the storage container. His thick eyebrows knitted together but he took it anyway, stuffing it back in the compartment. “What exactly would you call it then?” “I don’t know, the female gaze.” “Poetic.” He looked unimpressed. “Thank you.” “You could just say you were looking at my dick.”
