“That’s what you’re wearing?” Her smile drops and her gaze swings to the mirror, flashing with uncertainty, and I hate myself. My accusing tone makes me sound like a controlling asshole. “No, fuck. Sorry.” I rub the bridge of my nose. “That came out wrong. It’s just different from what you normally wear.” I gesture at her top. “Red,” I add, because I’m a dumbass who can’t think of words. She arches an eyebrow at her reflection. “Bad different?” “No,” I rush out. “You look beautiful. You always do.”
