There have been others who have said variations of such a sentiment to her in the past. Derrica isn't unaware of herself, how she looks, the effect she might have. But because of that, she knows the difference between the ways such a compliment might be said. There are ways to say a thing like that and concealed behind it is some grasping, covetous thing. It's a type of admiration containing the kind of desire that comes with hooks meant to tether.

Loxley says this thing so sweetly. He says this thing and offers up a truth about himself as he does it. It's a bit like being given a gift. Her face glows in response to it. Tucked close against his side with his hand in her hair, she could kiss him again. But she doesn't, not yet. Her fingers trace a nonsense pattern over sternum.

"What dilemma," Derrica says, a little pinch of concern offset by the obvious pleasure in her expression. The flush hasn't left her face, nor cooled from where it spread down her throat. "Because I don't think I want you to stop looking at me."