Don't turn around, Sunshine. Don't look into its eyes. That's how they get you. Sure, he doesn't sound like he's trying to put her under the dark - he doesn't really sound anything but baffled (or… disappointed? Yeah, right.) - but she is not taking any chances here. Odin only knows what the hell her blood would do for him, and -- wait, 'ogling'?!

Sunshine quickly dumps the rabbit into the hallway and then pivots on her heel, anger overriding her survival instinct. She was not ogling. She... okay, she looked, because it wasn't a bad view it was sort of hard to avoid, particularly when your go-to behavior around vampires - any vampires, even lite ones - is avoiding eye contact. But looking is not the same thing as a goddamn invitation. Besides, she knows from bruise-inducing personal experience not to... invite… that… from a vampire. Any vampire. But especially an obnoxious asshole lite version.

Any tirade she would have unleashed is cut off by the sight of Spike staring in pretty obvious horror at the book he's suddenly holding, and Sunshine blinks, thrown. It is... substantially thicker than a TV Guide, but she can't see the cover. Does she even want to know? She decides she doesn't.

At a loss, she watches him deposit the book into the trash. Her hand is clamped over the bleeding scratches, but Spike… honestly doesn't seem all that interested. In the blood, anyway. It should be a relief, but there's nothing all that reassuring about the realization that she has no kali goddamn idea what to expect from vampire lites. Enemy vampires, she gets. Reluctant allies, she also gets. This, however, is well outside her wheelhouse.

"… A box would be nice," she finally says.