If I’m speaking with you, I try to look at you. I don’t make eye contact unless you stand inches from my face (back up, close-talker).
Instead, I fake it like a bridesmaid’s tan, knowing appearance is everything. I imagine where your eyes sit on the face blob that is near me. I gaze in that direction.
I break the contact after a little while. No one likes a stare down.
Then, I fake it, again.
In a group, I prefer a person says my name when asking me something. Otherwise, I focus on the general conversation, taking in the environment. A sideways glance in my direction flies past me.
Unfortunately, you might be standing in my blind spot, my left side. Not much will get through from there.
I’m not being a B; I just miss things sometimes.