You already know what you're doing when you wear that top — the fabric straining, pulling, barely managing the job it was designed for. Every room you walk into rearranges itself around you.

That smirk says you've watched eyes drop south mid-sentence a hundred times. You've learned exactly which angle, which slight forward lean, turns a casual glance into something a person carries home with them.

Trouble isn't the right word — trouble implies accident. This is precision. Full, heavy, impossible to ignore, and you know every last inch of the effect they have on someone standing right where I am.