Waiting for the next zoom meeting
You catch a flash of cleavage just above the laptop screen, and suddenly the meeting agenda means nothing.
You find your eyes tracing the curve where fabric gives way to skin, that soft exposed line demanding more attention than any slide deck ever could. You know this view was deliberate, chosen carefully, aimed directly at someone exactly like you.
You sit there, pulse a little faster, wondering if anyone else on the call noticed what you noticed. You want the camera to pull back, to show you more of what that neckline is only beginning to suggest.
