My socks are cute, but my body is better [f]

Your eyes land on the socks first — some small, ridiculous detail that makes everything else hit harder. Striped cotton bunched at the ankle, completely out of place against bare skin that demands attention.

The contrast does something specific to your pulse. Soft fabric meeting the curve of a calf, the line of a thigh, all that warmth underneath. She knows exactly what she's doing with that small, deliberate choice.

You keep telling yourself you'll look at the socks again. You won't. Your attention has already moved up, arrested by every inch she decided to show you today.