Mia adjusted the wide straps on her new sports bra with a sigh. It claimed to support "up to G cup sizes," but judging by the way she still bounced with every confident step, the engineers clearly hadn't tested it on her. She wasn't even jogging yet. Just walking.
She stood in the locker room mirror at the back of her private boutique fitness studio—smoothing down her top, checking side profile, tugging the band lower over her ribs. Still no good. Her chest practically defied gravity and fabric alike, jutting out in a way that even three sports bras would struggle to tame.
She exhaled.
"Oh, come on," she muttered under her breath, giving her reflection a look. "You're going to break another one, aren't you?"
Mia was in her early 40s but moved with the confidence of someone who had stopped apologizing for her body a long time ago. Her clients came for her knowledge but often stayed just to stare. She'd heard it all—"Do those things have their own zip code?" or "Is there a bounce test included with every class?"
But this wasn't about them. Today, her mind kept circling around one specific someone: Will.
Twenty-six. Tattooed forearms. Quiet, respectful… mostly.
And the way he looked at her? Not even her high-impact bras could stop that kind of heat from spreading through her skin.
"Ready when you are, Mia," his voice echoed from the gym's entrance. Deep, smooth. Always polite, but always a little… loaded.
She grabbed her water bottle and stepped out.
Will stood near the mats, setting up bands and kettlebells. He wore a loose tank top and joggers, his muscles stretching across his back like they belonged in a men's fitness spread. His eyes flicked to her and—just like always—paused.
Not on her face.
Mia pretended not to notice but the pause stretched longer than it should have.
"This new bra doesn't work either," she said breezily, giving her chest a light jiggle for emphasis as she walked toward him. "I think I'm fighting a losing battle."
Will blinked. "You say that like it's a bad thing."
Mia raised a brow. "You think jiggling like a milkshake on leg day is a good look?"
His eyes met hers, steady and amused. "It's... distracting," he admitted, "but I wouldn't call it a bad thing."
Mia smirked. "Distracting enough to mess with your form?"
"Maybe," he said, his gaze dipping again, briefly.
She laughed, light but low. "You're terrible at hiding it, Will."
"I stopped trying weeks ago."
That made her pause, just slightly. The honesty was unexpected. But it thrilled her.
Their sessions started like usual—warmups, resistance bands, some squats. But every time Mia bent over or bounced on her toes, Will's focus seemed to hitch. She knew what she was doing. She wasn't oblivious to how her breasts reacted to each motion. It was her gym, her body, and her rules.
Mid-set, she held a deep lunge and called over her shoulder, "You watching my form, or just the bounce?"
There was a silence behind her, and then:
"Both. But mostly the bounce."
She turned her head, lips parting. His expression was dead serious—but there was a spark in his eyes that pulled something wicked from inside her.
She slowly rose. Her chest rose with her—barely contained, shifting under the strain of the tight sports top.
She closed the distance between them with two measured steps. "You're going to have to help me test this thing. If I can't tell whether it's working, maybe someone else needs to get a closer look."
Will didn't flinch. "I volunteer."
His voice had dropped, rougher now. The air between them thickened.
Mia tilted her head, hands settling on her hips. "Really? And what does that involve, exactly?"
Will lifted a brow. "Ask me again after I've seen how it handles jumping jacks."
Mia burst out laughing and stepped back. "You are absolutely no help."
"Not true. I'm giving you honest feedback."
She glanced down at her chest and then back at him. "Alright, Mr. Feedback. Let's put this bounce test to the test."
She grabbed a jump rope. One, two, three hops—and immediately, her chest was bouncing in dramatic rhythm. The bra strained. She could feel it. So could he.
Will stood frozen, watching her every move. The rope slapped the floor in time with her jumps, and her chest moved unapologetically.
After ten jumps, she stopped, breathing a little heavier. "Well?"
"I think it failed," Will said, sounding hoarse.
Mia grinned and took a slow sip from her water bottle, the cold trail slipping down her throat. "Good. That means I need a new one. Maybe with a private fitting."
"Or," Will said, stepping closer, his voice husky, "maybe you stop trying to hide them."
They stood toe-to-toe now. Close enough that she could smell his clean sweat and faint cologne.
"Maybe I don't want to hide them," she whispered.
There was a pause. His gaze darkened, breath shallower. But no lines were crossed. Not yet.
She stepped back first, cooling the moment with a wink. "Session's not over, assistant. Get your head back in the game."
He laughed, but there was tension beneath it.
Oh, the game was just beginning.