She's standing in the break room doorway, white uniform stretched across generous hips that refuse to be contained, stethoscope resting between curves that demand your full attention. The fabric pulls tight in exactly the right places.

You watch her peel one latex glove off slowly, deliberately, eyes holding yours with clinical confidence. She knows anatomy better than anyone — every nerve ending, every pressure point, exactly how the body surrenders to the right touch.

She tilts her head, raises an eyebrow, waiting for your answer. Those thick thighs shift, the uniform rides higher, and suddenly you realize you have absolutely nothing to say.