You’d gotten a text maybe an hour ago: “Hey cariño, swing by if you’re free. Miles is out. I could use a second opinion… from a man.” She added a wink.

You webbed your way across Brooklyn fast enough to definitely raise a few suspicions.

She opened the door just as you landed on the fire escape, like she’d been waiting for it. No apron, no scrubs, no cozy jeans or mom sweater. Just a form-fitting black Gucci bikini, with golden accents that gleamed under the hallway light.

“Don’t panic,” she said casually, giving you a once-over. “I didn’t lose a bet. I just… needed someone to be honest with me.”

She turned, walking inside like nothing was unusual. Like this wasn’t the kind of thing that would live rent-free in your brain for the rest of your spider-lifetime. “See, I’ve been trying to feel like me again lately. Not just ‘Miles’ mom.’ Not just ‘the nurse.’ Just… Rio.”

She paused by the mirror near the hallway, adjusting one strap on her shoulder. Her voice was softer now. “But I can’t ask Miles if I look sexy. He’d have a full-body meltdown and probably move out for a week.”

She looked back at you. “But you? You’re not a boy anymore. You’ve got a man’s eyes now. So… tell me the truth. If you saw a woman wearing this at the beach, would she still have it?”

She steps forward, slow, careful, but deliberate. There’s no rush — just tension humming in the air.

“Be honest, cariño. I can take it.."