Sitting On The Couch And Waiting
She figures it's more than okay to fantasize about him, being that he appears to be fucking her husband and all.
He might not be, of course, but they do spend far too much time together for their own good. She'd say people are talking, but, then again, she knows they're not. Out of all the things to talk about on the station, the supposed affair between them is hardly the stuff of legend.
So she sits, and waits, and imagines Julian Bashir's head between her legs, pulling down her leggings and sliding up her skirt as Miles walks in.