Then she stops.

“*****, Dana, we can’t do this.”

Why not? Oh, right. Tonya. *****. Your fianc is right outside, probably torturing Tina and Shane with endless chatter about your wedding your wedding and all you can think about is how ***** ***** Alice looks with her lips all swollen and her eyes still dark with desire for you, desire for you. How did you never notice this before?

You can’t speak, so you nod, trying to slow your pulse to a sane level. She’s trying to tuck her shirt back in but her hands are shaking because of you. You reach over to try to help her, but then you’re painfully aware that your hands are way too close to things they shouldn’t be close to, and your eyes lock onto hers and you’re soclose to giving in and kissing her again, to pulling her into a stall and finding out all those things a best friend isn’t supposed to know, like what her face looks like when she comes but no those are bad thoughts, bad.

Then suddenly she’s gone, righting her clothing as she slips out the door, and you’re alone with your reflection and even though she wasn’t wearing lipstick you’re convinced that you can see every place her lips touched, like she marked you and all of the marks they say “Alice was here” like some kind of bathroom graffiti. Except it’s on your neck and your chest and your lips and no matter how much cold water you splash on yourself you can still see it. It makes you smile, the thought that you’re somehow hers now, but then you’re terrified because you’re wondering if Tonya will be able to see it, that she’ll somehow know that you and your best friend were necking in the bathroom like a couple of hormonal teenagers.

As you’re smoothing out your hair, you realize you’re going to have to face Alice out there, to pretend that none of this happened and god you’re a horrible liar but you have to. You have to pretend because Tonya is the woman you love, the woman you want to spend the rest of your life with.

Isn’t she?