Wedding Stress

Ryan Ryans is spiraling. Wedding in weeks, dress MIA, fiancé gone—and she’s alone with the panic. Tara calls. Danika plants the seed. Minutes later Tara’s hands slide down Ryan’s back, fingers grazing bare skin, voice low. She mentions the absent man. Ryan melts anyway. Clothes drop. Ryan sprawls naked on the couch, legs parting without a word. Tara’s touch drifts closer to the dark thatch between them. Ryan hesitates—then Tara’s mouth brushes her ear, murmuring yes. Ryan’s protest dies on her lips, replaced by a quiet gasp as her best friend’s hand sinks in. The question of what she’ll tell her husband fades under Tara’s fingers.