Iris Kelly Doesn't Date (Bright Falls, #3)(37)
“Everyone in the club needed that,” Iris said, and Stevie devolved into giggles again as Iris took her hand and led her toward the club.
“Now,” Iris said as she opened the glass door and the cool air rushed out to meet them, “for your next selection, I’m thinking something at least three sizes too small with nothing but a string to cover your ass.”
“Maybe I’ll just leave off the bottoms altogether,” Stevie said. “Just really lean into this public indecency vibe I’ve got going on.”
Iris laughed harder as they walked through the lobby, which was all glass and rich wood. Stevie felt a swell of pride—it felt like a huge accomplishment, making a woman like Iris laugh like that. They were nearly to the club’s shop when Iris jolted to a stop so quickly, Stevie bumped into her.
Iris hardly seemed to notice though. She was frozen, her already pale skin now a shade that could only be described as puce.
“Hey,” Stevie said gently. “You okay?”
Iris just blinked, her eyes wide on a woman about twenty feet in front of them at the front desk. She was tall, with ice-blond hair cut short on the sides and long on top, dressed in a white tank, navy board shorts, and white sneakers. She looked to be paying for tickets to the party and was soon joined by another woman with long dark hair in a tie-dyed cover-up, a bag filled with beach towels on her shoulder, along with a kid with light brown hair who looked like he was about nine or ten.
“Ready, baby?” the blonde said, then linked hands with the brunette and started toward Iris and Stevie.
As she got closer, the blond woman locked eyes with Iris, her mouth parting. Then she shook her head ever so slightly and sped up, but the brunette had also seen Iris.
“Oh my god,” she said, rearing back as though Iris had spit venom. “You.”
“Lucy, come on,” the blonde said. “Let’s just go.”
But Lucy wasn’t having it. She wrenched her hand free and whirled on her partner. “Did you know she was going to be here? Are you still fucking her? Goddammit, Jillian, I thought we’d moved through this!”
“Mama, what’s wrong?” the kid asked.
The blonde—Jillian—just shook her head, while Iris seemed locked into place. Stevie squeezed her hand, trying to jolt her back into herself, but all that did was cause Iris’s lower lip to tremble.
“Nothing, sweetie,” Jillian said to the kid, then glared at Iris. “Why are you still standing here? Can you please leave?”
Iris blinked, her mouth opening and closing like a fish.
“Oh no,” Lucy said, folding her arms. “No one is moving until I get some answers. I think we need to call our therapist. Right now.”
“Hey,” Stevie said as firmly as she could. She wasn’t sure who the hell these people were, but they were pissing her off. Suddenly, the bold and brash Stefania seemed to take over, and Stefania couldn’t stand to see Iris cowering beside her any longer.
“I don’t know who you two are,” she said, “but my girlfriend hasn’t done anything to you.”
“Girlfriend,” Lucy said, snorting. “Better be careful, she likes to sleep with married women.”
“Lucy,” Jillian said.
“Am I wrong?” Lucy asked, her voice shrill. Tears shined in her eyes, but Stevie had had enough.
Holding up her broken bathing suit with one hand, she pulled a still-pale Iris away until they reached the gender-neutral locker room, intent on getting Iris as far away from those two assholes as possible.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
JILLIAN.
Of all the fucking people.
Iris knew Jillian lived in Portland, but Iris still hadn’t seen her former lover since the morning of Claire and Delilah’s housewarming party last year.
On that night, Lucy had called Iris—on the phone Jillian had accidentally left behind—and the whole affair had broken wide open. Lucy had even cried to Iris as they’d sort of lamented the injustice together. Now, clearly, anger had replaced any commiseration.
“Hey,” Stevie said.
Iris blinked at the locker room around her, all smooth teak lockers and marble tile. Plush white towels were stacked on shelves, and wooden beams stretched across the ceiling. Gleaming bowl-style sinks lined the shiny counters, and the air smelled of herbs—lavender and basil and mint.
“Jesus, this place is fancy,” Iris said. Her voice sounded off, barely there.
Stevie laughed. “Yeah, I don’t think I’ll be acquiring a membership anytime soon.”
Iris nodded, still gazing around at all the glamor. The room was empty, but when she spotted a sauna in the back corner of the room, she headed straight for it.
The space was warm, though not sweltering, but Iris still plopped onto the teak bench and flung off her towel. Leaned her head back and closed her eyes.
She heard Stevie come in and settle across from her, towel brushing Iris’s ankles.
“That was quite the heroic scene out there,” Iris said without opening her eyes. “Stefania in action?”
Stevie didn’t say anything.
Iris squeezed her eyes even tighter. She didn’t want to look at Stevie. Didn’t want to see the questions there, the judgment. Shame clouded into Iris’s chest, her fingers curling into fists. She didn’t think of Jillian often. After it all went down over a year ago, it had taken Iris a few weeks to really process the whole affair, and she liked to think she’d reconciled that it wasn’t her fault, that she hadn’t known anything about Jillian’s marriage or her lies. But there were moments, brief flashes where Iris’s brain would go back through the entire thing, from the moment Jillian walked into her shop to the night Lucy called, and then it was hard to breathe.