Iris Kelly Doesn't Date (Bright Falls, #3)(53)







CHAPTER SEVENTEEN





“WILL THIS DO?” Stevie asked, smoothing her hands down her bare stomach as she came out of the bathroom.

Iris smiled, forcing her jaw to keep from dropping. Stevie’s swim top was halter-style and black, but it had a bit of lace bordering the edges. She had on a colorful blue-and-orange-patterned jacket-style cover-up, that mysterious heart tattoo on display. The look was somehow feminine and neutral at the same time, and it worked. It really, really worked.

“Yeah, that’s . . . that’s perfect,” Iris said. “What about me?” She spread her arms, revealing what she knew was a killer green bikini. Triangle cups, strings everywhere. It barely covered her ass, which was half the draw, especially since it was clear Iris’s purpose here was a little more convoluted than a simple fake dating scheme.

Granted, fake dating wasn’t exactly simple in nature, but this was no longer just about Stevie saving face with her friends and ensuring a smooth Shakespeare production.

This was about jealousy.

Iris couldn’t believe Stevie didn’t see it—the glances, the sniping at Van, the room change.

Adri was jealous as fuck.

Iris had suspected as much when she and Stevie had run into Adri at Bitch’s last week, but now she was positive. And she wasn’t sure how she felt about it, or how Stevie would feel once she figured out what Adri was doing. Iris didn’t want to point it out, more because it was possible she’d read the entire situation wrong and didn’t want to cause Stevie any more anxiety than necessary. Iris didn’t know Adri. She barely knew Stevie. Hell, maybe this was all some big cosmic plot to get the two of them back together.

They’d been together for six years.

Iris hadn’t had anything for six years. A plant, maybe. She was good with succulents. Even her business, successful as it was, had only lasted around five years by the time she’d really gotten it up and running and pulling a profit. So, maybe Iris was just paving the way for a reconciliation.

Which was fine.

Iris looked at Stevie, whose mouth was parted slightly as her gaze trailed down Iris’s form and back up to her face. Stevie swallowed hard, and goose bumps broke out all over Iris’s body, just from Stevie’s simple observation.

Iris pressed her thighs together.

Practice, she told herself. Fake. They didn’t want to muddy with the waters with earnest fucking, even if that earnestness meant nothing but an active libido.

“Yeah,” Stevie said, looking away. “That’ll do.”

Iris smiled. “Let’s get this show on the road, then.”





IRIS WAS PRETTY sure she’d never been anywhere she would describe as paradise.

Until now.

They spent the afternoon swimming in the infinity pool, which sparkled like a fountain of youth, all with the Pacific crashing onto the beach below. Iris was never without a beverage in her hand, first mimosas with a poolside lunch of fruit and cheese and fancy crackers, then Aperol spritzes in the afternoon. She drank a ton of water too—no need to get sloppy drunk and let something slip.

Iris used the time to study Adri, who, Iris discovered, had a tiny heart tattoo at the base of her throat that matched Stevie’s. So there was that. She was also beautiful, smart, and always had a hand on Vanessa. A kiss here, a waist-squeeze there. But her eyes followed Stevie, and Iris didn’t think she was the only one who noticed.

More than once, Iris caught Ren—Stevie’s chic friend from Lush who helped with the Empress’s costumes—watching Adri too. Vanessa didn’t seem to notice, or if she did, she didn’t show it. Stevie was also clueless, or so it seemed. Iris made sure to stay close to her. She didn’t want to paw at her—that felt a bit creepy, to be honest—so she let Stevie lead the way in terms of physical affection.

Which wasn’t very much at all. Stevie sipped her club soda with lime, laughed with her friends and Iris, got into an in-depth discussion with Adri while they were in the hot tub about ways to shift Benedick into more of an arrogant ass as opposed to an arrogant misogynistic ass. They talked about the other roles, how the Dons were both played by women, how two gay men—one of them trans—played Hero and Claudio, and the adjustments Adri had made to the script to accommodate all the glorious queerness, which included they/them pronouns for an agender actor playing Leonato. Meanwhile, Iris sat next to Stevie, waiting for Stevie to put her arm around her shoulder, to rub her knee or kiss her cheek, something to show their togetherness in front of Adri.

But Stevie never did any of that.

Which was fine. This was Stevie’s show; Iris was just here for support.

Still, by the time they’d all showered and dressed for dinner, Iris was grumpy. Too much sun and alcohol, most likely, and she was ravenous. That cheese hadn’t lasted long, and she was definitely the kind of person her friends tended to avoid when she was hungry—or feed immediately.

She sat down at the expansive driftwood table and thanked all the gods that there was a bread basket already present. Candles were set out along the sideboard, and a modern, branch-shaped chandelier glowed above them. She tore a hunk out of the warm brown bread as Vanessa emerged from the kitchen with a giant dish of lasagna, followed by Adri and a bowl filled with leafy green salad.

“We went simple tonight,” Vanessa said. “Hope that’s okay.”

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