Iris Kelly Doesn't Date (Bright Falls, #3)(66)

She and Iris put on a good show at the theater—holding hands here and there, a kiss on the cheek between scenes, sitting together in the audience when Adri ran a scene that didn’t feature them—but honestly, the line between what was real and what wasn’t was growing increasingly fuzzy in Stevie’s mind, and she wasn’t sure how to clear it all up.

Iris, for her part, was radiant. A star. Not only as Beatrice on the stage, but with Stevie too, winking at her when they caught each other’s eye across the theater, sliding her hand over Stevie’s hair as she passed by, resting her head on Stevie’s shoulder when they were on break or sat watching another scene.

Stevie hadn’t really been prepared for all of that—the physical intimacy that came with making up a relationship. An intimacy that felt . . . emotional. But she knew emotions were tricky, easily misunderstood, easily mistaken for something else. So she forged on, playing the adoring girlfriend, meeting each touch from Iris with one of her own.

Still, by Friday’s rehearsal, she was exhausted, the effort it took to play not one character, but two, sapping most of her energy. True, she slept like a rock at night, but now, the day she and Iris were supposed to go to Stella’s in Bright Falls for line dancing, she felt like a wire pulled taut and fraying at the ends.

And the Much Ado scene they were working on didn’t help matters.

“Again,” Adri said, pacing the front of the stage, glasses on and her red lipstick perfectly in place even after three hours of rehearsal. “This scene is critical.”

“We know,” Stevie said. They were working on act 4, scene 1, where Benedick and Beatrice profess their love, followed by Beatrice’s insistence that Benedick slay Claudio to uphold Hero’s good name.

“Then do it right,” Adri said. “This interaction is painful. The cruel world coming into focus. But it’s also tender. Feel that.”

Iris lifted a brow at Stevie and mouthed feel that, causing Stevie to cover her laugh with her hand. Still, Iris said nothing to Adri directly. She’d been shockingly docile with their director this week, and Stevie, to be honest, was grateful. She wasn’t sure she could handle her own swirling emotions and Iris Kelly going full throttle at her ex.

“By my sword, Beatrice, thou lovest me!” Stevie said as Benedick, pouring as much longing as she could into her words.

“Do not swear and eat it,” Iris bit back as Beatrice.

Their eyes locked, a pause neither of them planned clouding between them.

“Yes,” Adri said as the tension thickened. “Good.”

“I will swear by it that you love me, and I will make him eat it that says I love not you,” Stevie went on.

“Will you not eat your word?” Iris asked, her question a mere whisper.

“With no sauce can that be devised to it,” Stevie said. “I protest I love thee.”

“Why then, God forgive me.”

Iris’s eyes shined with actual tears, but not overtly so. Her words were whispered, a rhythmic wave on her mouth. Stevie heard the hush in the audience, the rest of the principals watching.

“What offense, sweet Beatrice?”

Iris laughed, a beautiful, vulnerable sound. “You have stayed me in a happy hour. I was about to protest I love you.”

They circled each other, their steps bringing them closer . . . closer, until Stevie looped an arm around Iris’s waist and yanked her into an embrace. Iris gasped, hand flying to Stevie’s shoulders and her pupils blown wide as Stevie tilted her head, ran a finger along Iris’s jaw.

“And do it with all thy heart,” Stevie whispered, her mouth an inch from Iris’s. They watched each other, eyes glimmering under the lights, Iris’s lips gently parted, so gorgeous and full and—

“Good, let’s stop there,” Adri said softly, breaking the spell. Stevie stepped back, releasing Iris slowly.

“Well, shit,” Jasper said from the audience.

“Say that again,” Zayn said, fanning themself. “I think I need a cold shower.”

The principals laughed and Iris joined in, performing a cute little bow. Stevie waved them off, a blush creeping into her cheeks. Her heart was flying under her ribs, wings and feathers and all. Adrenaline wasn’t unusual when she was on stage—she needed it to get through especially tricky scenes, but this . . . yeah, this wasn’t just adrenaline. Her heart raced, sure, but there was also a distinct thrum between her legs she was trying to ignore, a shortness to her breath that had nothing to do with acting.

“Can we take five?” she asked, swiping her hair back from her face.

“Sure,” Adri said, head tilted at Stevie. “You okay?”

“Fine,” she said, and she was. She just needed a second to herself, a bit of fresh air. She jogged down the steps and grabbed her water bottle from her seat, then headed up the aisle toward the back of the theater.

She was nearly to the double doors, eyes scanning her phone for a distraction, when she heard her name.

“Stevie Scott.”

The voice was low and firm. Familiar. Her head shot up, looking around for the source. There, sitting in a purple velvet seat against the back brick wall, was a Black woman with long box braids, one ankle propped on her knee.

She grinned at Stevie.

“Dr. Calloway,” Stevie said. “Oh my god, what are you doing here?”