Iris Kelly Doesn't Date (Bright Falls, #3)(69)

They were beautiful.

But there was only one blue freckle, dark, like the deepest parts of the ocean.

“No,” Stevie said, meeting Iris’s eyes.

“You’re right,” Iris said softly. “It’s one of a kind.”

They’d stayed like that for a few minutes. Quiet and close. Stevie’s heart still raced, her stomach like some creature stretching its wings, but soon her chest opened up, air flowing smoothly.

But Iris was still close.

So close.

And she smelled like orange blossom and mint, her hair so dark red it matched her ruby lipstick. A tiny braid twisted from her temple to loop over her shoulder, and Stevie had the urge to reach out and run her fingers down the plait.

So she did.

She took the braid in her hand, slid her thumb slowly down the silky strands. Iris’s eyes stayed on Stevie’s, the air between them tangling. Stevie’s breath picked up again, but this time, it wasn’t from panic. Her lungs were clear, her thoughts slowing down . . . down . . . until the only thing she could think about was Iris.

Right here.

So lovely and sweet. Stevie doubted Iris would ever use either of those words to describe herself, but she was. Iris, for all her bravado and boldness, was sweet. She cared for Stevie in a way Stevie had never really experienced, talking to her instead of at her. Letting her call the shots.

But that was all part of their deal.

Wasn’t it?

“Stevie,” Iris said softly. Her gaze slipped down to Stevie’s mouth and back up, and that was all it took.

Stevie leaned in, inch by inch, waiting for Iris to pull away, but she didn’t. And when Stevie slid her hands around Iris’s waist and pulled her close, Iris released a tiny sigh that made Stevie feel wild and unhinged.

She pressed her lips to Iris’s, softly at first, but her want soon took over. She opened her mouth and Iris opened back, her hands sliding from Stevie’s face and into her hair. Their tongues touched, tangled, and when Iris pulled on Stevie’s hair a little, Stevie let out a tiny moan that didn’t even embarrass her. Iris tasted like citrus and cinnamon all at once, like summer and winter colliding. It was intoxicating.

She was intoxicating.

“Iris,” Stevie said against her mouth. Just that. Just her name, because that was all she could think of right now.

“I know,” Iris said, then kissed her again, tugging on Stevie’s lower lip in way that made the space between her legs throb. She’d just slid her hands under Iris’s tight black T-shirt, when she heard someone clear their throat.

They both reared back, eyes meeting in shock for a split second before turning toward the sound.

Adri stood there, her expression unreadable. “We need to get back to work,” she said.

Stevie nodded, releasing Iris and straightening her own shirt. “Sure. Yeah. We’ll be right there.”

Adri smiled tightly, then disappeared into the theater.

Iris stepped back even farther from Stevie, then wiped a hand down her mouth.

“I guess we should get back inside,” Stevie said.

Iris nodded. She wouldn’t meet her eyes. “Yeah. Of course.”

They started toward the door, and Stevie paused to pick up the folder Thayer had given her.

“What’s that?” Iris asked, opening the door and holding it wide.

Stevie shook her head and tucked the folder under her arm. “Nothing. It’s nothing at all.”





CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE





IRIS PUSHED OPEN Stella’s giant oak door, scents of beer and sweat and perfume swirling around her as she and Stevie stepped inside.

Stella’s was packed for its monthly line dancing night, but then again, it always was. A favorite among the small queer community in Bright Falls, the crowd was even more robust tonight, as the bar was one of the few businesses in town that actually decorated for Pride. Rainbow flags fluttered all around the large room, and the menu boasted special cocktails to represent the Pride flag, everything from mojitos for green and a color-changing martini for purple to something called Adios, Motherfucker, which was pretty much a blue Long Island iced tea.

“Iris!” Claire called from the back corner, standing up and waving. She had on a plaid flannel shirt tied at her waist and light blue denim cutoffs. “Over here!”

Iris slipped her hand into Stevie’s and led her toward her friends. It was slow going, the press of bodies thick, and Iris took her time to smile at acquaintances and get herself in check.

She and Stevie hadn’t talked much since their kiss at the Empress. They’d finished rehearsal—Adri had been in a particularly foul mood—and then Iris had pretty much run out of the theater and to her car, a quick I’ll see you tonight her only goodbye.

When Stevie had arrived at Iris’s apartment that evening, they’d only discussed how the flannel shirt Stevie had paired with a vintage Nirvana tee, black cutoffs, and black combat boots was the closest thing she had to anything country western. Iris had offered a cowboy hat to complete the ensemble and . . . well . . .

Stevie looked adorable.

Sexy, if Iris were letting herself think about the word, which she wasn’t, because tonight was all about helping Stevie find someone to . . . well.

Iris took a deep breath, trying to smooth out the undulations in her stomach. Before they’d left Iris’s, she’d thought about bringing up Stevie’s panic attack at the Empress, what had put her in such a state. Iris was worried, sure, but she was also terrified that conversation would lead to what happened after, the kiss that still made Iris’s knees feel weak when she thought about it.