Iris Kelly Doesn't Date (Bright Falls, #3)(84)

“Okay now, I see my confidence lessons have gone a step too far,” Iris said. “I’ll have to reevaluate my curriculum.”

Stevie laughed, popped a fry into her mouth. “I’ve had plenty of horrible performances. Worst? Probably the first play I ever did at Reed. I was so nervous—our director was amazing, really demanding—so Ren, in their infinite wisdom, gave me a weed gummy about half an hour before curtain.”

“Uh-oh.”

“Yeah. A whole one too, not even a half. Let’s just say that interpretation of And Then There Were None had never been quite so giggly.”

“Ah, so you laugh a lot when you’re high.”

“So much, oh my god. I managed to get it together after a few scenes, but Dr. Calloway was furious.” Stevie’s gaze went a little dreamy, her fingers playing with her napkin. “I’m amazed she even . . .” She trailed off, cleared her throat. “Anyway, needless to say, I swore off recreational substances to help me deal with stage nerves.”

“Probably wise. Though it doesn’t seem like you need them these days.”

Stevie shrugged one shoulder, her expression going playful. “Hard to be nervous when you’re this good.”

Iris knew Stevie was joking, but she didn’t laugh. “Yeah. Exactly.”

Stevie rolled her eyes.

“You never thought about going somewhere else?” Iris asked.

Stevie frowned. “What do you mean?”

Iris speared her last strawberry with her fork. “Isn’t New York the theater capital of the world?”

Stevie licked her bottom lip, looked out the window. “Ren’s always pushing me to move there. Or somewhere. But . . . I don’t know.”

“That’s a big step,” Iris said.

“Yeah,” Stevie said, turning to look at her. “It is. Maybe too big for me.”

Iris frowned. “I don’t think so. I think you could—”

“Can I have a bite of your moon pie?”

Iris nodded, then pushed over her plate. She took a bite of Stevie’s chocolate mint moon pie, and soon they were on to other topics, other things that were clearly easier to talk about for both of them, which was exactly how Iris liked it.

She had to admit, it was a perfect date.

A date she wasn’t sure she could actually re-create on paper, because she could barely make sense of it herself. As they walked back to Iris’s apartment, she felt overwhelmed, like she needed to cry or scream or pull Stevie immediately into her arms and kiss her senseless.

When they reached her apartment door, she settled on the last option. She needed to un-romanticize this night a little, help her heart return to its usual rhythm. Sex would do the trick, and Iris would be lying if she said she hadn’t imagined getting Stevie back into her bed a million times in the last couple of days.

So she kissed Stevie at her door.

Pulled her into her arms and slid her hands down Stevie’s ass, pressing her leg between her thighs so Stevie would know exactly what she was thinking.

But Stevie pulled away, resting her hands on Iris’s hips.

“Still too much?” Iris asked, looking up at Stevie through her lashes.

“That’s not what tonight was about, Iris,” Stevie said, her expression soft yet serious.

“I know that,” Iris said, laughing. “But don’t most romantic dates end with a nice round of fucking?”

Stevie flinched, but just barely. In fact, Iris thought maybe she’d imagined it as Stevie’s expression smoothed out, head canted as she watched Iris. Finally, she smiled, leaned in, and kissed Iris lightly on the mouth—once . . . twice—before stepping back and shoving her hands in her pockets. She walked backward toward the stairs.

“Good night, Iris,” she said, then turned around and was gone.





CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT





IRIS KELLY WAS at the end of her rope.

For the last two weeks, she had gone on more “dates” with Stevie than Grant had taken her on the entire last year they were together.

They went to dinner in Portland.

They went to brunch in Bright Falls.

They went to a winery in the Willamette Valley, a day trip that ended with Iris so sloshed, she didn’t even remember how she ended up tucked into her bed.

They played boozy mini-golf at Birdie’s with her friends.

They took a hike through Lower Macleay Park to the Pittock Mansion, Stevie’s legs completely covered in bug bites by the time they reached their destination.

Most recently, Stevie had shown up at Iris’s apartment at ten o’clock at night, blankets and pillows in her hands, so they could watch a lunar eclipse from the roof of Iris’s building.

And after each and every date, Stevie kissed Iris on the mouth and said good night.

That was it.

She never even tried to slide into second base, much less cop a feel below the waist. By mid-July, just two weeks before Much Ado opened at the Empress, Iris was ready to pull every single hair out of her body. She had more than enough content for her book, her progress with her cranky vintner and cinnamon roll wine critic inching toward the last act at this point. Still, Stevie kept asking her out, kept driving her crazy with slow dances in the middle of the forest and on hole eighteen.