Iris Kelly Doesn't Date (Bright Falls, #3)(93)
Barely forty days into her and Stevie’s official and very real dating relationship, and Iris was already a complete disaster.
Her friends, of course, loved it. Claire especially. Iris had deigned to go on several octuple dates with everyone, Simon and Emery included, and she had to admit it was nice having a hand to hold. Not just any hand though—Stevie’s hand was soft, and a little calloused from her work at Bitch’s Brew, and fit inside hers perfectly.
She’d even told her parents about Stevie, though she refused to let them meet her until her book launch for Until We Meet Again at River Wild in October. At least there, they’d be surrounded by her friends, making it nearly impossible for Maeve to show Stevie all of Iris’s baby pictures she’d undoubtedly bring with her and drop endless hints about rings and wedding dresses.
Despite all of this disgusting romantic bliss, every now and then, Iris would have a flash of a memory—Jillian or Grant or some asshole from college. She’d lock up, freak out for a few seconds, but fuck if Stevie Scott wasn’t an expert in calming her down. All the woman had to do was look at Iris and know, then take her into her arms and start swaying to some unheard slow song. They’d danced everywhere by now—restaurants, bowling alleys, grocery stores, the Urgent Care center in Bright Falls when Iris woke up one morning at the end of July with a fever and a sore throat.
They’d even danced on stage, in the middle of a live performance of Much Ado. They were on the scene where Benedick and Beatrice confess they love each other, and one night last week, Stevie had really played the scene up, taking Iris in her arms and circling her across the stage while all but yelling, “By my sword, Beatrice, thou lovest me!”
Iris had laughed, kissed Stevie right there on stage, whispering, “Do not swear and eat it” against her mouth. The audience had fucking loved it, and so had Iris. Stevie was magnetic on stage, pure magic, and Iris couldn’t take her eyes off of her, even as she waited in the wings, watching a scene that didn’t feature Beatrice at all.
The play was going well, a nearly packed house every performance since they opened at the beginning of August. Now, as the weather grew cooler and cooler and they neared the end of the show’s run, getting ready for closing night and the fundraiser dinner and auction to follow, Iris was completely exhausted. This was tough work, acting in a show four times a week for a month, and she was wrapping up her agent’s edits on her second book in her free time as well. Still, it was a good tired, a productive one, and Iris felt a pang of sadness about her time at the Empress ending.
“It doesn’t have to end, you know,” Stevie said now, wrapping her arms around Iris and kissing the back of her neck. They were in Stevie’s bed, the morning of the last show, and Iris laughed.
“Right,” she said. “Even if I did have time to do another play, working under your ex isn’t exactly my dream scenario.”
She felt Stevie smile against her skin. “She hasn’t been too bad lately.”
“Only because she’s too busy planning for tonight. Last week, she told me my Beatrice was too sentimental. Can you believe that? I, Iris Kelly, have never been accused of such crimes.”
Stevie squeezed her tighter, slid a hand up to cup Iris’s bare breast. “Well, maybe my dashing and irresistible Benedick is having more of an effect on you than you thought.”
Iris turned in Stevie’s arms, tucking a wild curl behind her ear. “Maybe.”
“There are worse things in the world.”
“There are.” Iris leaned in to kiss her.
The kiss soon turned heated and desperate, and within fifteen minutes, they were gasping every breath, whispering yeah and fuck and god as their fingers rubbed each other’s centers until they both came fast and hard.
“Jesus, woman,” Iris said as she returned to herself. “I think I’ve lost five pounds since we started all this, just from the sex alone.”
Stevie laughed, sliding a hand down the outside of Iris’s soft thigh. “I’ll have to feed you some cake, then.”
“Astrid is a great baker, and my favorite is her caramel dark chocolate seven-layer.”
“Noted.”
Iris smiled, then grabbed her phone and glanced at the time. “Shit. What time did you tell Adri?”
Stevie groaned and flopped back on her pillow. “Noon. What time is it now?”
“Nearly eleven.”
“Yeah. I need to go pretty soon.”
Stevie had promised Adri that she’d help set up for the night’s dinner and auction, which was taking place in the private back room of Nadia’s, a swanky, queer-owned Portland restaurant not even a block from the Empress. Iris would join them later, but her deadline for Fiona’s edits was in two days, and she had to work a little this afternoon before heading over for the show.
“Hey,” Iris said before Stevie could escape the bed. “What’s next for you? I’ve been meaning to ask you.”
Stevie’s eyes went a little tight. “Next?”
“Yeah. After tonight, Much Ado is finished. Do you have any auditions lined up or plays you know are happening around the city?”
“Oh,” Stevie said, then pressed her mouth together.
“I know you don’t want to do community theater again,” Iris said, then nudged Stevie’s arm. “You do need to get paid.”