It was from Ren, sent to their group chat that included Adri and Vanessa. A group chat that had been pretty quiet lately.
Stevie tapped on the message. It took her a few seconds to realize that she was looking at a photo of herself and Iris, dancing at Lush in a way that could’ve been a deleted scene from a queer version of Dirty Dancing.
Ren: Stevie and Ren, on the fucking town. Look at our girl go!
“Oh my god,” Stevie said.
Ren sent a few other pics—one of themself with the curvy brunette, followed by a line of empty shot glasses on the bar.
But Stevie knew what Ren was doing.
They wanted Adri and Vanessa to see Stevie with someone else. That was the whole goal of tonight anyway—someone different, someone new. The other photos were simply a cover, so it all seemed less pointed and more casual.
And it worked.
Because a split second later, Adri texted back. And she didn’t say anything about Ren’s zaftig or the copious amount of alcohol.
Adri: Wow, Stevie, she’s gorgeous
Vanessa: Way to go, Stevie
Adri: What’s her name?
“Shit, shit, shit,” Stevie said, dropping her face into her hands. She couldn’t answer. She could barely even think about Iris’s name right now.
Her phone buzzed again, and this time, Ren had texted only her.
Ren: You fucking badass you
Ren: Also you’d better be engaging in some truly scandalous sex acts right now
Stevie turned off her phone, pulled the covers over her head, and hoped to god or whoever that the end of the world was nigh.
CHAPTER SEVEN
“SO?” SIMON SAID as he and Iris settled at a table on the Everwood Inn’s patio. The trees surrounding the property blazed green in the summer sun. “How was it?”
Iris huffed a laugh and took a long sip from the ice water already set out at their table, chewing on the end of her biodegradable rainbow straw the inn was using for Pride month. “I’m going to need to be very drunk to talk about that.”
Simon winced. “Bad? She looked so nice.”
“Oh, she was,” Iris said. “Nice and sweet and grateful, especially when I was cleaning up her puke.”
Simon’s eyes went wide. “What.”
“You heard me.” Iris shuddered at the memory.
“Wait, wait, wait,” he said, waving his hands and leaning forward in his wrought iron chair. “She threw up?”
Iris nodded. “Indeed. One look at me in my bra and up it came.”
A laugh burst out of Simon. He slapped a hand over his mouth. “I’m sorry,” he said through his fingers. “It’s just . . . wow. Talk about a hell of a meet-cute.”
“I didn’t mind the puke,” Iris said. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, it wasn’t the best of times, but she couldn’t help it. She was clearly mortified, and I was happy to help. But yeah, it wasn’t the greatest hookup I’ve ever had.”
“Yeah, but now you’ve got an amazing start to your novel,” Simon said, then spread his hands out like he was displaying a title. “Tegan McKee Doesn’t Vomit.”
“You know, sometimes I wonder why we’re friends.”
He just laughed even harder.
Iris tried to laugh too, but the memory was still too visceral. She had no idea where she and Stefania had gone wrong. Maybe the woman really had been sick, but two days after tangling tongues, Iris still felt fine. The real conclusion to draw here was that Stefania couldn’t stomach sleeping with Iris.
Literally.
“It’s fine,” Iris said, waving a hand. “It is funny, I guess. Maybe in about twenty years, when my pride has recovered and I learn how to use my tits for good and not evil, I’ll laugh too.”
That just made Simon laugh harder.
“What’s this about your evil tits?” Delilah said. She and Claire approached the table, holding hands and looking like they just spent a weekend under the spell of a forty-eight-hour orgasm.
Then again, they probably had.
“Oh, nothing,” Iris said. “Just a hookup gone bad.”
“Jesus, I’m so glad those days are over,” Delilah said, settling one ankle on her gray-jeaned knee and leaning back as she perused the menu. Her dark curly hair was particularly voluminous today. “I used to hate leaving in the middle of the night. That was the worst.”
“You? I’m shocked you didn’t stay and cuddle,” Iris said.
Delilah flipped her off.
“I don’t see how you do it, Ris,” Claire said, sipping on her water. She had on a sky-blue sundress and cognac sandals. “I was always terrible at one-night stands.”
“Because you’re so good at forever-night stands,” Delilah said, leaning over to kiss Claire’s neck.
Claire giggled, and the two commenced whispering to each other and kissing.
Iris caught Simon’s eye and he made a face like he was going to puke.
“Don’t,” Iris said. “I’ve had enough of that.”
He busted up laughing again. Meanwhile, Claire and Delilah remained oblivious. Iris couldn’t help but smile at them, despite their saccharine display of affection.
“Hey, we’re here, we’re here,” Astrid said, hurrying toward the table in a pair of wide-legged linen pants and a loose black tank top, pulling Jordan Everwood by the hand behind her. Jordan, as usual, was clad in a printed button-up shirt, this one featuring tiny yellow suns. “Sorry we’re late. Explosion in the kitchen.”
“A food explosion while trying out a sauce recipe,” Jordan said, sitting down and smoothing a hand down Astrid’s arm. “Our new intern turned on the blender without the lid.”
“Yikes,” Simon said.
“Pumpkin puree everywhere,” Astrid said. “Even on the ceiling.”
“And in your hair,” Iris said, reaching over and plucking a piece of soggy pumpkin from Astrid’s shaggy blond locks.
“Oh god,” Astrid said, raking a hand over her head.
Jordan laughed. “It’s okay, baby, we’ll get it out in the shower later.”
Astrid blushed, twining her fingers with Jordan’s. Iris, for her part, was quite proud that she refrained from teasing her cotillion-trained best friend about bathing with another person.
“Let’s order, shall we?” she said instead.
“Yes, let’s,” Simon said brightly, probably eager to get off the topic of his twin sister’s sex life.
The server—a woman named Bria with a gold hoop in her nose—took their order for a pitcher of Bloody Marys, duck confit eggs Benedict, mixed fruit, and a basket of Astrid’s freshly baked blueberry oat muffins.
“So,” Claire said lightly after Bria left. “We have some news.” She looked at Delilah, her cheeks going red.
“Oh?” Astrid said, but something about the way she said that one syllable word made Iris think she already knew.
And Iris realized that she knew too. Her gut did, at least. Of course, they had all talked about Delilah and Claire getting married. Everyone knew it was going to happen. Iris had even conspired with Delilah about what sort of ring Claire would want—vintage yellow diamond surrounded by smaller stones, platinum band—but Iris had no idea Delilah was actually planning to pop the question.