Simon sighed. “I know.”
“So, then, what?” she asked, her voice rising. “What the hell is so wrong with me having sex when I want to, with whomever I want, if that’s what makes me happy? What?”
She felt the tears rising again. There it was again, this feeling that deep down, her friends thought she was a little too free. A little too wild. That she wasn’t what a grown-ass adult of thirty-two should be.
“Nothing,” Simon said, squeezing her arm. “I promise you, nothing is wrong with that.”
She shook her head, only half convinced.
“But, sweetie, does it?” he asked.
She sniffed, turned to frown at him. “Does it what?”
“Make you happy?”
For the second time, she opened her mouth, but no words came out. At least, not at first. She let her jaw hang wide for a second or two while she found the right answer.
“Yes,” she said, but even to her, her voice sounded a bit robotic. She tried again. “Yeah. Of course it does.”
Simon’s gaze narrowed, just a little, but then he nodded. “Okay. I still think you should do this play with me. It would be fun. And I think they’re turning this one into some sort of fundraiser to keep the theater going, so it’d be for a good cause.”
“You and me singing ‘Sigh No More, Ladies’ in period clothing is going to save the Empress?”
He laughed. “Hell yes. Who else?”
She laughed too. She couldn’t help it. Simon was so . . . hopeful. He had been since the day she met him. And he had a point—the play actually sounded like it could be fun. Portland. New faces. She had actually taken a theater class in high school, during which even the teacher—Mr. Bristow, who Iris always felt was staring at her boobs—said she was a bit too dramatic.
In drama class.
She nearly laughed at the thought, but honestly, doing this play with Simon sounded like exactly what she needed, not that she’d ever admit that to him.
“Fine,” she said. “But if we get cast, you’re picking me up for every rehearsal in a Bentley filled with caviar and champagne.”
He tapped his chin. “How’s a 2018 Honda Accord and some donuts?”
“Deal.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
WHEN STEVIE WALKED into the Empress on Tuesday morning, she expected Adri to smile at her, maybe ask about the woman in the photo Ren had sent to everyone on Friday night, and then move on to shop talk. A little light teasing, and that would be it.
But that is not what she did.
At all.
First off, Vanessa was here, which was a surprise. She had a day job, after all, but she didn’t have Tuesday classes, so she’d blocked off the day to help with auditions.
Second of all, Ren was also in attendance. They did this now and again—took off a morning or worked remotely in order to help out with costumes or some aesthetic aspect of the current play. All four of them had been involved with theater at Reed, studying under the thrall of Thayer Calloway—their theater professor they were all half in love with, who was now directing in New York—and Ren even had a minor in costume design.
Therefore, when Stevie entered the small theater, all three of her best friends looked up from where they were sitting on the stage, grinned, and kept their eyes glued to her reddening face as she walked to meet them.
She slowed her steps. Maybe if she delayed her arrival, someone else would show up—Julian, the Empress’s assistant director, or maybe Dev, the gaffer.
But as she trailed her fingers along the plush purple chairs Adri had spent a fortune for, glancing at the exposed brick walls, no one else swooped in to save her.
When she stopped in front of the stage—a short walk from the entrance, unfortunately—her friends kept staring and grinning.
“Um,” she said. “Good morning?”
“Indeed,” Ren said, swinging their legs, which were hanging off the slightly raised stage. They were wearing sleek black pants, a white button-down under an aubergine vest. No tie. This was casual for Ren. “You never texted me back this weekend.” They waggled their perfect eyebrows.
Stevie winced. She hadn’t texted Ren back when they inquired about how her evening with the redhead had gone, and that was one hundred percent on purpose, as was her decision to ignore Adri’s question about Iris’s name. She had zero plans to divulge what had happened.
“Yeah, sorry,” Stevie said.
“I take it Iris stayed over, then?” Ren said when Stevie remained silent.
“Iris?” Adri said, glancing at Stevie. She had on her clear-framed glasses, which Stevie had always loved, and had a heavily annotated script in her hand. “So that’s her name.”
Stevie just nodded.
“She was hot, Stevie,” Vanessa said, wrapping her arms around one leg. Her long dark hair tumbled down her back, so shiny under the house lights, Stevie had to squint.
She nodded again.
That, at least, wasn’t a lie. Iris was hot. So much so, that when Stevie thought about her pre-vomit, her belly swooped pleasantly. But then her memory would catch up to the puke and the nausea swelled once again.
“Are you seeing her again?” Ren said.
“I sure hope so,” Vanessa said, “She was too gorgeous to let go.”
“Babe,” Adri said, eyeing her girlfriend.
“Is this the part where I say Not as gorgeous as you, sweetie?” Vanessa asked, batting her impossibly long lashes.
Adri hesitated for a split second, then laughed, pulling Vanessa in for a kiss.
Stevie wrinkled her nose. She couldn’t remember the last time she and Adri had joked around like that when they were together. They lacked a playfulness toward the end, the ability to take a joke. If Adri had made a comment about the attractiveness of one of Ren’s or Vanessa’s hookups, Stevie probably would’ve quietly fallen apart, then sobbed in the bathroom for a good half hour.
Which was probably part of her and Adri’s problem.
She swallowed hard, trying to shake off the thought and smile. Then, as she met each of her friends’ eyes, she felt her shoulders straightening, her chest expanding just a little. She breathed a bit easier than she had the last time they were all together. Her smile felt a little less forced. For the first time in months, her friends were looking at her like they used to. Like she had a life plan, a damn good one. Like her dream of the stage wasn’t childish and played out.
As she smiled back at them, she even caught a bit of admiration in their eyes. She supposed a person who could attract a woman like Iris would be at least a little intriguing, and god, it had been so long since Stevie had felt interesting to anyone. Her short stint with Iris didn’t even count, as any intrigue Iris might have felt for Stevie was completely ruined by the ending.
“So?” Adri pressed. She tilted her head, eyes slightly narrowed. “Are you going out again?”
Vanessa mouthed yes over and over, her eyes gleaming.
Ren just watched Stevie with their brows lifted.
There was really only one right answer. The only one that would make Stevie feel like she wasn’t a complete disaster, the one that would make Ren believe they’d actually helped Stevie out, make Adri and Vanessa feel a little less guilty about their newfound love.