Iris’s mouth dropped open, but nothing came out. She sat up, her iPad slipping to the floor, and rubbed her face. “Look, this was fun. Last night. And, clearly, it was a long time coming, but I have a few planner orders to fill and then have to do a shit ton of writing, so you should probably go.”
She stood up, a satin lavender robe open and revealing her lovely body. She pulled it closed and secured the tie.
“Hang on,” Stevie said, sitting up. “Iris, I—”
“I need you to go, Stevie.”
She spoke the words firmly, a slight tremor to her voice as she started roaming around the room, picking up pieces of clothing here and there and tossing them into her laundry basket.
Stevie blinked at her, willing her to stop, to look at her, but she never did.
Stevie wasn’t sure what she expected. A declaration of love? For Iris to write their love story like she was writing Tegan and Briony’s? No, Iris had made it clear, on more than one occasion, that she didn’t do love. She didn’t do relationships.
But Stevie and her stupid romantic heart thought maybe this time—maybe Stevie herself—was different. Like a tornado forming over a field, quick and swirling and devastating, she realized she’d been hoping for that all along. In her desperation to move on from Adri—a person who controlled their whole relationship, every move in bed, every show they watched and dinner they prepared—Stevie had convinced herself what she really needed was a random hookup. Sex, pure and carnal, a show of bravery and confidence.
But she’d been wrong.
So wrong.
She didn’t want that at all.
She wanted Iris.
Maybe she’d wanted her from the moment Iris had tucked her into her bed that first night. Maybe it happened later, Stevie didn’t know, but she knew it was true. She could see everything so clearly now. And fuck, she’d wasted so much time thinking everything she and Iris had done together in the past weeks was all about getting with some stranger, about Stevie proving something to herself.
But it was always about Iris.
And now Iris was asking her to leave.
She was saying no, and Stevie knew she had to respect it, but the panic flurried into her chest anyway.
“We’re still good, right?” Stevie asked, desperate to get Iris to stop moving around the room. Look at her. “With our . . . our deal?”
Iris finally paused, finally put her eyes on Stevie’s. She had her red bandanna crop top from last night in her hands. “Yeah. Of course. I wouldn’t leave you out to dry like that.”
“I know, I just . . . I didn’t know if last night—”
“Last night was sex, Stevie,” Iris said, all the warmth in her eyes and voice going cold again. Clinical. “And honestly, it was amazing, and I’d totally be down to fuck again.” Here she smirked, that familiar flirty expression taking over her lovely features. “But last night doesn’t change anything,” she went on. “We’re still good.”
Stevie nodded, a knot in her throat. “Right.”
“But I really need to get on with my day, so . . .”
Iris looked down at the shirt in her hands, cleared her throat.
“Right,” Stevie said again. She pushed back the sheets, found her T-shirt on the floor, pulled it on.
“I’m going to jump in the shower,” Iris said. “You good?”
Stevie’s eyes filled, but she focused on her shorts. One leg in, now the other. “Yeah.”
“Good. I’ll . . . I’ll see you at rehearsal on Monday.”
Stevie could only nod and then Iris was gone. Down the hall, Stevie heard the bathroom door click shut, the shower squeak to life. She fought tears as she finished getting dressed, refusing to let herself have the relief of crying. Iris had never promised her anything—she’d only ever been herself.
Stevie stood up and started making the bed, just for something for her hands to focus on as she took deep breath after deep breath, trying to get herself under control. She pulled up Iris’s mosaic duvet, grabbed her pillows from where they’d thrown them on the floor last night. As she reached for the last turquoise sham, her heel caught the edge of Iris’s iPad still on the floor. She picked it up, and as she placed it on the nightstand, her thumb swiped the surface, the lock screen blooming to life.
It took Stevie a few seconds to realize the image on the iPad wasn’t a wallpaper. It wasn’t the lock screen at all. It wasn’t even a background image on Iris’s home screen.
It was Stevie’s own face, a cowboy hat sitting crooked on her head, her mouth open in a laugh as she held Jenna’s hand on the dance floor at Stella’s. It was just a sketch, all black and white and rough lines, but it was definitely her.
Her heart drummed under her ribs as she navigated the program, finding other files with her name on it.
Stevie and Iris on stage at the Empress.
Stevie sitting alone on the beach in Malibu.
Stevie and Iris slow dancing in Iris’s living room, candles all around, the colors in this one complete and dark and soft.
They were beautiful. Each illustration, each portrait, capturing Iris and Stevie’s entire relationship. They were drawn with skill and talent, surely, but there was something else there.
Something real.
Stevie didn’t know what to think or feel. These drawings, they felt warm. Careful and meticulous, every line thoughtful and purposeful. They didn’t match up with the Iris who, for all intents and purposes, had just kicked Stevie out of her apartment after a hookup.
Nothing matched up whatsoever.
But before Stevie could think more about it, the shower turned off. She didn’t want to still be here when Iris came back to her room—plus, she knew Iris expected her to be gone, and she had to respect that.
So she opened up to the file featuring Stevie at Stella’s that Iris had been working on, clicked the iPad screen dark, and set it on Iris’s nightstand. Then she pulled on her boots and found her bag on the floor in the living room and left.
RAIN PELTED STEVIE’S car, rivers of water washing down her windshield. She’d only made it two blocks from Iris’s, but she could barely see and her anxiety had her heart sprinting against her ribs.
She pulled into a street parking space to catch her breath. She tried to think of what the hell she was going to do the next time she saw Iris. She tried to imagine everything between them going back to the way it was, which was clearly what Iris wanted, but the sheer thought of faking how she was feeling—how she’d been feeling—just made her lungs grow even tighter.
She leaned her head against the seat, wondering how long she was going to have to wait this rain out, when her phone buzzed. She dug it out of her bag, her heart swelling into her throat when she saw the notification for an email from Dr. Calloway. She tapped on it, words she wasn’t sure what to do with springing into her view.
Hi Stevie,
It was so good to see you yesterday. Attached is all the information regarding the play. I do hope you’ll consider it. Please know, I wouldn’t cast just anyone—I have a lot at stake here, a lot to prove, and I don’t gamble with my own career. I hope you won’t gamble with yours. I’d appreciate your decision by September 1st.
Best,