To write Stevie’s name.
To write Make your own happily ever after to Stevie Scott, the woman Iris had rejected, refused, lied to. The woman Iris was too fucking scared to make any kind of ever after with. The woman who, after all that, still preordered Iris’s book from Claire’s store, wanted Iris to sign it.
“Fuck,” she said, her eyes starting to sting.
“Oh, honey,” Claire said.
“I’m fine, just . . .” She shook her head, forced herself to think of something else, anything else, anyone. She closed her hands into fists, squeezing until she felt the sting of pain from her nails.
Nothing helped though.
Stevie . . . make your own happily ever after.
The inscription felt like a jab, a cruel joke, and she knew she could never write that to Stevie. She couldn’t imagine writing anything.
She stood up suddenly, taking Stevie’s book with her. “Can we go? I’m ready to get out of here.”
Claire frowned, eyes flicking down to Stevie’s book in Iris’s hand. Iris crushed the book to her chest, and Claire glanced at Brianne, shook her head slightly. Iris didn’t comment on it, she just needed to leave. Now.
“Claire.”
“Okay, yes,” Claire said, but she sounded anything but excited about the whole thing. “Brianne, you’re okay to close up?”
“Of course,” Brianne said, her pink bangs in her eyes. “Congratulations, Iris.”
“Thanks,” Iris said. “And thank you for a wonderful event.” Her voice shook, her fingertips fizzy as she slipped Stevie’s book into her bag. She’d figure out what to write to Stevie, mail it off herself.
“I hear we’re heading into the den of iniquity?” Delilah said, walking toward her. Astrid and Jordan hovered by the door with Simon, their heads close together as they talked, glancing at Iris with worried expressions.
“Yes,” she said firmly, chin up as she looped her arm with Delilah’s and spun her around, looking at each of her friends right in the eye in turn. “It’s time to celebrate and I’m looking for the hottest piece of ass I can land.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
IRIS WAS SURROUNDED by dry humping.
Literally, it felt like everyone in this bar was coupled up and grinding on each other. But then again, she supposed that was the point of a bar like Lush, which was crowded tonight, with dim lighting, custom fall-themed cocktails, and music that felt like it was written for sex.
It was the perfect place to get lost in. Iris looked around, looking for anyone who might be looking back. She leaned against the bar, hip out, martini glass half full and held lazily in one hand. All the nonverbal cues for I’m down to fuck.
Only problem was, Astrid was sticking by her side like glue while Jordan and Simon had some serious conversation at the end of the bar. Claire and Delilah were . . . well, they were part of the dry-humping scene on the dance floor, which was a little disturbing and also a complete delight.
“This is . . . interesting,” Astrid said, clutching her bag to her chest with one arm, a glass of white wine in the other. She was very obviously trying not to look at Claire and Delilah.
“Oh, baby’s first queer bar,” Iris said, petting Astrid’s blond hair.
Astrid rolled her eyes and batted Iris’s hand away, but a small smile settled on her mouth before she went back to watching everything with a slightly stunned expression. She’d worn three-inch heels to the bar, pairing them with cuffed jeans and a fitted navy blazer. She was like a queer Ann Taylor.
Iris laughed when Astrid’s mouth dropped open as two men whipped off their shirts and then continued their grinding.
“Well,” Astrid said, sipping her wine.
“Welcome, my darling,” Iris said, and Astrid grinned, clinking her glass with Iris’s. The current song ended, drifting into another, but Claire and Delilah headed toward them at the bar, laughing and holding hands.
“I forgot how much I love dancing!” Claire shouted over the noise.
“I can’t believe I’ve never brought you here before,” Delilah said, her arms wrapping around Claire’s waist from behind. “All those times Iris dragged my ass here, I could’ve been . . .” She trailed off and whispered something in Claire’s ear, something that turned Claire’s face bright red—visible even in the dim light—and made her giggle.
“Jesus, you two,” Iris said.
“Oh, they’re cute, leave them alone,” Astrid said as Jordan came up silently behind her, slipping a hand around her waist. Simon ordered a beer and sat on a stool.
“Okay,” Iris said. “Who do we see?”
Her friends just blinked at her then glanced at one another.
“What?” Iris said.
“Who are you in the mood to see?” Delilah asked slowly.
Iris frowned. “Um, literally anyone.”
“Are you sure you don’t just want to dance with us?” Claire asked. She reached out and took Iris’s hand. “I’ll dance with you.”
“Not in the way I’d prefer,” Iris said. She wanted the press of bodies, sweat and alcohol, someone’s thigh between hers, nearly making her come right here in the middle of Lush.
Her stomach fluttered at the thought, a rare roll of nervousness.
“Honey, are you sure?” Claire asked.
Iris froze, looking at each of her friends. “What do you mean?”
“She means Stevie,” Delilah said, ever straight to the point.
Iris clenched her jaw.
Make your own happily ever after.
She shook her head, trying to dislodge the phrase, but she couldn’t get it out of her mind. Granted, she’d written it about a hundred times tonight. It made sense it would be stuck on a loop.
Total, perfect sense.
“Iris, have you even talked to her?” Astrid asked softly, squeezing her shoulder.
Iris shook her off.
Of course she hadn’t talked to her. She couldn’t. What the hell would she say? Iris didn’t even know how to explain what had happened between her and Stevie to her best friends, to her own heart, how could she offer an apology for it?
If she even wanted to apologize at all.
Which she didn’t.
She and Stevie were over. Stevie had left and Iris hadn’t gone after her and that was that.
Make your own happily ever after.
“I’m going to dance,” she said, pushing off the bar and plunging into the sea of writhing bodies before her friends could stop her. She closed her eyes, lifted her hands and moved. She spun and twirled until everything was a blur.
Until she felt a hand on her shoulder.
She opened her eyes to see a dark-haired woman, all hips and ass, a total goddess, standing in front of her.
“Hi,” the woman said. She had on a dark purple dress, which clung to every curve perfectly.
Iris smiled. “Hi.”
“My name’s—”
“I don’t care,” Iris said, hooking her arms around the woman’s hips and pulling her close.
The woman laughed, revealing lovely white teeth, gold earrings dangling with her movement. “Fair enough.”
Iris pulled her closer, the woman wrapping her arms around Iris’s shoulders, hip-to-hip. She looked Iris in the eyes, smiled. She was so— “Pretty,” Iris said.