The redhead her entire friend group thought she was having sex with.
No, not just having sex with.
Dating.
Iris swam in her vision, and she knew she had to do something. Say something. Before she could really think through it, she dropped the sushi that took her nearly an hour to procure and ran up the stage steps.
Slid her arms around Iris’s waist and pulled her close.
“Please,” she whispered in Iris’s ear.
It was all she could think to say.
Iris was stiff, shocked, as she damn well should be, but she also smelled amazing, all ginger and bergamot, the fabric of her light sweater like silk under Stevie’s fingers.
“Please,” Stevie said again when Iris didn’t embrace her back. Which, Stevie knew, was a clear sign she should back off, but desperation to get out of this situation without her entire lie blowing up in front of Vanessa and Adri drove any other thought to the far corners of her mind.
Finally—thank Christ, finally—Iris softened and wrapped her arms around Stevie’s shoulders, but not without a “What the hell” whispered back into Stevie’s ear.
“I know. I’m sorry,” Stevie said. “Just let me—”
“That is the cutest thing I’ve ever seen,” Vanessa said, her voice floating up from the audience. “Right, babe?”
“Pretty cute,” Adri said, though her tone was decidedly more thoughtful. It jolted Stevie back into reality and she pulled away from Iris.
Iris met her eyes, fire in all that green.
I’m sorry, Stevie mouthed again. She could fix this. Explain it. Iris had tucked her into bed, for god’s sake. Surely she’d understand the need to save a little face in front of an ex.
Stevie cleared her throat and turned to face Adri and Vanessa, her fingers tangling with Iris’s. Iris let her do it, and she felt buoyed by the permission.
“Um,” she said. “So, this is Iris.”
“Yes, we know,” Vanessa said, grinning. “A romantic, if ever there was one.”
Iris snorted, her fingers tightening on Stevie’s to a painful degree.
Stevie laughed nervously. “Yeah, I, um, I had no idea she was—”
“I wanted to surprise Stefania,” Iris said, hand still squeezing Stevie’s. “And I think I succeeded.”
“Oh, you did,” Stevie said, squeezing back. “You definitely did.”
“Stefania?” Adri said, her thick brows lowering.
Stevie met her gaze. Swallowed. Adri knew all about how Stevie sometimes envisioned herself as a different person to get through a stressful situation. She also knew that Stevie didn’t go by Stefania—the name given to her in honor of her Italian great-grandmother—with anyone.
“Yeah,” Stevie said, lies unrolling onto her tongue. “When Iris and I met, I told her my full name. She liked it. Didn’t you?” She nudged Iris’s arm, and Iris glared at Stevie with enough fire to reignite a dwindling star.
“Right,” Iris finally said, biting into the final t so loudly, the sound echoed through the theater. “Give us a second, will you?” she asked Adri and Vanessa, pulling Stevie by the hand toward the stage steps.
“Of course,” Adri said.
“But don’t leave, Iris,” Vanessa said. “I’m sure Adri wants to talk to you about Beatrice.”
“Van,” Adri said sharply. “I’m the director here.”
“I know, babe, but come on. Have you seen a better one?”
“Wait, really?” Iris asked, pausing on the steps.
“Beatrice?” Stevie asked, but Iris was staring at Adri.
Adri flattened her mouth. “I admit, Iris, you’re perfect. I mean, we can do a reading with Stevie so you can get a feel for what it will be like with Benedick, but yes. You’re the best Beatrice I’ve seen in . . . well, maybe ever. No question.”
Iris blinked, a tiny smile on her beautiful mouth. But then it faded, and she looked at Stevie. “You’re Benedick.”
It wasn’t a question, but Adri’s resigned expression morphed into suspicion anyway. “You didn’t know?”
Iris sniffed in response. Stevie had to get her out of here. Fix this.
“We’ll be right back,” Stevie said, changing direction and tugging Iris backstage.
It wasn’t a huge space, a hallway mostly, full of pulleys and wires above, poured concrete below. Stevie didn’t slow down until they were in the small dressing room the entire cast shared on performance nights. There were four lighted mirrors, two on each wall, mix-matched chairs set in front of the vanities. A green leather couch sat in one corner, a coffee table covered in books and scripts and a Nintendo Switch.
As soon as the door clicked shut, Iris rounded on Stevie.
“What the actual fuck?”
“I know,” Stevie said. “I know, I’m sorry.”
Iris folded her arms, long, tangled hair draping over her shoulders. She was gorgeous when she was mad, her green eyes a bit darker, red hair like fire— Stevie shook her head. Focus. She needed to focus here.
“Who are you?” Iris asked. “Because you sure as hell aren’t Stefania.”
Stevie presented her palms. “I am. I just go by Stevie.”
Iris’s eyes softened, but only slightly. “Stevie.”
Stevie nodded.
“So why did you tell me your name was Stefania?”
Stevie dropped her arms. “It’s my name.”
“You know what I mean.”
Stevie nodded, rubbed her forehead. “Yeah. Sorry. I just . . .” She searched for a reason that would make her sound less pathetic, but there wasn’t one. She was pathetic, and the sooner Iris knew it, the better.
Granted, she had already puked on the poor woman, so Iris was probably very aware already.
“I get nervous when I meet new people,” Stevie said. “I’m not awesome with strangers, and you were so . . .”
Beautiful.
Hypnotic.
Perfect.
The words cascaded in Stevie’s brain, but she couldn’t say any of those things.
“Confident,” she said. “So I acted like I was too. Thinking of myself as someone else helped. I mean, up to a point.”
Iris watched her, mouth slightly pursed. “Okay. I guess I get that.”
Stevie audibly exhaled, but Iris wasn’t finished.
“What I don’t get is why your friends seem to think I came here for you. That we know each other beyond a disastrous one-night stand.”
Stevie winced. “Nice word choice.”
Iris’s brows lifted. “I think disastrous is pretty apt.”
“No, yeah, it’s perfect.”
Silence spilled in between them. An awful, awkward silence.
And then, unexplainably, “I throw up when I’m really nervous” is how Stevie chose to fill it.
Iris’s mouth dropped open. “Wow.”
“Yeah. So that’s fun.”
“I’m sorry,” Iris said softly. “You could’ve just said you didn’t want to sleep with me. I’m a big girl, I can—”
“I did want to though,” Stevie said.
Iris tilted her head. More awkward silence, but this time, Stevie kept her damn mouth shut. The blush in her cheeks probably said enough anyway.
“Okay,” Iris said, pressing her fingers into her eyes. “Let’s focus on the more pressing issue.”
“My friends.”
“Yeah.”
“And Beatrice.”
Iris dropped her hands, gaze on Stevie.
“You must be really good,” Stevie said. “I’ve never seen Adri offer someone a part that fast.”
That tiny smile again. “Really?”
Stevie nodded. “And I’ve known Adri for ten years.”
Iris shook her head. “I didn’t mean to audition for Beatrice. They pretty much made me. Well, them and my friend Simon, who’s with the company somewhere.”
“Yeah, Adri can be pushy.”
“It was more the other one. Van?”
“Ah,” Stevie said.
Iris folded her arms. “Now why would she do such a thing?”
Her tone dripped sarcasm. Stevie knew she needed to get this confession over with, and it all came out in a rush. “Probably because Ren—my friend I was with at the club that night—showed them a picture of you and me dancing at Lush and they were so excited that I’d hooked up with someone so very obviously out of my league that I let them believe we’re kind of sort of maybe dating.”
Iris squinted at her like she was trying to catch up.
“So,” she said finally, “we’re dating.”
Stevie said nothing.