She knew herself—if she went home, slept on it, she’d talk herself out of this, and then she’d still be the horny yet terrified wannabe thespian who nuzzled her ex’s neck.
Iris got up too, but then they both simply stood there, unsure of how to move on. Somehow, even though Iris was the expert here, her uncertainty made Stevie’s shoulders relax.
“Okay,” Iris said finally, “if we’re really doing this, I think we should start where things went wrong with us.”
“Yeah,” Stevie said, “makes sense.”
“It was dark,” Iris said. “We had music on.”
Stevie nodded, but as she looked around at Iris’s apartment, the dusky evening light filtering purple into her living room, Serendipity still frozen on the screen, bits of popcorn dotting the sofa and floor, she felt anything but romantic.
And if this was going to be useful for Iris too, she needed to set the mood.
“We need candles,” Stevie said, looking around.
“What? We did not have candles the other week.”
“No, I know, but we need a little ambience, don’t you think?”
“Ambience?”
“Jesus, you really are bad at this romance stuff,” Stevie said.
Iris groaned and rubbed her forehead. “God, I know. My brain is a fucking blank when it comes to that shit. The last hookup I had—before you, I mean—was in a . . .”
She trailed off, pursing her mouth and shaking her head.
“Was in a what?” Stevie asked.
“Never mind.”
“You made me tell you my bonkers idea.” She popped her hands on her hips. “Iris.”
“Fine,” Iris said on a sigh. “The last person I slept with, we fucked in a bathroom stall.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
“I’m sure a lot of people do that.”
“At Topgolf?”
Stevie nearly choked on a laugh. “Topgolf.”
“I was there with my friends and the bartender was hot, okay?”
Stevie laughed. “I’m sure they were.”
“So, yeah, romance? Not really part of my repertoire lately.”
“Well, luckily, I can barely think of kissing someone without a bubble bath and some moody music. Do you have candles?”
Iris nodded, waving to a few sprinkled around the room. “There are more in my bedroom.”
“Okay, you go get us some dinner,” Stevie said, glancing at the time on her phone. “I’ll set up here.”
“Dinner,” Iris said. “Yeah, I am hungry, actually.”
“Same. I’ll eat whatever.”
“That’s what she said.”
Stevie shook her head, a laugh bubbling into her mouth. “Go.”
“I’m going, I’m going,” Iris said, picking up her keys and phone. “Just don’t burn the place down.”
“Romance would never.”
Iris smiled, eyes roaming Stevie’s face for a split second before she opened the door and left.
Stevie turned back to the empty apartment, shut off the TV, and got to work before she came to her senses.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
IRIS WAS NERVOUS.
As she walked back from Moonpies—ironically, the café that had taken over the space where her paper shop used to reside—with her hand in a bag full of the best fries she’d ever eaten, she could barely swallow the greasy things down.
Sexy stuff, as Stevie called it, she could handle. Granted, she’d never exactly been in this situation before, where she was pretty much coaching someone through foreplay, but it was sex. Or pre-sex. All of those things had always come easily to her. She liked her body, knew she was pretty hot, and had no problem getting naked in front of other people as long as everyone consented.
But romance . . . well, she hadn’t engaged in that in a long-ass time. Since Grant, and usually he was the one who set all that shit up. He booked the romantic dinners. He suggested a riverside walk at twilight. He whispered sweet nothings in her ear while they fucked.
Or made love, as he would say.
And she liked it. She adored romance novels. Always had. She loved the grand gestures, the quirky towns, the haphazard heroines looking for true love. She craved the idea of herself caught up in romance, an Iris Kelly completely thrown over by love.
Softened.
Changed.
As she stopped in front of her building and paused on the front step, she flashed back to all those purportedly romantic times with Grant, the times he wanted to look her right in the eyes when she came, and she could never go through with it. She tried, but right as the orgasm rushed through her, she’d always snap her eyes shut.
She’d crack jokes during the twilight river walk.
She’d make a game out of what other couples were talking about during the fancy romantic dinner.
She simply wasn’t built for that kind of romance, no matter how badly she might’ve wanted it in the past, so she wasn’t exactly sure how these lessons were going to go.
Climbing the steps to her unit, she focused on Stevie and how she could help her, running through what sort of things they could do that Stevie would be comfortable with. She’d only made it to kissing—which they’d already done—when she swung open her door and gasped.
The place was aglow.
Tiny flames flickered everywhere. Iris had always loved candles. Bought them every time she took a trip to the flea market in Sotheby, but she usually only lit one or two at a time. Now, every single candle she owned was aflame and spread out through the living room. The twinkle lights snaking around her curtain rod were on as well, turning the whole room amber and gold.
“Wow,” she said. Soft music—something modern, yet instrumental—filtered out of Iris’s Bluetooth speaker.
“Yeah?” Stevie asked. She stood up from the couch where she’d been looking at something on her phone. “What do you think?”
“I think . . .” Iris set the food on the counter. “Wow.”
Stevie smiled. “You already said that.”
Iris just nodded, her stomach fluttering.
Actual fluttering.
She couldn’t remember the last time that had happened. When she made this whole arrangement with Stevie back at the Empress, she hadn’t fully envisioned what romance might entail. She pictured outings. Dates. That was it. Walking hand in hand through the park.
Not . . . this.
“You okay?” Stevie asked.
Iris nodded. She could do this. She had to do this. She’d become pretty fucking jaded if a few candles freaked her out this much, and her novel’s deadline loomed like a gathering storm.
“How do we start?” Iris asked, because hell if she knew. She thought about tacking some new cheesy term of endearment onto her question—lovebug or my little cinnamon stick—but suddenly, her romance jokes didn’t feel very . . . well, jokey.
Stevie, however, just nodded and set her phone down. “You don’t want to eat first?”
“And kiss you with veggie burger breath? I’ll pass.”
Stevie laughed, but she clutched at her stomach a little, which Iris recognized now as something she did when she was nervous. Well, good. At least Iris wasn’t alone in that.
“In that case, I think we should dance first,” Stevie said.
“Dance.”
Stevie nodded. Iris didn’t move. The current song was slow and languid, nothing like the fast beat they’d first essentially dry humped to at Lush.
Dry humping, Iris could do.
This?
Not so sure.
She inhaled slowly then stood stock-still until Stevie came over and took her hand, leading her over to the more open space between the coffee table and the TV.
“Okay, imagine we’ve just been out on the town,” Stevie said, wrapping one arm around Iris’s waist. “We met at . . . I don’t know. What’s a rom-com type meet-cute?”
“A wine tasting,” Iris said as Stevie set one of Iris’s hands on her shoulder. “I’m a vintner. You’re a wine critic.”
Stevie smiled. “I like that. Am I terribly mean?”
“You are. Gave my winery a horrible review and now I hate you.”
“But you also find me ridiculously attractive, and we ran into each other at another winery’s opening. Your best friend’s.”
“And my friend thinks we really need to hate fuck each other and get it out of our systems,” Iris said.
“Except I don’t hate you. Secretly, I want to wine and dine you,” Stevie said, lacing their free hands together and holding them right above her heart. She spun Iris around and pressed closer.