“I know,” Iris said, releasing Stevie and doing a little twirl, showing off her short, lace-ruffled skirt with the denim waist paired with a pair of authentic red cowboy boots and a red bandanna-patterned crop top.
“Don’t give her another compliment, I beg you,” Delilah said. She was lounging in the corner of the booth, dressed in her quintessential goth colors—a dark burgundy tank and black jeans.
“Shut it, Morticia,” Iris said, flipping her off, but Delilah just smiled, tipping her bourbon in Iris’s direction. Iris blew her a kiss.
“Stevie, good to see you,” said Astrid, who was dressed in a vanilla-white tank and dark jeans, but at least she had on a cowboy hat.
“Hey,” Stevie said. “Nice to see you all again.”
“How’s the play going?” Jordan asked. She had on a button-up with tiny green cacti printed all over it, one hand on the back of Astrid’s neck, fingers playing in her hair.
“Good,” Stevie said. “Iris is amazing.”
“Of course she is,” Claire said. “Sit, sit!”
“We’re going to get a drink first,” Iris said, “but here, honey, hold my purse.” She tossed her fringed bag at Delilah, who caught it deftly, then looped it over her own tattooed shoulder.
“Finders keepers,” she said.
Iris just laughed, then turned and guided Stevie toward the bar. She nearly took her hand again, but that might not prove a very wise move if every eligible queer person in Stella’s thought she and Iris were together, so she settled for a gentle press between Stevie’s shoulders.
“Club soda?” Iris asked once they reached the bar.
Stevie smiled at her. “Yeah.”
Iris ordered Stevie’s drink, along with an Adios, Motherfucker for herself, because why the hell not. Long Island iced tea was never a wise decision for anyone, in Iris’s opinion, but tonight, she honestly didn’t give a shit.
“Okay, let’s strategize,” she said once she had a drink in hand. She took a long pull, willing the liquor to fortify her for this. Maybe she’d even find someone she liked too—she hadn’t had sex in way too long and god knew all this . . . whatever she and Stevie were doing had her sufficiently charged.
Granted, she knew every queer person in Bright Falls . . . all, like, ten of them, if you didn’t count her own motley crew. Only a few who identified as women or nonbinary were even available in terms of couple-hood, and her eyes scanned the room for them.
“Okay, yeah,” Stevie said, sipping her soda. Her voice trembled a bit.
Iris glanced at her. “You sure you want to do this?”
Stevie nodded vigorously, but her eyes were wide, her mouth shaking a little like she was working on her breathing.
“Stevie,” Iris said, touching her elbow. “You don’t have to—”
“Yes, I do.”
Iris swallowed, something pulling tight in her chest. “Okay,” she said softly. “Then let’s do it.”
Stevie met her gaze, both of them holding there for a split second before Iris forced her eyes away. A country song started up over the sound system and a squeal of excitement pulsed through the crowd. Out in the middle of the room, where tables had been pushed to the edges, dancers gathered on the dusty hardwoods, immediately falling into a line dance Iris recognized from the last time she’d come.
“Wow, everyone really knows how to line dance here,” Stevie said.
Iris laughed. “Yeah, they take it pretty seriously. Small town, not a lot to do.”
Stevie nodded, her amber eyes taking in the kicks and shuffles, the thumbs tucked into belt buckles. Iris saw Jordan and Astrid out there, Jordan really playing it up while Astrid, of course, performed a perfect routine. Iris made it her evening goal to get Delilah, whose New York City side refused to dance to country music unless it was a slow song with Claire, onto the dance floor.
Iris leaned back against the bar and was just about to suggest she and Stevie give it a try, just to loosen Stevie up a bit, when Iris saw her.
Jenna Dawson.
Jenna was pretty—had that small-town-girl air about her—with stick-straight, glossy brown hair that tumbled halfway down her back. She had on a blue-checked button-up tied at her curvy waist and cutoffs that showed off her lovely thick thighs. Jenna had moved to Bright Falls about five years ago and taught AP Chemistry at the high school, so she was smart and beautiful.
She was also extremely gay and single.
Iris watched her for a second, shuffling on the dance floor in a way that was both adorably clumsy and sexy. Jenna laughed with her best friend, Hannah Li—also super gay, but in a relationship—her demeanor sweet and approachable.
She was perfect.
Jenna was kind and patient—had to be to teach in public schools these days—and Iris knew Stevie would be safe with her . . . maybe even beyond a one-night stand, though Jenna wasn’t one who turned up her nose at hookups. Iris had never made a move on Jenna herself—sleeping casually with Bright Falls residents was a recipe for disaster—but Iris had seen Jenna at Lush once or twice, both of them laughing across the room at each other as they hit on other people.
So, yeah, Jenna was perfect.
And yet, here Iris was, standing stock-still, her drink sweating in her hand, trying to get those exact words to settle on her tongue.
She inhaled, took another gulp of her Motherfucker. The alcohol zinged through her blood as she looked at Stevie, that open expression on her lovely face as she searched the room.
Stevie wanted this. For whatever reasons she’d kissed Iris earlier at the Empress, they didn’t matter. Iris didn’t want them to matter anyway . . .
She shook her head, took another large swallow of blue.
“Okay,” she said, setting her drink on the bar, “let’s go.”
“Where are we—oh, okay.”
Iris took Stevie’s arm and pulled her out on the dance floor, weaving between everyone until she was next to Jenna and Hannah.
“Hey, you two!” Iris called over the music.
“Hey, Iris,” Jenna said, smiling, then her eyes slid to Stevie, which was perfect.
It was perfect . . . right?
Everything was just perfect.
Iris’s stomach clenched, but she forged ahead. “This is my friend, Stevie,” she said. “She lives in Portland and is an actor. An amazing actor.”
“Hey,” Hannah said calmly, but Iris caught the nudge she gave Jenna’s arm.
“Hey, Stevie,” Jenna said. “I’m Jenna.”
“Hey . . . hey,” Stevie said. “I’m Stevie. But Iris already said that.”
Jenna laughed. “She did.”
And just like the queer goddesses deemed it so, the quick-paced tune faded into a slow song, all mandolin and sultry twang. The crowd dispersed, coupling up, and Hannah drifted toward her partner, Alexis, by the jukebox.
“Ask her to dance,” Iris said out of the corner of her mouth.
“What?” Stevie said, then startled. “Oh shit, right.”
Jenna laughed again, and Stevie blushed, and it was all like something right out of a rom-com.
“I’d love to,” Jenna said, before Stevie could even get the question out.
“Great,” Iris said. “I’m going to get another drink.” She nudged Stevie toward Jenna, then whispered in her ear, “You’re in control, don’t forget it.”
Then she walked away, putting as much space between herself and the match she’d just made as quickly as she could. She didn’t head to the bar though. Instead, she beelined for her friends, needing a minute of safe reprieve before she figured out what the hell to do with the rest of her night.
But once she fought her way through the happy couples, reprieve was most definitely not what she found. Instead, she faced a group of four queer women who were staring her down with incredulous looks on their faces.
“What?” she asked, plopping down next to Claire and guzzling half a glass of water. The Motherfucker was doing its work, but that work was a bit nauseating, if she was being honest.
“What the fuck was that?” Delilah asked, ever the subtle one of their group.
“What do you mean?” Iris asked.
“She means,” Claire said, an appalled expression on her face, “why did you just set up your girlfriend with Jenna Dawson?”
“She’s not my girlfriend,” Iris said.