“You’re awake.”
“Finally,” Stevie said. “Sorry I slept so long.”
“I exhausted you that much, huh?” Iris said, smirking.
Stevie laughed, but she didn’t say anything. It was certainly true that they’d both worn each other out last night, but she didn’t want sex jokes right now.
She wanted Iris in the bed, in her arms.
She wanted to kiss her good morning, make her come soft and slow, and then go out for brunch while holding her hand down the sidewalk.
The thoughts flipped through her mind like a picture book, one scene after another, quick and sure and surprising.
“What are you drawing?” she asked.
Iris clicked the iPad dark, slipped her stylus into its holder. “Nothing. Just . . . messing around.”
Stevie patted the empty spot next to her. “Come back to bed, then.”
Iris frowned, didn’t move.
Stevie’s throat went tight. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” Iris said, then tilted her head at Stevie. “So . . . what happened last night? With Jenna?”
Stevie managed a smile. “I thought I already told you.”
“No. You blasted into my apartment, said something super cheesy and romantic, and then fucked me sideways. Multiple times.”
Stevie blushed, memories from last night rushing through her. “Not sideways. I distinctly remember your amazing body in various positions, but none of them sideways.”
Iris laughed. “You know what I mean.”
Stevie tucked a piece of hair behind her ear. “Jenna was nice. I knew I’d be safe with her, so you were right there. And, I don’t know, maybe, if the timing were different, I’d be really into her.”
Iris’s brows pushed together, just a little. “But?”
“But I was in her apartment and I just . . . couldn’t stop thinking about you.”
“Really?” There was no sentimentality in the word. No excitement or happiness. Just wonder, as though Iris were waiting for Stevie to laugh and say, April Fools.
Stevie propped herself up on her elbow. “Really, Iris. Is that so hard to believe?”
Iris pressed her mouth flat, but then smiled. Laughed. “I mean, I am a pretty amazing screw.”
Stevie frowned. “Don’t. Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“Treat yourself like you’re nothing but a piece of ass.”
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.