Stevie was pretty sure the only thing she ever emanated were stress hormones.
At the register, Stevie greeted Ravi, a part-timer who just started a few weeks ago, and ordered Iris a flat white, along with a cold brew for herself.
“God, we’re such fucking hipsters,” Iris said as they collected their drinks and headed toward Adri.
Stevie laughed. “I’ve got some glasses in my bag.”
“Do you?”
“No, but is a hipster really a hipster without glasses?”
“Okay, so we’re very bad hipsters.”
Stevie laughed again, the conversation flowing so naturally she hadn’t even realized they’d reached Adri’s table.
“Hey,” Adri said, standing. “Iris, nice to see you again.”
“You too,” Iris said brightly. “I can’t wait for the Malibu trip.”
Adri just lifted a single brow. “I’m sure you can’t.”
Iris’s energy dimmed a bit at Adri’s tone, but she simply sat down and crossed her legs. Adri sat too, followed by Stevie, who sank into the chair next to Iris like slipping into quicksand.
Iris draped an arm over the back of Stevie’s chair, fingers playing with the ends of her hair. Adri’s gaze followed the movement, and Stevie cleared her throat.
“Revising the script?” she asked.
Adri blinked, then looked down at her book and open laptop. “Yeah. It’s coming along nicely, I think.”
“What specifically are you working on?” Iris asked, sipping her drink. “Are you rewriting it?”
Adri’s smile was more akin to a flash of teeth. “You don’t rewriteShakespeare. I’m just making subtle changes to adjust for our queer cast.”
Iris nodded. “I love that. Such a great idea.”
This time, Adri’s smile was genuine, and Stevie felt her shoulders release their hold on her neck.
“We think so,” Adri said, glancing at Stevie. “We first started working on this interpretation back in college.”
“Oh? You went to college together?” Iris asked.
Adri’s eyes narrowed. “You didn’t know?”
Iris sniffed. “I’m sure we would’ve gotten around to it. We’re not exactly spending all of our time talking about our exes.” She leaned over and kissed Stevie’s cheek. And not a sweet peck either, a slow, sort of open-mouthed press-and-seal just next to Stevie’s ear. Goose bumps erupted up and down her arms and she met Iris’s gaze as Iris leaned back into her own space.
Iris winked.
Fuck, she was good at this.
Stevie smiled at her—a real smile—but it dimmed quickly as she looked back at Adri, who was staring at them with her thick brows pressed together. Clearly, Stevie was actually a horrible actress.
“You know,” Adri said, leaning back in her chair. “Beatrice is a really difficult part.”
Iris tilted her head. “I would imagine. It’s Shakespeare.”
“She’s complex,” Adri went on. “Takes a certain amount of subtlety I’m not sure you possess.”
“Adri,” Stevie said.
