Iris:I think you mean queerstion
Jordan:Doesn’t exactly roll off the tongue
Delilah:Speaking of tongues, are you fake fucking too?
Claire:Babe
Astrid:Delilah
Delilah:It’s a valid queerstion!
Iris sighed, then tapped out a quick explanation about the play and Stevie’s ex. The group erupted in congratulations at her playing Beatrice, which Iris had to admit, felt pretty nice, but then they got back down to the real business at hand, because of course they did.
Delilah:So you’re Stevie’s hero
Iris:It’s mutually beneficial
Astrid:Are you really that desperate for romantic content?
Delilah:Nice choice of words
Astrid:Did I accidentally go all Isabel again?
Jordan:A bit, babe
Astrid:Sorry
Iris pressed her fingers into her eyes.
Iris:Look it’s fine. Stevie’s nice and we’re helping each other out, that’s all this is
A flash of Stevie’s mouth, her fingers like silk on Iris’s bare back...
“Fuck,” Iris said, squeezing her thighs together and sitting up in bed. She tapped out a quick good night to the group, then turned her phone off. She sat there, breathing heavily for a second, before she grabbed her laptop from her nightstand and opened it up to her Tegan McKee draft.
Which consisted of all of two words.
Tegan McKee...
She stared at the screen, but the only thing in her head was slow-dancing and the slow slide of cotton over skin... a mouth that tasted like summer and mint.
She tossed her computer aside and got out her iPad instead, opening her drawing program and starting a new file. She slipped her stylus from its holder and started drawing. Quick strokes, very little planning. Just lines, arches, shading to process her thoughts. She’d always used drawing and illustrations to do this—reorder the world in her head, expel her worries, her fears, her hopes. When she was a kid, she’d spend hours drawing everything in her life—her family,Claire and Astrid, her first kiss. In college, when her art turned into something a bit more practical—a planner she created for Astrid to help with her stress level—Paper Wishes was soon born. Still, she always came back to the blank page when the shit went down. She had file after file chronicling her friendships, Claire’s daughter, Ruby, at her first birthday, Iris’s breakup with Grant, Astrid’s doomed engagement with that shit boot Spencer, Claire and Delilah when they first got together.
Jillian.
Now, as she drew, she could feel the restlessness settling, her mind quieting as a figure formed on the page—shaggy curls, a striped crop top, and plaid pants. Iris added more details. Lush as a sultry background. The lacquered bar Stevie was leaning against when Iris first saw her, that slightly terrified yet hungry look in Stevie’s eyes.
It took a bit of time, the night creeping into early morning, but when Iris finished the last stroke, she had a complete drawing.
A scene.
She blinked at the black-and-white illustration, already thinking of the colors she’d use, even words she’d pair with it. She never reached the color phase of her drawings, using them mostly as an emotional outlet, but this one...
She stared down at Stevie’s face, that lovely mouth slightly parted. Excitement zinged through her like electricity, that familiar, creative-spark feeling, so Iris saved the file as “Meet-Cute” and exited out of the program. Then she grabbed her computer again, opened up her novel drafting program, and finally started to write.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
“HOLY SHIT, ISthis real?” Iris asked.
