Iris sighed. “Look, I’m helping Stevie, okay? She’s a little nervous when it comes to hookups, so—”
“I don’t think you’re being honest with yourself, Iris,” Astrid said.
Iris gritted her teeth. Astrid had spent years pretending her entire life was perfect, and ever since she liberated herself from a job she hated—not to mention her mother’s expectations for what her life should look like—she had an extremely sensitive bullshit meter. Hardly anyone could pull a frown without Astrid probing them to behonest with themselves.
“I’m being perfectly honest,” Iris said. “You all know I don’t—”
“Date,” all four women said in unison.
Iris pursed her mouth. “Good. We’re all on the same page, then.”
“What we don’t understand iswhy,” Claire said, then she scooted closer to Iris, that maternal look on her face she got whenever her daughter, Ruby, had a meltdown. “Honey, I know you’ve been hurt. You’ve had some real assholes in your life, but that’s got nothing to do with you.”
Iris laughed sarcastically, then grabbed Claire’s wine and took a swig. She’d heard this all before. More than once in the last year, Claire had tried to have this conversation with her, sometimes with Astrid in tow, sometimes alone. But they didn’t get it. They didn’tunderstand what it was like to realize the common denominator to all her shitty relationships was, in fact,her.
It had everything to do with Iris.
“Claire, don’t,” she said. “Please. Just let me sit here and drink, okay?”
“Why do you feel the need to drink if you’re fine with Stevie and Jenna?” Astrid asked.
“Seriously?” Iris said, looking to Delilah for support.
“Don’t look at me,” Delilah said, presenting her palms. “I’m on their side.”
“So there are sides now,” Iris said.
“In terms of you self-sabotaging everything good in your life, yeah,” Delilah said.
Iris’s mouth dropped open. She didn’t fucking self-sabotage everything good. She worked hard. She loved her friends—well, maybe not so much right now, but usually. She’d built a business from the ground up and she was smart enough to know when it was time to walk away from that business. She put herself out there with her writing, and it had paid off. She was the lead in a play, and she was giving it her all. But now, just because she didn’t want to lock herself into a relationship that would eventually end, she was self-sabotaging.
Well, fuck that.
“You know what?” she said, grabbing her bag from where Delilah had laid it on the booth. “I’m gonna go.”
“Honey, no, don’t,” Claire said. “All we’re saying is—”
“I know what you’re saying,” she said. “Loud and clear, okay?”
She got out of the booth before anyone could say anything else awful and shoved herself into the dancing crowd. She scanned the floor for Stevie, quickly finding her sitting with Jenna at a table, deep in conversation.
She watched them for a second and... yeah. All the signs were there. They were leaning close, only a few inches between their faces. Jenna’s hands crossed the middle line of the table, well into Stevie’s space, and every now and then, as though to emphasize something she said, Jenna placed a finger on Stevie’s wrist.
And Stevie... she was smiling. Laughing, even. She looked relaxed and beautiful and perfect and something in Iris’s chest started to ache.
Stevie looked up and caught her eye.
Smiled.
And Iris smiled back. She nodded toward the door, then offered Stevie a thumbs-up in question.
Stevie’s smile faded, but only for a second. Iris watched her throat work and could almost feel Stevie’s deep breath. But then Stevie nodded, presenting her own thumbs-up in return.
Okay, then, Iris thought. Mission accomplished.
And without another glance in Stevie’s direction, she turned away, pushed open Stella’s heavy door, and left.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
