Page 112 of Iris Kelly Doesn't Date

Iris laughed. “Be serious.”

“I am being serious, Iris,” he said, his voice annoyingly soft and gentle.

“Okay, what is going on?” she asked, but her insides were starting to clench, her throat going thick.

Simon sighed. “Look, I don’t want to tell you how to live your life.”

“Then don’t.”

“But I love you. We all love you, and I just think that if you slowed down for a second, really thought about what you wanted, you’d see that—”

“No,” Iris said, her throat full-on swollen now. “Hell no, Simon, you are not going to tell me what I want or who I do or do not want to sleep with.”

“I’m not—”

“You are. And you can fuck right off, and yes, feel free to communicate my sentiments to everyone else.”

“Iris, I—”

But she ended the call before he could get anything else out. Her hands were shaking, and tears swelled into her eyes. She knew it. Shefucking knew it, all this time, that her friends thought she was screwing up her life, that to be happy, to be whole, she had tobewith someone.

Well, fuck that.

“Fuck that!” she screamed to her empty apartment, her voice echoing off the walls. She swiped at her face, willing the tears to reverse their path. She pressed her palms to her kitchen counter, breathing in... out...

She was fine.

She was fuckinggreat, and she didn’t need a wingperson to have a good time. Granted, for safety reasons, she never went to Lush or any club by herself, but she didn’t have a choice. She was not going to let her friends’ small-minded views stop her from meeting her own needs.

She flung her bag over her shoulder and headed for the door. She wrenched it open, ready to hurl herself into the hallway, but her path was blocked.

By Stevie Scott.

Dressed in cuffed gray jeans and a black tank top, her curly hair brushing her shoulders, the slight mullet style making her look like she was about to step out on stage with a guitar.

“Hi,” she said.

Iris stood there for a second, her chest heaving with adrenaline and anger.

Go away.

It was right there on her tongue—she needed someone else, not Stevie Scott, but fuck, even as she thought it, she felt herself reaching out, pulling Stevie inside by her waist and kissing her.

Hard.

She pressed her mouth to Stevie’s, groaning into her mouth, tongue seeking contact. She slipped her hand up the back of Stevie’s shirt, her skin so soft, so smooth. Iris squeezed her eyes closed,imagined herself as anyone, Stevie as anyone, two nameless women seeking comfort, sensation, and—

“Hey, hey, hey,” Stevie said gently, pulling away and wrenching Iris out of her fantasy. “Slow down a sec.”

Iris blinked at her, reality rushing back in. “Shit. Sorry. That was a little aggressive, huh? I should’ve asked.”

“It’s okay,” Stevie said. She rested her hands on Iris’s waist. “Seriously, are you all right?”

Iris waved a hand. “Fine. Just... turned on.” She smirked at Stevie, all flirt and swagger, but Stevie didn’t smile back. She just studied Iris in a way that made Iris want to scream.

Iris stepped back, causing Stevie’s hands to fall away from her hips. Cleared her throat. “I was just on my way out.”

“I see that,” Stevie said.