Page 149 of Iris Kelly Doesn't Date

Iris pulled her closer, the woman wrapping her arms around Iris’s shoulders, hip-to-hip. She looked Iris in the eyes, smiled. She was so—

“Pretty,” Iris said.

“You... you too.”

Iris laughed. Fucking. Adorable. “I meant your name, but I’ll take that compliment.”

Iris closed her eyes, felt the curve of the woman’s waist, moving them to the music, a frantic beat that felt like the entire room was building to climax.

This was what Iris needed.

This was what she wanted.

“You’re good at this,” the woman said.

Stefania rubbed her forehead. “God. I’m terrible at this.”

“Maybe,” Iris said. “But it’s working for me.”

Iris said nothing. She pulled the woman closer, grazed her mouth along her bare shoulder, breathed her in. Flowers and vanilla and sweat. Lovely and... different.

“Do you live nearby?” the woman asked.

Iris pulled back, met with a pair of ice-blue eyes. “I don’t.”

“I do. Very close, in fact.”

Iris knew her next line. A flirtyInteresting.Or maybe just a smirk, followed by a slow lean-in for a kiss. Even a coquettishThat’s very good to know.

But she couldn’t get anything off of her tongue. She couldn’t get her face to even move. She simply stared at the woman—this gorgeous person who wanted Iris, wanted to give Iris everything Iris had come here to find.

The woman’s smile faltered. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” Iris said. Maybe a namewouldhelp. Make it a little more personable. “I’m Iris.”

Her partner smiled. “Beatrice.”

Iris’s heart beat everywhere—her throat, her fingertips, her stomach.

By my sword, Beatrice, thou lovest me!

Iris shook her head, whispered, “I don’t.”

Beatrice—the real one, the flesh-and-blood one—frowned. “What?”

“I...” Iris dropped her hands, backed up. “I’m sorry... you’re perfect, but... I’m sorry, I just...”

She turned and headed back toward the bar without another word, leaving Beatrice behind. Her friends all watched her, parting to make room for her in between them. She rested her hands on the smooth lacquered surface of the bar, knocked back the rest of her martini.

Then she laughed.

It started as a snort, an incredulous, sarcastic sound, but it soon turned into something more. Something bone-deep and raw, so forceful her stomach muscles ached, tears springing into her eyes. She dropped her head into her hands and laughed and laughed until she couldn’t tell if she was actually laughing or crying.

“Um... honey?” Claire said.

Iris just shook her head, kept laugh-sobbing. “I’m broken,” she said between hiccups. “I’m fucking broken. She broke me.”

This was what Irisdid. She hooked up. She had fun. She flirted and danced and fucked and that was what everyone expected of her.