Page 30 of Iris Kelly Doesn't Date

“Think about it,” he said. “You’d get to meet a ton of queer people. You’d get to do something new, which is, my darling, what you were just complaining about.”

She opened her mouth to protest, but snapped it shut. He had her there.

“And it’s in Portland,” he said, “so you’d get out of town at least a few times a week.”

“I can already do that.”

“Yeah, but this outing doesn’t come with the possibility of an STI.”

She dropped his finger, and he had the decency to look a little abashed.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “That was out of line.”

“I’m always safe, Simon,” she said, but her voice wobbled a bit more than she’d like. She cleared her throat. “And I get tested regularly.”

“I know,” he said, rubbing her forearm. “Like I said, I’m sorry.”

“Delilah used to sleep around a lot, you know,” she said. “In fucking New York City. And now that she’s monogamous, no one thinks twice about it.”

Simon sighed. “I know.”

“So, then, what?” she asked, her voice rising. “What the hell is sowrong with me having sex when I want to, with whomever I want, if that’s what makes me happy? What?”

She felt the tears rising again. There it was again, this feeling that deep down, her friends thought she was a littletoofree. A littletoowild. That she wasn’t what a grown-ass adult of thirty-two should be.

“Nothing,” Simon said, squeezing her arm. “I promise you, nothing is wrong with that.”

She shook her head, only half convinced.

“But, sweetie, does it?” he asked.

She sniffed, turned to frown at him. “Does it what?”

“Make you happy?”

For the second time, she opened her mouth, but no words came out. At least, not at first. She let her jaw hang wide for a second or two while she found the right answer.

“Yes,” she said, but even to her, her voice sounded a bit robotic. She tried again. “Yeah. Of course it does.”

Simon’s gaze narrowed, just a little, but then he nodded. “Okay. I still think you should do this play with me. It would be fun. And I think they’re turning this one into some sort of fundraiser to keep the theater going, so it’d be for a good cause.”

“You and me singing ‘Sigh No More, Ladies’ in period clothing is going to save the Empress?”

He laughed. “Hell yes. Who else?”

She laughed too. She couldn’t help it. Simon was so... hopeful. He had been since the day she met him. And he had a point—the play actually sounded like it could be fun. Portland. New faces. She had actually taken a theater class in high school, during which even the teacher—Mr. Bristow, who Iris always felt was staring at her boobs—said she was a bit too dramatic.

In drama class.

She nearly laughed at the thought, but honestly, doing this playwith Simon sounded like exactly what she needed, not that she’d ever admit that to him.

“Fine,” she said. “But if we get cast, you’re picking me up for every rehearsal in a Bentley filled with caviar and champagne.”

He tapped his chin. “How’s a 2018 Honda Accord and some donuts?”

“Deal.”

CHAPTER EIGHT