Page 62 of Iris Kelly Doesn't Date

“You made me tell you my bonkers idea.” She popped her hands on her hips. “Iris.”

“Fine,” Iris said on a sigh. “The last person I slept with, we fucked in a bathroom stall.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“I’m sure a lot of people do that.”

“At Topgolf?”

Stevie nearly choked on a laugh. “Topgolf.”

“I was there with my friends and the bartender was hot, okay?”

Stevie laughed. “I’m sure they were.”

“So, yeah, romance? Not really part of my repertoire lately.”

“Well, luckily, I can barely think of kissing someone without a bubble bath and some moody music. Do you have candles?”

Iris nodded, waving to a few sprinkled around the room. “There are more in my bedroom.”

“Okay, you go get us some dinner,” Stevie said, glancing at the time on her phone. “I’ll set up here.”

“Dinner,” Iris said. “Yeah, I am hungry, actually.”

“Same. I’ll eat whatever.”

“That’s what she said.”

Stevie shook her head, a laugh bubbling into her mouth. “Go.”

“I’m going, I’m going,” Iris said, picking up her keys and phone. “Just don’t burn the place down.”

“Romance would never.”

Iris smiled, eyes roaming Stevie’s face for a split second before she opened the door and left.

Stevie turned back to the empty apartment, shut off the TV, and got to work before she came to her senses.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

IRIS WAS NERVOUS.

As she walked back from Moonpies—ironically, the café that had taken over the space where her paper shop used to reside—with her hand in a bag full of the best fries she’d ever eaten, she could barely swallow the greasy things down.

Sexy stuff, as Stevie called it, she could handle. Granted, she’d never exactly been in this situation before, where she was pretty much coaching someone through foreplay, but it was sex. Or pre-sex. All of those things had always come easily to her. She liked her body, knew she was pretty hot, and had no problem getting naked in front of other people as long as everyone consented.

But romance... well, she hadn’t engaged in that in a long-ass time. Since Grant, and usually he was the one who set all that shit up. He booked the romantic dinners. He suggested a riverside walk at twilight. He whispered sweet nothings in her ear while they fucked.

Ormade love, as he would say.

And she liked it. She adored romance novels. Always had. Sheloved the grand gestures, the quirky towns, the haphazard heroines looking for true love. She craved the idea of herself caught up in romance, an Iris Kelly completely thrown over by love.

Softened.

Changed.