Page 7 of Iris Kelly Doesn't Date

Stevie’s stomach, jerk that it was, leaped into her throat and set up shop. It wasn’t that she wanted Adri back. She didn’t. They had fizzled out long before they officially broke up, and deep down—waythe hell deep down—she was happy for her two best friends if they wanted to be together.

But goddamn.

Just once, she’d love to be the onedoing, instead of the onewatching.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.”

Stevie startled as Bitch’s Brew’s owner, Effie, came up next to her. She was dressed all in black, as usual, and her thick Cockney accent always seemed to make her sound pissed off.

Granted, this time, she was pissed off.

“Oi!” she yelled in Adri and Vanessa’s direction. “This ain’t a fucking brothel, you two.”

Adri and Vanessa sprang apart. Vanessa fumbled with the screenplay, which she’d clearly only just realized had fallen from her fingers, and opened it back up to a random page. Adri just laughed and ran a hand over her chin-length hair, that dimple Stevie used to kiss at night before bed pressing into her pale skin. Her lipstick was bright red, as always, but now it was smeared all around her mouth.

Stevie mimed wiping her lips with the back of her hand.

“Sorry, Effie,” Adri said, taking Stevie’s cue and pressing a napkin to her mouth. “You know how it is.”

“The fuck I do,” Effie muttered, then went back to the tangled string of rainbow-colored lights in her hands. Bitch’s Brew’s normal decor was dark and cozy—shelves full of colorful bottles and jars, lots of potted plants scattered about, vintage posters depicting recipes for home remedies using mugwort and sage and feverfew. But now, with Pride month officially begun, Effie brought out her full queer witch, dousing the place in rainbow flags and lights. She also offered seasonal drinks like Pansexual Pistachio Cold Brew, which Ren was currently enjoying.

“Get these untangled, will you?” Effie said, thrusting the lights into Stevie’s arms. “And handle your mates. I’ll take over the bar.”

“Sure,” Stevie said while Ren narrowed their eyes at her. Stevie gave them a befuddled look and came out from behind the counter. Effie was her boss—what did Ren expect her to do, refuse to comply with a heartyfuck you? Easy for Ren to say—they already had their dream job that paid six figures and included a wardrobe allowance.

“Hey,” Adri said as Stevie approached.

“Is now a good time to talk?” Stevie asked.

“Yes, absolutely,” Adri said, except there were only two chairs at this table, and Vanessa was in one of them.

Silence reigned for a split second.

An awkward, fuck-Stevie’s-life kind of silence.

She adjusted her simple black tee, feeling suddenly plain and underdressed. Vanessa Rivero-Domínguez was the single most beautiful person Stevie—or most people—had ever seen. She had dark, impossibly shiny hair, high cheekbones, a mouth that looked like it was designed for pouting, Disney-princess eyes, and a voluptuous figure she knew how to dress. Stevie once witnessed a middle-aged white man run headfirst into a lamppost on the street because he was checking her out.

Needless to say, the fact that Adri’s first girlfriend after Stevie—whose wardrobe consisted mostly of youth-sized thrift store T-shirtswith things likeOak Elementary Believes Kindness Countsprinted on them—ended up being their goddess-like best friend didn’t do much for Stevie’s self-esteem.

Stevie cleared her throat.

“Oh shit, sorry,” Vanessa said, standing up and gathering a pile of papers she seemed to be grading before she’d locked mouths with her girlfriend. She taught Latin American literature at Reed, so she was yet another full-blown adult in their foursome, and a literary genius at that. “I need to get back to campus anyway.”

“Bye, babe,” Adri said, lifting her chin for yet another kiss.

Vanessa complied—Stevie tried not to notice Adri’s pierced tongue briefly getting into the mix, she really did—then whispered, “Let me know how it goes.”

“I will,” Adri whispered back.

“Go easy on her,” Vanessa said to Stevie as she slung her messenger bag over one shoulder. Her long wavy hair got caught in the strap, and it seemed like everyone in the café watched, open-mouthed, as Vanessa worked the glossy tresses free. “She’s desperate.”

“What?” Stevie frowned, glancing between her two friends.

“Van,” Adri said. “I was going to try and butter her up with a scone or something first.”

“Stevie can get her scones for free,” Vanessa said, leaning in to kiss Stevie’s cheek. “Good to see you. Like I said, go easy on her.”

And with that declaration, Vanessa squeezed Ren’s shoulder in farewell, then all but flounced her way out the door and into the cloudy June afternoon, Bitch’s patrons’ eyes trailing her as she went.