Page 97 of Iris Kelly Doesn't Date

Stevie wanted this. For whatever reasons she’d kissed Iris earlier at the Empress, they didn’t matter. Iris didn’t want them to matter anyway...

She shook her head, took another large swallow of blue.

“Okay,” she said, setting her drink on the bar, “let’s go.”

“Where are we—oh, okay.”

Iris took Stevie’s arm and pulled her out on the dance floor, weaving between everyone until she was next to Jenna and Hannah.

“Hey, you two!” Iris called over the music.

“Hey, Iris,” Jenna said, smiling, then her eyes slid to Stevie, which was perfect.

It was perfect... right?

Everything was just perfect.

Iris’s stomach clenched, but she forged ahead. “This is my friend, Stevie,” she said. “She lives in Portland and is an actor. An amazing actor.”

“Hey,” Hannah said calmly, but Iris caught the nudge she gave Jenna’s arm.

“Hey, Stevie,” Jenna said. “I’m Jenna.”

“Hey... hey,” Stevie said. “I’m Stevie. But Iris already said that.”

Jenna laughed. “She did.”

And just like the queer goddesses deemed it so, the quick-paced tune faded into a slow song, all mandolin and sultry twang. The crowd dispersed, coupling up, and Hannah drifted toward her partner, Alexis, by the jukebox.

“Ask her to dance,” Iris said out of the corner of her mouth.

“What?” Stevie said, then startled. “Oh shit, right.”

Jenna laughed again, and Stevie blushed, and it was all like something right out of a rom-com.

“I’d love to,” Jenna said, before Stevie could even get the question out.

“Great,” Iris said. “I’m going to get another drink.” She nudged Stevie toward Jenna, then whispered in her ear, “You’re in control, don’t forget it.”

Then she walked away, putting as much space between herself and the match she’d just made as quickly as she could. She didn’t head to the bar though. Instead, she beelined for her friends, needing a minute of safe reprieve before she figured out what the hell to do with the rest of her night.

But once she fought her way through the happy couples, reprieve was most definitely not what she found. Instead, she faced a group of four queer women who were staring her down with incredulous looks on their faces.

“What?” she asked, plopping down next to Claire and guzzling half a glass of water. The Motherfucker was doing its work, but that work was a bit nauseating, if she was being honest.

“What the fuck was that?” Delilah asked, ever the subtle one of their group.

“What do you mean?” Iris asked.

“She means,” Claire said, an appalled expression on her face, “why did you just set up your girlfriend with Jenna Dawson?”

“She’s not my girlfriend,” Iris said.

“Which is stupid,” Claire said, the pitch of her voice rising. “You clearly like each other. She’s all you ever talk about in the group chat.”

Iris winced but smoothed it out quickly. “We’re together all the time because of the play.”

“Perfect situation to develop feelings,” Jordan said.