Iris Kelly Doesn't Date (Bright Falls, #3)

by Ashley Herring Blake

Her family watched her with partly amused, partly annoyed expressions on their faces, which was pretty much her childhood captured in a single scene.

the two were hiding behind a battered edition of Much Ado About Nothing

Taste

And while Iris prided herself on being the best kind of friend, she couldn’t help but feel a tiny swell of fear at how everything was changing. How her two best friends were experiencing something—and were going to continue to experience all sorts of things with marriage and family and kids—that Iris wasn’t going to be a part of.

So Iris did what she did best. She got loud and funny and opinionated.

She found out why when she fell into her Subaru’s driver’s seat and immediately burst into tears again. She wiped furiously at her face, berating herself for acting like such a baby. She was happy for Claire and Delilah. “I’m fucking happy!” she yelled and banged her fists on her steering wheel.

“Actually,” he said, drawing out each syllable. Iris smirked. “Don’t you know that no white cis dude should ever speak that word?”

Adri: Facts. So what do you say? Could you meet me at our place this afternoon? Stevie: Our place? Adri: Sorry. You know what I mean

I do not like Andri

Stevie pressed a hand to her stomach. Dammit, she hated texting for this very reason. She knew Adri and there was definitely a tone to her response, but Stevie also knew if she asked about the tone, Adri—and most people, it was a fucking text for Christ’s sake—wouldn’t have a clue what she was talking about and then Stevie would feel like an idiot.

“It’s just . . . do you ever feel like the you you want to be isn’t the person anyone else wants?” Stevie laughed, but it wasn’t a happy

God, the woman practically emanated sex. Stevie was pretty sure the only thing she ever emanated were stress hormones.

“Just making sure,” Adri said, leaning back. “Remember that time we went to Austin? We had to call your doctor to send a prescription to a pharmacy there. It was a pretty big hassle and I need you on point for the retreat.”

FUCK OFF DUDE

“Anxiety definitely has a lot to do with it, but it’s hard to tell if it’s from my disorder or if it’s just me, or what. It’s not always easy to separate myself from my illness, or to even understand if I should separate myself at all? Like, what is my personality and what is my anxiety? Or are they the same thing? It’s confusing sometimes.”

“Yeah, but with acting, I have a script. That’s why I love it so much. No surprises. Even if I have to kiss someone on stage, I know when it’s coming. I know what I say and what my partner says right before it happens. I know exactly what to do and say afterward. It’s different than actual life.”

“You’ve already seen my . . . my . . . you know.” She waved her hand around her chest. “God, Stevie, you can’t even say boobs.” “I can so.” “Then say it.” Iris pursed her mouth in challenge. “What are we, middle schoolers?” “Boobs, boobs, boobs,” Iris chanted.

She was nearly to the door when Stevie spoke. “Bullshit,” she said.

Thank god

Iris’s chin trembled, the truth of Stevie’s words closing around her like a second skin. But she couldn’t do this again—this moment, after only six weeks together, was already enough to crush her lungs. What would six months do to her? Six years? So she didn’t answer. She didn’t say anything at all. Instead, she simply walked away, leaving the woman she loved crying in her doorway. Just like the coward they both knew she was.

Nooooooo

“I love you with so much of my heart that none is left to protest,” Iris said.