“Uh . . .” Imusthave a concussion because I haven’t said more than “uh’ in the last two minutes. “Sure. Why not?” In my head, I hear Jared pimping me out at least for drinks until we have her signature on the dotted line.
She leans closer so her blouse droops, and I see the curve of her breasts. Don’t get me wrong—Pippa’s got a great body. She’s one of the top tennis players in the world. And the sex was good, but her light floral scent is all wrong. Her hair is jet black, missing the burnished streaks. Her lips are thin, not full and pouty and pink. She’s beautiful and just right for someone, but she’s not Iris. So she’s not right for me.
The door opens again, and another dark head peers around the corner. This is the one I was hoping for.
“Iris.” Everything brightens—the room, my voice, my smile, and I feel Pippa’s regard sharpen on my face. “Come on in.”
“Oh, I . . .” She flicks a glance between Pippa and me, darting down to our clasped hands on the hospital bed. “I didn’t mean to interrupt.”
I snatch my hand from Pippa, and she looks at me, wearing hurt on her face. I haven’t given Pippa any reason to think we’ll be anything again. I need to be kind, but clear that we are not happening.
“You’re not interrupting.” I gesture to the other side of the bed. “Come on and sit down.”
She walks over to the bed with dragging steps, glancing at Pippa’s expensive clothes and the shiny diamond studs in her ears. Pippa is gorgeous. Of Asian descent, her dark hair falls straight to frame the high slant of her cheekbones. She’s beautiful, but she’s not my Iris.
Yes, I think of her as mine. I will have no trouble telling her so once we get past “slow.” Hell, I’m hers, too, whenever she wants to claim me. Over the last few weeks, though we haven’t even kissed, we’ve been building something.
I guess? I think? I hope?
“Sorry. Blame my rudeness on the concussion.” I gesture to the curious girl beside me. “Pippa Kim, this is Iris DuPree. Pippa’s signing with Elevation, and Iris works with our team.”
“Oh, that’s wonderful, Ms. Kim,” Iris says, her enthusiasm genuine. She really does love her job. “If you two were discussing—”
“Nope,” I cut in because if I know Iris, and I’m glad to say that I do now, she’s about to leave. And I can’t let that happen. “We were done, right, Pip?”
Displeasure passes over her face like a cloud, quickly hidden. “I guess we are,” she mutters, rising and grabbing her purse. “I’ll still be in town this week. I’ll call you about getting together.”
You just had to say that, huh?
“Sure.” My smile is stiff and my voice curt. “See you later.”
As soon as the door swings closed behind Pippa, I reach for Iris.
“Hey, you.” I bring the back of her hand to my lips. “How’s tricks?”
She studies me for long seconds, her inspection thorough. “Forget tricks,” she says, her voice subdued. “How areyou?”
“Were you worried about me?” I tease, rubbing my nose over the palm of her hand and smiling when she shivers.
“Of, course I was worr . . .” She heaves a deep breath and blows it out, running her free hand through the wild hair that’s erupted into waves and curls. “God, August.”
A tear slides over her cheek, and I feel like a royal asshole. My head may hurt, but I can still lift someone as small as Iris, so I do, dragging her to sit up against the pillows in the bed beside me. I tuck her under my arm and lower my forehead to hers. We’ve covered a lot of ground since she moved here a month ago. She said slow, and I added consistent. The Louisiana irises every morning. Daily text messages. Lunch together whenever my schedule allows. We’ve been seeing how we fit into each other’s lives. After years of seeing each other so sporadically, it’s good to set a normal pattern.
If I ever wondered if I was simply infatuated with the idea of Iris and the reality wouldn’t live up to my expectations, I know now she doesn’t just match my fantasies. She’s so much better. As hard as it’s been, I haven’t tried to kiss her. Don’t want to rush her. I’ve honored her request for slow, and now when I see how she watches me, I believe it’s paying off.
“Hey, I’m okay.” I work my fingers into the thick hair spilling around her neck.
“You’re sure?” Her breath is cool and minty, but my lips burn. “I saw you fall and . . . I’m just glad you’re okay.” Another tear streaks down her cheek. I brush it away with my knuckle and push the tangle of hair from her face.
“I’m glad you’re here.” I leave a few kisses along her hairline. “Thanks for coming.”
“I had to.” She watches me from beneath lowered lashes for a few seconds before clearing her throat. “It was nice of Pippa to come by, too.”
“It really was,” I agree.
“She’s even prettier in real life.”
“She really is.”
