Page 18 of Pretty Obsessed

“You wear eyeliner. Don’t act like you’re above it.” He might not put on pearls and paint his nails, but he had a grunge style people were drawn to. Old band tees with holes, Docs or Converse and black skinny jeans. People liked that stuff and his style was authentic, not picked by some stylist like mine.

“You’re so full of it,” I said. “You’re the prettiest of us all.” And the most sought after, being the lead singer. “You need to be careful getting recognized or not.”

“I’ll be fine. I’m careful. The only person I’m hurting is myself.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t be hurting him either,” I replied carefully.

He held up a middle finger and headed towards the bar.

“I’m not drinking,” I replied, meeting the bartender’s gaze from a distance. It was the same guy as last night, which was promising. Or so I hoped.

“I’ll drink for the both of us.” Iris turned on the charm he usually reserved for public life.

“Wait.” I grabbed him by the shirt, stopping him in his tracks.

“What?” Iris glanced around. “Did you see him? Do we need a covert mission?”

“The asshole bartender is there. I don’t want to go over there. I think he’ll play games.” I exhaled and glanced around. “I’m going to find a spot out of his sight but with a good view of the rest of the place. Go get your drink. Do not tell him who you are. And I’ll text you where I am.”

He started to turn back towards the bar then paused. “I didn’t bring my phone.”

“Iris.”

He smiled and shrugged, looking at his feet. “I can’t do it anymore.”

“Can’t do what?”

“Doesn’t matter.”

“I’m going to keep harassing you until you talk to me.”

He hesitated then came over and wrapped his arms around me. “Thank you.”

Iris’ love language was touch. A little bit like a cat. When he wanted it, he was all over you and when he didn’t want it, you’d get the claws.

“I haven’t done anything—yet.”

Iris shrugged as he pulled back, fingering the metal cigarette case in his pocket. “You do more than you know. You don’t judge and you don’t push.”

“Go get your drink. I can’t deal with sober Iris. He’s mushing all over me.”

He laughed and I was happy to see him smile.

“Where are you going to be?” he asked.

“Right, no phone. Well…I’m going to do a lap and then settle in the seats over there.” I gestured at the ones I’d been sitting in when I’d made out with Emory. They were visible from the bar, but maybe it was best not to hide after all. I wanted Emory to see me if I was here.

“Okay. Root beer?” he asked.

I nodded and took my time with my circuit. There was a show going on in one of the rooms. I glanced in as I passed but didn’t expect to find Emory there. I was happy to settle into the recliners. The focus of the club was sex, but it was subtly mixed into the bar environment. More an escape for people who didn’t want pictures taken of them than anything more. An oasis away from public life.

I wished there were more such places. I might be inclined to be out more if there were.

Iris returned with two drinks in hand. His pupils were blown, which meant he’d done something while waiting for the drinks. Coke probably. He’d long given up asking me if I wanted anything.

Drugs were the elephant in the room. Nearly everyone in the industry did something or other. I was in the minority for not touching any of them.

He set the drinks on the table between us and sat, pulling his knees to his chest, more perching than sitting. “So how’d you find this place?”

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