Iris (The Wild Side #2)(2)

I shrugged. “Yeah. But the really sad part is you’d have to spend a good chunk of that cash on her, if you wanted her to stay around for any length of time.”

He shook his head. “I think you’ve gone cynical, after Tammy.”

I couldn’t dispute that. Not a bit. “You may be right. What can I say? Divorce messes with your head.” I didn’t bring up Iris. I hadn’t told him about her. “Why don’t you go ask her out, if you’re so certain I’m wrong?”

He laughed. “I didn’t say you were wrong, I said you were cynical, and so am I. That chick is out of my league, period. I need more money to bag a woman like that. Or at the very least, better looks and a bigger dick. And look at that, f**k, she’s already leaving. I was hoping she’d sit down to drink her coffee, and let me look at her for a few more minutes.”

“Maybe you were creeping her out. You’ve barely taken your eyes off her since she walked in the door.”

He didn’t even seem to hear me. “Oh, no, wait, she’s only going to the bathroom. I thought it was weird she was leaving without her order. Did you see her shoes, man? Those are some ‘f*ck-me’ stilettos. And her hair is in this tight bun, and she’s wearing sexy librarian glasses. Will you please turn and look when she comes back out? I will drop the subject if you will just get a better view of her and agree with me that she’s a ten.”

“Nope. Not doing it. That poor girl does not need us both creeping out on her. I’ll take your word for it.”

That seemed to settle the matter. He dropped it.

His phone rang; he checked the screen and started cursing. “I’ve got to run. Same time next week?”

I nodded, and he left. I didn’t move and still didn’t turn around. I had that feeling, a tingle on my neck, like I was being watched from behind, and I was again talking myself out of obsessing about Iris.

But burned in my brain was the image of the back of that woman, and in spite of myself, I was comparing.

And a small part of me was enjoying the torture of imagining it could be her, that she would find me again.

Finally, I cracked, turning to look, thinking that the woman must have left, so I should just get it over with, like pulling off a Band-Aid.

And there she was.

There was Iris, standing only feet away, holding a cup of coffee and watching me, her expression very blank. She was wearing sexy librarian glasses, her hair in a tight bun, just like Benji had said.

And it really was her, in the flesh.

She wore white, and her clothes were fitted enough to show off every lush curve. Her mouthwatering br**sts were clearly outlined, the buttons of her blouse open enough to show an extravagant amount of cle**age.

How had I forgotten just how stunning she was? How captivating?

Her large br**sts were even more exceptional than I remembered, as though I’d dreamt her up as a comic book version of herself.

Iris squared.

The moment our eyes met, she began to move, walking with easy grace to sit across from me.

She looked cold, so icy blonde and beautiful, like some mix of Marilyn Monroe and Grace Kelly.

Terrible and beautiful.

It felt like fatal voltage to my chest just to look at her like that.

It was Iris, but Iris as a stranger. No, it was worse than that. It was like she was a curious, wild, imaginary creature, with the pieces of her just now put together, invented for my eyes, not how I remembered at all, because even when she’d been angry, she had never been cold.

Then she smiled, and it was her again, all traces of the cold stranger gone.

Which one was the real Iris?

“Hello, Dair.”

I swallowed hard and saw her eyes dart to my throat.

“Hello, Iris.”

“God, I missed the sound of your voice.”

“The sound of my voice?” My voice caught on the question awkwardly, breaking slightly on the last word.

She had such a talent for catching me off guard.

“Yes. You have the best voice, like a stern school teacher.”

My brain short-circuited for a bit before I could respond. “You say the most outrageous things.”

She laughed, and its tinkling sound felt like velvet across the back of my neck. “Is that all you have to say to me, after all this time?” she asked quietly.

“I’m sorry for all the things—”

“I don’t want you to take those things back, if you still believe them, and besides, that’s not what I meant. Don’t you have anything else to say to me?”

I took a few deep breaths. “Where have you been? And why are you back now?”

“That’s not what I meant, either. And I don’t want to talk about that. Didn’t you miss me?”

She reached a hand across the table, and I found one of mine grasping it, lacing our fingers tightly together.

My eyes squeezed shut. It felt very good to touch her again, even just her hand. “Yes, Iris, I missed you very much.”

“There you go. Was that so hard? I missed you, too. You look good.” She tugged her hand away, and my eyes opened to follow its retreat.

“Why are you dressed like that?”

She looked like she was trying not to smile. “Like what?”

“Like a professional. Why are you wearing glasses? What are you doing? Where did you go? Where have you been?”