5. IRIS
IRIS
The leather seat beneath me feels too hot, the silence too thick. I shift my backpack on my lap, clutching the straps like they might anchor me to something real.
"So... did you sleep okay?"
Nothing. Ivan's jaw works, that muscle jumping near his ear, but his eyes stay locked on the road ahead. His knuckles are white on the steering wheel.
I tuck a curl behind my ear, then pull it forward again. "I was thinking maybe we could?—"
"Don't."
The word cuts clean through whatever I was about to say. My chest tightens.
"I just wanted to?—"
"What?" He glances at me, and the heat in those dark hazel eyes makes my breath catch. "Talk about the weather? Pretend last night didn't happen?" His laugh is sharp, humorless. "You already got what you wanted this morning."
"That's not fair."
"Fair?" He rolls his shoulders back, that telltale sign he's fighting to keep control. "You let me inside you, Iris. You looked at me like I was everything. And then you woke up and told me to forget it."
My throat burns. "It's not that simple?—"
"It is that simple." He takes the turn toward campus too fast, and I grab the door handle. "Either you want me or you don't."
"You're my stepbrother."
"We're not blood-related." His fingers drum once against the wheel, then still. "And you felt something last night. Don't lie to yourself."
I did. God, I did. His hands on me, his mouth, the way he whispered my name like it was sacred?—
But what would Mom say? What would her husband, Mark, think?
"It's wrong," I whisper.
"Is it?" He pulls up to the curb outside the main building of my school, throws the Range Rover into park. Students stream past the windows, laughing, shouting, living their uncomplicated lives. "Because it didn't feel wrong when you were coming apart under me."
Heat floods my face, pools low in my belly. "Ivan?—"
"Tell me you didn't want it." He turns to face me fully now, and I can see the hurt beneath the anger, the raw edge of something vulnerable. "Tell me last night meant nothing and I'll leave you alone."
My mouth opens. Closes. The words won't come.
Because it wasn't nothing. It was everything. His body fit mine like we were made for each other, like every touch was a homecoming. And this morning when I said we should forget it, when I saw his face shutter closed?—
My chest aches.
"I can't," I breathe. But then I grab my backpack, shove the door open and get off. "I can't do this right now."
I slam the door and turn away from the car.
By the time I glance over my shoulder, the Range Rover is already pulling away, taillights disappearing into traffic.
And I'm standing on the curb alone, watching him leave, wondering if I just made the biggest mistake of my life.
The whiteboard swims in front of me, equations and theorems blending into meaningless squiggles. Professor Howard's voice drones on about derivatives, but all I hear is Ivan's low rasp: Either you want me or you don't.
I press my thighs together under the desk. The ache between them hasn't faded, a persistent reminder of last night—his weight pinning me down, his breath hot against my neck, the stretch and burn as he?—
"Miss Calloway?" Professor Howard peers at me over his glasses. "The answer?"
Heat crawls up my throat. "I... sorry, could you repeat the question?"
A few students snicker. Ness shoots me a concerned look from two rows over.
The rest of the morning passes the same way.
Chemistry becomes a haze of molecular structures I can't focus on.
English lit turns into torture as we discuss forbidden love in Wuthering Heights and all I can think about is Ivan's hands on my skin, his mouth claiming mine like he had every right, like wrong was just a word that didn't apply to us.
Because being with him didn't feel wrong. It felt like coming home.
"Okay, spill." Joan plants herself on my left as we weave through the crowded hallway toward the cafeteria. "You've been a zombie all morning."
Ness flanks my right, curls bouncing as she leans in. "Did something happen? You look... I don't know, sad?"
"No, I'm fine." I adjust my backpack straps, wishing I could adjust the guilt sitting heavy on my chest just as easily. "Just didn't sleep well."
"Was your stepbrother treating you, okay?" Joan nudges my shoulder. "Your hot stepbrother can be kind of intense."
You have no idea.
"He's just... protective." The word tastes bitter. Protective isn't what he was last night when he buried himself inside me and made me forget my own name.
We push through the cafeteria doors. The smell of pizza and french fries hits me, and my stomach turns. Ness grabs a tray, Joan does the same, but I just stand there staring at the food like it's written in a foreign language.
"You have to eat something," Ness says.
I grab an apple and a bottle of water, following them to our usual table by the windows. The plastic chair scrapes as I sit, and I bite into the apple even though it might as well be cardboard. My friends chatter around me, words floating past without meaning.
Then Joan's voice pitches higher. "Oh my God, he's looking over here."
Ness giggles. "Do I look okay? Is my hair?—"
"You look hot." Joan smooths her own shirt down. "Both of you. I swear he's coming this way."
I glance up.
Nate Bailey weaves between tables, that easy smile on his face, dark hair perfectly tousled like he just rolled out of a cologne ad. Girls track his movement, whispers following in his wake.
He stops at our table.
"Hey." His gaze lands on me, holds. "Iris, right?"
Joan and Ness dissolve into barely contained squeals beside me.
"Yeah." I force my lips up into something resembling a smile. "Nate."
"Mind if I sit?"
"Sure." The word comes out flat, but I nod toward the empty chair anyway.
Nate slides in beside me, bringing the scent of expensive body spray and mint gum. Joan practically vibrates in her seat. Ness bites her lip, eyes wide and shining.
"So, prom's tonight." He angles his body toward mine, one arm draped casually over the back of my chair. "I know we haven't known each other long, but I'd really like to take you. If you don't have a date already?"
Joan kicks my shin under the table.
My phone sits face-down next to my untouched apple. I want to grab it, text Ivan, ask him what I should say. But Ivan isn't talking to me. Ivan thinks I'm uptight and dishonest, and maybe he's right because I lied—to him, to myself.
"She doesn't have a date," Joan blurts out. "She'd love to go with you."
"Joan—"
"Unless you don't want to?" Nate's smile doesn't waver, but something flickers behind his eyes. "No pressure."
Ness leans forward. "Are you kidding? Of course she wants to go. Right, Iris?"
Four pairs of eyes lock on me. The cafeteria noise fades to white static. I should want this. Campus crush, handsome guy, normal highschool experience. Everything I claimed I wanted when I told Ivan I liked Nate, when I used him as a shield against the truth burning through my chest.
But all I see is Ivan's face this morning—jaw clenched, shoulders rigid, those dark hazel eyes shuttered and distant as he drove me to school still feeling mad at me.
"Okay." I hear myself say it. "Sure. Prom sounds great."
Nate's grin widens. "Perfect. I'll get your number and text you the details."
After Nate takes my number, he stands, that easy charm radiating off him as he walks away. Girls at nearby tables crane their necks to watch him go.
Joan grabs my wrist. "Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God! Nate Bailey just asked you to prom!"
"This is huge," Ness squeals. "We have to go dress shopping. Like, immediately. This is an emergency. It's Nate we're talking about here. You can't just go with just any dress."
They dissolve into planning—colors and shoes and whether we should all coordinate. Their voices blur together.
I should feel happy. Excited. Something other than this hollow ache spreading through my ribs.
Instead, I picture Ivan in a tux. His broad shoulders in a fitted jacket, that midnight hair swept back, his hand warm and possessive at the small of my back as we dance.
But school policy doesn't allow dates with a twenty-seven-year-old, step or otherwise.
And even if it did, what would people say? What would our parents say?
My phone buzzes.
I flip it over, heart jumping.
Ivan: Won't be there after school. Something came up. Walk home or catch a ride.
The words punch through me. No banter. No teasing. Just cold, practical distance.
I miss him. God, I miss him so much it physically hurts.
"Iris?" Ness waves a hand in front of my face. "You okay?"
"Yeah." I stand abruptly, chair scraping. "I just... need some air."
I don't wait for their response. The hallway stretches empty and quiet, most students still at lunch. I lean against the cool tile wall, phone clutched in both hands.
I've been dishonest. With him, with myself.
But I can't take this anymore. I need him—God, I need him. When I go back to his home, I'll tell him how I really feel. Consequences be damned.