Sign up for our newsletter to hear

about new and upcoming releases.

www.ylva-publishing.com

Other Books by Lee Winter

Standalone

Vengeance Planning for Amateurs

Hotel Queens

Changing the Script

Breaking Character

Shattered

Requiem for Immortals

Sliced Ice (anthology)

The Truth Collection

The Ultimate Boss Set (box set)

The Brutal Truth

The Awkward Truth

The Villains series

The Fixer

Chaos Agent

Number Six

On The Record series

On the Record – The Complete Collection (box set)

The Red Files

Under Your Skin

Acknowledgments

This novella is the result of a stubborn character who simply refused to die. Bitchy frenemy and TV finance journalist Cynthia Redwell was loathed by readers of The Red Files—and for good reason.

The icy side character was a little more likable in Under Your Skin as Catherine Ayers’s amused best friend at Catherine and Lauren’s Iowa wedding.

In a moment of madness, I decided it would be hilarious to write a short story about this cynical, sarcastic, image-conscious, closeted lesbian waking up in bed after that wedding with a new “friend.”

The friend would be Suze, a short, round flight mechanic from Iowa who used to be a softballer—the absolute antithesis of everything Cynthia is. Worse, Suze would give as good as she got and unbalance Cynthia’s view of her world. When DC Met Iowa was born.

There I thought Cynthia would stay forever—rueful and hungover, a sort of sad but still haughty figure caught up in her secrets and pain. Then, recently, I thought I could give her a proper ending. Two more short stories about Cynthia would do the trick, I decided.

As if Cynthia would settle for so little being written about her! Before I knew it, those extra short stories kept expanding and finally this novella was born.

It was also great fun to revisit the eternally playful Monique Carson from Hotel Queens and Number Six.

All credit for this book goes to Astrid Ohletz, my friend, occasional beta reader, and publisher at Ylva. She was one who insisted that were was still much more to my ice queen’s tale.

Thanks also goes to my invaluable content editor Sarah Ridding, and beta readers, Laura C., Mary M., and Carolyn Bylotas, who have a wonderful enthusiasm and a good eye for what’s missing.

I hope you’ll enjoy one of my iciest ice queens’ journey to happiness.

Chapter 1

When DC Met Iowa

Cynthia Redwell awoke with a grimace and a mouth as dry as her last Economics in Journalism conference.

Christ, that must have been some wedding reception.

It was a bit hazy now. There had been imbibing. Party games. More imbibing. Cynthia offering her fabulously biting snark about the perils of the Midwest to…to? A blurry face swam in and out of view. Whoever. Someone.

Oh well. What’s the worst she could have gotten up to? Besides, what happens in Iowa stays in Iowa, right? Wasn’t that a thing? It should be.

Yawning, she glanced around as her brain slowly dithered into focus.

She frowned. Unless the Grand Millennium was now stocking up on Smurf-blue Target sheet sets and decorating walls with butch female sport stars, she’d gone home with a…new friend…last night.

Glancing uneasily to her side, Cynthia discovered a human-shaped lump in the bed. Oh. Well, it wouldn’t be the first time, but she usually carefully vetted her one-night stands for discretion first. God only knew what this one’s predilection for spreading gossip was. She bit her lip.

Of course, she could be overreacting. There might be an innocent explanation. A lateness issue? Some friendly local had explained they only lived around the corner, and would she like to…bunk in?

For God’s sake. Even hungover and with a brain firing on half a cell, that sounded about as believable as her best friend, Catherine’s, insistence she hadn’t been into some brash Iowan. And look where Cynthia was now. Enduring the headache-thumping, wash-up from Catherine’s wedding to said Iowan girl, Lauren.

Still, a good reporter checks her sources and examines the evidence.

Lifting the sheets cautiously, Cynthia ascertained her own body was indeed entirely naked. And, given some twinging muscles as her thighs shifted, it appeared she’d done more than cuddling up for warmth last night.

Cynthia huffed out a breath. Well. It’d be nice to remember her apparent night of chandelier swinging. Unless her bed partner had been unspectacular? Maybe that was it?

She prodded the buried lump through the thick comforter. “Hey.”

“Mmph. G’backtasleep.”

“Where am I?”

“With me. Sleep now.”

“And you are?”

The lump flung back the sheets a foot and revealed itself to be a thirty-something brunette with a freckled face, wide, full-lipped mouth, and broad shoulders. Short, squat, and solid. Like a weightlifter, only rounder. Cynthia blinked.

This nuggety woman with a proud, strong jaw and flashing brown eyes was the antithesis of every perfectly manicured stick-insect she’d ever bedded. Since she usually only bedded colleagues, she supposed that figured. There was a bland conformity to TV women, right down to the blonde hair, lean limbs, and dazzling white teeth. Cynthia was right out of the same mold herself.

She wasn’t sure whether to be surprised at her unexpected choice under the influence of local swill, or ponder her drunken ass’s sense of humor.

“Well…you’re different,” she muttered.

“And by that you mean to say, ‘good morning’, and ‘you’re cute’.” The woman elbowed Cynthia. “Right?”

She actually was cute, in a tomboyish sort of way. Compared to Cynthia’s lean exclamation-mark of a body honed with Pilates, spin class, and green shakes, this woman screamed strength and solidness in a way Cynthia found appealing. Her edgy spunk was excellent, too. She’d be no pushover. Christ, how Cynthia disdained weak women. So maybe Cynthia’s drunken ass knew more about her tastes than her sober ass realized.

But there was no point encouraging the girl by offering random compliments. That might spark an expectation of round two of likely more forgettable bedroom calisthenics from this robust Iowan.

Cynthia had no time for that. All she wanted was to get caffeinated, dressed, get on a plane, and get the hell out of Iowa for good… Even if this woman’s wide, curling mouth was all sorts of alluring.

Enough of that. Time to commit to the exit strategy. “Right, well, um…” Cynthia peered at her bedmate, hoping a name would leap into her synapses. The silence dragged on for an uncomfortable beat.

“Suze,” she supplied with a knowing look. “Seriously, Cynthia? After last night, I’d have thought you’d at least remember my name.”

“I can’t even remember last night, let alone the finer points on names, occupations, or various pets.” Cynthia’s gaze roamed the room. Where in hell are my clothes?

Suze sat up, the sheet falling away, revealing an ample pair of bare breasts. It curtailed whatever grumpy inner-monologue Cynthia was working up to as she stared at the impressive sight.

Oh my. Why couldn’t she recall playing with those? Cynthia’s brain gave a pained whimper at the loss.

“You don’t remember your awesome beer-pong buddy?” Suze snorted. “Or the rest?”

Good God, she’d dearly love to remember the rest right now.

“Name’s Suzette Beringer. Occupation: former softball legend. Currently: mechanic and bed buddy. Also: Lauren’s best friend from college and highly sleep deprived. Pets: one pug named Buttcheeks. Do not start on his name. My ex named him, and I can’t change it because it’s all he damn well answers to.”

I hooked up with a beer-pong player who owns Buttcheeks the dog.

“You think less of me now, don’t you?” Suze asked, giving her a quizzical look.

“Yes, definitely,” Cynthia confirmed. “But don’t worry, the bar was set low. You being an Iowan and all.” Her smirk was as wicked as her words.

“You know, the cracks about my home state were funnier when I was trying to get in your pants.”

Cynthia blinked. Rather than sounding offended, as most people were by her deliberately acidic tongue, Suze looked faintly…amused. The woman shrugged and ran her fingers through cropped brown hair, doing little to erase the bed hair at the back.

Okay, what is happening here? She tried again.

“So, Iowa, you’re a mechanic? You’re a walking oil slick, like Lauren’s knuckle-dragging brothers?” Cynthia was almost impressed at the dollops of disdain she’d managed to inject into just two sentences. Not that she had anything against mechanics; after all, she loved Dino back in DC for keeping her beloved Audi purring. But how on earth was some cute lay from Outer Hicksville immune to her finely honed slings and arrows?

“I’m a flight mechanic. I work at the airport. Why? Need some duty free?” she drawled, dragging her sheet back up to cover her chest.

Cynthia’s brain all but pouted as the glorious sight disappeared from view. Focus. Her evil super power was failing. That had to be it. Maybe she needed refueling. “I need coffee.” Where was the kitchen, anyway? She looked around again. “Is this your place?”

“For an economics expert you’re pretty slow, aren’t you?” Suze tutted, eyes gleaming with amusement. “Who else’s?” She waved at the walls.

Cynthia’s gaze took in the various knickknacks. A University of Iowa college degree; the writing too small to ascertain the subject. Smartass Comebacks 101 probably. Numerous softball trophies. A framed poster of the singer, Pink. Signed team poster of the US national softball squad. Wait… Did that upstart just call me slow? Me?

Her eyes narrowed. “I’ve written three books on the economy,” Cynthia blurted before she could stop herself. Oh God. That sounded almost…desperate for approval.

“I wrote a pamphlet once for work,” Suze retorted. “Safety Tips for Employees Working in the MRO Hangar. It was well received by critics. Five stars all round.”

Oh my God. Not only have I lost my killer touch, I’m being mocked.

Not that she didn’t deserve it. After all, Cynthia had been the one to start this bitchy dawn duel. She needed her A-game. “Coffee,” Cynthia ground out. “Oh, and that’s a requirement, not a request.”

“Make it yourself.” Suze’s lips twitched. “Kitchen’s downstairs. It’s too early for me to move. Besides, I’m not the best at hopping to orders from stuck-up DC chicks trying to rile me up for shits and giggles.”

Total. Super power. Fail. She’d been out-snarked by a damned Midwest grease monkey. It was end times. “Fine.” Cynthia threw back the bedcovers to get her coffee.

Cynthia paused midway to the door when Suze’s appreciative gaze roamed her, only then realizing she’d been too irked to notice that she was stark naked. She puffed out her chest a little, relieved she had at least some power left. “Like what you see?”

“You bet. But I’ve got simple tastes. Being an Iowan and all.”

Okay, that was a surprisingly excellent riposte. Cynthia tried hard not to laugh—one’s debating rivals should never know when they’ve won a point—and instead rolled her eyes.

Snatching a red silk robe off a hook on the back of the door, she put it on. It was far too short; only an inch away from breaching public decency laws.

That’s what you get for dallying with a garden gnome. She snorted to herself, heading downstairs.

She padded to the kitchen. Before long, she found the necessities, and made a coffee. Then, feeling somewhat benevolent on account of having a good sparring partner, reached for a second cup.

She carried the coffees back upstairs and placed Suze’s on the bedside table next to her.

Suze lifted her eyebrows at the offering and took a sip. “I’m probably going to regret asking this, DC, but how’d you know how I like my coffee?”

“Simple. Black, because it matches your soul, and three sugars because I can tell you have a sweet tooth.”

“A fat crack? How original. I’ll have you know there’s muscle under this mass.”

Cynthia frowned at Suze’s interpretation of her words. No, it hadn’t been a damned fat crack. At least she didn’t look put out, even patting her rounded stomach over the sheet. But then, people usually hid their insecurities well. Lord knew, Cynthia had them by the U-Haul load. Trust issues, ten-foot high walls, and self-loathing lesbian pretty much covered them.

While she ordinarily wouldn’t give the slightest flicker of concern about what people thought of her commentary on their lives, for some reason it bothered her that Suze might feel judged for her body. Which, as her brain had already made clear, Cynthia found decidedly appealing.

“It wasn’t a comment about your weight,” she murmured, sipping her own coffee. “I appreciate your body. It’s unique. It’s you.”

Suze’s eyes narrowed with suspicion as she turned that over. “Are you making fun of me?”

“No. I’ve decided I rather like you, in spite of your atrocious taste in birthplaces. You’re different. And trust me, in my world, that’s as scarce as an honest politician.”

“So, we’re doing honesty now?” Suze chuckled. “Okay. I can do that too. I’m flexible.”

“Are you?” Cynthia purred, wishing very hard she could remember what they’d gotten up to last night.

“You really don’t remember, do you? Any of it?”

A faint blush warmed Cynthia’s cheeks, much to her annoyance. “Not so much.” She sighed. “Which is to say, not at all.”

“Ah.”

“But if I was to take an educated guess,” Cynthia began, smiling, “I’d suggest we drank a lot, played beer pong, I thrashed you at that, and we made out in some discreet location. Then, overwhelmed by my sensational kisses, you invited me home. After…hmm…three glorious orgasms, you fell asleep in a tangle of sheets, knowing you’d never been had so well. Am I close?”

Suze laughed hard at that one. Actually…a little too hard.

“Well, you were right about the beer pong. But I let you thrash me.”

“Unlikely. I’m very competitive.”

“And I’m a former softballer remember? I can whip anyone at a throwing game. Well, anyone except Lauren. So, yes, there was beer pong. And you won. And you were so happy that you kissed me. And it was sort of a sloppy, messy kiss, if I’m being honest…”

Cynthia shot her a withering look.

“Hey, I doubt my kissing was much better.” Suze laughed at her outrage. “We were both barely standing by that point. Then we might have dirty danced around the fire pit at one a.m., giving all Lauren’s ancient older relatives a bit of a show; but her brothers certainly appreciated it. I’m deaf in one ear from all their hollering.”

“God.” Cynthia’s mouth fell open. She’d made a spectacle of herself? How embarrassing.

“Then Lauren’s dad suggested maybe it was time to call it a night, because some of the oldies had weak hearts. Which made you laugh and laugh and announce that I’d take you home to my place.”

“How magnanimous of me,” Cynthia observed. “I gather you were okay with me cavalierly inviting myself over?”

“Oh, yep. I may have said ‘Hot damn’ a little too loudly. So Lauren’s dad drove us back to my place on account of us being fifty sheets to the wind. The whole way home, you were singing songs with dirty lyrics about big-boobed women. Owen was blushing redder than a tomato.”

Poor man. Did they make cards that read, ‘Sorry I Was a Horndog In Your Earshot’?

So much for discretion.

“Right, so we get inside, and you kissed me against the door, then started flinging your clothes off downstairs. By the way, your bra’s on the TV…”

So that’s where her clothes were.

“We get upstairs to the bedroom. I apply my signature moves…” Suze waggled her eyebrows. “You swooned and had a mind-blowing orgasm courtesy of yours truly, but then passed out halfway through reciprocating. No follow-through.” She scowled. “Like, shit. It was seriously disappointing.”

“Reciprocat—” Cynthia frowned. She’d been a lousy lay?

“That means I missed my turn. Aren’t you DC economics types supposed to know the big words?” Suze nudged her.

“I know what it means. I’m just a little unsure what to make of it. I’ve never ever…”

“Well now you have,” Suze said. “Don’t worry. I’m sure it could happen to anyone… Not performing.”

Not performing? Cynthia prized herself on being as competitive as the next blackened soul that inhabited DC. There was no challenge she’d not crushed. This was completely unacceptable.

“Holy shit, you look so appalled! Like, this is some failing of personal honor.”

“It is,” Cynthia said darkly. She gave her an arch look. “Satisfaction guaranteed is my motto. Even if I don’t like the woman that much, she always leaves with a smile on her face.”

That brought Suze up short. “Wait, what?” She peered at her. “Why would you take home someone you don’t even like?”

Cynthia’s head snapped up. “What do you mean? Do you like everyone you sleep with?”

“Of course!” Suze gaped at her. “Why else would I want them in my home? In my bed?”

“For release?” Cynthia suggested with a shrug. “A way to pass the time?”

“Then use a vibrator!” Suze side-eyed her. “Is that what I am too? Someone you didn’t like very much but wanted to pass a few hours with before your flight left?”

Cynthia would have loved to dismantle the woman’s self-righteousness with a snarky ‘Yes’. But that would be a complete lie, and she was allergic to them. “No,” she sighed. “I already told you. I like you. God knows why right at this minute. You’re more annoying than bikini-line regrowth. And I swear if you tell anyone about us…”

“You mean anyone else? Beyond Lauren’s huge extended family who all saw you plant one on me and dirty-dance me around the fire pit? Not to mention Lauren’s friend, that LA publicist? And her other friends from LA, Josh and Tad? And…”

“All right, Jesus, I get the picture. The horse has bolted.” She waved her hand and added, in deference to their location, “Or cow. Whatever.” She was screwed.

“Why do you care so much?” Suze gave her a curious look. “You’re not ‘out’ at work, I take it? Because you work in TV?”

“I’m not out at all. Anywhere. Or, rather, I wasn’t. Apparently Iowan weddings change a person’s settings from discreet to raging queer.”

“I’m fairly sure it’s in the brochure in your hotel room. Should have read the fine print.”

There was a pause as Cynthia digested that, and finally she laughed. “God! Oh God.” She sank her head into her hands.

“Look, seriously, stop freaking out. Lauren’s and Catherine’s LA friends won’t tell. They’re really nice. And who’re Lauren’s family going to talk to? No one even knows who you are around here, anyway. You’re fine, okay?”

Tension eased from Cynthia’s shoulders a little. That was true. “You know the irony of this is rich. For two years I’ve been getting some hilarious mileage out of Catherine getting together with an Iowan ex-softballer. Now look at me.”

“Slumming it, are we?”

“Hardly. I’ve just lost my mockery advantage. It’s…inconvenient. And I’m usually so much better at impulse control. Beer pong? Bedding the cute butch at my best friend’s wedding? Not so much.”

“You think I’m cute then?” Suze grinned.

“Regrettably for my once stellar, straight reputation, you are appallingly cute.”

“You’re not bad yourself. For a snooty DC bitch.”

“You think I’m a bitch?”

“Oh, you are. And you love it. Tell me I’m wrong.”

“You’re not.”

“Why do you do it?” Suze cocked her head, looking intrigued. “The mega-bitch routine?”

“It’s just easier.”

“Than?”

“Dealing with people. Entanglements. Interpersonal nonsense. Enduring assholes at work. They all steer clear of me, which is how I prefer it. Oh, there are plenty of assholes in my industry.”

“Yeah?”

“Definitely.” She set her coffee cup down before she gave into the urge to hurl it. “Christ. Do you know I used to be a ‘valuable resource’ and ‘top on-air talent’. That’s what my boss called me. Then I hit forty. I was moved into minor management with only occasional on-air slots. I suppose it was to avoid viewers having their retinas burned by the shocking sight of an older woman analyzing economic data.”

“That’d suck.” Sympathy edged Suze’s eyes. “Fortunately, Boeings don’t give a fuck how old or pretty the hands fixing them are.”

How weird would that be? To have a job based solely on ability? Cynthia couldn’t even imagine it. “Don’t you find it hard, working in such a male-dominated industry? Especially around here?”

Suze shrugged. “Any of the boys who gave me trouble in the early days got a wrench waved around for their trouble.”

“They were scared of a wrench?” Cynthia couldn’t picture it.

“I never said where I threatened to use it.” Suze cackled. “Honestly? Now I’m just one of the boys. It’s fine.” She drained the last of her coffee and set the cup aside. “Tell me, how’d you meet Catherine? She’s not on TV. Or into economics.”

“We go way back. Back to when we were both young and working at the same newspaper together. As the only two women on staff, we gravitated toward each other. And we each had something the other wanted.”

“Oh?” Suze leaned forward. “Wait, you two didn’t ever hook up?”

“Never.” Not for lack of trying on my part. Cynthia smirked. “I taught her how to handle the macho culture in newsrooms. How to stand up for herself better. She was so withdrawn and dedicated, used to saying nothing, just giving off these lethal glares if anyone gave her a hard time. But a vicious look doesn’t cut it. I was the one who told her it was okay to say what she was really thinking. She became the Caustic Queen because of me.”

“You gave her courage?” Suze asked.

“Oh no. Cat’s one of the bravest and strongest people I know. She’s been to hell and back and survived. No, I simply gave her permission to let herself off the leash.”

“And what did she do for you? You said you each had something the other wanted.”

Cynthia debated whether to answer. Well, it’s not like she’d ever see Suze again. With a wry smile, she admitted, “She taught me how to talk the way she does. I had TV ambitions but didn’t sound the part. My first lesson in speaking properly came straight from Catherine’s correctly enunciated Bostonian vowels.”

“No shit.”

“Mmm.”

“How did you speak before that?”

“Let me put it this way: I learned that if you ever want to be taken seriously, don’t sound like something the redneck dragged in.” She wagged a finger at Suze. “It’s a lesson for us all. Especially those in Middle America.”

“This again?” Suze snorted.

Cynthia shrugged. “It’s a reflex. I’d apologize but I don’t say things I don’t mean.”

“Pissing all over the Midwest is like a party trick for you, though, you do it so often.”

“It’s just too easy.” Cynthia grinned. “Like shooting fish in a barrel. Or eating buffalo chicken pizzas at Casey’s, if you want the local equivalent.”

Suze’s eyes went wide. “Holy shit.”

“What?”

“Now it all becomes clear.”

“What does?” Cynthia was mystified.

“Only a local would cite Casey’s. Is that why you harp on Iowa so much? How long did you live here for anyway?”

Cynthia would so love to deny it. To wipe away the memories that had shaped her…and stained her.

Suze’s hand reached over and clasped hers. “Come on, share?”

Her tone was shaded into concern enough to make Cynthia hesitate about shutting the conversation down instantly.

Is it safe enough to say the words out loud?

The difficult words had such painful, sharp edges that they always stuck in her throat. Only Catherine knew her past.

“I moved around a lot as a child. Not just place to place, but family to family.”

“Family to…” Understanding lit in Suze’s eyes. “Foster kid?”

Cynthia nodded grimly.

“So you wound up here at some point?” Suze guessed.

“Unfortunately.”

“For how long?”

“I was actually born here,” Cynthia admitted through gritted teeth. “And I stayed only until I was old enough to bolt.” Fear and wariness filled her at the thought the woman might ask for more details. Her hand tensed under Suze’s.

“So, your voice,” Suze asked instead, “you used to sound like an Iowan? And Catherine taught you to sound like her?”

“Something like that.” Cynthia exhaled, relieved to be on safer ground.

“And now you just endlessly poke sticks at the Midwest? Like your subconscious is striking back?”

“It’s common to criticize what we hate about ourselves. To be honest, it’s not the place I hate as much as the asshole family I lived with. It’s hardly Iowa’s fault. But I think part of me blames it for even existing. When I left here, I rid myself of all of it. From the dust on my shoes to the pedestrian brown of my hair.” Cynthia waved at her blonde bob.

“I get it.” Suze’s voice was sincere.

“You do?”

“Yeah. You didn’t want just an oil change when you got out of here. You wanted the whole engine overhaul. New place, voice, look, everything, right? So, you became someone else. Someone opposite. Although, y’know, you can completely rebuild a Dodge, but there’ll still be a bit of it left under the hood.”

“Perhaps. But every day I get closer to finally getting out of Dodge.”

“Ha!” Suze laughed. “Damn, that’s clever.”

“Thank you.” Cynthia smiled, and flicked at the tie on her borrowed red robe. “And you have an eye for quality.”

“Modest, too.” Suze shook her head. “Anyway, here’s what I think. Part of you has unresolved shit about where you grew up. You even took an Iowan to bed, someone you’d never ever consider back in DC, right?” She lifted her eyebrow. “I’m a little roll around your past, aren’t I?”

Cynthia stared at her. She had no idea what any of this was about. Even this conversation was surreal. Was Suze right? Possibly. “Who can say? All I truly remember of last night is meeting you.”

“I should be offended. But knowing you, you’d like that.” Suze snorted.

“Ordinarily true. But for some reason I actually think I want you to like me.”

“It’s not an urge you get often, I guess.”

“Not at all.” Cynthia sniffed. “Can you imagine where that would end? Small-talk. Book clubs. Socializing with people who want to catch up soon.”

“How awful.” Suze laughed. “So now what? You’ve had your Iowan hook-up and you’ll be on the plane to DC within the hour?”

Cynthia considered that, curious as to the faint stab of regret at the thought. “No. Well, not quite.” She pursed her lips. “I’m going to give you my e-mail address. And we will stay in touch.”

“We will?”

“Yes. For some reason, I wouldn’t object if I heard from you again.”

“Do I curtsy to Your Majesty at this news?”

“You should.”

“Ha!” Suze did a sort of twisted, half curtsy in bed that only succeeded in making the sheet fall down.

Cynthia appreciated the view all over again. Well. She licked her lips. She could always catch a later flight. Not like planes didn’t fly out of this regional armpit on a regular basis. She cleared her throat. “Just to tie up any loose ends, I apparently owe you some reciprocation. For certain pressing things left unfinished last night.”

“Oh, you don’t have to.” Suze gave a dismissive wave that looked far too indifferent to be believable. Her hungry gaze diving into Cynthia’s cleavage was telling.

“Oh, but I insist,” Cynthia said with a purr. “I’m a Type-A gal. I never like to leave things undone. Unless you’d like to…come undone?” She raised her eyebrows suggestively.

“I…” Suze’s cheeks heated up and her brown eyes darkened. “I think I would like that a lot.” She held out a hand, and her wide mouth curled into a teasing grin. “Slide right on over here, DC. I think it’s time you put your mouth to better use than just being a troublemaker.”

Cynthia snorted. “Well, I suppose.” As she gathered the impertinent woman in her arms, she decided she could think of far worse ways and places to wake up.

Chapter 2

When Iowa Met DC

Suzette Beringer was staring at the most ridiculous bra she’d just found behind her TV. For a start, it wasn’t hers. That much was instantly clear by its B-cup proportions instead of being a DD. Did they even make DD bras at… She squinted at the tag. La Perla?

Of course, Cynthia Redwell would wear a fucking La Perla bra.

As she held it up to the light, she took in the stitching. Precise and perfect with embroidered little flowers all over it. The material. Silk? Probably. The color. Blue. Well, not just blue…a glossy blueish black that was so beautiful it seemed made only for luxurious intimates. This scrap of material probably cost more than she earned in a week. And Cynthia had left it behind.

After enthusiastically making up for her ‘shortcomings’ with Suze, Cynthia had been left with little time. In her rush to get to the airport, she’d obviously not found her bra before leaving.

Curious, Suze googled the La Perla item. Then…she almost dropped her phone.

A La Perla Maison blue silk bra with frastaglio, whatever the hell that was, cost $440. DC wasn’t short of a buck it seemed.

Suze snapped a pic then sent it to the e-mail address Cynthia had deigned to leave for her.

Hey DC, you left something behind. Where do you want me to post it?

No reply. Cynthia might be boarding or something. Suze wrapped the bra in a few tissues to keep it safe until she heard back from its owner.

Four hundred bucks for a bra. Crazy. But then again, everything about last night had been, hadn’t it? Because no way did a beautiful, high-powered DC bitch like Cynthia Redwell ever take a second look at a ‘walking oil slick’ from Iowa any other time.

It was just a one-time thing, albeit a sizzling fling to remember.

* * *

A week was how long it took for Cynthia to reply. Suze had expected a relieved thanks and an address to post the bra to. Instead, she got attitude. And, perhaps more surprisingly, a personal phone number and a request for Suze’s in return. Once Suze had supplied her cell number, while chowing down on a sandwich in her work’s lunchroom, a text lit up that was pure Cynthia.

I trust your grease-monkey fingers haven’t coated it with marks? Silk stains easily.

Oh you’re welcome. Well, Suze wanted to send that but satisfied herself with glaring at her phone. She glared so hard that her colleague, Mitch, a young apprentice she was training, quailed opposite her.

“Not you, Mitch.” She smiled. Poor kid was already uptight enough.

His shoulders relaxed. “Shit, I’d hate to be whoever you’re mad at.” Mitch’s grin was boyish and sweet.

“Oh, I’m not mad.” She chuckled. “I’m getting even.”

Suze texted back: Grease marks ALL OVER IT. Barely recognizable now. Especially since I’ve wiped down the inside of a wheel well with it. Boys sure loved watching that. The wolf whistles deafened me.

A beat, and then a reply. I suppose you think you’re amusing?

Don’t have to think it, Suze tapped back. I know it. btw $440?!!! For one bra? Are you running out of things to spend your money on?

Quality comes at a price, Iowa. I wouldn’t expect a wrench jockey to understand that of course. Some of us have a degree of…refinement.

Suze had to appreciate the time Cynthia spent to add the three little dots to build up to her punchline. That took forethought. Attention to detail, even. She grinned, looking up, and remembered all the little ways Cynthia had deliberately enjoyed getting under her skin.

Mitch grinned back, eyes lighting with surprise.

Uh oh. She hadn’t meant to give him the wrong idea; that her smile was for him. “My girlfriend,” she lied—as if Cynthia would ever want that title, for a million reasons. She lifted her phone. “Thinks she’s hilarious.”

“Oh.” His expression fell. “Girlfriend?” He scrunched up his nose as if he’d smelled a jet-fuel leak. He scowled. “Jesus,” he muttered under his breath. “Bein’ trained by a fuckin’ dyke.”

And…shit. Her own team might be cool with her now after years of her proving herself. They were like brothers. But not all the new recruits had received the memo to park any homophobic crap at the door.

“Hey, shit for brains,” called Steve, a grizzled veteran on her team. He slammed his coffee mug on the table. “Beringer knows more’n you’ll ever know about birds. Both kinds.”

Laughs filled the lunchroom.

“It’s wrong,” Mitch muttered, glaring. “She’s goin’ to Hell.”

“Preach on your own damn time or fuck off,” said Steve. “Or just fuck off anyway. We don’t care.”

And that was the end of the conversation. Everyone finished up lunch and left, with Mitch shooting a disgusted glare over his shoulder. That earned a heavy thump in the back from another mechanic.

Steve hung back. “Hey, Beringer,” he said, scratching his chin as he loomed his tall, thin frame over her. “You been holdin’ out on us?”

“Huh?”

“You got a girlfriend now?” He rocked on his heels. “Good. About time. You’re too young to waste your pretty.” He paused. “Well, in your case, your ugly.” He guffawed at his own brilliance, and she good naturedly flipped him the bird as he wandered back to the workshop.

Her eyes fell to her phone. It’s funny how she’d reached for the word girlfriend. It had slipped out, bypassed her consciousness, and for that split second, she’d really liked how it had sounded. Which was absurd. She knew a one-night stand when she saw it.

Suze’s phone beeped.

Cat got your tongue? Funny. I seem to recall your tongue being a lot more agile when I was around.

Are you bored, DC? Suze texted back. Or missing my tongue so much it’s worthy of texting about now?

She chuckled as she strode back to the bird she’d been working on. A Boeing 737. Her eye fell to Mitch, still shooting daggers at her as if his disapproval would turn her straight. A small smile twitched her lips. She had a hydraulic system to flush. Disgusting job. Now seemed like a good time for an apprentice to step up, didn’t it? He was due to learn this sooner or later. Sooner suddenly felt right.

* * *

Three weeks later, Suze was in her bathrobe, singing off-key and heating spaghetti bolognese in the kitchen, when there was a knock at the door. Buttcheeks began to bark from his doggy bed in the spare room upstairs. She frowned. Seven at night and no one was expected.

She was half tempted to ignore it when she heard, “It’s me. DC.”

Suze dropped her wooden spoon in surprise. It spattered tomato all up her robe. “Fuck!”

At her sharp reaction, Buttcheeks started howling.

“Shuddup!” she called out, and mercifully the pug stopped. He was getting on in years now and didn’t like to be woken from his naps. Relatable.

Wrenching open the front door, she found Cynthia looking tired and regretful.

“I found myself in this godforsaken place for work,” Cynthia began without so much as a hello, “and thought I’d get my bra back.” A carry-on bag sat beside her heel. A taxi on the street behind her pulled away.

Pulled. Away.

What was this? If she was just picking up something, she wouldn’t have sent away the car. Right? Or…was Cynthia hopeful of having a round two? But if so, why the pretense?

She studied Cynthia’s immaculate outfit. Business suit. Sharp, professional. Executive. Lez bait. She licked her lips appreciatively.

“Well?” Cynthia’s eyebrow hit the heavens. “Unless you really did use it to clean out a wheel well.”

Suze blinked.

“Oh God, you did?” Cynthia’s eyes went wide. “Seriously?”

“Don’t be stupid, DC,” Suze said, stepping back. “Come in. I’ll dig it up for you.”

Cynthia followed her inside. “Nice outfit, by the way.”

“Sooo sorry I didn’t dress for you,” Suze threw over her shoulder. “But you didn’t actually bother to call ahead, did you?”

At Cynthia’s non-response, Suze smirked to herself the whole way to the kitchen.

“Don’t tell me you kept my bra with your smelly food and spices?”

“I’m not sure what’s with all the snark,” Suze said, turning off the stove, which had been her mission. “I’m doing you the favor, remember? Park the bitch routine, woman, or I’ll let Buttcheeks out of his room. He’s big on sniffing strangers’ crotches.”

“Ah, there’s the Iowa attitude I remember so well.” Cynthia’s eyes glinted. In…amusement?

Oh. She’s been baiting me?

“Follow me,” Suze said, leading her to the bedroom where she’d filed the overpriced silk bra three weeks ago. “Try not to be too obnoxious on the way.”

A snort sounded behind her. Definitely laughter.

Suze’s bed wasn’t made. So sue her. She’d been doing double shifts all week to meet a deadline. It had been made worse by being shorthanded after Mitch had gotten his ass fired for incompetence due to a costly error—because he’d refused to ask her for help. When he’d told his bosses exactly why he wasn’t going to ask her for help, they’d told him not to let the door hit him on the ass.

Her team had cheered his exit but she’d just felt bad for the kid. Waste of a life being so young and full of hate. There was nothing good about that. Times like this also reminded her she wouldn’t mind living in a place far less likely to have Mitches in the hangar.

This was her first day off since her week of overtime and she’d spent it at home, lazing around, mostly in bed. Her evening was supposed to be comfort food and Netflix. Not dealing with a condescending bitch from DC who seemed to love riling her up for shits and giggles.

She was still trying to work out how she felt about this development—her libido was all in favor of course, but when wasn’t it?—when she slid open her dresser drawer and pulled out a little tissue-wrapped bundle.

For once, Cynthia made no sarcastic comment, just watched as Suze gently unwrapped the garment and showed the La Perla was indeed grease-free and had been lovingly cared for.

DC’s intense gaze traced Suze’s fingers as she unwrapped the item, and stayed on them, instead of the bra. Slowly she shifted her focus up Suze’s arm and body until she met Suze’s eyes.

Cynthia’s eyes were blazing. And oh…it all became clear. She’d wanted more sex with Suze and didn’t know how to ask. Had she left the bra behind on purpose? Probably.

“You could have just asked for it,” Suze said, teasing that she might have meant either the bra or sex. “Either way, I’d have agreed.”

Cynthia’s eyes darkened at her words. Voice low and sultry, she said, “Your robe is filthy.”

Her robe was perfectly clean; it just had a few spatter marks down the front. “You caused this,” Suze noted dryly. “Your surprise arrival. I dropped my spoon in my spaghetti sauce.”

“Well,” Cynthia said, “all the more reason to deal with that robe. Perhaps you should…take it off?”

With a curling smile, Suze countered, “What if I’d rather just watch TV tonight? Pack you and your bra back in a taxi?”

For the first time, Cynthia hesitated, expression unsure. “Is that what you want, Iowa? For me to be gone?”

As if! “You’re overdressed,” Suze said. “It’s the weekend, for God’s sake. Take off that uptight suit.”

“Bossy.” But already Cynthia was rapidly undoing the buttons on her blouse. “And lose the robe. It’s offensive.”

Three splotches of sauce and it was offensive? Still, Suze lost the robe. She was in her favorite lucky boxer shorts—black and white striped—and a tank top, when Cynthia, now delightfully topless, looked up again.

She froze and swallowed. Hard. Cynthia’s eyes were now blazing with hunger.

Oh wow. It was going to be an interesting night.

* * *

Next morning, Cynthia found herself trying to properly wake up while in Suze’s shockingly bright yellow bathroom that included a wall of framed inspirational sayings. It was the price one paid for not staying at a hotel: one’s bladder-emptying came with kitsch.

She squinted at the largest quote. Be All You Can Dream.

That seemed incredibly insipid, didn’t it? Not very Suze at all. And what if you had lousy dreams? Or no imagination whatsoever? Honestly, did these creative types never think these things through?

The door to the bathroom cracked opened, and she snapped her head around at the intrusion. “I’m in here,” she said sharply, before a mooshed-up nose appeared just above floor level. Then the rest of a small furry body confidently waddled in.

“Oh. You.” She stared at what could only be Buttcheeks the dog. Small, biscuit-brown, with a black face and bright brown eyes. His tail was a perfect curl. The shiny coat said he was healthy but his legs moved slowly, showing his age.

He stared back and seemed to…smile?

Did dogs smile? Cynthia wasn’t sure, never having owned one.

“It’s rude to invite yourself into a bathroom when someone’s using it,” she noted acidly. “Were you raised in a barn?” Although around here, it was entirely possible.

He wuffed. Then trotted over. At least he seemed friendly, if clueless about respecting personal space.

Now he sat, parking his butt directly in front of her, and panted up at her.

“God,” she muttered. “So rude.”

Her temples gave a pained throb. Lack-of-sleep headache. Last night had been a lot. Suze had been enthusiastic as always, and they’d gone at it like rabbits for far too long. And now Cynthia was talking to a pug with no sense of propriety because that’s what happens when you allow yourself to get sidetracked in Iowa.

“Have you ever considered not holding eye contact with someone urinating?” she asked Buttcheeks coolly. “Just an idea.”

More happy panting. His grin widened.

Christ.

She reached for the toilet roll and was dismayed to find the paper was some novelty item with tiny little soccer balls all over it. Seriously?

“Your human has appalling taste,” she grumbled. “Have you seen her Smurf-blue sheets, for instance?”

His tongue flicked out and he licked his flat nose.

Cynthia stared at him with suspicion he was mocking her as she rose from the commode, then flushed. She furled her borrowed robe around herself dramatically like an arch villain. That always amused her.

“Now what?” she asked the pug. “Do you plan to follow me for the rest of the day? Well, good luck. I’m on a plane home in a few hours.”

He dog-grinned happily at her as she washed her hands, never losing eye contact.

Finally, as she turned to leave, he puttered over to her left ankle, as if trained to be her security escort, butt waggling as he walked. He stopped the moment she did.

Cynthia stared at his guileless face. “Are we anticipating a security incident, requiring your intervention?” she inquired.

He made another wuff noise. Then his true intentions became clear as he flopped over onto his back, all four legs pointing in opposite directions. He gazed up at her hopefully.

Good grief. With a quick peek through the ajar door to make sure there were no witnesses of the Suzette kind, Cynthia lowered herself to one knee and gave him a hasty belly rub.

She wasn’t entirely sure why she’d capitulated but honestly, who could say no? “Okay?”

He sat up again, looking satisfied, and licked her hand.

“Don’t get soppy on me,” she informed him. “I’m only passing through. Your mom and I, we’re…” She tried to work out what to call it. “Casual. I’m probably not even going to see her again.”

The thought flooded her with such instant sadness, that she scowled.

Buttcheeks’ ears flattened and his tail drooped.

“Not you, little guy.” She offered a reassuring pat as she poked over her feelings. That disappointment was entirely unexpected. She’d thought she’d gotten Suze out of her system last night. Apparently not.

Buttcheeks rubbed his head against her ankle. Was that his idea of doggy-comfort or was he itchy?

“I mean, it wouldn’t be too terrible to visit again,” Cynthia told him, absently stroking his soft fur. “If I had a reason to, of course.”

Her gaze fell on a cupboard near the edge of the bathtub. On it sat a small laundry basket, on top of which lay a familiar pair of striped boxers.

Well, well. Cynthia glanced at Buttcheeks who blinked up at her, grinning once more. “Ever feel like committing a heist, Mr. Buttcheeks?”

She wrinkled her nose. “Gross. And I’ll take dog farts as a yes.”

* * *

You STOLE my boxers! Suze wailed in an e-mail to Cynthia a few days later. She’d looked everywhere. This was a disaster.

How is this my problem? And don’t you have others? came the reply.

Others! You don’t understand, those are my LUCKY ones. I have to be wearing them when I have to do my best work. I have to replace a rudder bias actuator today and that is fiddly as fuck. How can I be on the top of my game if my lucky boxers are missing?

Next you’ll be telling me lives are on the line.

THEY ARE! Suze breathed deeply. God you’re infuriating. Why can’t you be like a normal human and say “I want to see you again” instead of messing with a girl’s lucky boxers so you’ll have an excuse to return them? I know you didn’t forget that bra. Are you so emotionally stunted that you can’t ask for what you want?

Silence fell for long moments, then: I can courier them over to you today. Express. Will that be all?

Ice was dripping off that e-mail and Suze felt a pang of remorse. Someone like Cynthia, who had a truckload of baggage, probably didn’t need to be called emotionally stunted.

The more she thought about it, the more her anger started to fade. Cynthia had shared about her foster-child upbringing. Just enough for Suze to know that she didn’t have a typical loving start to life, or normal relationships with anyone, it seemed. It’s why she was such a bitch—to keep everyone at arm’s length. And Suze had just rubbed her nose in her shit.

Real regret flooded her. She stared at her open drawers, boxers strewn all over the floor. God, it wasn’t like Cynthia had known they were her lucky pair or that the fate of the 737s at Des Moines International Airport depended on Suze wearing them on certain days. She hadn’t had a clue what they meant to Suze.

I’m sorry, Suze wrote back hastily. That was a shit thing to say.

I’ve made the arrangements. Your misplaced apparel will be with you in a few hours.

More frost. No apology. And she’d never get one, would she? Cynthia probably never apologized. It would be seen as a weakness. Some foster-parent asshole had probably taught her that, too. Made her understand why she had to never let down her guard.

And why would Cynthia apologize now, anyway? She’d probably stolen Suze’s boxers in a moment of lightness, thinking it’d be fun. A cute excuse to extract another visit. And it had turned into this.

You could always bring them back yourself? Suze offered. I wouldn’t…object.

And what of all the planes that will fall from the sky in the meantime? came the sarcastic retort. We can’t have that!

I’ll put off the rudder bias actuator replacement for a few days. Or re-assign it to someone else in my team. That should solve it.

There was no reply for ten minutes. Then: I had no idea you were so superstitious.

I’m a former athlete. Of course I’m superstitious. Do not ask about players’ lucky socks. Half of them never washed them if they were on a winning streak.

Sounds delightful.

Suze could almost hear her distaste.

I’ve canceled the rush courier pick-up. I am making…alternative arrangements.

Suze smiled. Did that count as Cynthia melting a little? It meant she really wanted to see her, right? Hadn’t that been the point of the boxer theft in the first place?

A new e-mail landed. I can’t have the wellbeing of Iowa’s airliners in the hands of someone less experienced for too long. I can move around some meetings and be in Iowa in five hours. Is that acceptable?

Don’t make a special trip just for me.

As if. I’m forced to be in your appalling little stomping ground again for work. I was supposed to be there next week, which is when I would have returned your wayward underwear, but I can bring it forward.

I’ll meet your flight.

That’s hardly necessary. I wouldn’t want to put you out.

Cynthia. I work at the airport, remember? I’ll meet your damned flight. Send me the deets.

* * *

Suze did indeed meet the flight. Officially she was on her lunch break if anyone questioned it. They didn’t.

Cynthia had barely gotten through security when Suze dragged her to an out-of-service restroom at the other end of the airport.

No one seemed to remember it was there since a minor airline had shifted to a different part of the airport after the big renovations in 1999. Even so, she locked the door, dropped the lid on the seat and reached for Cynthia. She slammed her into the back of the cubicle door and kissed her thoroughly.

Cynthia moaned as if she’d been given a tasty treat. “Oh fuck,” she whispered. “Don’t you look cute in your work uniform. Nice…overalls.”

“Nice executive suit. Did you interview a billionaire in it?”

“As a matter of fact… I did not.” Cynthia smiled. “Could you fuck me now? If that’s not too much trouble? Since you seem to think I don’t ask for what I want.” She drawled the last part.

“No.” Suze slowly stepped back. “You owe me something first.”

Cynthia rolled her eyes but retrieved a small bundle from her jacket pocket.

Suze snatched the boxers from her in relief and then unzipped her overalls, toeing off her boots. She slid down her current boxers, her third luckiest pair, as Cynthia watched appreciatively.

Then she put one foot into her favorite black and white pair.

“Wait! You’re not going to put those on now, are you?” Cynthia asked in dismay.

Suze froze and looked up. “Yes.”

“But I’ve just got you naked. Naked-ish…” She glanced at Suze’s sports bra. “I don’t think we should waste this.” She waved at Suze’s pussy which was not only on display but, embarrassingly, already slick.

“Nothing’s going to get wasted. But I’m cold.” Suze slid the boxers up her round thighs. She snapped the waist band and said with a satisfied sigh, “Much better.”

Pulling her overalls back on so they covered her chilly shoulders, she did up the zip a tiny way at her hips. She glanced at Cynthia and licked her lips. “Now, where were we?”

“You were ignoring me in favor of a ratty old pair of boxers.”

“The luckiest boxers on earth, you mean.” She grinned and slid her hands up Cynthia’s thighs, right under her prim skirt, and cupped her heat. “Speaking of lucky.”

Cynthia surged against her fingers. “About time,” she groused.

“So impatient.” She wrenched down Cynthia’s stockings and pushed aside a nude G-string, finding slick, aroused flesh. “A girl could get flattered by how badly you want me.”

“Oh, be quiet and fuck me,” Cynthia hissed. But there was no bite to her tone. In fact, she sounded needy enough that it made her own cheeks redden.

Suze slid a finger inside her. “Do you hate that you want me?” she asked, tone curious. “Want me enough to fly in a week early to see me?” She pushed in deeper, then rotated her wrist, flicking a thumb over her clit.

Cynthia trembled. “Oh.” She gasped. “Ohh.”

“Okay you don’t have to answer that,” Suze said, “But repeat after me: I will not steal Suze’s special underwear ever again.” As she spoke, she thrust in time with her words. “Got me?”

“Nngh.” Bucking against Suze’s thumb, Cynthia’s hands reached for her own nipples and she rubbed ferociously. Her eyes slammed shut and she moaned again. “Oh.”

Wetness now coated Suze’s fingers and her damp wrist told her the moisture was trickling down Cynthia’s thighs.

“You love this, don’t you?” Suze whispered, leaning in hard against her, crushing their bodies together. “Me being a bit of rough trade? You being so refined and better than me…no, wait, that’s not it. It’s that you’re better than everyone.”

“Ohhh…” Her moans came harder. Cynthia was close, Suze knew from experience, because her trembling was now going all the way down her long, slender thighs.

Suze pressed in even tighter and thrust. “Kiss me,” she demanded, her voice rough and excited.

Cynthia’s eyes sprang open. She didn’t even hesitate. She kissed the ever-living fuck out of Suze while Suze pressed into the side of her clit.

Warm wetness pooled between her own legs now. Suze’s lucky boxers were getting very lucky indeed.

Cynthia pulled back, shut her eyes again, and tilted her head back against the door. She orgasmed; trembling and wet and clenching Suze’s fingers.

Without thinking, Suze dropped to her knees, shoved Cynthia’s skirt up to her waist with one hand, wrenched her stockings and G-string all the way down with her other, and buried her face in Cynthia’s short black curls and swollen lips.

And God. It was…magnificent.

To her embarrassment, Suze came. Right there, on the floor of an airport bathroom cubicle, with her face buried in pussy. Her tongue lapped and froze, lapped and froze as the tremors overtook her. God, it felt incredible.

She was vaguely aware of Cynthia’s fingers running through her hair, murmuring something dirty and sexy, urging her on. When Suze stopped trembling, the hand left her and she missed its warmth.

Shakily, she rose a little to sit on the lid of the toilet and gazed up at Cynthia. Still looking like an arrogant goddess, albeit one who’d been thoroughly fucked. Her hair clung to her brow and cheeks. She was still panting deeply and her nipples were hard knots against the silk of her blouse. Cynthia’s unfocused gaze finally fell on Suze, who had her hand inside her lucky shorts now, between her legs, adjusting herself.

“Did you?” Cynthia began, straightening. She cleared her throat. “When you ate me out. Did you come just now?”

“Yeah.” Redness flooded Suze’s cheeks. “I guess you were a bit inspirational.”

Cynthia smiled, her customary cockiness returning. “How…inspirational?”

“Huh?”

“Would you…care to show me?” She arched a shapely eyebrow. “The effect I allegedly have on you?”

Oh. She wanted to look. Horndog. Grinning, Suze climbed to her feet and shrugged off her overalls. “These things really do suck for a quickie.”

“That they do,” Cynthia murmured. Her voice was thick and husky. She sounded exactly like a woman who’d just gotten off and loved it.

Suze slid down her boxers and watched Cynthia’s reaction with interest. She didn’t look at herself. She knew it would be a matted mess of coarse black hair, folds swollen with arousal, and slickness.

Cynthia’s nostrils flared, her pupils dilated, and the fingers on her right hand twitched and released.

Oh, she loved what she was looking at. Wanted to touch, badly.

“Oh my,” Cynthia purred. “Someone got very turned on.”

“You can talk,” Suze shot back. “You were virtually humping me the moment you saw me.”

“Nonsense,” Cynthia said haughtily. “It wasn’t my idea to drag me into some restroom at the ends of the airport.” Even as she spoke, her nostrils flared again as though she got off on the memory of what they’d just done. Like she loved the naughtiness of it.

Slowly, deliberately, Cynthia leaned forward over Suze and dragged her index finger down her curving stomach, through her untamed bush, and between her folds. She slipped inside her. “Wet. For me.” She sounded satisfied. As if she were merely taking a temperature. “Excellent.”

Suze gave a little shudder when Cynthia reversed course, and swirled over her already sensitive clit. Oh shit that felt good.

“For a cute garden gnome I found at my best friend’s wedding, you are certainly aroused.”

“A garden gnome,” Suze drawled back, “who fucked you so well you came in five minutes.”

Cynthia’s cheeks bloomed red, but she didn’t deny it.

“Just for that smart-ass crack, you can book a hotel room tonight,” Suze announced as she adjusted her clothing back. “No staying at my place.” She zipped her overalls loudly.

Genuine dismay crossed Cynthia’s face. “What?”

“You heard me.” Suze glared for effect, although she wasn’t serious. She couldn’t wait to get her hands on this woman again tonight. Lay her out on her bed, fuck her for hours…

“I see,” Cynthia said with a slow nod, catching on. “Whatever can I do to correct this misunderstanding?” She pondered. “I suppose you want me on my knees in benediction, debasing myself before you.” She suddenly shuddered as if the thought had aroused her.

Suze choked at the mental image herself. Cynthia on her knees for her was hot as hell. “No,” she said quickly, her voice coming out in a squeak. She was appalled at the idea that those beautiful knees would end up on this cold, dirty, restroom floor. “I suppose, tonight, I’ll allow you to have the guest room,” she teased.

“Well, my dear, two things are wrong with that,” Cynthia drawled, enunciating her words perfectly. It reminded Suze that she’d been taught to speak this way and that once Cynthia had sounded just like Suze.

“Oh?”

“One, the guest room, as we both know, belongs to Buttcheeks.” Her lips quirked slightly at his name.

It was true. Buttcheeks barely left his room much these days, except for walks with Suze, given he was in his doggy dotage.

“And two…”

“Two?” Suze lifted her head in anticipation to meet her eyes.

“You were never my rough bit of trade.” Cynthia scowled at the idea. “And I’d enjoy sharing your bed tonight.” Sincerity filled her eyes now, and God, if that didn’t do everything to Suze. Her brain was fizzing.

Cynthia leaned forward and slipped her hand between Suze’s legs. She cupped her pussy, expertly rubbing and squeezing, shooting flares of arousal through her. “Tonight, I’ll make up for anything we left unfinished today. Now, you and your ‘lucky’ boxers should probably get back to work. Leave me your house key. I’ll wait for you there.”

And that was how Cynthia Redwell casually invited herself into Suze’s bed for a third time.

It was also how Suze managed to finish replacing a rudder bias actuator flawlessly…and in record time.

* * *

Iowa? I didn’t mean to call you a garden gnome. Sometimes things are funnier in my head.

This was new. A day after mind-blowing sex and she was now getting a texted apology? Well, sort of. Cynthia style.

Every time Cynthia left her after a tumble in the Iowan hay, Suze always assumed that was it. The last she’d hear from her. You never knew exactly where or what she was up to most of the time. Although this time Suze did know her occasional lover was off to Vegas next week for an interview.

She wondered who was so important in a city of slot machines and floor shows that warranted Cynthia’s in-person attendance.

Suze tapped out a reply. Apology accepted, DC. I just assumed you were so overcome by my prowess that you forgot yourself.

I don’t recall saying sorry, Cynthia shot back. Although there is no denying your prowess.

That almost sounded like a compliment. I may die of shock. Suze grinned as she hit Send.

Don’t get used to it. A momentary lapse. I have to prep for my Vegas business trip now. I’ll fill you in on it later. Or you’ll see me on the news when I assault a bunch of fake Elvises. One or the other.

What have you got against Elvis?

Nothing. But the fake ones have such punchable faces. It’s the sideburns, I think. Such hairy absurdities. Got to go. Later.

Safe flight for next week.

Suze grinned. Well, didn’t that sound all very civilized? She and Cynth were at the ‘safe flight’ stage of being bed buddies. Although it didn’t mean anything. Probably. She sagged a little at the thought. It’d be kind of nice if it meant something.

Chapter 3

When Vegas Met DC

Monique Carson, CEO of Carson Investments and Vegas’s top purveyor of CEO sex fantasies for women, regarded the naked journalist in front of her with interest. Cynthia Redwell was not a client, but she was just as much fun as one.

“Why do you always do this to me?” Cynthia complained, shifting further back in the hot tub as a pair of small, beautiful breasts appeared at the waterline. “Last time I wanted an interview with you on your investment company, you insisted we had to do some naked yoga first. And the time before that, it was nude sunbathing on your balcony.”

“A better question is, why do you always go along with it? I’d already agreed to the interview.” Monique lifted her eyebrows, greatly amused by the barely credible complaint. “You could have said no.”

They were in Monique’s private suite, the one she used for her main investment job and as her home, as opposed to her adjoining suite that was exclusively for naughtier pursuits. Separation of one’s roles was important. And while it was true that Cynthia was stark naked and rather luscious for a television-thin, bottle-blonde finance reporter, that fact had nothing to do with sex. Despite appearances, Cynthia fell into Monique’s ‘main job’ column.

Cynthia sighed. “Because three years ago you backed me into a corner with your impossible conversational trap.”

“It’s hardly a trap to idly ask: ‘Is nudity always inherently sexual?’ You said no. I asked, ‘Are you sure?’ You said ‘Yes, very sure’. I dared you to prove it. And the rest is history. It’s not my fault you had to show me you’re not a hypocrite and too stubborn to ever back down.”

“Ah yes, my lofty principles got me here.”

“So it seems.” Monique smiled brightly. “It’s in our natures. I can’t help teasing and pushing the envelope. You can’t help wanting to prove you’re right. We’re victims of circumstance, trapped forever to be nude around each other but never sexual.”

Cynthia leaned back and huffed. “Well, there are worse things in life for you, I’m sure. I know I’m hot.”

Monique laughed at her blunt immodesty. “TV reporters generally are considered hot.”

“Former TV reporters, as you know.” Cynthia scowled. “It’s been two years since the Neanderthal assholes who run my network decided to get me off screen and promote me from on-air talent to producer. The powers that be act as if my years of experience count for nothing.”

“It’s a shame they don’t understand that women just get sexier the older they get. Trust me, I know.”

“Of course you know.”

Monique tilted an eyebrow skyward.

“I’m well aware you do a hell of a lot more than run an international investment company. Your side job isn’t a mystery to me.”

“Of course it’s not a mystery,” Monique said in exasperation. “I told you what my other job was two years ago when you asked why I live in a hotel.” She’d explained matter-of-factly that she enjoyed having a full suite of staff, cooks, and cleaners on-hand, 24/7, and, besides, it was convenient, as she had a passion for fulfilling the fantasies of women who paid highly for the privilege.

Usually, Monique was careful with whom she shared the details of her less conventional job, but Cynthia had been a special case. She could see so much pain hidden underneath her bitchy bravado. There was so much more to her than she showed the world.

Monique had been determined to get under her skin, peel back the layers, and confirm a pet theory as to why she was so secretive. It was all for Cynthia’s benefit, of course. Certain things should never be buried deep and cemented over.

In the face of Monique’s special attention, the austere TV reporter had been masterfully unflappable…until she wasn’t.

“I remember it well,” Cynthia said with a dramatic eye roll. “You made me choke on my martini.”

“That was fun, wasn’t it?” The amusing memory washed over her.

“Not for me. I almost needed a Heimlich to get that olive out.”

“Please. You’re such a drama queen.”

Cynthia huffed at her. “And you’re a menace.”

“I do not deny it.” She eyed her. “Why did you raise my other job? Are you trying to make me squirm? It won’t work. I’m proud of what I do. I actually think it keeps me young. Showing women how much passion they have in them? I couldn’t get that from a dry portfolio.”

“And yet I find dry portfolios rather exciting,” Cynthia said. “But then again, I wrote three books on the economy.”

“I’m well aware. Why do you tell everyone that? And I do mean everyone, darling. I saw you do it to poor Maria in Housekeeping.”

“No, no.” Cynthia’s hand shot out of the water to waggle a finger at her. “We’re not doing this psychoanalysis bullshit you love so much. I know it’s your hobby to try and peel me like an onion, but I’m here for the interview you agreed to.”

“You’ll get it. And you tell everyone you’re the author of three books on the economy because you’re afraid people just look at you and see some pretty, blonde, TV airhead.”

Sighing, Cynthia said, “You feel better now?”

“Always.”

“I wonder which you prefer most,” Cynthia muttered peevishly, “sex, finance, or psycho-analyzing everyone.”

“Why can’t it be all three?” Monique offered a contented sigh. “I do love them all. But I know which one brings you here to me, again and again.” She leaned back a little until her breasts surfaced.

Predictable as a sunrise, Cynthia’s eyes tracked them.

“Oh?” Cynthia tensed.

“I’ve accurately predicted the last six market corrections.”

“Ah.” She relaxed. “That’s true. The Economist just dubbed you The Freak of Wall Street for that.”

“It wasn’t a compliment.” Monique turned serious. “James Rowe, the economics reporter who gave me that nickname, is an infantile prick annoyed that I’ve turned him down for dozens of interviews over the years. He’d love to ignore me entirely, but Carson Investments’ returns are consistently higher than almost all our competitors, even though we only make ethical investments. Nothing that harms planet earth. Nothing involving sweat shops or animal testing. I show it’s possible to get extremely rich while being entirely ethical. That pisses Rowe off because he’s in the back pocket of fossil fuel interests.”

“I’ve met him. He told me my tits were too small for TV.” Cynthia’s eyes narrowed as she added, “I told him his were too big. Good for you for snubbing him for interviews.”

“He’ll have a long wait for my time or attention. You are a rare exception in having access to me.”

“I’ve noticed that.” Cynthia seemed to turn that over for a moment. “What makes me so special?”

“You’re intelligent, well-read, passionate about finance—genuinely; enough to write three books. You don’t pretend to have all the answers, the way most of the male finance journalists do. You genuinely seek answers.”

“And?” Cynthia side-eyed her. “Monique, I know other journalists, women and men, who are smart, write books, and investigate stories properly. Surely there’s more to it than that.”

“And…the first time I met you at that finance conference I knew you needed me rather a lot.” All that sadness. All that pain. All that hiding. She was like a dam that needed to be opened to relieve the dangerously high pressure.

“I…needed you?” Cynthia peered at her, her tone dubious.

“Oh yes.” Monique hmmed to herself. “I decided then and there that we needed to talk properly. And knew exactly how we’d do it.”

“So, was that when you decided you’d get me naked for all our future interviews?”

“I will point out that it’s all been for your benefit.”

“Excuse me?” Cynthia looked askance. “Oh, come on. We both know this is unprofessional as hell. How on earth is this to my benefit?”

“You are, quite simply, one of the most uptight women I’ve ever met.”

“There’s no way that’s true.”

“I assure you it is.”

Cynthia snorted. “Um, I’m naked in a hot tub with you. And you call me uptight?”

“I didn’t mean nudity-wise. I meant the rest.” She gave a lazy wave but her eyes conveyed her meaning.

Inhaling, Cynthia broke her gaze. “I have no idea what you mean.”

“Yes, you do. But I’ll let that slide for now. All right, enough with the small-talk. Ask your questions.”

“Finally.” Cynthia leaned out of the tub and her whippet-thin body twisted as she reached for her digital voice recorder. She hit Record and placed it near Monique, outside the splash zone. Then her smooth flesh disappeared under the water once more.

Monique unabashedly admired the sight.

“I want to know everything that went down at the keynote speech here three weeks ago,” Cynthia continued, voice now crisp and professional. “Amelia Duxton’s shock speech. It was right under your nose.”

“I was there. I saw it. It was the talk of the hotel. I doubt any staff were actually doing much work that day. It was bold. Rare in its honesty; devastating in its fallout.”

“What fallout is that? Aside from Hotel Duxton’s share price, which is hemorrhaging badly.”

Monique smiled. “I do appreciate that you understand the fallout goes deeper than dollars.”

“Of course. Do you think North America’s largest luxury hotel chain is about to go under? Or can its new CEO turn it around?”

“Excellent questions.” Monique closed her eyes for a moment, considering them. She debated how much to say.

This might be a backgrounder, but given how much reach Cynthia had, what Monique put out in the world via this well-regarded journalist would lap the globe a few times. It would be accepted as fact. Monique had a responsibility to be as accurate as possible, even when offering her own theories. “Everything rests on how terrible the new management is.”

“You mean the CEO is already terrible?” Cynthia looked extra interested now. “Have you heard something specific to back that up?”

“Nothing specific. Just that anyone can see they should have chosen Amelia Duxton to run the empire. The family patriarch, Conrad Duxton, overlooked the talented, outspoken daughter in favor of the blandly unimaginative nephew.” Distaste filled her at the poor decision-making. She wasn’t sure which annoyed her more about his choice two weeks ago: the poor business decision or the reasons behind it. “The new CEO is out of his depth. Conrad did his hotel empire no favors. It was a terrible pick.”

Cynthia tilted her head. “Was Amelia overlooked because she reportedly dates women? And is on the spectrum?”

“Excuse me?” Monique said sharply. “Amelia has brilliant business acumen so why would either of those things matter? Even assuming those rumors are true.”

It was irrelevant that Amelia was clearly—to Monique, at least—both neurodivergent and a lesbian. She was not about to out anyone, even in an off-the-record briefing with a journalist she trusted.

Cynthia held up her hands. “I meant no disrespect. I’m just trying to understand what happened. I know people have prejudices, some more illogical than others, and I’m not judging anyone. I’m trying to work out why the best option—Amelia Duxton—wasn’t chosen.”

“Conrad is savvy enough about hotels but he’s also an old dinosaur. He has repeatedly promoted from the less talented end of his gene pool because he’s so set in his ways he can’t see the value of what’s right under his nose.” She shook her head. “He’s a fool. This won’t end well.”

“Will Duxton USA crash and burn, then? In your opinion?”

“That’s really the bottom line, isn’t it?” It also required an in-depth answer. So, Monique gave it, supplying all the nuance Cynthia would need to properly shape her story.

When she was done, satisfaction filled her that she’d backgrounded Cynthia to perfection. No one else had the depth or breadth of knowledge Monique possessed on this particular topic. After all, how often was an investment company CEO actually living and working in the very hotel chain being reported on? She leaned back, watching Cynthia with half-lidded eyes.

After a small pause, Cynthia asked diplomatically, “If Hotel Duxton goes under, where will you go?”

Monique smiled. “Oh, I’m not going anywhere. If the Duxton empire implodes, it will be sold off to new management and I just keep on, keeping on. Eternal as the universe.”

Cynthia didn’t reply, her expression turning thoughtful, but she seemed satisfied.

“Do you have enough?” Monique asked.

She nodded, leaned out of the tub, and turned off her recorder. As she settled back in again, she immersed her breasts well below the water line.

Monique smiled. “Do you know you really are very uptight. I’d thought being naked would give you a sense of freedom and relax you. It seems I was wrong.”

“So, we’re back to this being for my benefit?” Cynthia snorted. “I thought you just wanted to look at my tits.”

Widening her smile, Monique said, “While I do appreciate looking at women’s breasts, I’m not in any desperate need. I do see plenty every week. I will admit that all this time I’d hoped you’d stop pretending you don’t enjoy the view. Your fake heterosexuality isn’t needed here. You’re among your own kind, darling. Why don’t you just relax for once?”

A blush rose up from Cynthia’s chest to her throat. She didn’t reply to Monique’s claim. Didn’t deny it either.

Honestly, Cynthia being queer as hell wasn’t much of a secret if you knew the signs, and Monique most certainly knew all the signs.

“I know you find me sexually attractive,” Monique said gently. “And that is the answer to your question on why you agree to my ridiculous requests that you be naked for our interviews. My body pleases you.”

Defiance darted into Cynthia’s eyes and she squared her glistening shoulders. “You know, I’ll never fuck you.”

“Oh, I’m well aware.” She regarded with amusement the flicker of annoyance on Cynthia’s face. “You’re too afraid. I know you’ll have checked out my website. Read the menu. Realized I’m in the bossy game—CEO power plays and so on. And you’re scared you’d love it. You don’t like anyone ever being in charge of you. Anyone who’s ever had power over you has abused their authority. Right?”

Cynthia frowned. “It’s hardly a secret that women are treated poorly in male-dominated fields. Macho-centric ones like newsrooms are bad enough; it’s even worse in finance.”

“Oh, I’m not talking about your work, although certainly that has shaped you, too. But sometimes I wonder what went on in your personal life to make you want to erase all traces of Iowa. Or is it Minnesota?”

Cynthia’s head snapped up. “What?”

“Your real accent sometimes leaks the faintest bit.”

The finance journalist suddenly went very quiet and very pale. She shook her head violently.

“Darling?” Monique asked in alarm.

“I’m not having fun anymore.” Cynthia rose, stepped out of the tub, and reached for the towel. “Thanks for the backgrounder.” Her words were terse and clipped.

Everything about her expression and tone spoke of a hurt that went deeper than professional fears.

Monique spoke with real regret. “I’m sorry,” she said quietly. “For whoever did that to you.”

“I’m not talking about them,” Cynthia said sharply as she toweled down with vigor.

Them? Multiple people had tried to beat her down? No wonder she told everyone she’d written three books on the economy. So she wasn’t powerless anymore. She was a someone. Someone respected and to be reckoned with.

“I’ll never bring it up again,” Monique promised. She meant it, too.

“Good.” Cynthia pulled on her nude G-string, followed by her navy pants. Still topless, she spun to face Monique and said curtly, “On the former topic, I’m not a coward, you know. Or at least I’m not some self-loathing homophobe, or whatever you’ve decided about me. I can’t be out at work.”

“Why?” Monique asked, her tone soft.

“Those bullying misogynists would never let me hear the end of it. They’d eat me alive. Yes, I’m afraid—but not for my career—I just don’t want to go through that every day. I’ve seen what they do to…outsiders. Minorities. And no one ever reports them because management is just like them. They cover for each other. It’s rotten all the way to the top.”

“I understand.” Monique did. She’d dealt with enough sexism from the entrenched Wall St. crowd to know what a frustrating experience it was. To be seen as the sum of your tits and not your expertise was infuriating.

Worse, not everyone had Monique’s autonomy, running their own business. Not everyone was safe to be who they were. Mental health was important to protect. So she understood Cynthia’s concerns. But she also sensed there was more to her hiding herself than just the bastards at work.

Pulling on her lacy, black bra, Cynthia adjusted herself and then huffed and sat on the wooden coffee table, twisting to face Monique. “But even knowing why I’m in the closet, that my reasons are sound, or feel sound to me right now, sometimes I wish things were different. Especially now.”

So much regret.

Especially now? “Do you have someone?” Monique asked gently. “Someone you wish things could be different with?”

“No. Well…not exactly.” Cynthia stared up at the ceiling. “It’s silly. There’s this woman I met at the wedding of my best friend. She’s this short, butch, aviation mechanic who is sassy and hilarious and the opposite of me in every way. She calls me out on all my bullshit. I find her unaccountably attractive despite being an ex-college softballer and…” her voice dripped with derision, “from the Midwest.”

Monique made a go-on gesture. “And?”

“And I think of her a lot.”

“Then be with her.” Monique placed her dripping elbows just outside the tub.

Cynthia stared at her, mouth hanging open, as if the thought had never occurred to her. Or maybe it had, and she’d never given it oxygen until now.

“She’s in Iowa.” Incredulity laced Cynthia’s tone. “We e-mail often, almost daily now, but I hate myself a little more every time I go to see her. It was bad enough growing up over there. The people I lived with back then were the worst.”

“Ah.” So Cynthia had been born in Iowa. And the people she’d lived with? Were they not her family? Or had her family been too toxic to even call it that? “Well, that makes things hard.”

“It does. So, I’m not about to be out and proud with some smart-mouthed Iowan mechanic, no matter how appealing she is.”

“How long have you known her?”

“Five weeks, three days.”

Eyebrows shooting up, Monique said, “How…specific.”

Cynthia’s cheeks reddened. “Well. As I said, I think of her a lot. I know it’s absurd to be so invested in someone after such a short time. But…” The look she gave Monique was so helpless.

With a chuckle, Monique said, “I know a couple who were gone on each other after a week. It was an intense week, to be sure, but still.” She thought fondly of Amelia Duxton and Kai Fisher; once fierce rivals, now much more. “All I can say is I was in this hotel’s elevator with them once for a few floors and we could have all combusted from the simmering sexual tension.”

“Sexual tension?” Cynthia side-eyed her, sounding irritated and frustrated at being misunderstood. “I’m not talking about anything so…meaningless. Sex is nothing in the end.”

“Nothing?” Monique repeated. “Sex can be quite fabulous, darling.”

“Fine, yes, but it’s just a distraction, a release. Hardly important. I’m talking about noticing the way she smiles. How she laughs, so hard, with her whole belly and shoulders shaking, not caring what anyone thinks. I’m talking about me thinking about some joke she made days later. It’s…confusing. Unsettling. And only after five weeks!”

“And three days.” Monique smiled. Cynthia was in love? It sounded entirely possible. How adorable. “Oh, I have got to meet her.”

“Never going to happen, Carson.” Cynthia tugged on her blouse. “But anyway, she’s impossible to rile up. I tried hard enough. She just laughed in my face and called me ‘DC’. You would crash and burn.” Her smile widened, softening her face in a way Monique had never seen in the three years she’d known Cynthia.

“A challenge.” Monique grinned back. “I really want to meet her now. Invite her to Vegas for a naughty weekend, then introduce us. I’ll be on my best behavior. Pinkie swear.”

With a snort, Cynthia did up her buttons. “Still no. Anyway, you know this would be very hard to explain. Your need to do nude in-depth interviews with economics reporters.”

“As I explained before, you’re the only one I give any in-depth interviews to, nude or otherwise,” Monique said. “Anyway, truly, the nude part was always for you. I decided the day we met that you had too many layers and I’ve been helping you remove them this whole time.”

“You’re so full of it!” Cynthia snorted. “Hell, if you didn’t have such a knack for predicting the market and next moves of the key players, I’d stay the hell out of Vegas for life.”

“Nonsense. You’d miss me far too much.” And I’d miss you. Monique didn’t say it though. Cynthia wouldn’t believe it. Far too cynical. A dreary side-effect of journalism. But she rather enjoyed their mental tug-of-wars.

Now fully dressed, Cynthia slipped on her heels and turned to her, straightening to her imposing full height. “Well, I suppose that’s true. You’re hard to forget.”

“Absolutely. So, until next time then? Don’t worry: I’ll think of something else we can do in the nude together. Now, off you go. Give my best to your lovely mechanic. I just know you’ll be visiting her soon.”

Cynthia shook her head as she exited, looking as relaxed as Monique had ever seen her.

How wonderful. Monique did so love helping women discover their full potential.

Chapter 4

When DC Confused the Hell Out of Iowa

As it turned out, Cynthia did not fill Suze in on one thing about Vegas. But whatever had happened had to have been big. The number of e-mails and text messages had surged since her return and Cynthia had actually initiated a Skype call once, in which she complained about how webcams washed her out and insisted it would be better in person. And so that’s what had happened two weeks later.

Several lightning visits in as many weeks had followed. Suze’s body had never been so well loved, or her brain so confused. Because from what she knew of Cynthia Redwell, goddess of no fucks to give and zero commitment, this was out of character.

Suze was peeling potatoes in her kitchen for a dish she was preparing to take over to her parents’ house that evening, when her phone beeped with a text.

Did you know the perfect outdoor temperature for the human body to enjoy is 67 to 78 degrees Fahrenheit?

I did not in fact know that, Suze texted back with a smile.

Which means Iowa is, yet again, letting the side down. It’s 30F right now at your house.

Someone’s got too much time on their hands if they’re googling that.

Probably. Btw what’s that knocking?

Suze frowned. What knocki—

She stopped typing as Buttcheeks started barking from upstairs at the intrusion. She raced to the front door and snatched it open. There, regal as ever, stood Cynthia.

“Don’t you ever call ahead?” Suze asked in exasperation.

Cynthia grinned, pushed past her and looked around. “Why? Do you have company? Some Iowan knuckle-dragger I have to do a death duel with to get to your bed?”

“Seriously, Cynthia,” Suze said, “you should have called.”

Surprise flitted across her face, then her brows knitted together. “Wait, you really do have someone?”

“What if I hadn’t been here?” Suze said.

“But you are. You’ve been texting me and you’d have said if you were out.” She glanced around. “Where is this woman, anyway?”

“There’s no woman.” She snorted. “Unless you count my mother.”

“Your mother’s here?” Her head whipped around so fast.

“No! I’m going to my folks’ place. It’s Sunday. Family dinner. I’m making potato salad.”

Cynthia’s expression turned cool. “I shouldn’t have assumed. I’ll go.”

“Why don’t you come with me?”

“Why?” Cynthia’s eyes narrowed. “It’s not like we’re dating. I’m not about to partake in some ‘meet the parents’ ritual.”

“No shit, Sherlock. And come, because it’ll be fun. Okay, not fun. They’re my folks after all. But it’ll be good food. Good company. Sparkling conversation about everything happening in and around Iowa.”

Cynthia’s laugh was low and dry. “Family? Good company?”

“What’s so funny about that?” Suze folded her arms.

Cynthia’s eyebrows crawled up her forehead. “I’m not trying to be insulting. It’s just I’ve really only known one family intimately other than my own and it convinced me that families are all fucked up. Some hide it better than others, but they’re all…” She made an explosion motion with her hands.

“So, wait your sample size is…two?” Suze peered at her. “And are you talking about Catherine Ayers’s family?”

“Why do you say that?” Cynthia asked sharply.

“Well, she’s your best friend. Who else would you talk to about families?”

Cynthia’s shoulders dropped. “Ah. Fine. From Cat I discovered even families with culture, status, and immense wealth are a train wreck of a different sort. So, yes, it’s a sample size of two, but the results are one-hundred percent in the negative. Happy families are a lie.”

Suze grinned. “Challenge accepted. Come on. I’ll show how it’s supposed to be done.”

“It?”

“Families. Failure to attend is just bad science.”

“No thanks. I’ll stay here and read up on…” She peered at Suze’s book shelf. “…the history of softball, until you return.” She frowned. “Why have you got three books on such a dreary topic?”

“Come with me,” Suze said again. “I now have a burning urge to show off my incredibly normal parents who love me without fail, despite all my shortcomings.”

Silence.

“You know,” Suze said lightly, “that was your cue to point out I have a lot of shortcomings. I dropped that in there just for you. And look at you…missing an easy goal.”

“I’ll come,” Cynthia said, finally, radiating discomfort. Her eyes shifted to thoughtful. “For science.”

“You will?” Suze beamed.

“Only if we can have exceptional sex later.”

Suze laughed. “All right. So, how are you at making potato salad?”

Cynthia tilted her head as if trying to assess whether Suze was joking. Then, to her utter shock, she said, “As it turns out, I make an incredible potato salad.”

“You do?” She stopped. “You?”

“Me. Yes. As I said, I was raised in Iowa. The state has a three-point-nine-billion-dollar potato industry.”

Of course she’d know that; finance journalist and all. Suze snickered at the highly specific fact. “Could have just said four billion,” she teased.

“So, I know my way around a potato,” Cynthia concluded, ignoring her comment. Then she lifted a finger. “And don’t you dare quote me.”

* * *

Cynthia didn’t know what had possessed her. She was having second and third thoughts the whole way to the Beringers’ home. She said nothing, though, sitting primly in the front seat, her potato salad perched on her lap.

“You must really want exceptional sex later,” Suze noted.

“I really do.” Cynthia stared straight ahead.

“You’ll…uh…be polite to my parents, won’t you?” Suze asked. “I mean, I know your mega-bitch routine is kinda welded on, but I’ve seen your show now, I know you’re not always like that. Heck, I’ve witnessed you actually be charming once or twice.”

Cynthia’s head snapped around. Her mouth opened and closed. Then opened again. “You’ve seen my show? It’s off the air.”

“YouTube. Great invention.” Suze bit her lip as if she hadn’t meant to admit that. As if it sounded a little too…invested.

Cynthia didn’t care. She loved those highlights reels on YouTube. Her on-air reporting days might be over, but she had a real legacy. She paused and wondered if Suze saw it that way or had just dismissed her the way many people did—as a TV talking head spouting drivel?

“I see.” Cynthia drew in a cautious breath. “Well? What did you think?”

“You accused the treasurer of the United States of incompetence and when he denied it, you suggested the only other possible explanation was corruption. You told him to clarify which he was: idiot or corrupt.”

“Right. That interview. A classic.” She gave a fond smile. “Those were the days.”

“How were you not fired?” Suze looked at her in awe. “I mean it. How?”

“They tried.” Cynthia drummed the sides of the potato salad bowl and warmed to the topic. Suze’s appreciative tone was improving her mood greatly. “But I was right. He resigned, if you recall.”

“After months of you hounding him.”

“I had the receipts.”

“Yeah, you did.”

“I always have the receipts.” Cynthia leaned back and smiled at the memory. “Such as when that banking executive was claiming he couldn’t have committed fraud because he hadn’t met the middleman who’d actually done the transactions.”

“And you showed that photo of him as best man at his wedding.”

“Yes.” Cynthia felt practically post-coital now. “I freeze-framed that image of him at the second he saw the wedding photo. The exact moment he knew he was toast.”

“Shoulda been a meme,” Suze agreed. “You were so good at that. Do you miss it?”

“Every day,” Cynthia said honestly. “I’m still a finance journalist even though I’m mainly a producer these days. I like to keep my oar in and I still research and write stories. But I just don’t wear the hat I loved most.”

“On-air host?” Suze murmured. “Sucks.”

“Yes. I’m a woman of a certain age and there are rules on network TV. I’m not Barbara Walters.”

“Fuck ’em,” Suze declared with certainty. “They don’t deserve you.”

Cynthia lifted her eyebrows.

“Well, they don’t.”

“Even if there weren’t rules,” she admitted quietly, “I don’t think they’d keep me on air anyway.” That was the truth she’d only recently faced up to. She would never have stayed on the air much longer at her network.

“Why not? From what I can tell, you’re fearless.”

“Yes.” Cynthia exhaled. “That’s the problem. Corporate media doesn’t want fearless anymore. They want compliant.”

“And you’re many things, but compliant isn’t one of them.” Suze tapped her steering wheel. “I guess it was idiotic to ask you to be nice to my folks, wasn’t it?” she said ruefully. “It’s like telling a chicken not to squawk.”

“Did you just liken me to a chicken?” Cynthia regarded her. “I’m a war hawk.”

“Yes you are,” Suze said fondly and then hesitated. “Hey, war hawk? Please don’t attack my parents? They’re really nice.”

Cynthia stared at her evenly. Then she turned to look out of the window. “I thought you knew me by now, Iowa,” was all she said.

The words hurt. Didn’t Suze understand her at all?

* * *

Suze’s father was a gentle soul with a round stomach and soft brown eyes that were so warm whenever he looked at his daughter. A former amateur softball umpire, Richard Beringer seemed smaller than he was, due to the way he hunched into his worn sports jacket. For his day job, he was some kind of paper pusher in a generic white-collar business based downtown. It was all very unspecific.

Cynthia wondered if the vagueness was by design. Was he ashamed of his bland office job or too bored by it to discuss it? Or maybe it was the opposite? He didn’t want to boast? Whatever the reason, tonight he’d focused all his energies on making his little girl happy. And if that meant being friendly to a complete stranger from DC, he was more than ready.

His wife, a high-school history teacher lacked his rotund proportions but was equally generous with her welcome. Meredith Beringer seemed to notice Cynthia’s discomfort immediately and had drawn her into the kitchen to “help” while “my two football nuts discuss their ball sports.”

Indeed, Suze and her dad, waving beers around, headed to the lounge, talking in an entirely foreign language about tight ends and squib kicks.

Meredith relieved Cynthia of the potato salad. She pulled off the plastic wrap and inhaled. “Oh, doesn’t that smell wonderful? Did you make this?”

“Yes,” Cynthia said, lips pursing. She scrabbled around for something else to say. “Nice…kitchen.”

Chaotic might have been a better description for a room that was bursting with color and recipe books, hanging utensils, and wooden bowls filled with fruit. It looked like someone who actually enjoyed cooking worked in here. Cynthia could not relate.

“What do you do, Ms. Redwell?” Meredith asked.

“It’s Cynthia. I’m a finance journalist,” Cynthia said tightly. “In DC.”

“Mmm.”

Meredith did not sound impressed in the least, which Cynthia admitted was a tiny dent to her ego. Even her worst critics were still at least a little awed by her.

“I suppose we must seem very provincial out here,” Meredith continued, tone breezy.

Cynthia winced. Had she leaked? How did Meredith pick up on that? Or had Suze told her? And now she wasn’t sure entirely how to say hell yes politely. Because she was not about to lie.

“Oh, that’s okay.” Meredith gave her a conspiratorial grin. “No need for any careful, diplomatic answers. I can see it on your face. It’s rather revealing.”

“I mean no disrespect,” Cynthia said woodenly. “I like some Iowans, obviously,” she added with haste. “Such as Suzette.” Christ, she’d interviewed CEOs and world leaders and yet one high-school history teacher was turning her into a nervous, blathering mess.

“I saw you at Lauren and Catherine’s wedding, you know,” Meredith said, a smile ghosting her lips before she turned to open the fridge, pulling out some lettuce and tomatoes.

Cynthia blinked. A chill washed through her.

“You were twerking around the fire pit at all hours with my daughter. Richard was rather amazed neither of you fell into it, you were both so unsteady on your feet.”

“Oh God.” Cynthia cleared her throat. “But we were not twerking. I wouldn’t know how.”

“Well, I don’t really have another word for what I saw that night. I doubt I’d have been able to squeeze a credit card between you both at one point.” Her grayish-blue eyes were filled with amusement.

Cynthia decided to just run up the white flag. “Truthfully? I have very little memory of the wedding reception. I do remember skillfully beating your daughter at beer pong, but after that it’s a bit of a blur.”

Washing the vegetables in the sink, Meredith said with authority, “Well, you wouldn’t have actually beaten her. Suze has exceptional hand-eye co-ordination, even when drunk as a skunk as she was that night.”

“So she claims,” Cynthia said with a small smirk. “Except I, too, have excellent hand-eye co-ordination.”

“From all your extensive training at analyzing finance reports and interviewing rich executives from Wall St?” she asked, sounding amused.

“I thought you didn’t know who I was?”

“I never said that. I admit I was curious at the wedding. Then even more curious after Suze wouldn’t stop mentioning you. I did my own research.”

“And what conclusions did you reach?” Cynthia asked, not entirely sure she wanted to know the answer.

“No, no.” Meredith plucked up a knife and held it up for a moment as if thinking, then began chopping the tomatoes. “That’s under advisement for now.”

“You should know: I’m not dating Suze,” Cynthia said, being honest.

“No?” Meredith’s eyebrow lifted. Cynthia could imagine that disbelieving expression got all her errant kids in class behaving.

“No,” Cynthia confirmed. “Not that she’s not exceptional in many ways, but…well, I’m in DC. She’s in Iowa.”

“And yet here you are. At our family dinner.” Meredith’s smile was playful. “Why is that, Cynthia, if you’re not in a relationship with my daughter?”

“I turned up unexpectedly and Suzette invited me to dinner. That’s all it is.” Cynthia spread her hands.

“I see.” Meredith tilted her head. “Do you do that often? Turn up at someone’s place at dinner time? Even when they’re in a different state from you?”

“I was here for work and I thought I might try my luck and maybe we could…” Cynthia almost choked on the pedestrian expression that followed. “Hang out.”

“Hang. Out.” Meredith regarded her for a long moment, then returned to her chopping. “I used to hang out with Richard, too. Back in the day. He would go to great lengths to turn up wherever I was. My parents became somewhat skeptical as to the sheer number of coincidences where he just happened to be at my location. How often does a DC-based reporter truly need to be in Iowa, anyway, I wonder?”

Cynthia felt her skin prickle at being so easily caught out. “It’s a national job,” she said, keeping her tone bland. “Stories happen everywhere.”

“Is that so?” Meredith said, innocently. “Next you’ll tell me you don’t even date women.” Her lips curled in amusement. “Before you answer that one way or another, I’ll point out I’ve seen your terribly vague online business profile, where you have no personal life whatsoever, unlike all your colleagues. And I’ve also seen you dancing around a fire pit with my girl.”

“Well.” Cynthia met her eye evenly. “Yes. I date women. I endure a somewhat hostile workplace so I don’t spread it around. That’s all it is. I’m not some…” What wasn’t she? A massive closet job? Oh, she was that in spades. “I just avoid certain questions and leave things out.”

“I understand.” Meredith nodded. “Suze had her own problems back in the day, when she started out. She never could hide who she was, unlike you. And worse, the boys at her work didn’t understand why she’d want to get all dirty and do their job. Do it better than they could most of the time. It used to bother her a lot, how they acted. Still does, I think. Every now and then some new mechanic gives her a bad case of indigestion. Happened again only a month ago. She was fizzing.”

“Really?” Suze had glossed over that. “I’m sorry she’s putting up with that.”

“As am I. Sometimes I think she’s long overdue getting out of here and seeing more of the world. Because aside from Lauren, who she grew up with, all her friends stayed local. Everyone she went to school with still lives only a few blocks away. It’s a strange thing seeing a child with so much potential accept this tiny space as her whole world. It’s her decision, of course. But when Lauren moved to LA, a part of me wished Suze had gone too. To spread her wings.”

“Why didn’t she?” Cynthia asked, curious. Wild horses wouldn’t have held her back from leaving here.

“Because she loves us too much.” Meredith put down her knife and wiped her hands on her apron. “And it’s easy. She loves her family dinners and relaxing with us and seeing the people she’s always known and who know her. And for that, I’m both grateful and sorry.”

“Why sorry?” Cynthia asked, puzzled.

“We won’t be around forever. When we’re gone, she’ll still be here, still being passed over again and again for a proper promotion because her company doesn’t like to admit she’s more talented than all her colleagues put together. Oh, they know she’s good but they think it’ll cause ructions if she’s made team leader, even though it’s long overdue. She pretends it doesn’t bother her because she’s doing what she loves. But I know the truth.”

“You and her father must make her really happy,” Cynthia said slowly. “If she stays in a job she’s unappreciated in to be around her family. But isn’t that what every parent wants for their kid? For them to be happy?” Or so she’d heard.

“Suzette is remarkable, Cynthia. She has a gift, and she’s wasting it. No, that isn’t what I want for my child. Do you know about six months back she came up with an improvement for a hydraulic system that was so clever an aviation magazine did a story on it? Now all the big airlines are talking about adopting some variation on it.”

“I didn’t know that,” Cynthia said. “She never said.”

“She wouldn’t. Too modest. And she’s a bit too much like me. When I was young, I had the opportunity to study history at Yale. It was the best course going at the time.”

“Why didn’t you?” Cynthia asked. “I mean, I presume you didn’t?”

Meredith’s face fell. “Because I’d just started dating Richard and it was easier to stay here with him and all my wonderful family and friends. And it was the path of least resistance. I was so comfortable that I didn’t see what I was potentially giving up. Later, Richard said he was surprised I hadn’t taken the Yale offer. He said he’d been making plans to follow me if I had. I’d had no idea! I took the easy path and now I spend a lot of my days wondering, What if…? The truth is, sometimes people need a little nudge to challenge themselves.”

“You don’t think Suze challenges herself?”

“I think she sees what she has and appreciates it, which is good. But she doesn’t see what else she might be. I love my darling girl with all my heart. And I hate being one of the anchors that keeps her here when she could soar.” She regarded Cynthia for a long moment and added, “What she needs is a reason to leave.”

Cynthia choked. “We’re not dating,” she repeated again, so fast, her panic must surely have shown.

“Yes.” Meredith chuckled. “You’re not dating. It’s a pity though.”

“It is?” Cynthia’s eyebrows shot up.

“I’ve come to the conclusion that career-driven people need to be with a more laid-back soul so they have a relaxing person to come home to. And easy-going people need someone driven to push them a little, to kick them out of their ruts.”

Cynthia didn’t know what to say to that.

“I’m talking generally now. No one in particular in mind.” Her eyes twinkled. “And you said it before: you live in DC and she lives in Iowa, right?”

“Right.” Cynthia tried not to scowl at the mention of Iowa, but her facial muscles refused to obey. She was like Pavlov’s dog with the place. “But if I ever did decide to date a softballer from Iowa, Suze would be the one.” She smiled to lighten the mood.

“I should think so,” Meredith teased back. Flicking a quick, assessing look at her, she returned to her ingredients. “So, you don’t like Iowa?”

“It’s just Iowa and I go way back.”

“An unhappy prior association?”

“You could say that.” Cynthia looked around the kitchen. “What can I do to help?”

“Can you husk the corn over there? Put the fibers in that bag.” She pointed.

Cynthia rolled up her white linen shirt sleeves and reached for the corn ears. She’d done this more times than she could count in her childhood. The memories were still painful, so she focused on her work, getting a rhythm going.

“You’re a pro at that,” Meredith noted. “I don’t think I’d ever have guessed at a DC finance reporter having such mastery of corn shucking.”

Not sure how to answer without giving too much away, Cynthia merely shrugged. “Good hand-eye co-ordination.” She smirked. “As I said.”

“Ah.” Meredith smiled. “Still claiming you beat Suze fair ’n’ square, I see.”

“Of course.” She lifted her chin. “I’m exceptional at anything I put my mind to.” Oh Christ. That cockiness of hers just had to burst out now. Her words sounded so out of place, so arrogant, as if she was fixing to crush some pitiful rival. She flushed and finished with the corn. “I mean…”

“It’s okay.” Meredith regarded her for a long moment. “You know, I deal with a lot of kids from all sorts of backgrounds,” she said conversationally. “Sometimes you never can tell what they’ve been through because they’re so good at hiding it. They have this bravado—it’s a persona that’s larger than life. No one can hurt them if they’re playing this character.”

Cynthia swallowed.

“I can always see through it, though. I have a sixth sense for it, actually, which is good because it means I can help someone who might never ask. Part of being a teacher is also knowing when not to say something, too. Just to offer an ear if it’s needed.”

That clinched it. Cynthia did not like in the least where this conversation was going.

“And on a related note, it fills my heart with such happiness when I see one of those troubled kids do well. Anyone who’s had a terrible childhood and has pulled themselves up by the bootstraps to become successful, earns all my respect. That is a hard road. Impressive. Some people exceed expectations so well, it’s remarkable.” Her eyes held Cynthia’s. “Remarkable,” she repeated.

Stacking the corn into a little pyramid suddenly seemed like a good focus for Cynthia’s energies. Anything was better than looking into Meredith’s disconcerting eyes.

“If I’d known you were coming,” Meredith continued, “I’d have made my special salad dressing for the garden salad. But, sadly, we’re out of time.” She pointed at the pantry. “Pick one you like. I’ve many to choose from.”

Mind whirring at the conversational leap, Cynthia opened the pantry and was met with a dizzying array of labels and foods. Back home, she barely cooked and most of the time outsourced food to Uber deliveries or restaurant meals with associates. This was a feast. She selected a blue dressing, returned, and slid it onto the counter.

“Excellent choice.” Meredith smiled. “I’m wondering if I could ask about our former topic?”

“Oh?” Alertness prickled along her spine.

“So, I have a couple of kids in my class. They’re getting bullied because they’re poorly dressed and there are a few…hygiene issues.”

Cynthia stared at her in bafflement.

“They’re foster kids,” Meredith said, as she tossed her salad. “I wish I could help them more. Know what to say that won’t upset them. The thing is, I came from a loving family who would bend over backwards to help and give me everything they could. I can empathize with those children who don’t have a good start in life, but I truly don’t understand, deep down, what the experience is like. I don’t know what I don’t know.”

Hissing in a breath, Cynthia stiffened. Had Suze told her she’d been a foster child? That she was some…pity case? Horror filled her.

“Suzette didn’t tell me anything,” Meredith said quietly, divining her thoughts. “Just in case I’ve hit the nail on the head here.”

At Cynthia’s incredulous look, Meredith waved her hand. “The first time I mentioned Iowa, your whole expression went all sorts of places. The look was not from someone who doesn’t like their hometown because it’s too…provincial. It’s a look that says a whole lot of other things.”

Hometown? How had she known that? Was this like Monique, who’d heard a hint of her real accent and guessed?

Meredith’s eyes were kind. “I’m not expecting you to acknowledge this if you don’t want to. And please don’t worry, this conversation starts and ends here, with just us.”

“Then why raise it at all?” Cynthia asked, frost dripping from her words.

Meredith’s eyes softened. “Because I love my kids more than anything. I’m not talking about Suzette, either. Honestly, I’d appreciate any insights you can offer on my special cases who are struggling to fit in.”

“And if I say I’m not what you think I am?” Cynthia asked and folded her arms. “That you have me all wrong?”

With a careless shrug, Meredith said, “Then so be it. I’m wrong. But it would be good to get a fresh perspective either way. Especially from someone who’s seen so much of the world and met so many different people. You must have all sorts of experiences that I don’t because I’ve stayed in the same place my whole life. So, maybe I can get the benefit of your wisdom?”

“This is not how I pictured this evening going,” Cynthia muttered, but her hackles were going down.

Meredith’s smile was dazzling. “I imagine not. I truly apologize, Cynthia, if I’ve made you uncomfortable. My aim is helping my kids. Sometimes I get a little too focused on finding solutions. As a career woman of your standing, I’m sure you know all about that.”

She did. Cynthia could get a little too lost in her career at times and forget the cost. Like…the hiding. Her mind sorted through what to do. Maybe there were a few little pieces of advice she could pass on to Meredith that would help. Not acknowledging her past, of course, but just something useful.

“Oh my God,” Meredith exclaimed.

Cynthia looked up sharply as Meredith pulled a fork from her mouth and chewed. Cynthia’s potato salad was in front of her. “This is fantastic! I have to get the recipe!”

In her eyes, though, Cynthia saw what she was really saying. They didn’t have to talk about the other thing. This was a way out to change the subject and forget they’d ever darted into dangerous territories. It was kind. Meredith was a truly kind woman.

“Foster kids,” Cynthia said, straightening as she said with authority, “don’t like to be singled out as different…”

And that was how the real conversation began.

* * *

“So, how’re you doing, kiddo?” Suze’s dad patted the sofa seat next to him and drew in a sip of his beer.

“Yeah, good. Real good.” Suze dropped onto the cushion beside him and examined the label on the beer bottle he’d passed her earlier. “Still drinking this stuff, huh?”

“Ruthie’s the best. Budweiser can’t compete, although my buddies think I’m a beer snob.” He grinned. “Whatever. They’re philistines.”

Suze laughed. Her dad’s friends were pretty funny—most of the time. She flicked her eyes to the kitchen door, wondering how Cynthia was going with her mom. Meredith Beringer might come across as unassuming and all, but she had a way of gently finding out anything she wanted to know.

Having said that, Cynthia was a brilliant journalist who could out-argue anyone. It was hard to know who to put your bets on in any head-to-head contest. Not that it was going to be a contest. She hoped.

Her dad followed her gaze and regarded her thoughtfully. “Nervous about your mom grilling your girlfriend?”

“She’s not my girlfriend,” Suze said hastily.

His bushy eyebrows lifted. “Honey, you look at her like she’s a tasty steak and you’ve been on a hunger strike.”

Oh great. How obvious was she? “She’s not, though,” Suze insisted. Her cheeks bloomed as she mumbled, “We’re keeping it casual.”

“Casual? I see.” He regarded her for a few moments, then in a gentle voice, asked, “So…if it were up to you, it wouldn’t be just casual then?”

Wasn’t that the million-dollar question?

“That’d be the mismatch of the century for so many reasons,” Suze said with a lazy smile. “Because she’s a hot-shot finance TV journalist in DC. And I’m me.”

“And by ‘me’,” her dad said, “you mean a hot-shot flight mechanic who’s so excellent at what you do that you were written about in a national aviation magazine. Right?”

Damn. Her dad always made her feel better about everything. “That was more my hydraulics innovation that got written up, not me,” Suze clarified. “And besides, Cynthia doesn’t know about that.”

They hadn’t gotten to discuss career highlights much. Or discuss much of anything. They were too busy leaping into bed at every opportunity.

“You should tell her—so she knows how special you are. So she knows not to let you get away.” He tilted his head, regarding her, then took another sip of beer. “Although, I reckon she’s already got some idea you’re worth it.”

“Why do you say that?”

“I know our introductions were pretty short just now, but her gaze was lingering all over you, like she appreciates you a whole lot. She’s not wrong to be impressed. I know I’m biased but she should feel lucky to have you, even if it’s ‘only casual’.”

“Da-ad,” Suze groaned, embarrassed by his compliments. “Stop.”

The problem was her father’s natural optimism was infectious and the last thing she needed right now was to get her hopes up. Cynthia had made it crystal clear where she stood—that Suze was someone whose body she enjoyed whenever she was in town. And even though Cynthia had looked at her like there might be a little more to it earlier today, Suze wasn’t so young and stupid as to fall for a glimmer of hope that was a fool’s gold.

“Honey,” her dad said, expression kind. “I want you to remember something.” He waited until she met his eye. “She should be grateful to have you, not the other way around. And it’s okay to ask for more if that’s what you’d like.”

“Why would I want more?” Suze asked. “It’d be a logistical mess, for starters.” They were in different places in every sense of the word.

“You know,” her dad said, “I remember when your mother and I were dating. Well, before that. I assumed I was a million miles out of her league. She was so together, so beautiful. Bookish, too; so smart and well-read. All the boys wanted her to look their way. I was no different. I was a goner.” He grinned. “Hopelessly in love from afar.”

Suze had heard this story many, many times. But in each retelling, she adored the way the love leaked out of her father’s words.

“Poor you,” she said with a chuckle. “So besotted.”

“Yup.” He laughed back. “And one day, we were at a party for one of our high-school friends. Being me, I’d spent most of it in one corner just gazing at her but never approaching. When, out of nowhere, she stomped over to me, looking mighty frustrated. And she said, ‘I’m not sure which is sillier: You not asking for what you want or me waiting all night for you to work up the courage to. I’ve decided to make the first move before I die of boredom. Or old age.’ And then she handed me her phone number.”

He beamed. “Just like that. Slid it right on over while I gaped at her. I still remember her squished up scribble on the back of a paper napkin. And she said all that to me in front of the most popular boy in school. The jock who wanted her too.”

“And you were on cloud nine, right?”

“Cloud nine,” he agreed. “Cloud. Nine. I worried at first she’d just done it to make the popular boy jealous. But she put that to rest. Told me right up front later that she didn’t want someone cocky. She wanted someone gentle and curious about the world. And that she’d picked me.”

“She picked you,” Suze said, lips quirking. “Because she was smart.”

Her father chuckled. “Smart enough to know her own mind. And smart enough to go for what she wanted. She had a very busy schedule, what with all the clubs and teams she was on. But I’d make sure I was there in the front row for every recital or game to show my support. Got so bad that her parents asked if I actually had a home of my own. I’d just laugh and say it was a coincidence I was there. Because they didn’t need to know how much I loved their daughter. That was private information.”

“She knew that.” Suze smiled. “She always knew how you felt.”

“She did. One day she told me she felt the same as me, which made me the luckiest son of a gun on earth. She told me, she figured she’d better be the one to say it first because I never would. Your mother always was the brave one. But the point is, honey, we wouldn’t be where we are today if your mom hadn’t done one thing.”

“Given you her number.”

“No.” He held her gaze. “She asked for what she wanted. She named it. Said it, out loud, bold as can be. Because she knew if it were left to me, I’d never make my move.” He shook his head at himself for a moment. “Don’t be like me, Suze. Be like your mom. Remember, if there’s something you want, ask.”

“But what if…” Suze hesitated. “…hypothetically speaking, I mean, what if I ask for something…and they say no?”

“Then they say no. So what? But that’ll mean you shot your shot. You can breathe easy after that because not knowing is way worse than being shot down.”

“I’m not sure I agree with that, Dad.”

“Oh, it is. You can do it. You’re not usually shy at getting what you want.”

Suze stared at her beer, watching a bead of condensation slide down the glass. “I’m not ready for it to be over. If a certain someone says no to more.”

“Have a little faith. After all, you’re charming and smart and have your mother’s looks—thank goodness. How could anyone you’re with not want more?”

“You have to say that; you’re my dad. And I don’t want to blow this. I’m scared I’ll mess it all up.”

“That just means there are stakes. Something worth winning. All the more reason for you to get some skin in the game. So, she knows she has possibilities if she wants to act on them.”

Suze bit her lip and huffed out a breath. “The other problem is,” she muttered, “I don’t know how it’d work out if she says yes.”

“One thing at a time. Remember, if you want to break up a dog-fighting ring, you don’t worry about where to rehome the dogs first. No, you neutralize the threats—the humans and any unrestrained animals—and remove them from the scene. Then rescue the caged animals, then get the vet in to see which animals can be saved. Then you think about what’s next for the dogs you’ve saved.”

“Dad? Did you just compare my love life to a dog-fighting ring?”

“Mebbe.” He chuckled. “Not the best analogy, I guess.”

She grinned. “I get your point. But along those lines…” Suze side-eyed him. “Why are you pretending to be some boring office grunt to Cynthia? I almost fell asleep when you described your job to her.”

With a sheepish look, he said, “I didn’t want to scare her off. You know the reputation some folks in law enforcement have. I didn’t want to say anything that might make her skittish. Besides, I rather like the idea of being seen as someone in middle management. Very…distinguished.”

“Dad, you run the Law Enforcement Bureau for the Department of Natural Resources. Your teams catch all the illegal hunters and trappers and stop animal baiting. Why play that down? You’re the most interesting guy in any room. Hell, didn’t you have a terrifying run-in with a bear once?”

“Okay, first-off, she was just an upset momma bear mad about some strange human in her territory. I don’t blame her one lick. And that was years back. There’s a reason I manage the department now: I’m not in peak physical shape to be outrunning Iowa’s ferocious wildlife anymore.” He took a swig of his beer, eyes sparkling.

“Were you ever in peak physical shape?” Suze teased.

“Hey now, I’ll have you know I once squeezed into some skinny jeans. Sure, my poor sister had to come and peel them off me. Your aunt Caroline is still traumatized, FYI. But my point is, sure, yes, my work stories are exciting at times, but I don’t want to be the focus tonight. I want that to be you and your girl.”

“She’s not my girl,” Suze repeated, and sagged at the reminder. “Unfortunately.”

She realized she’d just said that out loud. Her father’s knowing look confirmed it.

“Right,” he said. “And it’s not rocket science. Just tell her you’d like more. Or…if that feels too much to put out there…” He thought for a moment. “Tell her it’s okay to want more.”

That was kind of vague. The more she turned it over, though, she quite liked it. “I’ll think about it.”

Suze put down her beer and faced him. “Hey, Dad? Over dinner, it’s okay for you to be more interesting. I promise it won’t overshadow me or Cynth. I’d love to see the look on her face when you explain how bad-ass you are. Like the time you nabbed that guy catching endangered alligator snapping turtles for export? Had him pinned down in a lake marsh?”

“Honey, I’ll pass. I don’t think I want that Chinese curse.”

“The curse is to wish for an interesting life, Dad. You’ll be safe from the fallout because you don’t need to wish for what you already have.”

“That I do, sweetheart.” He made to rise. “Reckon we should perform a rescue op now? Tell our women we’re all talked out about football? Save Cynthia from your mother?”

“Or vice versa,” Suze shot back with a laugh. “Cynthia’s no pushover, trust me.”

“They’re both formidable women,” her dad said. “As are you. Follow your heart, honey. And it’ll all work out the way it’s supposed to.”

“Easy for you to say,” Suze grumbled. But she shot him a grin, and he grinned back.

* * *

Suze hummed softly to the music on the radio on the drive home. Dinner had been…well… A revelation? Cynthia had been awesome. Kick-ass. She’d talked politics with Suze’s father, letting him think he knew what he was talking about…or rather not correcting him where he was a little at sea. And she’d done a remarkable impression over dinner of being interested in her mother discussing the kids she taught.

“They are our future,” Cynthia had said so earnestly that Suze had had to bite her tongue not to laugh. When Cynthia had met her eye, Suze had seen the bright mischief in them, and known for sure that Cynthia was also having fun. Then she’d caught her mother’s eye and realized her mom had found the deadpanned line just as funny.

That was a relief. Sometimes, when her mother thought people were mocking her job, it set her jaw tight and hard. But with Cynthia, amazingly, her mom had been relaxed and accepting, even with all Cynthia’s sharp edges. How had that happened? As far as she knew, Cynthia rarely made anyone like her easily.

“Thanks for being so nice to my parents,” Suze finally said when the song ended. “I’ve never seen you on your best behavior before. Trying so hard to get my folks to like you? I honestly didn’t know you had it in you.”

Cynthia smiled. “Of course I had it in me. I just haven’t had a reason to go out of my way to make people like me for a long, long time. The occasion called for it.”

“It did? Well, I appreciate you giving them the charm offensive.”

“Of course.” Cynthia eyed her. “Don’t you understand? I’m a bitch to people I don’t know or like. Which is to say, almost everyone. But when I do like them”—she regarded Suze for a long beat—“yes, I may occasionally still be a bitch…” A smile danced around her lips. “But I try to accommodate any reasonable request they might make.”

“Such as being nice to my folks.” Suze grinned. “Dad loves you, FYI. Thinks you’re so smart. So, well done on that. Mom thinks you’re a ‘fine role model’ for me. I have no idea what that’s about since you and I have almost nothing in common.” Suze laughed heartily. “Except that we do love fucking each other.”

“Your parents are…exactly as you said.” Cynthia tightened her hold on the empty bowl in her lap.

“So, by that you mean delightful, hardworking, middle-class, possessed of warmth and much common sense.”

“That. Despite living in Iowa. But no one’s perfect. Their love for you and acceptance of you is without doubt or condition.”

“Yes. I’m lucky.”

“They didn’t even know I was coming and yet…” Cynthia shook her head. “They welcomed me as if I was one of the family.”

“They do that, yeah.” Suze studied her stoic face. “I hope that didn’t make you uncomfortable. God, Dad didn’t drop any hints, did he? Sometimes he decides people I date should get the heads-up if he finds them worthy.”

She froze. “Shit, not that I’m saying we’re dating. But I mean you came to family dinner and he gets all protective and sometimes… He didn’t say anything to you, did he?”

“No.” Cynthia smiled. “Your mother, though…”

“Oh God!” Shit, shit, shit.

“She said if I wanted to pursue a relationship with you, she’d be all in favor.”

“Noooo.”

“Mmm.” Cynthia tilted her head. “I told her I was your occasional fuck buddy and nothing more.”

Suze gasped. “You didn’t!”

“Of course not.” Cynthia laughed hard.

“So, Mom didn’t say anything then, either?”

“Oh no, she did. I assured her if I ever decided to date someone who played softball and lived in Iowa, you were the one.”

“Ha.”

“No, I really did.”

Suze side-eyed her.

“That seemed to please her.”

“I’ll bet.”

“She said she’d recognized me from the wedding, by the way.”

“Yeah, my folks are close to Lauren’s family. I didn’t realize Mom remembered you, though.”

“Apparently I was hard to forget on account of twerking with you around the fire pit.” Cynthia gave an indignant huff. “I explained I do not ‘twerk’. Your mother said she didn’t have another word for the things we were doing.”

“Oh hell. She was there for that?”

“Your father too, apparently. I, personally, have no memory of any of it—thank goodness.” Her cheeks reddened adorably.

Suze rubbed her eyes. “I’m not sure it gets much worse than this. You know, I wondered why Mom was acting all night like we’re in a relationship. I just assumed it was because I’d brought you to dinner.”

“Yes, about that: she asked, very diplomatically, why I was with you for family dinner if we’re not a couple?”

Suze moaned as if in pain. “Great. Right to the point. You know I’ve brought colleagues to dinner, too. Well, one. Steve. Anyway, what did you say?”

“I told her it was for science.”

Suze moaned again.

“And that I was very interested in meeting a normal, ordinary, supremely boring family.”

“You’re killing me here.”

Cynthia smiled. “I’m teasing. I did tell her I grew up in Iowa but that I didn’t care for it because I didn’t like my foster family.”

“You told her that? Really?”

“Yes. I really did.” Cynthia hesitated. “She’s a good listener. While your dad was bending your ear about football, your mom started talking to me about her work. She mentioned she has a couple of foster kids in her class and how she wished she could better help them. I told her my thoughts. The conversation was surprisingly decent. Like your parents: decent.”

Suze waited for the zinger.

“I mean that.” Cynthia regarded her. “I almost never tell anyone a single thing about my life. You were the exception; I blame that post-wedding hangover. And yet your mother…somehow, I found myself telling her the truth. She is an exceptional woman. And so it seems you were right.”

“I was? About what?”

“Scientifically, one-third of families are indeed happy.”

“Based on three families, exactly.” Suze chuckled.

“Yes.” Cynthia shifted the bowl. “It’s been an interesting experience. I see now where you get your compassion from. I can see, also, you would know how to form healthy relationships—be they friendships or otherwise.”

Suze blinked.

“That makes one of us.” Cynthia drew in a tight breath.

“It’s okay, you know,” Suze said as she pulled into her driveway and turned off the engine. “In case you were wondering.”

“What is?”

“To need. To want. Beyond what you have.” She waved between them but didn’t say what she meant: us. Because she had to admit, she loved being with Cynthia. Her dad was right. She should be brave and just ask.

Instead, Cynthia frowned.

“Sorry,” Suze mumbled, embarrassed. “I’m not pushing.”

“Do you want something…beyond this?” Cynthia asked. Her question came out forced, almost harsh.

Suze flinched, then slapped on a lighthearted grin, and said, “Don’t be silly, DC.” Her tone wasn’t even remotely convincing. “We don’t do more than sex.”

“No,” Cynthia said, an odd expression crossing her face. “Of course we don’t.” She undid her seatbelt. “On that note, shall we?”

* * *

That night, for all their shallow words, Cynthia confounded Suze. She used her mouth, her lips, her tongue, and was attentive and laser-focused as she lavished Suze with affection, dropping her cocky mask. It felt…well, maybe it was crazy to even think it. But it felt like she was showing Suze she mattered.

And for the first time, Cynthia let Suze to do whatever the hell she wanted during their intimate encounter. Something she’d never permitted before.

She allowed Suze to stretch out over her, her shorter body pressed down onto her angular, thin one, Suze’s large soft breasts pushing into Cynthia’s small ones. Suze’s rough, worn hands pinned Cynthia’s delicate wrists loosely as she kissed her deeply and fucked her with a strap-on—so slow.

Suze decided if Cynthia was going to treat her like she really mattered, Suze was going to show her how that felt. How she felt. And so she showed her lover that Cynthia was, to Suze’s eyes at least, someone very special.

In the afterglow, Suze stroked Cynthia’s slick inner thighs and murmured how gorgeous she was.

Cynthia glanced at the clock and sadness washed over her face. It was almost as if she hadn’t wanted the night to end because, when it did, she’d have to leave. Fly home to her empty apartment.

By unspoken agreement, they’d started all over again. Exploring each other, lavishing the other’s body with affection, worshipping heated flesh. It was three in the morning when Cynthia had finally folded herself around Suze’s body and seemed ready for sleep.

“I needed that, Iowa,” she murmured. “More than you can know. Thank you.”

“Any time,” Suze whispered back. And damn if she didn’t mean it. Body and soul.

* * *

Lauren called her a week later. It’d been weeks since she’d gotten back from her honeymoon but she still sounded obnoxiously perky.

“Married life must suit you,” Suze said, snickering.

“I think it does,” Lauren said. “I’m almost certain it suits Catherine. She’s positively glowing. I’m taking credit of course. She’s in denial.”

Suze tried to picture the Caustic Queen of journalism ever glowing and couldn’t quite picture it.

“What?” Lauren asked. “Why are you being all quiet? What’s up?”

“Nothing…just thinking.” She paused and wondered if she dared ask what was most on her mind.

“Thinking about what?” Lauren asked.

“How did you know Catherine liked you?” Suze blurted. “I mean, I gather you hated each other at first, but how did you know something had shifted?”

“Ah.” Lauren laughed. “Well, I have a sixth sense for these things,” she said conspiratorially. “Finely honed gaydar…” She burst out laughing. “Okay, none of the above. Actually, she kissed me.”

“What?” She blinked. “Where? Why?”

“At her home, on the stairs. Out of the blue. And I had no idea. At all.”

“None?”

“None. Didn’t even know she was gay.”

“Oh. Wow. Surprise!”

“Exactly.” Lauren chuckled. “I almost melted on the spot. So many things came into focus, you know?”

Suze wished she did know. “Right,” she said.

“Why? You got your eye on someone?” Lauren paused. “Someone a little aloof giving off mixed signals?”

“You might say that.”

“Anyone I know?” Lauren paused as if mentally running through her Rolodex. “You know what’s funny? My dipshit brothers have been trying to pull my leg and tell me you were on with Cynthia Redwell. That’s Catherine’s friend—you met her at my wedding? I hear she thrashed you at beer pong.”

“I let her win,” Suze protested. “You know I’d beat anyone, except you.”

“You only let a woman win when you want to get in her pants. But one thing I know for sure, Cynthia would never lower herself to touch an Iowan. Sorry you crashed and burned.”

“Yeah. I’m sorry too,” Suze said, hiding her amusement.

“Please tell me it’s not a straight woman you’re lusting over?” Lauren said. “Because I know Coach Lawson pings like hell as gay, but I swear she’s straight.”

“Not interested in the coach.” Anymore. “Promise.”

“Okay. So if not Lawson, then who? Come on, I’m your best friend and you’re not spilling the tea?”

“Laur, she’s closeted. I can’t tell you.”

“Oh. Okay. Shit. Closeted, huh? That makes it harder.”

“Yeah.” Suze scratched her jaw and finally asked what she really wanted to know. “What do you do if someone says they’re only into sex but they treat you like it’s more. A lot more. She seems really into me.”

“Sounds like she’s at war with herself. She doesn’t want it to mean more than sex because then, maybe, she’ll have to do something about it.”

“I’m not pressuring her.”

“No, I know you wouldn’t. I suspect your awesomeness is making her wish for something she can’t have. And maybe, she’s thinking of how hard it is not being with you and being extra nice when you’re together? If that makes sense?”

“Yeah. Maybe.”

“I’m guessing it is mind-blowing sex, though?”

“Why do you say that?”

“Because I can’t picture you sticking with someone who’s a bitch to you who’s also hiding in the closet.”

“She isn’t a bitch.” Well…okay that wasn’t true. Her lover was a bit of a bitch to everyone. Of course, if she told Lauren that, she’d immediately know it was Cynthia. Her bitchiness was legendary, after all.

“Then my advice is to wait for a bit. See if it resolves itself. If she’s liking you as much as she seems, something’s going to give soon. Be ready.”

“What if it doesn’t?” Suze bit her lip. “What if nothing changes?”

“Then you’ll have your answer. And it’ll be her loss. You won’t wait for her forever; nor should you.” Lauren stopped again. “I’m assuming you think she’s worth waiting for a little bit though? This one’s special?”

Suze sighed. “Like no one I’ve ever met.”

“Oh, you’ve got it bad.” Lauren laughed. “I get to be smug now because I’m pretty sure you said those exact words to me once when I was ranting about Catherine to you.”

Suze didn’t answer. She was stuck on the obvious: Have I got it bad? Am I in love with DC’s most infamous bitch?

Suze didn’t even like thinking of her like that anymore. She knew Cynthia better than the people who called her names. She knew about her past. Her childhood. Her insecurities. What made her laugh. What made her roll her eyes. And what made her moan. She was all kinds of fascinating.

Most of all, though, she wanted to know her better. And she wanted to be more to Cynthia. As if that would ever happen, though. Because, in the end, all they had together was sex.

Right?

Her subconscious had probably had enough of that question. She virtually heard the back of her brain clear its throat, blow her a raspberry, and declare, “Wrong.”

The silence must have dragged on too long because Lauren suddenly said, “Oh my God. You’re in love, aren’t you?”

Am I? Shit. Yeah. I think I really am.

“Maybe?” Suze’s voice came out a strangled gasp.

“Oh wow,” Lauren said. “Wow.”

Wow, indeed.

Chapter 5

When Iowa Got DC

It was a Sunday afternoon when they found themselves stretched full out on Suze’s huge couch, Buttcheeks a plump mound in Cynthia’s lap, and Suze sprawled beside her.

Unofficially it was their three-month anniversary but there was no way Suze was going to bring that up. She wondered if Cynthia had realized.

X-Men played on the TV in the background and Casey’s pizza boxes were half open on the coffee table. Suze was more focused on how Cynthia’s hand strayed to stroke her dog and sometimes drifted to curl into Suze’s hair. The scene was appallingly domestic—another thing Suze was not about to point out to her skittish lover.

Things were coming to a head, though. She could feel it. Lauren wasn’t wrong. The more time went by and the more she saw of Cynthia, the more she could feel the shift in the way her complicated not-girlfriend was acting like a girlfriend.

“I can’t believe you like Wolverine,” Cynthia said suddenly, glancing up at the television. Hugh Jackman’s hairy face was glowering from the screen.

“I can’t believe you don’t,” Suze retorted. “He’s a loner. All aloof and broody and darkly interesting, just like you. Right up your alley.”

“Please, he’s appalling.”

“Why?” Suze asked.

“Sideburns,” Cynthia noted. “And he’s too pretty to be convincing.”

“No way; Hugh Jackman rocks.”

Cynthia snorted. “He’s about as absorbing as a slab of concrete.”

Curiosity slithered through Suze. They usually never discussed their entertainment likes and dislikes, probably because the topic strayed close to girlfriend territory. “Okay then, spill. What do you find absorbing?”

“Genghis Khan,” Cynthia said without missing a beat.

Suze laughed until she realized her lover wasn’t laughing back. “Wait, seriously?”

“Seriously.” Cynthia twisted around and met her eye. “Not joking.”

“That…ruler from Mongolia.”

“Correct.”

Suze stared at her, speechless.

“I always thought he was amazing. I read every book I could find in the library about him when I was a girl.”

“That mass-murdering ruler from Mongolia?” Suze corrected. “And since history is written by the victors, he was probably much worse than we know.”

“Probably,” Cynthia agreed. “Although conqueror is a more accurate description. Mass murderers are all about the killing. Conquerors, while also killers, are about territory expansion and the power that comes with it.”

Okay, what? That sounded like Cynthia had spent way too much time thinking about this. “So why did you love Genghis Khan as a child?”

“He was fearless in a way I could barely imagine. And he enacted the most perfect revenge.”

“Revenge?” Suze snorted. “Right. Color me intrigued. Let’s hear it.”

Cynthia’s eyes lit up at the request for more details. “Really?”

“Really.”

Cynthia wriggled a little like an excited child and began. “Okay, in 1219, Genghis Khan, then an up-and-coming conqueror, tried to establish diplomatic relations with a powerful neighboring shah, Muhammad II. Khan sent emissaries and trade caravans filled with rare goods, and proposals that they should reopen the Silk Route to Europe. His first diplomatic message was ignored. His trading caravan was then intercepted by a local governor, Inalchuq, who executed Khan’s merchants and kept the spoils.”

Suze winced. “Not smart.”

“No… Still, Khan thought this might be some mistake. Had Inalchuq acted without orders? He sent another emissary to the shah, repeating his trade offer and demanding the governor be punished. Muhammad’s response was blunt: he beheaded one of Khan’s ambassadors and sent the other two back, heads shaven—a terrible insult for Mongols.”

Cynthia’s eyes were now blazing in excitement. “That meant war. Khan pulled many tens of thousands of his warriors out of China and focused his efforts on the neighboring empire. First, he killed Inalchuq in a most gruesome way. Don’t ask. Next, he came for the shah. It took only two years. Two years and the vast Khwarazmian Empire had fallen. Muhammad fled, chased by Khan’s men, and died in exile a year later. Khan then ruled the Silk Route, along with most of north-eastern Asia. Turns out he didn’t need the shah at all.” Cynthia gave Buttcheeks an affectionate rub under one ear. “I’ve always loved that story.”

Suze peered at her. Khan was a rampaging killer—correction, conqueror—and Cynthia looked near post-coital at the retelling of his deeds. What was she missing? “Why do you love that story?”

“I love picturing Inalchuq at the exact moment he realized the enormity of what he’d done. The same goes for Muhammad. The split second of awareness of how utterly moronic they’d been to provoke one of history’s most devastating military commanders.”

“So, it’s about the karma? The ‘fuck around and find out’ aspect that you like?”

“It’s a lot more than that. It’s that moment of learning there are real consequences for hurting someone for no reason; someone they’d assumed was small and unimportant.” Glee danced across her face. “God, I’ve always been envious of Khan.”

“For crushing a pair of stupid assholes?” Suze asked, confused. “Or for winning?”

Cynthia balled her hands for a moment as if in frustration, then relaxed them. “No. I’m envious that he knew he didn’t have to let any slight against him go unanswered. Can you imagine being that confident, strong, and fearless, knowing for a fact that no one could ever mess with you and get away with it?”

She inhaled. “I used to imagine when I was a little girl, all the times someone insulted me or beat me bloody, that I was Genghis Khan. I could call in my army of thousands and make my tormenters rue the day they ever decided it’d be fun to hurt someone small and helpless.”

God. Suze’s heart squeezed. How damaged Cynthia had to have been that her hero had been a ruthless conqueror? While Suze’s childhood had been spent playing on bikes and swings, a small, defenseless Cynthia spent hers fantasizing about a way to make those hurting her feel sorry they ever had.

Suze nudged Buttcheeks off Cynthia’s lap, depositing him onto the floor, and then pressed herself closer to her lover, curling her arms around her, nice and tight. “I’m so sorry for what your life was like.”

“I don’t usually think much about it,” Cynthia said. “But I’ve been thinking about it a lot lately—who I was and what I’ve become.”

“Since Vegas?” Suze guessed.

“Yes.”

“Want to talk about it?”

“It’s too absurd to repeat.” A tiny frown creased between Cynthia’s eyes. “Although, it’s long overdue I acted on it.”

“Acted on what?”

“First, let me explain something. When you suggested dinner with your parents, I didn’t know I needed that. It was reassuring. I knew afterwards that you wouldn’t set me up to fail or try to hurt me. That is a powerful thing to learn.”

“Then why…” Suze petered out. “In the car after dinner, I made a suggestion about us being more. You didn’t seem to like it too much.”

Cynthia sighed. “That night I reacted reflexively—out of fear. I was caught flat-footed and I didn’t have the words to fix it. I decided to show you instead. When we were in bed.”

So Suze hadn’t been imagining it, how different sex was that night.

“I knew who you were then. At your core,” Cynthia continued, her voice soft. “I’d met your people, felt their love for you. I’d seen all of you. I admired what I found. You felt so reassuring. So warm. I buried myself in that feeling. In you. I didn’t hold back.”

“I felt that,” Suze said.

“I hoped you would. And I did want to say yes. I haven’t known how to raise it since. But I did want more.”

Relief warmed all the empty spaces inside Suze. “So does that mean you’re not afraid now?”

“That is a tricky question.” Cynthia fell silent for a long moment. “Did you know, I was raised to be afraid? To be an obedient child. To fear adults and authority figures and to parrot the Bible on command and to never, ever speak out of turn. Not for a single moment did I ever feel unafraid. Eventually I got older, escaped Iowa, acquired a spine, and became fierce and standoffish and fabulous.” Her lips curled up for a moment. “That persona became my identity. I much preferred it. I felt safe. No one could get close enough to hurt me.”

But we’re close, Suze wanted to say. I’m close enough to hurt you. Instead, she tightened her hold on Cynthia and waited for the rest.

“I might be stronger, more jaded, and self-aware now, but that doesn’t mean my fear is all gone.” Cynthia’s voice was tinged with regret.

“Oh,” Suze said quietly. “I’m sorry.”

“That also doesn’t mean a fear has to be obeyed. Fear doesn’t have to hold me back. That’s what I took from Vegas. That’s what changed.”

“Oh?”

“In Vegas, an acquaintance twisted me all in knots about me being closeted. I was angry. I told her I wasn’t a coward or a self-loathing homophobe. Except, I knew that I was both. I was ashamed. I wished out loud that things were different between you and me. I said it so wistfully, as if it was all out of my control. And I was told: ‘Then be with her’. How simple that sounded. Just go do whatever I want? How…revolutionary. It’s like I was given permission to leave the little box I’ve been trapped in. I haven’t been able to think of anything else since.”

Swallowing at what this might mean, Suze said, “Well, I’m all in favor. In case you’re wondering.”

Cynthia smiled, delight lighting up her eyes. “I always used to think, how could I stand up for what I want when I’d just be pushed down again? What’s the point? I was like an elephant with a rope around its leg that doesn’t believe it can escape; doesn’t even know it can. Now I’ve started to look at my life in a different way.”

“What way is that?”

“I’ve realized the misogynistic assholes in my newsroom do not matter. I could sue every last one of them; drag them through the courts for years, humiliating them all, probably win, and after all that, they still would not matter. They will never matter. Because in the end, they are nothing to me. They’re a flimsy rope around my leg, holding me back. I don’t need to bow to them. They’re not what matters.”

“What does?”

“You. You matter. And I’d be a fool not to fight for us because of something as shallow as fear. I don’t want to lose you, especially since you’re the only thing that’s worth fighting for in my life.”

“Oh.” Suze grinned at her. “Well, in case it’s not stupidly obvious, you matter to me, too.”

“That’s a relief.” Cynthia trailed her fingers down Suze’s temple. “So, here’s what I’m thinking,” she said, tone brisk. “We put a label on this thing.”

Suze blinked. “Really?”

“Mmm.” Cynthia inhaled. “We’re dating, okay? We’re in an exclusive relationship. And this cross-country issue isn’t insurmountable. We’ll figure it out.”

“Okay,” Suze said, heart thundering. “I like the sound of that.”

“I know your industry awards are coming up. So, I’ll suck it up and go to them with you if you’d like. Because I know they mean a lot to you. I’ll meet your colleagues, tell your bosses you deserve a promotion, all the usual hilarious nonsense partners do. And then maybe, if you’d like, you could go to mine with me. In DC.”

Suze blinked. “Um, wouldn’t people draw some obvious conclusions if I turn up to some big media event with you?”

“Yes,” Cynthia said, eyes intent. “They would.”

“You’re saying…” Suze drew in an even deeper breath. “You want to come out? Not just as a lesbian, but as my…as mine? My girlfriend?”

“If you’re okay with it?”

“Very okay with it.” Suze paused. “Are you sure? I mean really, really sure? This is an enormous deal for you, I know.”

“I don’t have an entire army behind me,” Cynthia said, gazing into her eyes, “but I do have you. And to me, it feels the same.”

“God.” Suze grinned at the warmth in her expression. “That was an incredibly romantic thing to say.”

“Oh please.” Cynthia rolled her eyes. “It’s just the facts. So, what do you say?”

“Big yes from me.”

“Excellent.” Cynthia kissed the top of her head. “I always thought you were smart.”

“For a garden gnome you found at your best friend’s wedding.”

“Exactly. C’mere. Turn off Sideburns McWolfman and let’s find something more entertaining to do.”

“Gotta appreciate the originality of your come-ons,” Suze said, reaching for the remote. “Let’s celebrate you officially being a kept woman.”

Cynthia kissed her and murmured, “I’m no one’s kept woman. But I’ll let you borrow me for a bit. And vice versa. All right?”

“Hell yeah. Deal.”

Chapter 6

When DC Loved Iowa

How do you tell someone you love them? Cynthia wondered as she smoothed down her slinky black dress. It wasn’t as if there were handbooks for that sort of thing, were there?

Nervousness caused her hands to tremble a little as she adjusted her teardrop earrings in the mirror of Washington Hilton’s luxurious ladies’ room. She wasn’t sure she was ready—in any sense—but tonight was the night. The White House Correspondents’ Dinner would be where everything came out, in every sense.

Getting an understanding of something so ethereal as love was hard, especially when she’d never loved before. How do you do even think of love when you have no template? How do you even know if you should?

And even if she found the words, what if she was rejected? Worse, laughed at? Dismissed?

The worried questions in the back of her mind came in a child’s voice, small and tremulous. Cynthia gave a pained sigh. Aches and fears of years ago. Once a broken kid, always a…

No. Suze wouldn’t hurt her. Deep down, Cynthia knew that. And even though the child’s voice pestered her quietly, a soft persistence chipping away at her confidence, Cynthia also knew it could be ignored. Some risks were too important not to take.

Tonight would be the night. Time to lay out all the cards. See where they fell. By the end of the evening, she and Suze would be ‘out’ thanks to the observant, gossipy reporters crawling all over this event. And Cynthia would, hopefully, have found the words to explain to Suze how she felt.

Secretly, she was also pleased she could show off her world to Suzette. Her place of power. Where she felt strongest. Respected. Admired. Where the child’s voice was close to silent.

The White House Correspondents’ Dinner was an event Cynthia had attended for years. She’d sat through more complicated multi-course meals and dull speeches than she could count. Plus, one extraordinary coming-out speech by her oldest friend, Catherine, two years ago.

Catherine’s blurted admission as to the real nature of her relationship with her colleague, Lauren King, had been good joke fodder for Cynthia for ages. Now she was on shaky ground herself, given she’d found her own softballer from Iowa to romance.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Suze shifted to stand behind her in the mirror of the ladies’ room. Her arms slid around her waist. She looked so dapper in her navy suit with a matching waistcoat and blinding white button-up shirt.

Through the door came muted sounds of a live orchestra and loud chatter from the hundreds of guests. The restroom was empty now, but that could change in an instant.

“I’m glad you’re here.” Cynthia cleared her throat. “It’s about time that we did this.” Coming out. Being out. Being seen. Judged. She swallowed. “Time we got it out of the way.”

Suze studied her for a long moment in the mirror. “Vegas really did a number on you, didn’t it?” she finally said.

Cynthia lifted an eyebrow. “Am I really that different?” she asked, although she already knew the answer.

“Is that a serious question?” Suze asked. “Dinner with my parents? All those trips to Iowa? You attended my airline industry awards as my plus-one, despite the fact you seemed petrified the whole time because you were so far out of your comfort zone.”

“I wasn’t petrified,” Cynthia scoffed. Liar, she told herself. You were so damned rattled. And no one even looked at you twice.

“Uh-huh.” Suze eyed her affectionately. “Look, I know this is really new for you and I appreciate all your efforts to make us work.” With a smirk she added, “And you’re definitely coming off as someone way more invested in a girl than just for her spectacular tits.”

“As if I’d ever argue about the spectacular nature of your ‘tits’,” Cynthia shot back.

She wished she knew how to say the rest. That her admiration of Suze had little to do with just her body, adorable and appealing to her as it was. Her appreciation for Suze was so deep now, so strong. But how do you say things like that out loud? Things that felt too vulnerable or foreign? Things like…love? She still winced, even at the word.

“Shall we face the world, DC?” Suze smiled at her and glanced at the door.

Cynthia met Suze’s smile with one of her own. “Let’s do this, Iowa.”

There was no going back. Squaring her shoulders, Cynthia led the way to the Hilton’s International Ballroom, with its gray and white carpet, sweeping curved walls, and enormous round sci-fi-esque blue cut-outs in the ceiling.

The main dining area was sunken, and famous political figures and guests milled around the slightly higher upper area, not taking their seats just yet.

“Doing okay?” Suze asked as they wandered between the tables, looking for their seats. “Or are the feet feeling a little chilly?” She grinned. “Don’t blame you if they are.” She looked pointedly up at the ring of networking VIPs. “This crowd’s tougher than my local bikers’ bar on a Saturday night.”

“I’m not getting cold feet bringing you as my date,” Cynthia said curtly. She huffed out an apologetic breath. “I’m not entirely sure why you agreed to come.”

“Free food.” Suze teased. “And I want to see your natural hunting grounds. You saw mine at the aviation industry awards night. Now it’s my turn. It’s exactly like I pictured it…but more pretentious. I’m not sure who’s got on more make-up, the men or the women.” Her eyes drifted to a passing TV anchorman almost mushroom-cloud orange.

Cynthia snorted. “Now I remember why I like you: you’re almost as funny as I am.”

“Ha. In your dreams. I’m way funnier and you know it.” Suze waved over a waiter offering a serving plate and plucked a little ball of something mysterious. She tossed it into her mouth, chomped once, and screwed up her face. “We serve better food in Economy.”

“You don’t really eat the passengers’ food?”

“Nope. But I do know it’s fancier. Is this supposed to be tuna fish?”

“Salmon.” Cynthia hadn’t touched any of the passing hors d’oeuvres. Too nervous. “At events like this, it’s always salmon.”

“Ah.” Suze discreetly ejected the salmon mouthful into a paper napkin, balled it up and then, with unerring accuracy, lobbed it into a stylish bin. “Feel you could stand a tiny PDA? You look like you need it,” she murmured.

Cynthia gave a pained half nod, heart thundering.

Grinning, Suze stepped inside her space, linked her pinkie finger with her own, and squeezed. She let go. “Was that good for you, too?”

“I’m still swooning.” She looked up and froze, hissing in a breath.

There stood Catherine Ayers at the nearest set of stairs, her gaze fixed like a heat-seeking missile on where their fingers had been linked. Recognition, then astonishment crossed Catherine’s face before she turned and whispered something to her wife.

Lauren’s head whipped around and a huge, delighted smile lit up her face. Then they were heading their way at a rapid pace.

“Two o’clock. Incoming,” Cynthia said ruefully. “My oldest friend and yours are about to rub our noses in us being together.”

“About time,” Suze said. “Do you have any idea how hard it’s been not being able to tell Lauren all the diabolical things you do to me in bed?”

Cynthia’s mouth fell open. “Tell me you do not discuss our sex life with Lauren?”

Suze snickered. “Of course I haven’t said anything. You asked me not to, ages ago. But I can spill now, if we’re about to tell the whole world.”

“I’m sorely regretting it,” Cynthia muttered.

“Are you?” Suze lifted an eyebrow. Her tone turned cautious. “Seriously, if you’re having doubts, we don’t have to. I don’t care whether we’re in or out. I just like being with you. Want me to tell everyone that I’m your driver or something for the evening?”

Cynthia rolled her eyes. “Tempting as it is to claim I even have one, no. I’m committed to…this. To not hiding anymore.” She plastered on a smile and leaned in to air kiss Catherine and Lauren.

“Is it true?” Lauren said, gaze snapping back and forth between Cynthia and Suze. “You two? I honestly thought my brothers were pulling my leg. And Dad flat-out refused to discuss it.”

“Yes,” Catherine drawled, looking far too curious. “Don’t tell me you’ve discovered Iowan softballers too?”

“I knew you’d be insufferable.” Cynthia scowled, pointing at her best friend. “And this is all your fault. Both of you.” Her finger jabbed toward Lauren now. “Getting married. Inviting this one…” She glanced at Suze with altogether too much fondness before she could stop herself.

Suze jumped in. “Cynth was in my thrall the moment I let her beat me at beer pong. True story.”

“Let me?” Cynthia shook her head. “Do not listen to her delusions. But, yes, it’s true. We’re…” Dating? In love? “…together. You may commence your droll commentary for two minutes exactly, and then we’re done.” She tapped her gold watch.

“Oh no,” Catherine protested. “I had to endure your nonsense about Lauren for a full two years. Equal time is demanded.”

Pursing her lips, Cynthia said nothing. It’d been a long shot.

“Argue later, you two,” Lauren cut in. “I need to catch up with Suze. Urgent details are required.” She hooked an arm through her best friend’s and dragged her off, calling over her shoulder, “Back soon.”

That left Cynthia alone with Catherine. She looked away. Then down. And finally, when the silence went on too long, met Catherine’s eyes. She didn’t see humor in them, just…understanding.

“This is hard for you,” Catherine said quietly. “I know.”

“It is.”

“What changed? I don’t mean dating Suzette. Sooner or later, you’d have met someone you deemed relationship-worthy. I mean bringing her here. As your date.”

“Perhaps I’m tired of being a coward.”

“Last time we talked about this—you being closeted—you said they’d target you in the newsroom. I’ve met that boys’ club. You’re not wrong.”

“Yes. Maybe I’ll get lucky and they’ll just mock me behind my back. Remember that sport reporter? Gemma Coleman? When she was outed, they called her License. Short for liquor license. As in, she got her ‘Lick. Her. License’. I imagine I’m due for some unsavory nickname, too.”

“Mmm.” Catherine regarded her. “Or you might decide to leave that toxic workplace. It might be good for your career to stay, but do you really think it’s worth it? The lies. The hiding. The stress. Finding a way to be free is worth more.”

“Speaking from experience?”

“Yes.” Catherine’s smile was encouraging. “Hiding, among other things, kept me in a foul mood for far too long. But I highly recommend the cure.” Her eyes warmed as they focused briefly on Lauren in the distance.

“What is it about those Iowan women, hmm?” Cynthia followed her gaze, landing on Suze, who was laughing with Lauren. “I can’t seem to quit mine either.”

“I wouldn’t bother trying. They’re loyal. And given Suzette is an ex-softball star, I imagine she’d be able to chase you down if you ever decided to do a runner.”

Laughing at that mental picture, Cynthia conceded, “You know I’d pull a muscle if I ran ten feet. I’m not built for athletics. I have all the strength of a toothpick.”

“Oh, I know. Remember when we were at the Globe together and the news editor asked you to move your desk four feet?” Catherine chuckled. “Because your tall head was blocking his view of the news monitor?”

“In my defense, that desk weighed a ton!”

“It did not. And you were supposed to shove it, not lift it.”

Cynthia remembered all too well. She’d dropped the hefty wooden desk on her foot. Then she’d somehow managed to drop it on the sports editor’s foot too, when he’d shot over to ‘help’, wrenching it off her without warning. He’d hopped away, yelping, and had never forgiven her for everyone laughing at him. Cynthia, meanwhile, who was somehow even more brittle than his ego, had broken two toes.

“I can’t help I’m delicate.” Cynthia smiled sweetly. “I’m like a woman with a parasol in a Monet painting.”

“Please, you’re as fierce as Whistler’s Mother.”

“Well, I’m about as tall. Have you ever noticed the legs on the woman? WNBA recruit, easy. Whistler got the proportions all wrong.”

Catherine’s amused expression turned sober. “I’m a little sad you never told me you were involved with someone. Did you think I wouldn’t approve? How can that be? Suzette’s lovely. Or were you afraid I’d take my pound of flesh in teasing you back?”

“Hardly. I can out-snark you any day of the week.” Cynthia lifted her chin.

“Debatable, but why, then?”

Cynthia inhaled, emotions roiling within her. This was difficult to talk about, but it was probably necessary. If not with Catherine, then who could she ever talk to about this?

“When I first met Suze,” Cynthia began, “I reminded myself, this isn’t me. I don’t need anyone. Ridiculous! But I got to know her and realized I wanted to see her again. Often. I started to make excuses to visit.”

She stopped. It was hard to remember a time of not wanting Suze. “I think about her all the time. She makes me laugh. She calls out all my BS. My withering insults just bounce off her. She’s somehow got natural immunity! She’s unexpected in every way.”

“So, you found you did need someone?”

“I admit it was a surprise.” Cynthia stopped. “And I didn’t tell you because I wasn’t entirely sure what to do about it.”

“And now you know? I’m rather curious about what changed?”

Vegas. Monique Carson and her probing, clever, inconvenient questions. Followed by weeks of self-reflection.

“I came to realize Suze matters to me and I didn’t want to lose her.” Cynthia rolled her eyes at herself. “I’m a little slow at joining the dots, but I’m not stupid. I started to fret that she might get tired of waiting for me to make it serious and go off and date someone else…” Someone better. “Someone who doesn’t hide her away like some dirty little secret. I felt sick at the thought.”

“It’s smart to realize that before it’s too late,” Catherine murmured.

“I may be a coward, but I’m also self-absorbed. At least enough to know what’s best for me,” Cynthia half joked. “Better to win her and get shit for it from the boys’ club than to lose her because of my…dithering. I do not dither, for God’s sake.”

“How will it work, though? You being in DC and her being in Iowa? I know you’d never move back there.”

“Never,” Cynthia said with vehemence. “But last month, Suze won an Airlines for America award for some improvement she came up with for a hydraulic system that all the big airlines are interested in. Only the second time the Nuts and Bolts Award’s ever gone to an aviation maintenance technician since the award began in 1967.”

“Good for her…but how does that help?”

“Everyone’s trying to poach her—phone’s ringing constantly with job offers. I told her she’d be a fool not to take the best one and go for it. I…” She paused. “I said I will move anywhere she chooses as long as it’s outside of Iowa.”

Catherine’s eyebrows shot up. “You did?”

“Yes. And she’s agreed. There are so many brilliant career options for her. She’s just deciding which offer she likes best. And the shortlist consists of all the places I could easily pick up decent TV producer jobs. A couple, maybe even an on-air slot again.”

Cynthia didn’t tell her the rest. That if Suze hadn’t wanted to leave Iowa, she had actually considered moving there. It had made her feel ill, even the thought. But she’d considered it. Cynthia might never have gone through with it, but that had been the exact moment she knew what she felt for her lover.

“I will be sorry to see you leave DC.” Catherine’s mouth drew down. “We’ve been friends so long. I enjoy our lunches.”

“Don’t bury the friendship yet, Cat. We’ll stay in touch, either way. But part of the reason Suze is here tonight is that some big defense and space manufacturing corporation flew her in for an interview. She’d be based only thirty minutes from DC. She nailed the job, by the way. They offered it to her on the spot earlier today.”

“Impressive.”

“She is.” A proud smile twitched at the edges of Cynthia’s lips. “She’s so good at what she does. And smart. Hell, smarter than me, if I’m being honest. But don’t ever tell her I said that.”

Astonishment flooded Catherine’s expression. “Who are you? You are being positively soppy. Not to mention modest!”

“I know, I know.” Cynthia folded her arms. “My fabulous jaded image is taking a battering.”

“Well, don’t take it to heart. I know the feeling,” Catherine said, her eyes flitting back over to her wife.

Cynthia turned to look too and snorted at the sight. Suze’s waving arms were telling most of the story she was regaling Lauren with.

“Price we pay for letting Iowans under our skin.” Catherine paused a dramatic beat. “I include you in that.”

“Don’t you dare!” Cynthia said with a pout. “To think I liked you.”

“You still do.” Amusement glinted in Catherine’s eyes. “After all, I’ve been putting up with all your snarky BS for years. I’ve always known your attitude is because you’re closeted and miserable. I’ll be most interested to see what you’re like when you don’t hate yourself so much.” She eyed her with a softness that showed she didn’t want to hurt her.

Ouch. But was she right? Had her misery made Cynthia the bitch she was? It wasn’t just her natural, charmingly cynical personality?

“Well, now,” Catherine went on, “shall we find out what our softballer loves have been talking about?”

Cynthia winced.

“What?” Catherine eyed her. “You don’t like me calling Suze your love? You feel that is…inaccurate?”

Cynthia’s cheeks warmed and she studied the carpet, unwilling to admit she was a grown-ass woman who didn’t know how to tell someone she loved them.

“Even though you’re prepared to move states to be with her? Even though you brought her as your date—which is a seismic shift out of the closet for you? People will notice. You know they will. Her being here is deliberate.”

“Yes, I know all that,” Cynthia said impatiently. “It’s not… Look, I haven’t told Suze she’s…” My love. “How I feel.”

“Really?” Surprise lit Catherine’s features. “Cynth, I’m sure she’s figured it out after the whole, ‘I’ll move states for you’ line.” Catherine’s eyes crinkled.

“I do plan to tell her soon.” If she ever figured out the words.

“Yes, you should. Stop being a chickenshit. She deserves to hear it. On the other topic…” Catherine angled her head to one side, indicating a photographer milling around, taking snaps of VIPs. “See Molly Huston there? She’s ‘family’. Give her the scoop on you and Suzette and it’ll be a gentler ride. I’ll even do the introductions if you’d like.”

Cynthia considered that. “No thanks. I think I’ll let the free-range rabble figure me out for themselves…or not. It’ll look less managed that way. I can’t stand managed stories.”

“You work in TV,” Catherine said, tone pointed.

“Well, hypocrisy is the bedrock of news.” Cynthia grinned. “You know that.”

Catherine shook her head. “Well, I tried. Entertainment reporters are the laziest creatures on earth. I should know; I had to endure being surrounded by them, thanks to my unmentionable past. They assume rather than ask. So, if you get written up as being spotted out and about with your assistant, don’t blame me.”

“As if that’ll happen.” She snorted. “Does Suze look like anyone’s assistant?”

“Hmm.” Catherine frowned.

“Anyway, I think I’ll mix, mingle, dutifully applaud the award winners, then go home and tell the impossible woman that I love her.”

“Sounds like an excellent plan.” Catherine’s smile was wide and genuine. “I’m really pleased for you. It’s not before time.”

* * *

SPOTTED: The White House Correspondents’ Dinner last night, attended by the President and First Lady, was hailed a great success.

Photo gallery. Page One.

Seen in the crowd were renowned Daily Sentinel political columnist Catherine Ayers and Cynthia Redwell, the former Your Finance Today host turned executive producer. Pictured (above) with the women are Ms. Ayers’ wife, Washington Post reporter Lauren King, and an unnamed assistant of Ms. Redwell.

* * *

“Assistant!” Cynthia threw down her phone, rolled over in bed and eyed Suze.

“Stop reading it if it makes you so mad,” she said with amusement. “Come and snuggle me. Let me assist you properly.”

“It’s just so galling.”

“Hey, I’m the one being called an assistant!” Suze prodded her in the ribs.

“I meant it’s galling that Cat was right. She’ll be even more insufferable than usual now.”

Suze laughed. “You should have kissed me in front of the cameras if you really wanted to be out.”

“They’d have called it sisterly then. Or…” She shuddered… “maternal.”

“You’re not that old,” Suze teased. “Come on, DC. Are we getting some action here or are you going to pout all evening over the fact you were too subtle for the mainstream media?”

“Pout first. Then action. Then fierce declarations of love.”

Suze and Cynthia both froze.

“Ah…” Cynthia said oh-so cleverly.

“Wha…?” Suze asked. “Did you just…um…?”

“Erm. Yes. See above. All right? Now can we move on to the fun, ‘action’ part of the evening?”

“You love me?” Suze beamed. “You lurrrrv me.”

Cynthia sighed. “I thought my actions of late were shouting my feelings loudly enough.”

“I had an inkling.” She offered her a quirky, crooked grin. “Oh, I tried to convince myself what we had together was fun but maybe not to get my hopes up that it’d be a long-term deal. But then Mom told me I had rocks in my head and you looked at me the way she did when she and Dad were first dating.”

“Oh God.” Cynthia’s innermost feelings were visible? To a near stranger? Her cheeks bloomed.

“Dad then said that I looked at you the same way, so I shouldn’t act so shocked.”

“I…see.” Cynthia felt dazed. “Well, on the topic of awkward admissions, I should also confess something else. I wasn’t being rude all those times I just appeared on your doorstop without notice. Truth is, I didn’t know I was even going to be in Iowa until I was there.”

“But didn’t you get sent for work and you’d visit whenever you were in the neighborhood?”

“Work never sent me to Iowa,” Cynthia said with a low growl. “Not once. They knew from years ago that I’d quit if they ever tried.”

Suze blinked at her.

“I’ve spent these past few months trying to resist the temptation to see you,” Cynthia continued. “I didn’t want to admit I needed to be with you again. I thought it was just a passing thing. But then I’d find myself in a cab to the airport. All the way there, I’d still tell myself I wasn’t actually going to get on the plane. I didn’t miss you that much. Not enough to go to Iowa. How could anyone have so big a hold over me? I would never be so weak. So obviously I wasn’t going to go through with it.”

“Really?” Suze eyed her in surprise.

Cynthia sighed. “And then, before I knew it, I’d be standing on your doorstep, about to knock, and I’d realize I’d just…done it again. Each time, I worried whether you’d be okay with it or that you might be with someone. Someone who’d be far better than me. But one thing I learnt in Vegas is that if I did nothing, changed nothing, sooner or later you would find that better someone. I didn’t want that. I had to admit how I felt to myself; then to you. Put my hat in the ring. Take a chance.”

“Oh, hell, DC,” Suze said. Her expression brought a stunned mullet to mind.

“You’re a powerful lure, Suzette. I should have realized on all those flights over how deep my feelings ran. But denial is one hell of a drug. So…” She bit her lip. “That’s the background. I thought you’d want to know.”

“Thank you.” Suze gave her a sheepish grin. “Well, I probably should tell you that I told the aeronautical engineering team interviewing me that I wanted to live near DC to be close to my special woman. I wouldn’t have done that if I didn’t love you.”

“You told them that?” Cynthia couldn’t imagine being so honest in her newsroom.

Suze shrugged. “Sure. If they want me, they need to know what they’re getting from the start. Turns out they didn’t care.”

Amazing.

“But for the record,” Suze went on, “I’d have taken the job even if I hadn’t met you. It’s a massive career boost. Do you know they do some of the support for Kennedy Space Center launches? Maybe one day I’ll be able to work on those! Can you imagine that?”

That was good to hear. She’d have hated Suze to relocate just for her, because what if they didn’t work out?

Wait, Kennedy Space Center? Did that mean Cynthia would have to move Florida one day?

Dear God. I must be in love.

“Cynthia, I’m not going to move to Florida,” Suze said with a huff of laughter, divining her panic. “There are remote support roles, too. So, circling back: you love me?” Her tone became flirtatious. “I need a full declaration before you get to touch my titties.”

“Must you extort your boobs?” Cynthia’s lips twitched. Her fingers suddenly burned to be doing exactly what her lover had suggested.

Suze chuckled. “You’ve always adored my boobs. Your eyes write sonnets about my impressive titties.”

Well. Cynthia could not deny it. She settled for arching a cocky eyebrow.

“Anyway, let’s hear it: a declaration for the ages.” She gazed at Cynthia in anticipation and amusement. “Please?”

The earnestness in her last word cracked through any teasing. Suze needed this.

Cynthia licked her lips. “Suzette Beringer, runner up at beer pong, stealer of my blanket, cause of my good moods and bad, I love you. With all my heart.”

“Now that’s better.” Suzette sighed happily, tugged the sheet down, baring a gorgeous pair of breasts. “For the record? You’re one hilarious bad bitch, DC. You keep me on my toes, are hot as hell—and you know it—and always make me feel special. As if I could resist all that powerful dark magic. I love you too.”

The stress of the evening seeped out of Cynthia, leaving her a puddle of delight and relief. She hadn’t been aware how afraid she’d been. Suzette loves me, too.

Cynthia rather enjoyed being called a bad bitch by Suze. As for hilarious? Usually, no one noticed. Honestly, why was it so many people took her acid tongue so seriously? Not Suze, though. Never Suze. Always the exception to every rule.

With a smile of satisfaction, Cynthia slid a wisp of hair out of her lover’s eyes. Then she said, “Hey? I promise to do better next time at ‘coming out’. I’ll make sure you don’t get mistaken for my assistant again. It’s a straight world. Assumptions are easily made if we don’t come right out and say it.”

Suze shrugged. “I don’t care. I’ve never cared what anyone else thinks. I care about you, though. If it’s important to you, we’ll do it. But, DC? I think we should focus on the coming bit right now instead of the coming out.” Her eyes sparkled with mischief.

“Ah.” Desire coursed through her, filling her veins, drying her mouth. “Good plan.” Cynthia leaned over and kissed her soundly. “Love you,” she murmured. “God help us all, Iowa, because I love you very much.”

And that, as it turned out, was how you told someone you loved them.

Other Books from Ylva Publishing

www.ylva-publishing.com

The Red Files

(On the Record series)

Lee Winter

ISBN: 978-3-95533-332-4

Length: 103,000 words (304 pages)

Ambitious Daily Sentinel journalist Lauren King is chaffing on LA’s vapid social circuit, reporting on glamorous A-list parties while sparring with her rival—the formidable, icy Catherine Ayers. Ayers is an ex-Washington political correspondent who suffered a humiliating fall from grace, and her acerbic, vicious tongue keeps everyone at bay. Everyone, that is, except knockabout Iowa girl King, who is undaunted, unimpressed and gives as good as she gets.

One night a curious story unfolds before their eyes: One political launch, 34 prostitutes and a palette of missing pink champagne.

Can the warring pair work together to unravel an incredible story? This is a lesbian fiction with more than a few mysterious twists.

Under Your Skin

(On the Record series)

Lee Winter

ISBN: 978-3-96324-028-7

Length: 111,000 words (332 pages)

What do a stolen food-delivery robot, a woman from the past, and a bizarre scheme to microchip military veterans have in common?

The infamous Caustic Queen, Washington DC bureau chief Catherine Ayers, would love to find out but she has a lot on her plate right now. She and her fiancée, reporter and Iowa girl Lauren King, are busy wedding planning in Lauren’s home town.

That means facing a lot of beefy mechanic brothers, a haughty cat, and a sharp-tongued Meemaw. Catherine’s sure she can play nice with everyone. Well, pretty sure. How hard can it be, anyway?

This twisty romance sequel to The Red Files is about the family we can’t choose, and the one that chooses us.

Hotel Queens

Lee Winter

ISBN: 978-3-96324-459-9

Length: 104,000 words (319 pages)

Ice meets fire in this opposites-attract lesbian romance, as layered, sassy, and smart as ist characters.

Over one long night at a bar in Las Vegas, two powerful hotel executives meet, flirt, and challenge each other—having no clue they’re rivals after the same dream deal.

Brilliant ice queen Amelia Duxton is a hotel vice president who thrives on control, truth, and efficiency. She’s in no mood for love or the mess it brings. All she wants is to buy the coveted Mayfair Palace—a massive deal that could finally help her land the CEO job in her family’s hotel empire.

Fiery Kai Fisher is charming and chaotic and renowned for closing ambitious deals. Her sights are set on snatching the Mayfair Palace out from under the nose of her hated arch rivals, the Duxton family.

But when secrets emerge and everything starts to fall apart, how can either of the warring women win—especially when they’ve just met their match?

House of Agnes

Fiona Zedde

ISBN: 978-3-96324-504-6

Length: 85,000 words (243 pages)

A lesbian romance filled with intrigue and sizzling sexual tension as enemies discover that the other side of hatred…is desire.

Agnes Noble is private, mysterious, and untouchable. She rules House of Agnes, the most exclusive escort agency on the East Coast, with a diamond fist. Crossing her is a mistake no one makes twice.

Investigative reporter Lola Osbourne is not afraid. She’s gunning for the House and its so-called queen. She’ll make sure no other innocent gets dragged into Agnes’s alluring web, to be used and discarded the way Lola’s sister was.

But her plan to get close to the elusive madam shatters the moment her eyes meet the Queen’s. One look and everything’s different. More complicated. Dangerous.

Now, Lola’s not just fighting to topple a queen from her throne, she’s also scrambling to escape their explosive collision with her suddenly vulnerable heart intact.

About Lee Winter

Lee Winter is an award-winning veteran newspaper journalist who has lived in almost every Australian state, covering courts, crime, news, features, and humour writing. Now a full-time author and part-time editor, Lee is also a 2015 and 2016 Lambda Literary Award finalist and has won several Golden Crown Literary Awards. She lives in Western Australia with her longtime girlfriend, where she spends much time ruminating on her garden, backyard critters, and shiny, new gadgets.

CONNECT WITH LEE

Website: www.leewinterauthor.com

When DC Loves Iowa

© 2025 by Lee Winter

ISBN (e-book): 978-3-69006-010-3

ISBN (pdf): 978-3-69006-011-1

Available in paperback and e-book formats.

Published by Ylva Publishing, legal entity of Ylva Verlag, e.Kfr.

Ylva Verlag, e.Kfr.

Owner: Astrid Ohletz

Am Kirschgarten 2

65830 Kriftel

Germany

www.ylva-publishing.com

First edition: 2025

We explicitly reserve the right to use our works for text and data mining as defined in § 44b of the German Copyright Act.

No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to locales, events, business establishments, or actual persons—living or dead—is entirely coincidental.

Depending on your device, the text might be displayed differently from the publisher’s approved version.

Credits

Edited by Sarah Ridding and Sheena Billet

Cover Design and Print Layout by Michelle Ryan

Image rights cover illustration provided by Shutterstock LLC; iStock; Dreamstime; Canva; AdobeStock

Graphics provided by Freepik