When DC Loved Iowa E-Book

Lee Winter

• Herausgeber: Ylva Publishing
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 154

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2025

Beschreibung

What happens after the morning after? Polar opposites fall in love in this low-angst, ice queen lesbian romance about a DC finance journalist and a cheeky butch flight mechanic. Cynthia Redwell can't believe she bedded some ex-softballer/mechanic at her best friend's Iowa wedding. Worse, the woman has a smart mouth, a cute grin, and a baffling immunity to her fabulously biting barbs. Suzette Beringer wakes up beside closeted, bitchy, beautiful Cynthia and instantly knows she's trouble. She should definitely steer clear. So how come they keep reconnecting…to the point she's just invited Cynthia to meet her parents? And why on earth did Cynthia say yes? The funny short story from Lee Winter's Red Files universe has now been expanded into a novella.

Leseprobe

Table of Contents

Other Books by Lee Winter

Acknowledgments

Chapter 1: When DC Met Iowa

Chapter 2: When Iowa Met DC

Chapter 3: When Vegas Met DC

Chapter 4: When DC Confused the Hell Out of Iowa

Chapter 5: When Iowa Got DC

Chapter 6: When DC Loved Iowa

Other Books from Ylva Publishing

About Lee Winter

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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 wonderfulenthusiasm 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.