Queen vs. Queen: She Meets Her Match by Barbara Winkes & Alysia D. Evans & Anne Hagan

Author:Barbara Winkes & Alysia D. Evans & Anne Hagan [Winkes, Barbara & Evans, Alysia D. & Hagan, Anne]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Age Gap, Anthologies, Butch/Femme, Enemies to Lovers, Forced Proximity, Ice Queen, Lesbian, Lesbian Romance, Medical, Military, Multi-Racial, Novellas, Rich Girl/Poor Girl, Sports
Amazon: B0BXN7GDHQ
Goodreads: 123238076
Publisher: Jug Run Press
Published: 2023-03-06T23:00:00+00:00

I was late arriving at the Yellow Fever. Polly was sitting at a twin table drinking a black coffee, her fingers strumming her thigh. When she saw me, she glanced at the Rolex embracing her wrist.

“Well done, only twenty minutes late,” she said, pulling a small bunch of flowers from beneath the table. “I wanted to say sorry for dragging you on a camping trip you totally hated.”

Surprised, I took the flowers and sat in a chair, guilt from the blog I’d recently published pressing down on my shoulders. “Thanks.”

A server brought me a cappuccino, the foam topping dusted with two chocolate hearts.

“Do you want a Danish or croissant?” Polly asked, as the server hovered awaiting my reply.

“Apple Danish would be lovely,” I said, admiring the glint of cleavage appearing from Polly’s pressed white shirt. Fitted denim jeans dressed her legs, torn in all the right places, and black biker boots covered her feet. A distressed, black leather jacket hung on the rear of her seat. She was so hot; a shimmer of sweat glistened on my neck.

Polly studied my multicolored striped dress and sipped her coffee. “You have an elegant taste in clothes.”

“So have you.” I circled my hand around her body. “I prefer this look to your pinstripes, though the plaid hiker look was quite fetching.”

“My mother tries to make me look more girly, but the clothes she keeps providing don’t suit me.”

“Do you have a matching motorbike?” I joked, savoring the sweet pastry.

“Yes, a red Yamaha Tracer. I would have ridden here; but I can only ride around the grounds of the house. You know, because of the fit.”

I drank my cappuccino and swallowed the last of my food; the wind blown out of my sails by Polly’s honesty.

Polly was watching, intrigue on her face. “You like your food,” she said, tipping her head to one side.

“I didn’t have time for breakfast.” I bit my bottom lip, hating having to lie. The loaf of bread in my cupboard had gone moldy, and the fridge was empty. Which in foresight was fortunate since I still had no electric.

“Oh,” she said. “Do you want me to get you something else to eat?”

I shook my head. “No, we can get a bacon roll at the market.”

“Market? I thought we were going to the shopping plaza.”

“No, that’s boring. My date is a journey to the flea market.”

“A what?”

“It’s a market where people sell a myriad of things: antiques, bric-à-brac, old clothes, collectables.”

“You mean trash.”

“It may be rubbish to you, but to other people, it’s treasure. This way.” I led Polly out of the café to a nearby bus stop. The computerized display told us a bus would be along in five minutes.

“You’re taking me on a bus?”

“Do you have a problem with buses?”

Polly shrugged. “No, I pay my taxes to support facilities, so I suppose there’s no harm in experiencing public transport.”

“I don’t suppose you have a travel pass,” I said, waving mine at her. “So, you’ll need a couple of dollars to pay for your ticket?”

“I only carry credit cards.

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