Strawberry Rivals — Hollis Shiloh

Strawberries. Rivalry. Flirting. Warm summer days and a large, orange cat.


Okay, so I almost backed into the guy. But it was mostly his fault, and I did try to apologize.

Mr. Tall, Dark, and Handsome is a real jerk. Or at least I thought so till he stopped to offer me a lift when I ran out of gas...


A contemporary sweet gay romance or m/m romance.

Length: 13,000+ words

Heat level: Low

Contains a short excerpt from Songs By Heart, a new novel by Hollis Shiloh.

EXCERPT:

He drove away as quickly as the little Ford would trundle along, glancing once or twice at the fuel gauge. He'd thought he didn't have to fill her up till at least tomorrow, but the needle wobbled dangerously low. I hope I was right.

Not having a job was difficult, and made even things like keeping a full tank of gas a luxury. The bad economy and being let go had forced Chris to finally give a try to some of the ventures he'd been longing to attempt. It could be intensely scary; he felt like his fingers were always mentally crossed. So far, he was ahead of the bills. Just. He hadn't lost the house or the truck, either. Life had certainly been easier when he had a steady paycheck.

Still, there was something exhilarating about living by his wits -- and his culinary skills, berry picking, and eBay sales. If only I don't run out of gas and get stuck by the --

Well, shit.

The Ford belched, coughed, and began to slow down. He let out a scream of frustration. "No, no, no! C'mon, baby, just a little farther! The berries will spoil in the sun!"

The Ford coasted to a halt, ignoring his cries of panic. He barely managed to get it to the side of the road before it stopped completely.

I am an idiot. Class one. Grade A.

Sighing, he climbed out, pulled a tarp over the strawberries, grabbed the gas can, and started walking down the long, lonely road.

Sweat trickled down inside his shirt, itching and tickling. Water, ice cream, spumoni, milk shakes… Waterrrrr…

He was concentrating so hard on thinking cool thoughts that he almost didn't hear the car coming up the road behind him. When its low purr finally caught his attention, he turned to look, squinting against the sun and shading his eyes.

Oh, hell no.

The asshole's car! Complete with Mr. Asshole, no doubt ready to laugh at him. Chris grimaced and wished he could disappear, right down to the center of the Earth.

Sure enough, the black car pulled to a stop in front of him. The dark-haired man leaned across, pushed open the passenger side door, and grinned. "Need a lift?"

Chris scowled down at that handsome face. Sweat trickled maddeningly where he couldn't scratch without looking like a boor. "Maybe I'd rather walk."

"Hey, suit yourself." The man shrugged and began to pull the door shut.

Chris looked around at the long, hot road. "Wait." He hurried towards the car.

"Put the gas can in the trunk," instructed the driver, as he popped the trunk.

Chris did, and then clambered in with undignified speed, afraid the man would change his mind and drive away laughing. The car was low-slung and snug, its interior filled with the cool breezes of air conditioning.

Chris hunched down in the leather seat, unable to look his rescuer in the eye. I called this guy an asshole. And he was. But he stopped for me and most people wouldn't have.

"Ran out of gas?" asked the guy, with a hint of laughter in his voice.

"No, I thought I'd go hiking and take a gas can along for kicks."

"I'll kick you out and make you walk the rest of the way," said his rescuer mildly, a smile lurking in his voice.