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    Strawberry Rivals
    Strawberry Rivals
    Strawberry Rivals
    Ebook64 pages1 hour

    Strawberry Rivals

    By Hollis Shiloh

    4.5/5

    ()

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    About this ebook

    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

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherSpare Words Press
    Release dateNov 3, 2016
    ISBN9781540161079
    Strawberry Rivals

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      Book preview

      Strawberry Rivals - Hollis Shiloh

      Table of Contents

      Strawberry Rivals

      Sign up to hear about my new releases:

      Strawberry Rivals

      Chapter two

      Chapter three

      Chapter four

      Chapter five

      Chapter six

      Chapter seven

      Chapter eight

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      Also By Hollis Shiloh

      Copyright 2013 Hollis Shiloh | Cover art by Spare Words Press | All rights reserved. Do not reproduce without written permission from the author. | All characters and events are fictitious, and any similarity to real people or events is coincidental.

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      (or write me at Hollis.shiloh@gmail.com)

      Strawberry Rivals

      by Hollis Shiloh

      Chris straightened, the sweet scent of strawberries rising from the field around him. Nearby, a bird sang listlessly and a faint breeze rustled the strawberry leaves.  It didn't cut the heat.  He braced a hand in the small of his back and grimaced at the ache there.

      Sweat slid down inside his shirt.  He pinched the damp fabric and tugged it away from his body, wafting air to his skin.  He caught his breath for a moment, then picked up his flat, aluminum picking basket with the cardboard tray of strawberries inside.  It was his tenth flat of the day loaded heavily with red, jewel-like berries.

      Slowly, he walked to the small stand.  Strawberries: Pick Your Own, proclaimed the sign at the little wooden stand at the side of the field.  The sun beat down heavily, and even the two ladies in the stand's shade looked tired, hot, and jaded.  Chris dredged up a smile for them as he hefted the basket up.  The one lady returned his smile, the other didn't look up from flicking through her fashion magazine and gently waving her shiny purple nails.  Chris could smell the fresh polish from here.

      The tired-looking lady totted up the bill with a calculator and told him the price.  Chris pulled out a battered wallet from his back pocket and counted out his money.  The wallet was nearly empty.  He waited for the fifty cents change, a slimy trail of sweat seeping down his spine.

      Air conditioning, ice cream, cold coffee.  Chris thought of cold things and fanned his heated face with his leather wallet. Thank you.  He accepted the coins (even these were warm), and shoved them in his pocket before heading towards his pickup with the berries. 

      The sweet smell of strawberries surrounded him.  Cars shushed quietly by on the nearby road.  A bird sang in the distance, accompanied by the drone of insects.

      In the back of the aging white Ford, he settled the last tray and stood back, surveying the truck full of berries.  Exhaustion nudged at him, but a smile overtook his face.

      Now to get the berries home quickly, have a glass of lemonade, and start sorting.  Some he would put in small containers and sell tomorrow at the local farmer's market.  Others he'd make into strawberry jam. 

      He climbed into the pickup and slammed the door.  It didn't catch, so he slammed it again, then nudged it. This time, it stayed shut.  Chris took a deep breath, glanced at the rearview mirror, and pulled out. 

      A car horn honked.  Hey!  Watch it, buddy!

      Chris hit the brakes, which squealed loudly, and whipped around in his seat.  Outside, a man driving a low-slung black sports car glared at him.  He had a deep tan and wavy, dark hair that seemed to gleam with good health.  Frankly, even at a glance he looked tall, dark, and handsome, with muscles clearly visible through his damp, clinging t-shirt.  And he was glaring at Chris from the driver's seat.  You almost hit me!  Be more careful!

      Sorry.  I didn't see you, said Chris. I just checked the mirror.  Did he sneak up that quickly?

      The tanned man's sports car was an older model, shiny and aggressively styled.  It pulled up next to Chris's truck.  Parking stretched along the grassy section beside the narrow, gravel lane running through the strawberry field.  The ladies from the stand were watching now, and Chris felt his already-hot face

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