“Does The Butch Come With The Recipe?” is already available for readers to purchase .
When a softball team votes to publish a butch cook book as their next fundraiser, the team’s captain, Cyndy Kaplan, gets more recipes than she knows what to do with. Particularly from the team’s sweetheart, a luscious femme named Tristan Rizzo. How is Cyndy supposed to ignore her hunger when Tristan is waving delectable treats in front of her face all the time? Is Cyndy tough enough to resist Tristan’s charms? Find out in “Does the Butch Come With the Recipe?” and see for yourself.
Summer league softball. Tristan Rizzo in hot pants up to her butt cheeks. Lots of beer, pizza, and one game away from the play-offs. What more could a dyke want?
Once upon a time that was all Cyndy Kaplan wanted, but something had changed, and she’d be damned if she knew what. Restless, she shifted from side to side, poised on the mound eager to throw her next pitch.
A low rumbling among the teammates signified their devotion and respect for their fearless leader. From the time she could walk, Cyndy stood out in a crowd. She was one kickass, take-charge Aries and nothing was beyond her reach. If she had a tender side, one would have to dig deep through forty years of layers to find it. When Tristan ordered food during practice, she allowed the unbidden break against her better judgment. The team gathered on a nearby picnic bench. Not one for wasting time, it was a perfect opportunity to strategize.
“Listen up!” She waited until she had every set of eyes cast her way. With a perfectly proportioned figure, athletic limbs, and a strong handsome face, she was short of stature, but taller than average in personality. She could command a room the size of Giants Stadium. “We’ll need some serious funds if we’re going to take the whole team to Fort Lauderdale for the playoffs. Any ideas, ladies?”
“How about we put together a cookbook?” Tristan’s wide grin exposed even, white teeth and her green eyes shimmered when a flash of light illuminated her face. Cyndy didn’t know many women with smoother skin and naturally thicker eyelashes who didn’t use a tube of face paint.
The others laughed out loud, which strangely irritated Cyndy. She patted the air with her palms until everyone settled down, but couldn’t help teasing Tristan. “Right! And Who’s going to buy our cookbooks? The PTA?” Cyndy laughed along briefly, and then asked for yays or nays.
A low-flying jet overhead couldn’t drown out the unanimous vote that decided the next fundraiser. Cyndy’s team was putting together a cookbook. A butch cookbook.