A Christmas Futa Ch 2

Riley’s hair is still wet from her shower as she stands in the kitchen, considering the note that Ingrid has left her. She absently adjusts her towel and seriously considers crying. She knew that Ingrid had stuff she wanted to do today, but she figured they’d at least have breakfast together. It’s Christmas Eve.

Riley looks around at the empty rental house, which is so dumb. It’s got three bedrooms. A big basement. A fireplace. They could’ve just stayed with Riley’s Mom, who has two spare rooms at this point, which is one more than they even need. But Ingrid booked this place without even talking to Riley first. Mom and Ingrid aren’t close or anything, but Riley has never had any reason to think they don’t like each other. Maybe it’s Kayla that Ingrid wants to avoid. That’s understandable.

Something’s still weird, but Riley’s got her own schedule to keep.

Dry and dressed in one of the half-dozen thick, sort of Nordic-looking sweaters that Ingrid has given her as gifts, she ventures out. The sweater is overkill for Florida in December, but they get some use during the winter when Riley and Ingrid are home. Riley isn’t exactly upset with her career trajectory of being known for her ass with FUTA to being known for ass with the Washington Spirit, and also their leading scorer… but it is sort of funny that there’s nowhere she can go in the continental US that gets her farther from Florida. She’s sorry about missing Sweden this year, but a part of this wishes that she and Ingrid could’ve spent this Christmas in their own house. The AirBnB just isn’t the same.

Gurlberg, Florida is a small college town in a swamp. There’s only one bakery, and Riley’s been going there for her whole life.

“Look, I know,” the girl behind the counter says patiently. “I get it. It’s not the first time this has happened. I’m sorry.”

“She said it was cool.” Riley is ****.

“And on a normal day, it would be, but it’s Christmas Eve and Tom has Covid. This isn’t something we can handle right now.”

“My wife is Swedish. She can’t see her family this Christmas. We need some damn gingerbread,” Riley insists.

“We have gingerbread. It’s pretty authentic.”

“But is it Swedish?”

“Not… especially.”

“I’m gonna cry.”

“It’s OK to cry,” the girl says. “Didn’t you used to be that soccer player?”

Riley is a professional soccer player. But a lot more people pay attention to FUTA’s sexy antics than plain old women’s soccer. And nobody in Florida cares about Washington Spirit.

She sniffles.

“OK. OK, look.” The girl sighs and picks up the iPad. “I see the pics you sent. How about we dress up some of our gingerbread and at least make it look legit? That, we can do while you wait.”

“I guess.”

“OK, just sit down. Let me talk to Ron.” The girl vanishes into the back.

Riley sits morosely by the window and peers outside. It’s overcast now. She composes a quick text to Ingrid.

LOVE YOU

Send. She waits. Seconds pass. Riley sighs.