IR Day 20 - Part 2

The shower sounds like it’s a long way off.

You lie alone in the big bed on your back, arms behind your head and your feet crossed at the ankles. The bathroom door is open and the scent of Ingrid’s body wash in the steam mingles with the smell of her body from the sheets. You stare at the ceiling, wondering how you went from who you were just a couple of months ago to this. It’s mostly luck, but there’s something else. You spent a lot of your life afraid and without any confidence. Your time with camp and Ingrid and FUTA is a blur, but at some point, you mustered your courage and tried something. That makes all the difference.

You haven’t mentioned the contract or the future to her. She hasn’t brought it up either. You almost suspect that she would prefer not to. Your greatest fear is that you’re too much and that you’re keeping her from other things, but it might be the opposite. Ingrid doesn’t love the game the same way that you do. Being lovey-dovey with you and relaxing away from it all is what she really wants.

You glance at the bathroom door. She takes long showers.

On the bedside table, your phone buzzes. You don’t move.

The shower finally stops and the frozen moment ends. You sit up, feeling a touch of melancholy. You feel as though what you have right now is close to perfect, but nothing can stay the same forever. On the other hand, if the past few weeks have taught you anything it’s that not all change is bad. It’s hard not to be anxious, though. Michelle didn’t do you any favors yesterday hitting you with such a sense of urgency. Or maybe she did. You’d have stayed in denial forever otherwise.

The blow dryer comes on. You get out of bed and stretch with a groan. Even if your mind is busy with worries, the rest of you feels good. You’re also disgusting and need to bathe.

In the bathroom, you find Ingrid wrapped in a fluffy white towel, using the blow dryer. As always, she’s oblivious to how intensely seductive she is like this: skin damp and red from the hot water, the towel showing her legs, and plenty of soft, inviting cleavage. She smiles at you. You peck her cheek and step into the shower to get cleaned up. You don’t take nearly as long, and she’s still working on her hair when you step out, dripping.

She glances at you, but doesn’t stare. You towel off in a much more businesslike fashion until her short little sidelong glances become too much to ignore.

“What’s up?” you ask her.

She just smiles and shakes her head. It’s time to test your theory. The old you would’ve been too nervous to make a move.

“Want to just have some breakfast, then get out there and look around? No plan?” you ask.

There’s the shortest delay as she translates that and interprets it internally. Then she nods vigorously, looking pleased.

Yeah. She’d rather wander around Tampa with a girl she’s known for less than a month than think about FUTA. She’s not going to sign up for another season. No chance. You don’t even need to ask.