Whole Lotte Trouble Ch 2

Anika’s off to her party.

Riley follows Lotte upstairs uneasily. It’s remarkable how much common ground the two of them have found in their years of marriage, given how profoundly different they are. Risk aversion is one thing that they’ve never managed to get on the same page about.

“You really think we can pass for young party people?” Riley asks nervously. “Is that even the right question? Is it OK to stalk our daughter?”

Lotte casts a look over her shoulder and puts a little extra sashay into her hips, but for once Riley’s not paying attention to Lotte’s ass. Which is impressive; Lotte’s in leggings.

The look communicates Lotte’s position better than words could. And she has a point. Lotte and Riley are models, after all. Being a leggy blonde meant that Lotte had always been on that path, and it wasn’t hard for Riley to tag along after she hurt her knee playing for FUTA. The fact that a certain part of her body had also become an integral part of FUTA iconography hadn’t hurt with her little career change.

“And when she sees us there? What then?” Riley asks. Lotte hasn’t thought this through. She never thinks anything through.

“Disguise,” Lotte replies, as though that’s a reasonable thing to say.

Riley takes that in, blowing out her breath through her lips. In their marriage, she has come to accept certain categories of things as “Lotte Things” and the reality of Lotte doing Lotte Things. Sometimes Lotte is perfectly normal for days at a time. Then Riley comes home and finds their shared study reeking of weed and her wife sprawled out naked, snoring, with a VR headset on her face and her hand still between her legs. Lotte’s weirdness is mostly confined to the between the sheets, but not entirely.

“Disguise,” Riley echoes as they go into the bedroom.

Lotte goes to the dresser and takes out a pack of N95 masks. They’re both used to wearing them for Covid-safe photoshoots.

Riley grins and slaps her fist into her open palm.

“As protestors.”

Lotte holds up a finger and gives her a stern look. “Beautiful protestors,” she corrects.

“Right.”

They head into their huge closet. Riley sheds her loungewear and grabs jeans, but Lotte stops her.

“No. No, no.” Lotte pushes leggings into her hands.

“It’s cold,” Riley protests.

Lotte gives her a sharp slap on the ass, then touches the tip of Riley’s nose with her finger. Riley rolls her eyes and puts on the leggings, then a tank and hoodie layered under a jean jacket. Lotte, meanwhile, wears no top at all. Just a coat with a dramatic furry collar over a lacy, black bra. It’s very her.

“Very protesty,” Riley notes dryly.

Lotte just smirks and finishes transferring things from her purse to a little backpack, which she puts on, then blows Riley a kiss.

“Are you stalling?” the blonde asks playfully.

“No. Why wouldn’t I want to stalk my daughter on New Year’s Eve? Super healthy.”

Lotte makes a gun with her fingers and points it at Riley, then clicks her tongue. Riley sighs and follows her down the stairs.

“Can’t believe she’s really about to graduate and go to college. Happy New Year. Damn,” she mutters as they leave the brownstone.