Post-Game Score

Izzy and Blonde stumble back to Izzy's place still riding the high of that fucking soccer game. Different teams but good buddies — none of it really serious. Izzy laughs, groaning how Blonde's squad handed her team their asses, even if it was tight. She's no sore loser, just literally sore — calves are burning from the pitch. Blonde steps up, offer to rub them out. Izzy's immediately on board. Blonde drops down and starts working the tight muscle, fingers pressing deep. A few long strokes and things shift. Breathing gets heavier. They inch closer without meaning to. Hands wander higher than any calf. By now it's clear this friendly rubdown just flipped the script — time for the bedroom score they've both been circling.