So. Like. Peeing on a stick of plastic wasn’t the most romantic date idea. Anita was sure this wasn’t the stuff of Nicholas Spark’s novels, sure. But there was a reason The Notebook made her want to projectile vomit. It wasn’t realistic love, didn’t speak to her on any other level that wasn’t a deep annoyance. She was sat on the floor in front of her bed, fiddling with her phone and looking at the door every couple of minutes, knowing Flo would be there at any moment. After letting a stream of her consciousness be published on social media, she threw her phone in a fit of boredom across the room, letting out a grunt at the same time as the thud of the phone hitting her dresser. The knock at her door came not a minute later, and an involuntary yelp left her lips as she scrambled onto her feet, “Wait. Wait!” She eyed herself in the mirror quickly, clad in only a button-down shirt (that was only buttoned halfway) she had stolen from Florian’s room while he slept, the fabric hit her knees, more like a dress than anything on her. Once she made sure she didn’t look disastrous, she turned on her heel, bare feet almost sprinting to the door. “What’s up, daddy?” Anita crooned, swinging the door open. @sighflorian