Good girl. Could he ever not be a condescending arse? Florence was pretty sure Freddie had a filter in his mind. What Freddie did and what Freddie thought it was okay for him to do were clearly the same, even though the rest of the world wouldn't buy it. She'd put up with it because she loved him. She was foolish and young and that's just how it was. And for a while, she'd honestly felt she had no other choice. Sure, at times, she'd come right out and told him when he was going too far. But his ego never allowed him to believe that. And she simply took it.
She didn't have to deal with it now and she could flat out tell him he was being an idiot. And he'd probably ignore her and say she was wrong and turn it on her just as he always did. So why, exactly, was she headed to the first floor of the apartment complex to meet him? Because he was the only thing familiar in this crazy place? Because meeting someone with a face identical to his had thrown her off completely? Because they owed each other that much?
All of the above?
Florence had taken great care with her appearance that day. She was rather enjoying not having to dress the part of Freddie's second or anyone's girlfriend, for that matter. Still, she had taste, thanks. A nice pair of denims, a soft but plain red t-shirt, and red heels to match. Because she really hoped she wouldn't be making another lap of Lawrence in them this time. She'd told Freddie it would be a few and frankly, she felt no guilt at making him wait. He was, after all, the male version of a prima donna when he wanted to be. It wasn't as if she'd never had to wait for him, after all. She did, however, anxiously chew at her pinky nail as she glanced around the lobby looking for him.
He wasn't hard to spot. Even years ahead of his time, Freddie stood out. And a tiny part of her was a teenager again, playing against an American and trying to decide whether she was attracted to him or whether she loathed him. Or both.