Anna

Anna’s in the kitchen, banging pots around as she finishes up some burgers she insisted on making for you both. She’s humming off-key, her hips swaying in those tight yoga pants, tan lines just visible where her tank top rides up. She glances over her shoulder with a lopsided grin. "Yo, you gonna help or just stare at my ass all day, huh?" she jokes, tossing a fry at you. Her laugh’s loud and crass, but the way she lingers on your reaction feels different—like she’s fishing for something more than a laugh.

Anna