“She’s my stepbrother’s kid. A stepbrother from my mom’s last marriage. Not technically my niece,” I found myself explaining anyway.
“Well,” she huffed. “If you ever need to escape the brat, just come on over here. I’ll help you relax.”
She said it like Arabella was a ten-year-old girl with pigtails in need of a babysitter. I almost snorted at the thought but shoved it down.
“Yeah. I’ll let you know.”
I quickly got off the phone and rubbed a hand down my face, my mind wandering back to Arabella. Part of me wanted to laugh at Tessa’s accurate description of Arabella. Harry said her trip to Europe helped Arabella grow up. Sort of.
But that wasn’t the biggest problem. No. The bigger problem was that Arabella looked nothing like a little bratty girl. I’d pulled up her Instagram and, after realizing I’d been scrolling for ten minutes, I’d shut it down faster than a kid being walked in on jerking off.
Only ten minutes, and I’d kind of lost myself a bit. I’d lost myself in admiring how bold she looked—free…sexy.
Long gone was the snotty teen with braces who’d refused to acknowledge I existed at Thanksgiving. Even further from the girl I remembered when I’d visit between trips abroad.
For those ten minutes, nothing else existed except the girl in Instagram worthy pics all over Europe. She rarely smiled and wore her attitude—or brattiness as Harry explained—hooked on the corner of her mouth that tipped up in a smirk in almost every picture.
The doorbell pulled me from that rabbit hole, and I jumped up from the couch, jerking my head side to side to make sure nothing was out of place. I didn’t know what I was looking for, but I rarely had company, and for the first time, I looked at my house from the perspective of an almost twenty-year-old.
Not finding anything too damning, I went to open the door.
On the other side, I found the same girl who entranced me with each photo, her eyes—and half her face—covered by a pair of aviator glasses. The reddish tint in her hair caught in the sunlight, making her almost look like a true redhead instead of the lighter brunette I remembered.
Her eyebrows peeked up above the rim of her glasses, and she looked me up and down. I stood taller as if under inspection and, with a lot more subtlety than her, did the same.
Her high-top chucks were only laced up halfway, leaving the top to flare out over her thin ankles. All her hiking pictures weren’t just for show. I could see her defined legs encased in tight black leggings, and it made me wonder how her thighs would flex around a man’s waist. As if that wasn’t bad enough, the top of her leggings stopped just below her belly button, leaving a slim line of her stomach exposed under a plain, white, crop top T-shirt. It was like she found a baggy, little boy’s undershirt. However, it wasn’t baggy enough to hide the fact that she wasn’t wearing a bra, her pert nipples poking against the fabric.
I almost got caught up on the sight, but quickly jerked my gaze away with a sharp reprimand.
Niece. Niece. Niece.
Not really your niece.
Fine. Harry’s daughter.
A man you respect. His daughter.
Thankfully, she was still taking her time looking me over, completely unrepentant.
I almost laughed.
“You look different.”
My head tipped, thrown by those being the first words she said. “Umm…hi. And thank you. I think?” I stepped aside and grabbed one of the bags sitting next to her on the pavement.
That smirk I saw in so many pics made an appearance as she rolled her suitcase through the door.
“Wait. What does that mean?” I asked, closing the door.
She turned and shoved her glasses to the top of her head, exposing light brown eyes, thankfully not like Harry’s, and shrugged. “Last time I saw you, you were all buttoned up and clean-shaven.”
Rubbing my hand across the thick scruff covering my jaw, I couldn’t help but still wonder if she was insulting me. I grew my beard out over the summer and kept going back and forth over shaving before school. I opened my mouth to ask her opinion but quickly shoved the question down. “I always try to look my best when I see your dad.”
I wasn’t very close with Harry, but he was the closest I had to family—the only family I had left. We were very different, but it hadn’t stopped us from getting along when our parents were married. He’d been the normal and relaxed in a chaotic time and had been nice enough to include an eleven-year-old boy while he was a senior in high school.
I respected him and the life he created. He had a good wife and a good job. When he’d called letting me know Arabella was coming here for school, I offered up whatever he’d needed. He’d done the same for me once, and it felt good to finally repay him.
“Cool,” she answered simply.
Rather than push the subject, I nodded with a tight smile. “I’ll show you your room.”
I grabbed her rolling suitcase and led her up the flight of stairs, each one creaking under my weight while barely making a noise for her.
“The dresser and closet are empty. The bathroom is the next door over and yours to use however you like. I have one in my bedroom, and the guest one is downstairs.”
“Entertain a lot?” she muttered, looking out the floor to ceiling windows.
“No. I don’t have many guests. I just wanted to let you know you could leave your stuff out on the counter.”
She turned, her lips in a tight smile. “Cool.”
I fought to keep from reprimanding her. I remembered being an arrogant shit too. Hell, some still thought I was—specifically, Tessa.
“There’s also a pool out back. It rarely gets used, but someone comes to take care of it. Feel free to use it as you want.”
Another tight smile accompanied by a nod.
“So, yeah. Go ahead and get settled, and then we can grab dinner in a couple hours. There’s a bar down the street.”
“Uhhh, I’m only nineteen,” she informed like she thought I was dumb.
I was aware.
“It’s more like a pub. Doesn’t become a bar until later. You’ll be fine.”
“Cool.”
My irritation at the word bled through, and I stood in the doorway, my brow slowly rising as a reprimand as if waiting for more. She plopped on the bed, almost dragging my attention back to her shirt and the way her small tits bounced from the motion, but I held strong.
Finally, she caved and shrugged, running her hands down her thighs. “Thank you. I’ll be ready around six?”
“Six is good,” I said, barely holding back my victorious smile. “If you need me, I’ll be in my office. It’s the third door down. My room is at the end of the hall.”
With that, I turned, closing the door behind me, heading back to my office, smile firmly in place.
By the time six rolled around, I made sure I was downstairs in the living room waiting for her. She’d stayed in her room for the most part, although I heard her leave occasionally and rummage in the bathroom.
She’d changed her clothes to black jeans and a tank-top tucked in, thankfully with a bra.
Jesus, I felt like an old pervert.
“Ready?”
“Yup.”
“Are you okay with walking?” I asked, looking at her chunky, heeled boots.