I guess I was expecting the same girl, maybe with a more free personality.
No, this girl was wearing a tight black tank top that showed way too much midriff, and shorts that had no business hugging her the way they did.
Not that I was trying to look at her like that, but it was hard not to.
This morning, I found a black lunchbox with a note on it saying it was for me.When I opened it, I found what I assumed to be my lunch. Leftover meat with rice and a few extra toppings, plus a tortilla.
Her fajitas were actually pretty good; I’d be stupid not to take the lunch, so I took it with me to work.
She’s not a little girl anymore, that much is clear. I’ve never looked twice at her when she was growing up; she was just quietlittle Sloane.Said four words at a timemax, and always made herself as small as possible.
Well, I looked twice yesterday. I shouldn’t have; it’s wrong, she’s basically a kid. But for a brief moment, I let my eyes wander.A momentary lapse in judgment brought on by my surprise at seeing her different after so long. It won’t happen again.
I’m broken from my thoughts when my phone rings, Briar’s name flashing across my screen.
“Yeah?” I ask, holding the phone up to my ear.
He begins talking, and I zone out for a moment, thinking about why he hasn’t asked about Sloane. It’s weird that he wouldn’t even bring her up, considering he asked me to help. His voice fills my head after a few moments, and I remember that we’re on the phone.
“Yeah, and Chanel thinks she needs a new car.Women,” Briar rambles on, and it reminds me of the car sitting in my driveway.
“About that, did you buy Sloane a new car?” I ask.
“No,” he replies, and I tilt my head curiously.
“That’s funny, cause she showed up to my house yesterday afternoon in anewFord Bronco with American Forces and custom pin striping,” I say, leaning back in my seat. My arms cross over my chest as I hold the phone up to my ear.
It isn’t often I get to take Briar by surprise, but I’m not going to take this moment for granted. Call it asiblingrivalry, if you must.
“You don’t think Monica bought it for her, do you?” he asks. For a moment, I think he’s joking, then I realize he’s serious.
“Yeah, I highly doubt that,” I say, I can almost hear the wheels spinning in his head.
“Maybe she’s got a sugar daddy or something. She’s grown up a lot the last few years; maybe she’s caught the attention of somerich bachelor, and all she has to do is put out for him,” he says casually, like we’re talking about some random acquaintance and not his daughter, whom he still hasn’t asked about.
“Maybe,” I say stiffly. The last thing I need is to be thinking about stuff like that.
We see crimes related to social media all the time. I don’t want to be thinking that in order for her to be making money and being Miss Independent, she is going out late at night to meet creepy old dudes who give her money for herservices.
If that is the case, however, I might have to retract my initialno curfewrule. Because no way in hell am I going to be aiding that.
There’s a long pause of silence on his end before he talks again.“Well, I don’t know. I’m sure that’s what it is.”
His comment irritates me. This whole conversation has put me in a sour mood, because not only did he ask me to take care of his kid, he hasn’t even asked about her, and now he’s suggesting what…that she’s some kind of whore? Like, she isn’t fully capable of getting a job and making money like the rest of us, which I’m pretty sure is exactly what she’s doing?At least she has money, since I have no idea where the car would have come from otherwise.
It makes me pause for a moment, thinking about how defensive she got when I asked her about her job. Now I kind of feel bad for blowing it off like it was nothing.
“Good luck with her, I can’t imagine how high-maintenance she is if she has all this money suddenly.”
“I think I can handle her, thanks for your concern though,” I say, and I hear a laugh on the other side of the phone.
“Yeah, well, you’ve never lived with a teenage girl before. Besides, you’ve been a bachelor for the last four years,” he prods. I can hear the amusement in his tone.
I clench my jaw, tapping my fingers absentmindedly on my desk. I smirk to myself as I say the first thing that comes to mind.
“You did it. How hard could it be?”
He growls on into the phone. Like he’s some kind of fucking gorilla. It makes me smile, just a little.
