False Dendrite Quest 177

>writing

"I think that maybe you ought to hold off on that last one until after the food's done," I say.
"What, is she a bad cook?" he asks.
"I don't think so?" I shrug. "but I haven't really had anything substantial cooked by her before so this'll be the first time."
"Hm," he nods.
"But for the rest, I guess I do have it pretty great," I say, smiling faintly. "Charlotte's super nice and she's always going out of her way for me... the only thing I'd change is how she gets jealous."
"Oh?" my father lowers his sunglasses. "How jealous are we talking here? Because that can be a real red flag, you know."

Why the hell did I say that.


>[1/?]

>[2/2]

"She just gets snippy with Irene sometimes," I say, forcing a smile. "And gets extra clingy when she's insecure about stuff, that's all."
"Hm."
"She's not beating me up or yelling at me if that's what you're thinking," I blurt out. "I have better judgement than Allison, you know."
"I sure as hell hope so," he grumbles.

Just as it looks like he's about to say something else, the bathroom door behind me clicks open and a wave of steamy air pours out into the hallway where we're standing. Once I've wiped my glasses clean of the annoying film of condensation that collected as a result of that, I turn back just in time to see Irene peeking her head out of the bathroom doorway.

"Good morning," Irene says, as cheerful as ever. "And welcome back, I guess?"
"Umm, yeah," I gulp.

With her long hair wrapped up in a towel, Irene holds it in place with one hand while waving at us with the other. Fortunately, she's fully dressed otherwise... but the few locks of hair that are peeking through are dripping a trail of water along her neck and down her ample chest...

"Now I get why Charlotte's so jealous," Daddy says, slapping his heavy hand down onto my shoulder. "You've got wandering eyes."


>how do I respond?

>>how do I respond?
I’m a teenager. I cannot help it!

Seconding

>>how do I respond?
Is that bad?

"All my dresses have pockets and that's where my hands stay."

>writing

"I'm a teenager," I mutter under my breath. "I can't help it."
"Psh, your age has nothing to do with it," Daddy laughs. "You think I don't like looking at boobs too?"
"Oh God," I groan.
"The trick is to not be so obvious about it," he says. "It's the difference between admiring a pleasant sight and outright ogling someone."
"Please stop."
"What, this is important information for you to have," he says, pulling me close. "It could save you a LOT of grief in the future."
"Ugh, whatever."


>[1/?]

>[2/2]

"Umm, what are you two talking about?" Irene asks, finally stepping all the way out of the bathroom.
"Just a little bit of fatherly advice that I never thought I'd get to give," he laughs.
"Oh," she nods. "Well the bathroom's finally free if you wanted to use it... sorry for taking so long in there."
"It's not like I could let you just stay looking like that," he replies. "Don't worry about it."

My father finally lets go of me and steps back into his bedroom.

"Now that the bathroom's free, I can finally take a shower," he sighs. "I'll see you in a little bit, okay?"
"Umm, sure," I mumble.
"And don't forget what I told you," he winks.


>time to bug the irene
>imma just go downstairs now
>imma do something else now