Uncle is Plus One (closed for seraph_nocturne)

Sitting in his home office he idly watched out the 20th story window at the park across the street. Life was good right now. Business was rolling along, he lived more than comfortably, and aside from his recent break-up there really hadn't been any hiccups along the road in awhile.

It was then his phone went off with a few bars from Aerosmiths Crazy. Only his oldest niece had that text notification. Checking the text he was not surprised by the topic or the tone.

The bitch is crazy! I can't take it!!!

While true you shouldn't call your mother that. Such appelations are reserved for her siblings, coworkers, and random stranger in the supermarket.

I wasn't talking about that crazy bitch I meant the other one.

Oh well she is your sister call her what you want. Were you just texting to cast aspersions or was there a point beyond?

That nagging, micromanaging, shithouse rat crazy nutjob is demanding to know who my plus one is. I don't have one and she knows it and she is just making a point.

Go adopt a puppy and bring it with. I do not envy your plight. Though being invited just so I could say I was busy would have been fun.

*evil smiley* THAT'S IT! You are my plus one! Your are more destructive than a puppy, generally more house broken, and your being there is scandal unto itself.

No... oh dear god no.

PLEASE?!?!?!?!

Please no?

You have too. You can't make me go through this alone.

I really don't have a choice here do I?

Nope. If I am going to suffer then we can suffer together.

Looking at his phone and knowing he could fight her but in the end he would never say no all he could do was mutter, "Fuck."

"What the fuck are you doin'?"

"Working" he tried to get in as she just kept up her rapid fire stream of questions.

"Are you home?"

"Yes... but I am working."

"Are you dressed?"

"Yes... but I am working!" Looking down at himself he was in grey shorts and a light blue polo shirt but bare feet. Not dressed for any kind of formal outing but not inexcusable for stepping out, or sitting in his home office working.

"Tell your door guy to let me in... you're coming shopping with me..."

"No, I am not. I am working!" He again felt like he was talking to himself with the way Tiare was just running over any response he gave. To be fair it was a tactic he used himself and had for that matter taught her years ago. That was cold comfort as he faced the current juggernaut of his niece's demands.

"Hey, I'm down in the lobby..." and the line went dead.

Damnit. Knowing that she was down in the lobby and unlikely to just give up he had two choices, go down there or make her come up here. After the way she had bulldozed him on going to the wedding and was now trying to disrupt his day he decided to be obstinant, showing her she did not have a corner on that trait in the family, and make her come up.

Calling down to the lobby he told the doorman to send her up. He had no need to describe her. As frequent a visitor as she was and attractive as she was she had become a favorite of the male lobby staff. Once he was off the phone he went by the front door to unlock it before heading to the kitchen for two bottles of water. A moment later he heard the door open and called from the kitchen, "In here you little terror!"

Taking the impact of her body being flung against him he managed to stay on his feet and swing her toward one of the counters all without getting any of her ice cream on her, himself, or the floor.

Leaning back against the island opposite where she hopped up on the counter top his mind noted how her dark leggings drew tight across her hips. It was nothing his conscious mind recognized but it was there and it caused a bit of a stir deep inside.

"I don't have shit to wear to a wedding...if I show up in white!!"

"Well that would certainly solve my work interruption problems. But as your escort for the wedding I might feel honor bound to try and protect you or at least avenge your untimely demise and the next thing you know this is the wedding from Game of Thrones."

He noticed at that point that the vanilla ice cream was melting and started to dribble down her knuckles in a most lurid fashion. "You seem to have something sticky and white dripping on your hand. Which I am sure is not a new situation for you but would you mind not making a mess in my kitchen?"