The President's Daughter (Original) ✔️

3. Oops

"Uhuh," She says, biting her lip to stop from laughing.

"You look better in black." I blurt out. But I'm not mad about it.

She looks at me in surprise before her brows furrow. "Thanks."

"You don't believe me?"

"No, it's just that... I've never heard that before."

I shrug, ignoring the alarm bells in my head. "Then you've been lied to."

She stares at me for a moment, her lips parted. She's fucking hot. I didn't realize before. A part of me wishes I met her instead of Hope. But the other part of me is glad that I did. There's something about her innocence that attracts me. It at least keeps our conversation very interesting.

"You wanna come inside? I have hot chocolate," I tell her. She must be cold in that thin ass sweater. She shivers, confirming my thoughts.

"You don't strike me as the hot chocolate type of guy."

"I'm not," I wink at her, slipping in a grin. What the hell am I doing?

She purses her lips in amusement.

"Come on." I walk up the stairs to the porch without waiting for a reply.

We walk in and I sigh inwardly in relief. Thankfully, I had tidied up the place a bit. There was a sweater lying on the floor but besides that, it looked presentable.

"Not bad," She repeats.

I smirk at her. "Are you a hot chocolate type of girl?"

She smirks back. "I'm more of a Hennessy type of girl."

"You're in luck." Thank the fuck, because I didn't have hot chocolate anywhere in the house.

I pull out an unopened bottle of Hennessy in the kitchen cabinet while she takes a seat behind the counter. "So what problems are you trying to drink away?"

She looks away, the smile gone from her face. Shit. I hope she doesn't start crying. "Just... problems with my parents."

I pour her a small amount in a glass and slide it across the kitchen counter. She downs it in one gulp. "Do I look like a nun? Fill it up," She says, with amusement in her eyes.

I laugh. "Yes ma'am." I fill the two small glasses to the top and hand her her cup.

She drinks half of the cup before placing it down and examining the drink. "My parents don't fight a lot. But when they do... it's fucking ugly. Reminds me of my childhood when it was worse."

I nod and walk around to take the sit next to her. "At least you aren't at the receiving end of the arguments. I swear my Mom made it her personal mission to make me miserable."

"Is that why you're here alone?"

I nod. "She practically kicked me out." I forced out a laugh. I haven't told anyone but Zach. But I feel comfortable in telling her this.

"It sucks to have shitty parents," She says, staring at her half empty glass.

"Yea it does."

"Do you think people with shitty parents grow up to be shitty parents?" She says, still examining the drink in her hand as if it held the answers she couldn't reach.

I think about it before answering. "Only if you choose to be like them. Maybe... the fact that you experienced a bad life because of your parents can inspire you to do better. Or some people choose to take that anger out on their children. We can be better. You can be better," I correct myself. Picturing myself as a parent is too weird to imagine. As much as my advice goes, I know I wouldn't want to be a parent. That kind of life has lost its taste.