Pester Ed

Emma wiped a strand of damp hair from her forehead and walked through the living room. Her cousin James gave her a smile, and looked at her as if wondering if she had come to join him. Emma had other plans though.

She returned the smile and continued on her way. Emma wanted to go find her uncle. At the door to the study, Emma noticed that the door was closed. She raised her hand to knock, wondering what her uncle was doing that required him to close the door. The older man didn't seem the type to need much privacy.

Emma put an ear to the sturdy wooden door, hoping to sate her curiosity. Uncle Ed could be heard in the study, talking softly. Emma wondered who her uncle might be calling. He, and her whole family actually, didn't seem the type to keep in touch with anyone outside of the family. Emma listened some more.

The muffled voice of her uncle sounded distressed, or annoyed. It sounded like he was trying to explain something to someone. From what she could tell of the conversation, it reminded Emma of times when she had tried to explain a reasonable tardiness to an unforgiving boss.

Deciding that she wasn't going to get much detail through the thick door, Emma rapped a knuckle against the door. The quiet, muffled voice of her uncle immediately rang out with a loud, "Come in!"

Emma had no problem hearing that. She felt bad for whoever was on the other end of the phone, fearing her uncle had just obliterated their eardrum. Her empathy, however, was misplaced.

When she had swung the door open wide enough to catch sight of her uncle, she saw the broad-shouldered man seated at his desk, glass of whiskey in front of him, hands folded neatly in front of it. He wasn't on the phone with anybody. He wasn't even holding a phone.

Emma did a brief once-over the room, making sure that she hadn't missed her cousin or aunt making their way here before her, then when she saw that wasn't the case, asked, "Who were you talking to?"

Her uncle smiled at her, warmly, then let his eyes feast upon the damp fabric covering her breasts, and the water droplets on her cleavage. "You're awfully cute when you're curious." Uncle Ed said, stalling, or avoiding the question entirely.

Emma's nipples were standing erect already from the coldness of the rain in the doorway. The old lech eyeballing her tits wasn't having much effect, but she let him have his look. Right now she was more interested in what he had been doing, not what he wanted to do.

"I heard you arguing with somebody, or trying to reason with somebody." Emma said, placing her hands on her hips, but pressing her boobs forward. Distract him into telling the truth, she figured.

"It was nothing. Just an old man, crying into his drink, so to speak." Ed said, dismissing her words with a wave of his hand.

A cold chill ran through the room, making the damp shirt suddenly uncomfortable. Emma didn't believe her uncle, but she didn't know what to say, or do, to make him share what he was doing. Her speechless judging of her uncle seemed to unnerve the man.

"Care to cry in a drink with me?" He asked, turning to motion to a decanter and several empty glasses in one of the bookshelves.

Emma had enough drinks last night, but it would probably get rid of the last of her hangover if she could stomach one. It would also be a good way to try and get her uncle talking about whatever he was really hiding.