I briefly wonder what woke me up when I hear sounds coming from the kitchen. I make my way there, not sure who I’m expecting and I groan inwardly when I see Whitney standing on her tiptoes to grab something from the top of the cabinet in a very short mini skirt. I try to back my way out of the room so as to not engage with her at two o’clock in the morning when she’s obviously a little under the influence of something. As much as I want to scold her and ask her how she made it home, and help her get whatever she’s trying to reach, I don’t want to interact with her because things between her and I are changing and I don’t fucking like it.

Well, I don’t hate it if I’m being honest, but it’s wrong. So, fucking wrong. This is Whitney. My goddaughter.

She spins around and I’m granted a view of her front, which is a low-cut shirt that has her delicious tits that I’ve thought about more than a few times over the past few weeks on display. Her hair falls around her shoulders in messy waves, her lips are pouty and full and coated in something fire engine red but it’s her eyes that get me. They’re large and kind of hazy but they’re staring at me like I hold all of the answers to life’s questions.

“JP!” She squeals, but not at a high enough volume to wake anyone in the house. She runs around the island and into my arms before I have a chance to reply. “I didn’t know you were here!”

“Yeah…” I cough, trying to stifle the groan sitting in the back of my throat caused by Whitney pressed up against me squirming around. “The Lakers game ran late and I had too many beers. I was going to take an Uber but I fell asleep and I just woke up to your entrance I guess.” I rub the heel of my palm into my eyes to try and chase the rest of the sleep away.

“Sorry!” she says as she pulls out of my arms and hops up on the island in front of me and begins to swing her legs. I’m hyper aware that she’s in a skirt so I’m trying my best to avoid looking down, while also trying to avoid her tits. God, I’m in hell.

“And where have you been anyway? Isn’t your curfew at midnight?” I say, looking at my watch that reads just after two in the morning.

“Technically it’s one now that I’m out of high school, but shhh.” She puts her finger to her lips. “I’m literally going to college in two months, I don’t think my parents care that I’m down the street at my friend’s house.”