“They will if you’re drunk.”

Her eyes widen before she puts a hand over her mouth. “Who says I’m drunk?”

“Your face, for one. Your voice for two.” I cross my hands over my chest and give her a fake scolding look.

Her mouth drops open before she presses her hands to my cheeks. “They won’t know that I’m drunk, unless you tell them. And you won’t tell them, right?” She puts both hands under her chin and cocks her head to the side, batting her eyelashes at me. “JPEEEE, please.”

“I won’t but just… you’re always careful right? No driving? Not in the car with anyone that’s been drinking? No drugs?”

“Definitely not the first two things but…” she cups her hands around her mouth and whispers, “I do smoke weed sometimes.”

I let out a breath. “I don’t like that you’re doing that.”

“But…” She pouts. “It’s fun…” She pauses. “And it’s legal now! I’m eighteen, JP, relax.”

Yes, weed was legal in California for recreational use but the idea of Whitney doing any type of drug has my blood boiling. “I will certainly not relax. It can be dangerous and you’re barely legal.” My voice is stern and I hope she gets the message that I’m not fucking around about this.

“Barely legal is still legal,” she responds instantly and I know I’m not imagining the look she’s giving me. She looks up at me through her lashes and a sexy smirk crosses her face. It’s obvious what she’s doing and while in some circumstances it might be obnoxious, in this moment, it’s sexy as fuck.

“Whitney…” I trail off. “What’s going on with…” I point back and forth between us. “This.”

“What do you mean?” she says innocently and I give her a look.

“Don’t. You’ve been… you know… you’re…” I don’t know if it’s the alcohol or the situation or a combination of both but I’m at a loss for words.

“Attracted to you.” She nods. “Correct.” She says it easily like they aren’t words that change the dynamic of our eighteen-year relationship.

I’m shocked at her boldness and it makes me wonder just how much she’s had to drink. “How? I mean… I’ve known you… you can’t.”

“Why not? You’re not my father, as much as you thought you were.” She says, rolling her eyes.

“When?”

She shrugs. “I don’t know. When do girls start developing crushes?”

My eyes widen at the confession. So, what, early teens? Jesus Christ. “That long ago?”

“Of course. Most girls’ first crushes are on wildly inappropriate people. Teachers, sometimes family members, Dad…” She ticks off her fingers as she lists them. “I just never grew out of mine.”