“You left your mom’s house like an hour ago. What, did you walk here?” Kevin says as he moves up the stairs from his mancave in the basement. It’s crazy that it looks as if Michelle hasn’t aged and yet Kevin looks older every time I see him. “You can thank Whitney Monroe for that.” I remember him saying when I’d made a joke about starting to dye his hair. “Every single one of my gray hairs comes from having a daughter.”

“I stopped at home first, give me a break.” I chuckle as he pulls me in for a hug.

“After all this time, he’s still clingier with you than he is with me.” Michelle rolls her eyes and walks toward the kitchen leaving me with my best friend.

About an hour after I’d arrived, I hear the front door open and the sound of heels against the hardwood floors of the foyer. I smile, preparing for Whitney to make her entrance and I stand to give her a hug.

“I would know that car in the driveway anywhere,” I hear her familiar voice and then she enters the room.

I mean, I think it’s Whitney.

My eyes widen and for a second, I wonder if this is a friend of Whitney’s because unlike the voice, this face and body are not familiar. “JP!!” she squeals, and it takes less than a second until she’s in my arms. “I can’t believe you’re here! I’ve missed you so much!”

I am glad that Kevin and Michelle aren’t in the room at the moment because I’m unable to hide my absolute shock that this woman currently pressed up against me is my goddaughter. I pull back and I am at a loss for words. Her braces are gone, leaving perfect blindingly white teeth. Her strawberry blonde hair that she used to keep pin straight was full of volume that fell around her shoulders in dark mahogany luscious waves. Her waist was slim but her hips were full and just below her shoulders sat the perkiest, full breasts I’d ever seen on a woman. I take a step back, dropping my hands from her shoulder as if I’ve been burned. I mean, maybe I had; I have to be in hell for looking at Whitney this way. For even noticing her breasts or the slope of her hips or picturing what she’d look like from behind.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Her head tilts to the side and if I didn’t know any better, I’d say she knew exactly what I was thinking at this very moment and why I was looking at her with a look of complete and utter shock and maybe… intrigue.

“You… you just look so grown up.” I try my best to come up with something more eloquent but the words get caught in my throat. I’m struggling to find words other than: “Where did those come from?” as I point at her chest.