"I'm not going anywhere, so you better open up those pretty little lips and start talking. I got all the time in the world, plus this is my dad’s house and he'd never kick me out."

Exhaling a dramatic, loud breath, I prop my hands on my hips and level a stare at her. Natalie glares back, challenging me the way a bestie should. Despite the cool air, the liquor sends a fire through my veins and my nerves aren't helping. I blink a few times, then it all comes out before I can stop myself.

"I'm so nervous to tell you. I don't want to fight with you, and ohmygod I have PTSD just thinking about it. I wasn't even going to talk to you about this, but the tension is eating us both and it's just getting worse, and that's the last thing I want. I don’t want to fight with him and lose you both at the same time, and I feel like that's what's gonna happen." My chest rises and falls fast, the pressure of the moment causes sharp pains around my heart. "The last thing I want to do is jeopardize our friendship because you mean the world to me, Nat. We've been there, and it's honestly the last thing I ever want to go through with you again."

Everything comes out like I've had ten shots of espresso. I'm freaking out inside, and my ears are ringing. But Natalie is just smiling like I'm her form of entertainment for the night.

I lick my lips and keep going, even though I feel like I'm going to cry. It's now or never. Sometimes my nerves cause tears to shed. Angry tears, happy tears, PTSD tears. I groan inwardly wondering when I became a sensitive little hussy. Lifting my eyes to the midnight sky, I exhale, trying to blink away the emotion and sort out the millions of thoughts running through my brain.

"How the fuck did I get myself into this situation?"

"Because you fucked your best friend's dad. Duh," Natalie replies, and I chuckle at her dark sarcasm.

I look down and she's just smirking at me from the lounge chair. She's good at making the situation lighter, which in turn makes me slightly more comfortable sharing. Slightly, being the keyword.

"I blame you." I joke. "If you hadn't offered to make me a millionaire floozy, then this wouldn't have happened, and I wouldn't be having a panic attack. It's killing my high."

"Do you regret it?"

"Well, no."

I truly had no regret about being a high-end escort and the things I did for money.

"Then you can't blame me for shit." She laughs. "You got what you wanted." Natalie stretches her boney arms out. "You're welcome."

I don't know why, but it makes me blurt out what I've been stressing about incessantly for days.

"James wants to get married."

I wait for the aversion to appear in her eyes, but Natalie doesn't react the way I expect her to. It's the opposite, so I repeat myself just to make sure she heard me.