Page 21 of Enticing My Off Limits Billionaire

"Hey, Quinn?" I ask.

"Yeah?"

"Can I ask you something?"

"Sure."

I take a deep breath. "Do you think I'm a bad person for not being happy for Kylie?"

Quinn studies me for a moment. "No, I don't. You're allowed to feel however you feel. It's not like you're actively trying to sabotage her happiness or anything. You just need time to process your own feelings."

"I don't want to be the bigger person anymore," I tell him. "I want to be angry. I want to scream about it."

He stops walking, and I look up at him, wondering if I'm about to get reprimanded. But he does exactly the opposite.

"Then scream," he says.

I gape at him. "Excuse me?"

"Scream," he says. "Throw a tantrum. Stomp your feet. There's a perfectly empty lawn right there."

He gestures at the grass behind me, lush and green in the night air. I look back at him. "Are you serious?"

"Why not?"

I huff out a surprised laugh and look slowly back at the grass...

...and then I scream at the top of my lungs.

Quinn's mouth curls up at the corners, and he gives me an encouraging nod, and then I really get into it. I stomp over to the grass and jump up and down for a second, screaming a few more times for good measure. I see a pinecone and kick it across the lawn, and at that moment, I see a jogger stopped in the middle of their run and staring at me in horror.

I raise my hand.

"I'm fine!" I call over. "Just...throwing a tantrum. Carry on!"

The jogger gives me a confused look but eventually starts running again. I turn back to Quinn, my chest heaving from the exertion and my eyes shining with laughter and tears.

"That felt...cathartic," I say, grinning.

"I'm glad," he says, still chuckling. "You needed it."

I nod, feeling a weight lifted off my shoulders. I'm not sure if it's the screaming or the fact that I'm finally admitting to myself how I feel, but something has shifted inside me. I turn to him, my expression more serious now.

"Thank you," I say.

"For what?"

"For being here. For not judging me."

"Of course," he says. "That's what friends are for."

The word hits me like a punch in the gut. Friends. For the past few weeks, Quinn has been someone I've turned to when I need someone to talk to, someone to commiserate with.

He's my best friend, and he's earned that title over a matter of weeks.

We walk over to a bench and take a seat, the two of us side by side. Quinn stretches his arms out on the back of the bench, and I shiver slightly in the night air.

"Are you cold?" he asks.

---