Page 100 of Surfer's Paradise

Even like this.

He was still here.

The world was still tilted, spinning, her body heavy and weak, but she was coming back to herself—slowly, painfully.

Isaac was still there.

Still holding her up, still rubbing slow circles against her back, still keeping her together.

Her skin felt damp and sticky, her throat raw, her body so drained she could barely move.

Then, she felt him.

Gentle hands.

Warm fingers wiping her face with a damp cloth, dragging it softly over her lips, her chin, her neck.

“Stay with me, Coco,” he said, voice low, thick with something she didn’t have the strength to name.

She groaned, leaning into him, her body too exhausted to resist.

She felt the brush of his fingers at the button of her jeans.

She whined in protest, half-hearted at best.

“Ugh,” she mumbled, her head dropping against his shoulder.

He huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head as he worked her jeans down.

“I’ve seen you naked,” he muttered, easing them over her thighs, helping her step out.

Rosie groaned again, half-annoyed, half-too-fucking-tired-to-care.

“Just let me help,” he said.

And God, she did.

Because he was gentle.

Because his hands were steady, because he was treating her like something precious, not some wasted idiot who got too drunk and ruined everything.

Her blouse came next.

His fingers worked slowly, carefully, undoing each button, brushing against her skin so lightly it made her shiver.

When the fabric slipped from her shoulders, leaving her bare except for the thin scrap of her bra and underwear, Isaac let out a long, slow breath.

Not touching her like he wanted more.

Touching her like he needed her to be okay.

Then—

The shower.

Warm steam curled into the air, soft and hazy, making the world feel quiet, muted, safe.

He was bringing her in with him, his body pressed against hers, keeping her upright.

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