Page 48 of Surfer's Paradise

And he’d made peace with that a long time ago.

But, for some dumb reason, last night, he’d gone home and brought someone with him. Someone damn worth her salt—more than he deserves.

Isaac exhaled slowly, running a hand through his damp hair. He was fucked. And he knew it.

“Something on your mind, Rayleigh?” Colson asked, eyeing him.

Isaac shook his head, pushing the thought down. Deep. “Nah. Just hungry as hell.”

Colson grinned. “Then get the hell out of here and eat. You look like shit.”

Isaac smirked, pushing to his feet.

Right.

Food.

And then—back to whatever the hell he was doing with Rosie Quentin. Whatever that was.

Isaac slid into the driver’s seat of his truck, muscles still burning from the afternoon workout, damp hair curling at the ends from his last set of laps in the pool. His body was tired, but his mind? Restless.

Usually, his post-work routine was simple.

Eat. Workout. Sleep.

Or eat. Go out. Fuck.

Or eat. Pass out. Work.

Some variation of the above. Nothing complicated. Nothing that required too much thought.

What was it gonna be tonight?

He flipped through his phone, scrolling through old texts. Maybe it was time to call up someone from the past. Someone familiar. Someone whose name he barely remembered but whose body he knew well enough.

But then—a new text.

His eyes flicked to the sender.

Fucking Elodie.

Guess what, sailor? I’m coming your way.

Bit of a surprise stop for work.

You around tonight for dinner? Drinks?

I’m at the Pendry. Room 1405.

Classic.

Elodie traveled constantly, some high-end consultant gig that had her bouncing around the world. They’d met in a bunch of hotels over the past six months. Never their homes.

She’d never been to his place.

And he liked it that way.

But then there was Rosie.

---