Page 50 of Surfer's Paradise

He exhaled through his nose, rolling his shoulders, debating.

Pendry was five minutes ahead. The Grant was a right turn.

He had a choice.

The sure thing—Elodie, wine, hotel sheets, a body he knew well enough to get lost in for a few hours.

Or.

He let out a slow, controlled breath and turned right.

Fucking hell.

He didn’t even think about it. His hands just moved on their own.

He called Rosie. No answer.

Okay, one more time.

The line clicked, then her exasperated voice came through.

“Dude, what the fuck?”

Isaac grinned, easing into traffic. “Girl, come on. I’m picking you up. Be outside in four minutes.”

She huffed. “You’re fucking lucky my meeting just ended.”

“And you’re fucking lucky I’m starving as fuck and taking us out to a goddamn feast.”

She made a sound of disbelief, but he could hear the smile.

“And drinks,” he added. “And you can’t say no.”

There was a beat of silence.

Then—that laugh.

That deep, unapologetic Rosie laugh that he fucking loved—the one she tried to smother when she was feeling stubborn, but when she let it out? It hit him like a fist to the chest.

He smirked, satisfied.

“See you in a minute, Coco.”

Pulling up to The Grant, Isaac tapped his fingers on the steering wheel, exhaling as he scanned the entrance.

And then—

There she was.

His stomach tightened.

Fuck.

The doors glided open, and Rosie stepped out onto the curb, moving with that effortless confidence she didn’t even realize she had.

Black stilettos. Black dress. Slim-fitting, hugging every goddamn curve.

Long, dark brown hair curling down her back.

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