Page 84 of Surfer's Paradise

Chris’s mouth opened. Closed. “What the fuck?”

Shay lifted a brow, grinning now. “Oh,” he said, slow and knowing. “So you’re fucking her.”

Isaac’s eyes snapped up, glare sharp. “No.”

Chris and Shay exchanged looks.

“Suuuuure,” Shay muttered.

Isaac pointed at him. “Fuck you.”

Shay smirked. “You already did, buddy. Apparently, she’s living in your house.”

Chris, drunker than both of them, suddenly sat up straight, eyes gleaming. He clearly had a bright idea.

“Okay,” he muttered. “Let’s see what’s up with our girl.”

Isaac barely had time to process before Chris pulled his phone out of his pocket.

“Chris, I swear to God—” Isaac lunged, but he was too slow, too wasted, and Chris was already dialing.

Shay was howling with laughter, Isaac was wrestling Chris for the phone, but he wouldn’t punch his friend.

Not over this.

Chris, dodging Isaac’s grip, pressed the phone to his ear.

“Rosie baby,” he grinned, putting it on speaker. “Where are you?”

Isaac nearly killed him.

And then—

Rosie’s voice crackled through the line.

“I’m drunk at the Dolce Vita. Come see me.”

Isaac froze.

Chris grinned wider. “Okay, here we go.”

And before Isaac could stop him, Chris was shoving them all into a cab.

Shay was still laughing, Isaac was still glowering, but his dumb, drunk brain was ticking.

She’s ignoring my calls.

But she answered his?

And for some reason—

That fucked him up.

* * * * *

The Dolce Vita was a packed, buzzing mess of an Italian tapas bar—too many people, too much noise, dim lighting that made everything feel like a fever dream.

Isaac pushed through the crowd, his shoulders tight, his jaw locked, barely registering the scent of charred rosemary, grilled seafood, and spiced red wine lingering in the air.

---