Page 86 of Surfer's Paradise

Amy.

And holy shit, if looks could kill.

She was staring daggers at him, eyes narrowed, like she wanted to launch her wine glass at his face.

Isaac let out a rough exhale, raking a hand through his hair.

“Well, this fucking sucks,” he muttered, signaling the bartender.

“Shots.”

Might as well.

Next stop—smokes. Maybe a blunt.

The night blurred into a haze of drinking, arguing, and laughter—that kind of messy, chaotic energy that came when too many people were too deep in their drinks, and old wounds cracked open just enough to let the fire spill out.

Isaac nursed his whiskey, one elbow on the bar, jaw tight, eyes flicking between conversations.

Rosie was fucking hammered.

Chris was lapping it up, making her laugh, leaning in too close, grinning too wide, and Isaac wanted to put his fist through the table.

“Jesus, would you relax?” Amy’s voice cut through his jealous spiral.

Isaac flicked his gaze to her, raising a brow. “What?”

Amy rolled her eyes. “You’re acting like a sulking frat boy who just got told he can’t bring his beer bong to brunch.”

Isaac snorted. “And you’re acting like someone who’s deeply invested in my bad mood.”

Amy leaned back, arms crossed, studying him like she had him all figured out. “I’m invested in Rosie.”

Isaac took a slow sip of his drink, eyes locked on hers. “Yeah? And what does that mean?”

Amy exhaled sharply, shaking her head. “I don’t know. Maybe that I don’t like you screwing with her life?”

Isaac tilted his head. “You think I’m screwing with her life?”

Amy’s lips twitched, barely a smirk. “No, I think you’re screwing her. The rest is just a byproduct.”

Isaac let out a low, sharp laugh, shaking his head.

“Christ, you’re a piece of work.”

“And you’re a cliché,” she shot back.

His smirk deepened. “That hurts.”

“Good.”

Amy took a long sip of wine, and that was the end of that.

Outside of their argument, the bar hummed with drunken energy.

Rosie was leaning too close to Chris, her head tipped back, laughing at something dumb he said.

Isaac’s grip on his whiskey glass tightened.

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