Page 87 of Surfer's Paradise

Chris was loving this.

Loving whatever tension was crackling between them, eating up the fact that Isaac was glowering from the other side of the bar, feeling like a goddamn idiot for caring.

So, fuck it.

Isaac needed a cigarette.

Outside, the air was thick with humidity, the pavement still holding the heat of the day even though it was creeping past midnight.

Isaac lit his smoke, exhaling long, slow, dragging it through his lungs, letting the buzz steady him.

He pulled out his phone, annoyed with it buzzing incessantly in his pocket.

Shay:

LIVE FROM DOLCE VITA:

Isaac’s girl just kissed Chris on the cheek and I think Isaac’s blood pressure hit triple digits.

Chris:

Status update:

Isaac is outside gripping his cigarette like it insulted his mother.

Rosie’s laughing.

I am the moment.

Heath:

You’re gonna get stabbed, Chris.

I can feel it.

Colson:

Who the fuck is Rosie and is she hot?

Drunk?

Details.

Shay:

She’s “stumbling into your arms by accident on purpose” drunk.

And very fucking hot.

Adam:

Why am I in this chat.

It’s a Sunday.

Chris:

Because we need a commander on deck and you’re our most tragic father figure.

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