Page 91 of Surfer's Paradise

Wouldn’t undo the smell of her hair. The way her hands fisted his shirt when she fell.

The fact that he had her—in his arms, in his goddamn orbit—and still hadn’t said a fucking word.

He stared at the screen a second longer.

Then killed it.

Screen black.

Pocketed.

Not because he was calm.

Because he didn’t trust himself if he kept holding it.

He paced the sidewalk once, twice, then stopped.

He looked up the street. Away from the noise. Away from Rosie. Away from the mess he’d made by not making anything clear.

He could leave.

Disappear for the night.

Say it was work. Say it was a thing he forgot. Say it was anything other than what it really was—cowardice wrapped in tactical restraint.

His hand drifted to the pack of smokes again.

Lit another.

Inhaled like the burn might quiet the chaos.

It didn’t.

Because he could still feel her on his skin.

Still see her leaning into Chris.

Still hear Dom’s voice in his head, cold and quiet and right:

You’re mad because she kissed you and you pretended it didn’t matter.

Isaac stared down the road.

Nothing ahead of him but streetlights, concrete, and a thousand different outs.

He didn’t move.

He just stood there.

Smoldering.

Still.

And completely unsure if walking away was the smart thing… or the final mistake.

Chapter 17

Five seconds later, a husky voice cut through Isaac’s thoughts.

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