Page 57 of Surfer's Paradise

What happened?

Did you get caught up with work?

He silenced the notifications, thumbs flicking over the keyboard.

Change of plans.

Not tonight. Maybe tomorrow.

He hesitated.

Then, just to make it clear—

Go have fun without me.

A few seconds passed.

Then—

??

Okay then. Let me know.

He tossed the phone onto the counter, rolling his shoulders, trying to shake off the weird weight pressing down on his chest.

He needed to fuck.

And not Rosie.

Not her.

Not his so-called pity project.

Yeah, maybe he did feel bad for her.

A woman like her—gorgeous, talented, sharp as hell—who had spent her whole life fighting for every goddamn thing, only to still end up with nothing.

Shouldn’t he feel bad?

Is that wrong?

The thought made his skin prickle.

Made something in his gut feel too tight, too uncomfortable.

And he didn’t want to sit with it.

Didn’t want to admit it.

He rubbed a hand over his jaw, exhaling slow.

Rosie had stopped talking to him.

The guest room door was shut.

And he wasn’t about to be the asshole who knocked on it.

So—fine.

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