Sarah's Brewery Tour With The Lifeguard

I'm a 28-year-old married woman, and I shouldn't have been there alone.

The coastal brewery sat tucked behind a row of dunes, its tasting room smelling of hops, sea salt, and worn oak. I had told my husband I needed a weekend to myself after a brutal quarter at work. He kissed my forehead and wished me safe travels. I drove three hours with the windows down, my wedding ring glinting every time I shifted gears, telling myself this was just a harmless brewery tour.

Then Jake walked in.

He was twenty-four, sun-bronzed from long days on the lifeguard stand, shoulders broad and forearms corded from pulling swimmers from the surf. A faded red tank clung to the hard planes of his chest, and when he smiled at the small group of us waiting for the tour, something low in my belly tightened. His eyes—pale green, almost startling against his tanned face—swept over every person and then settled on me. They lingered. The smile deepened, turning just a fraction more wicked at the corners.

"Welcome to Breaker Point Brewing," he said, voice low and easy, the kind of voice that sounded like it had laughed at a thousand dirty jokes. "I'm Jake. I'll be your guide today. We'll start with the flagship IPA and work our way back through the barrel-aged stuff. If you have any questions... or requests... I'm all yours."

His gaze flicked to the thin gold band on my left hand, then back up to my face. He didn't look away. Heat crawled up my neck.

The tasting began. He poured generous samples, explaining malt profiles and yeast strains with surprising depth for someone so young. But every time he handed me a glass, his fingers brushed mine. Every explanation seemed directed mostly at me. When the group moved to the next station, he fell into step beside me, close enough that I caught the clean scent of his skin—sun, salt, and something faintly like coconut sunscreen.

"You keep staring at the ring like it's going to bite you," I murmured when the others had drifted ahead.

Jake's grin flashed white. "Just making sure I'm reading the situation right. You're here alone. You're looking at me like you're thirsty for more than beer. And that ring says someone else gets to wake up next to you every morning. Makes a guy wonder how much trouble he's about to get into."

My pulse kicked. I took a slow sip of the dark stout he'd just poured, letting the rich chocolate notes roll over my tongue. "And what if I told you the trouble sounds... tempting?"

His eyes darkened. "Then I'd say the barrel room is a lot more private after closing. And that I've been half-hard since you walked in wearing that little yellow sundress."

The confession hit me like a shot of whiskey. I felt my nipples tighten against the thin cotton, felt warmth bloom between my thighs. I should have laughed it off. I should have stepped back. Instead I held his stare and let the corner of my mouth curve.

"Careful, lifeguard. You might have to rescue me from myself."

He leaned in just enough that his breath brushed my ear. "Or I could drown you in something better."