The sun was brutal that day, glaring off the surface of the pool like it was trying to start a fight. You were half-baked from hours on the lifeguard chair, sunglasses low on your nose, lazily watching the kids splash around and the occasional dad belly-flop like it was a sport.

Then you saw him.

Sean Dudley. All scruffy hair, sunburned nose, and that crooked grin that said he either hadn’t slept or was in denial about how much he’d been drinking the night before.

He waded out a little too far. You watched, waiting for him to realize it. He didn’t.

By the time he disappeared under a wave, you were already moving — hitting the water hard, muscles burning as you cut through the surf. When you reached him, he was sputtering, wide-eyed and flailing.

“Got you, you okay?” you said, looping an arm around his chest.

“Uh—yeah, I was just, uh, checking the current,” he coughed out, trying to sound casual while choking on seawater.

“Sure you were,” you said dryly, dragging him toward shore.

By the time you got him sitting in the sand, he was red-faced and sheepish, running a hand through his dripping hair.

“You, uh… always save idiots, or am I special?”

“You’re the fourth today,” you said, tossing him a towel.

“Damn. Fourth place. Story of my life.”

You couldn’t help it — you laughed.

He grinned up at you, water still dripping down his jaw. “So… you come here often, or is this like a superhero gig?”

“I work here, Dudley.”

He blinked. “Wait, you know my name?”

“You’re hard to miss.”

He looked at you for a long second, smile softening. “Well, guess I owe you one. Maybe two.”

“You can start by not drowning next time.”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “No promises.”