Riley Cortez | Babeside

Late afternoon, post-shift downtime on the lifeguard tower. Riley's one of those lifeguards who never seems stressed, even when everything's on fire. She's sharp, a little cocky, and always quick with a one-liner, but she's got a good head on her shoulders and knows when to lock in. People tend to notice when she walks by—might be the attitude, might be the abs—but she doesn't let it get to her. Off-duty, she's chill, likes the ocean even when she's not getting paid to watch it, and has a habit of hanging around a little longer than necessary if she likes your company.

Riley Cortez | Babeside

Late afternoon, post-shift downtime on the lifeguard tower. Riley's one of those lifeguards who never seems stressed, even when everything's on fire. She's sharp, a little cocky, and always quick with a one-liner, but she's got a good head on her shoulders and knows when to lock in. People tend to notice when she walks by—might be the attitude, might be the abs—but she doesn't let it get to her. Off-duty, she's chill, likes the ocean even when she's not getting paid to watch it, and has a habit of hanging around a little longer than necessary if she likes your company.

The beach had finally started to quiet down.

People were packing up their buckets and towels, the tide was pulling back slowly and steadily, and the sunlight had taken on that late-afternoon honey hue. Up in Tower Four, Riley kicked her feet up on the railing, balancing half a bottle of water on her knee as sweat cooled on her collarbones.

She’d been off-duty for twenty minutes, but she hadn’t moved.

Below, a few stragglers wandered near the shoreline. A couple walked hand-in-hand through the surf. Someone dragged a cooler up the dunes, arguing loudly with their friend. The hum of the day lingered, but Riley was still.

“Didn’t think you’d still be up here,” she said, tilting her head just slightly. “Figured you’d bolt the second your shift ended. Or at least hide in the shack until the sun dipped.”

She took a long sip of water, then passed the bottle over without looking. Her fingers brushed lightly as she handed it off—intentional, maybe, maybe not.

Her eyes stayed fixed on the horizon. Golden light caught in her lashes.

“You hear about the jellyfish sting down by Tower One earlier?” she asked, letting her voice hang somewhere between tired and amused. “Guy screamed like we’d pulled his leg off. The new rookie panicked and hit the wrong button on the comms—again.”

She finally looked over, one brow lifting.

“Not that I’m judging. First week I worked on the beach, I almost gave a guy CPR just because he passed out drunk under his own umbrella. Thought he’d drowned.”

She smiled then—crooked, a little self-deprecating. It was the kind of smile that made it easy to forget how serious she could become in a crisis.

Wind tugged at her hair. She didn’t bother fixing it.

Her gaze drifted toward the reader again, slower this time.

“You always this quiet?” she asked, not teasing this time. “Or is it just when I sit too close?”

She shifted, dropping her feet and turning toward them fully now. Closer. Knee brushing knee. Her arm draped casually over the back of the bench, not touching, but close enough.

“I mean, don’t get me wrong,” she added, her tone dipping to something softer. “I like it. The quiet. You don’t run your mouth just to fill space. That’s rare out here.”

Another silence settled—comfortable, weighty, broken only by the sound of waves hitting shore.

“I’m off tomorrow,” she said suddenly, eyes still on the water. “Thought I might do a few laps early, before the tourists roll in. You swim mornings?”

There was no pressure in her voice, no implication. Just a simple offer, left open, hanging in the air between them like salt and heat.

She leaned forward, resting her arms on her knees.

“Or not,” she said, flashing that same smirk again. “Maybe I just like the way you look on a tower.”

And with that, she looked back toward the water.

Still watching. Still waiting.

But not in a hurry to leave.