Chapter 01 - The Brewery Spark

The brewery wasn't fancy. That was the point.

Warm wood, concrete floors, and big open windows letting in the early summer dusk.

A trivia night board scrawled in chalk: Starts at 7. Free to Play. Winner Gets a Flight!

The place smelled like hops and fried pickles. Unpretentious. The kind of spot where you could show up in jeans and still feel like you made an effort.

Rachel walked in a step behind her husband, the rhythm familiar.

Jeans hugged her curves deliberately. A black top dipped low when she leaned forward. Soft blonde highlights brushed her shoulders.

She wasn't tall -- just five-three -- but confidence always made her seem taller. Her blue eyes scanned the room automatically, that wide, natural smile lighting up without her even thinking about it.

No one here would've guessed the full story.

PTA board member. Yoga every Tuesday. Soccer carpool every Thursday.

And yet... wedding ring on. Nipples pierced beneath a soft-cup bra. No underwear. Just bare skin beneath denim.

Her thighs brushed together as she walked. Pulse ticking faster than it should.

He was already there.

Seated near the back by the big garage window. Pint half-full. One arm stretched along the bench seat like he had nowhere better to be. Dark gray button-down, sleeves rolled to the forearm. Easy grin.

Watching her approach.

Not the way most men looked -- sizing her up or nervously pretending not to.

This was different. Comfortable. Playful. Like he'd been expecting her and already liked what he saw.

He stood when they reached the table.

"You must be Rachel," he said. His voice had just enough gravel to mark him as masculine without trying. "I'm Nate."

He shook her husband's hand first -- she noticed. Then turned to her.

Brown hair. Trimmed beard. Rugged in a way that didn't feel styled. Maybe five-eleven. Fit without trying to look it -- swimmer's build. Broad shoulders, lean waist. Brown eyes steady and curious.

She took his hand. Firm. Warm. No leer. Just a smile.

"I've been looking forward to meeting you both."

She smiled back before she could stop herself. "Likewise."

They slid into the booth. Rachel in the middle. The two men bracketing her. Knees brushing beneath the table.

Dave leaned back, watching.

He always played it cool. Salt-and-pepper hair. Hazel eyes that never missed a detail. Early forties. Strong arms, thicker legs from years of training. He wasn't the biggest man in the room, but strength settled over him like a well-fitted suit.

The trivia host -- a redhead in a beanie, karaoke mic in hand -- called out the first category. Famous Failures Turned Billionaires.

"Ah," Nate grinned. "My specialty."

He was sharp. Not just with trivia, but with timing and charm. She laughed more in the first ten minutes than she had on her last three playdates combined.

No try-hard lines. Just dry wit and easy confidence. The kind that didn't need to announce itself.

Dave occasionally tossed out a trivia answer. But mostly, he let the energy flow between her and Nate. Like he'd lit a fuse and was watching it burn.

By round two, her knees had drifted closer to Nate's. Not touching. But almost.

"You're better at this than I expected," she said, penciling in one of Nate's answers.

"Oh?" he said, mock-offended. "What were your expectations?"

She shrugged. "Low."

"Good. Easier to surprise you."

She didn't mean to stare. But there it was -- the flex of Nate's forearm when he leaned forward. The faint cut of muscle beneath his rolled sleeves. The way his jaw moved when he sipped his beer.

And the way he caught her looking. Held her gaze just a little too long.

Usually, these meetups felt clinical. Cordial. Vetting before clothes came off and things got transactional.

But Nate wasn't a transaction.

He felt like a question she hadn't thought to ask.

And now couldn't stop thinking about.

By round three, she excused herself to the bathroom. Locked the door. Leaned against the sink.

She wasn't drunk. Just warm. Buzzy.

Her nipples ached beneath her bra, the metal cool against heated skin. The warmth between her thighs was already building -- just from the teasing tension.

When she came back, Nate had shifted. Now he sat in the middle seat. Dave had let it happen, of course.

And this time, Nate made his presence felt.

A soft touch to her lower back as she slid in. Not possessive. Just a quiet claim.

His knee pressed gently to hers under the table -- casual contact that stayed.

When he reached for the trivia pen, his fingers brushed the side of her breast. Didn't rush to pull away.

Rachel pretended not to notice. But her breath did.

Then, under the table, his hand found her inner thigh. Not too high. But close enough to spike her pulse.

His pinky brushed just a strip of denim away from her clit. He gave a subtle finger wiggle. Just enough to let her know he knew.

"Two can play at this game," she thought.

She grabbed his hand and began stroking his thumb. Slow. Suggestive.

The look on his face told her he got the message. Fast.

Not satisfied yet, she upped the ante. Reaching behind him, sliding her hand up under his shirt. Fingers traced his back muscles. Then, with a sudden scratch, dragged her nails down to his lower back.

A sharp yelp nearly escaped him. He bit his lip instead.

"Everything okay, Nate?" she rasped.

Dave didn't know exactly what had happened. But he knew Rachel was the cause. He just laughed and shrugged in Nate's direction.

Hands returned to neutral. For now.

But the innuendo didn't.

By the end of the round, the double IPAs were making her bold.

As they got ready to leave, she turned to Dave.

"Honey, is it okay if I ride Nate-- I mean ride with Nate back to the house?"

He smirked. "Of course. Just don't distract the poor guy into crashing."

"Fiiiiiine," she teased. "I'll behave. Probably."