Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw

Bradley was about to continue the friendly scuffle with Jake but Pete tapped him on his shoulder and pointed you out in the crowd by the bar:

"Found your missus, kid."

For a moment, the whole world stopped just so Rooster could admire the woman he had the highest honour of calling his. You were wearing a thin bodycon dress - the very same one he associated with long, sleepless nights and the plethora of beautiful sounds you could make. The light, sunny yellow colour looked lovely on you, bringing summer heat into the onlookers' hearts. You wore the same makeup you always did, your hairdo wasn't different either but for some reason, spotting you in the faraway crowd, Bradley felt the same way he did the first time he saw you. He remembered how embarrassingly nervous he was and how his mouth dried out when you stared at him with a smile. From that day on, his condition was only getting worse.

"Just don't drool," Phoenix warned him. The group laughed and Rooster was momentarily brought back to the present day. The sound of cue balls hitting one other resounded in his ears together with the very bar-like sounds of laughter, the click of glass and 80s hits playing on the jukebox.

The game of pool resumed but not for long:

"Lieutenant Bradshaw, there's an enemy on the front line," Maverick announced while vaguely pointing towards your direction. With furrowed eyebrows, Bradley turned around to see what Pete was talking about. There you were: standing awkwardly next to one of the newcomers who was leaning against the bar. In a way, he understood the interest in your beauty. To him, you always looked like a star but Bradley was far from objective - he did, after all, give you those dreamy, puppy eyes of a fool in love while you were wearing a stained hoodie with your university's logo, sleeping and drooling on the pillow. "He's going for the kill, the very classy chest check."

Clenching his jaw, Bradley passed his cue to Bob, who gladly accepted it. The game of pool was temporarily withheld as the Dagger Crew watched the ordeal unfold with great interest. Rooster stormed through the crowd towards you and Maverick set his beer down, getting ready for the approaching 'overboard' or a fistfight.

You've never seen the Hard Deck packed the way it was that night. All the khaki uniforms were blending into one, beige mob, giving a quite humorous impression that it was you who was dressed inappropriately for a night out at a bar. Somehow, it made you happy to see Hard Deck bursting with life - for once, Miramar wasn't just a military town at the end of the world. Squeezing through the beige crowd, you finally reached the counter, only to be greeted by Penny's wide smile.

"Good to see you, (Y/N). Prince Charming's been waiting for you." She vaguely pointed towards the laughing group of aviators playing pool with too many people. Among the sea of military uniforms, Bradley's Hawaiian shirt looked adorably out of place. Although he looked better in blue, that grey shirt he was wearing had to be your favourite - the very same he wore when you met him for the first time.

"Oh, come off it," you laughed. A flustered blush warmed up your face. The rouge on your cheeks slightly camouflaged the flush.

"Hey, I'm not the one calling you wifey."

For a moment, your eyes were glued to Rooster, watching him just having fun with his friends. There wasn't a day where you didn't praise the whim of the cosmos for making Bradley love you. Penny laughed seeing the buttery look on your face. Honestly, she found it quite adorable that years had gone by, the two of you had grown older and matured but the hopeless love of your younger days still stayed around and threatened to never abandon its post. Despite that, she was grateful she didn't have to witness you at the start of your relationship when lovers tend to be more embarrassing than should be humanly possible.

"He could make a ring out of spit and cheese puffs and I'd say yes in a heartbeat," you confessed. Truthfully, the idea of actually marrying him had been haunting you for a few weeks. Those wandering thoughts were always cut short when your imagination began painting you and Bradley as parents, suddenly flustered with the seriousness of the daydreams.

"Now, don't go around giving him stupid ideas." Although it was meant as a scolding, Penny's amused tone made her words sound not serious. "Just tell him. Anyway, what will you have? The usual?"

"You're a woman after my own heart, Penny."

"That I am, sweetheart. One whiskey sour coming right up."

"Thank you!" you called after her.

Penny barely turned around to prepare your drink and serve another round of beers, when someone approached you:

"Whiskey sour, huh? Classy." The man was, too, wearing the khaki uniform. He was leaning against the bar, trying to appear all suave and nonchalant; the position made the muscles in his toned arms even more accentuated and you just knew he did it on purpose.

"I guess you could say that," you answered with a disinterested shrug. It was, after all, only a drink: nothing to gatekeep or make a competition out of. Whatever one drinks, the hangover always tastes the same. "The first drink I ever had."

"Then it must've been quite recently, no?" he asked with a grin. "You sure you're old enough to be here, little lady?"

"That's a strange way to say I look young." An awkward chuckle left your lips. You just wanted to deviate the conversation from further going down the uneasy lane. "Zeus?" you read from the patch on his uniform. "Where'd that come from?"

"The real answer is that I got electrocuted in the academy." After his explanation, the man's gaze audaciously dropped to the deep cleavage of your dress. A cold shiver of discomfort run down your spine. "The cool answer is that I'm just great with the ladies."

To your own, deepening horror, his eyes remained below your chin as he spoke. Did he really think it would work on someone?, you asked yourself. Some more naive part of you believed he was oblivious to his inappropriate behaviour or maybe he was being creepy just for the shock factor.

"Can you... stop staring at my breasts?" you asked awkwardly after a longer while. Uneasiness was dripping from your words and, judging by the livid expression on Rooster's face, not only from them.

Zeus scoffed and his self-assured grin momentarily turned into a strange mixture of lewdness and mischievousness, making your skin crawl.

"Come on, you want me to stare, doll," he said in a low voice. Zeus licked his lips and you felt your whole body tense up. Although he hadn't touched you, his awful way of being made you feel dirty - and not the kind one can scrub off in a hot shower. "If you didn't, you would've covered up."

"What the hell, man," you heard yourself saying. The situation was so odd and awkward, that you had no idea how to act. Flustered at the unwanted attention, words were stuck in your throat. You were telling yourself to go, just leave the man as fast as you could but for some strange reason, you found yourself unable to move like a deer caught in the headlights; only at that moment, the figure of speech could be taken quite literally.

"I know you're just teasing me, sweetheart," Zeus confessed as if he was letting you in on a big secret. "But I prefer a straight game."

Zeus reached for your bare shoulder but someone stopped him. Rooster's fingers were wrapped so tightly around the man's wrist, that their skin turned white. The sight of the familiar Hawaiian shirt allowed you to take a deeper, only slightly calmer, breath. Maybe Penny was partially right: he was Prince Charming, except for the off days when he part-timed as Knight In Shining Armor.

"How about you fuck off from my wife," Bradley gritted through his teeth. His face was red and you were left doubtless that it was the only colour he was currently seeing. There was no doubt that if nature gifted him with just a little less self-control, Zeus would be getting his own jaw dislocated.

"Chill, man," Zeus chuckled awkwardly and tried to force his hand out of Rooster's iron grip. His effort was in vain, a wince of pain slowly making its way unto his face. However, even bad circulation to his hand couldn't keep his audacity out. "Not my fault you let your wife leave the house dressed like that, amigo. And not my fault the girl doesn't wear a ring."

"Well, it's your fault you're a dickhead."

Still clutching Zeus' wrist, Rooster forcefully pulled him away from you. Penny began ringing the bell behind the counter, visibly pleasant at the turn of events. The other clients cleared the way from the bar to the door, already starting to chant 'overboard'.

"Welcome to TOP GUN, pal," Maverick said while he and Rooster grabbed the man under his arms. Together, they began dragging him out of the bar as the regulars cheered them on. "Rule number one: Mrs. Bradshaw is to be respected at all times."

Soon after that life lesson, Zeus was literally thrown out of the Hard Deck and the front door closed in his face. Some of the guests laughed at the interesting turn of events but the general majority went back to their drinks, used to the particular culture of the beach bar.

All gloating and pleased with himself, Bradley made his way back to you, his hands sneaking around your waist without much thought.

"My wife?" you repeated with amusement. A bright smile quickly appeared on his face - he was growing more fond of that thought with each passing second, each mention of the, hopefully inevitable, possibility. "Don't remember marrying you just yet."

The anger he had been drowning in moments ago, was now nowhere to be seen and Bradley's face returned to its soft expression - a default for whenever you were around.

"Really?" he asked with theatrical confusion. His eyebrows even furrowed for a moment. "Must've been my dream then."

"You dream about me often?" you asked as a soft grin crept unto your face. Bradley was the type of man who would flirt with his girl even after having spent his entire life with her - always showing appreciation of the beyond favourable turn of events. Your fingers were mindlessly trailing the hem of his shirt.

"Anytime I can." Considering the gentle look in his eyes, it might just be true.

You make it all the way to your chalet in silence. Bradley opens the door and gestures for you to go inside. You walk in and flick on the light and your heart drops into your stomach as you stare at the one bed in the middle of the room. Behind you, Bradley slowly closes the door. You look back to see him glancing between you and the bed.

Your eyes meet and you’re pretty sure you know exactly what he’s thinking: that he didn’t sign up for this shit. “We forgot to get our bags from the car,” you say, as if you’ve hardly noticed the elephant in the room.

“I’ll go grab them,” he says, also choosing to ignore the glaring complication in your, thus far, flawless scheme.

He leaves and you turn to glare at the bed as though it’s a cruel joke and you have no sense of humor. You wonder why the idea of sleeping in the same bed with Bradley is distressing you enough to make you this uncomfortable. You’ve shared beds with friends before.

You persistently overlook the memory of Bradley’s hand on your back and the subsequent butterflies assailing your stomach. Those butterflies could have easily been attributed to surprise and you don’t plan on hosting them again anytime soon. Certainly not in Bradley’s presence. You just barely got the guy to agree to entertain a fake relationship, there is no way he’d ever consider something real with you. Besides, you don’t like him like that.

Bradley returns with your bags. He drops them on the floor near the door and quickly says, “I’ll take the couch.”

You look over at the two-seater near the door skeptically. “You won’t fit on that,” you say.

“I’ll make it work,” he says, digging into his bag for a toothbrush.

You imagine Bradley scrunched up on the tiny sofa and wince. “I’ll take the couch,” you say.

Bradley straightens his back and gives you an unwavering look. “No deal,” he responds. He shrugs off his Hawaiian shirt and walks past you toward the bathroom.

You change into your pajama shorts and top while Bradley brushes his teeth and gets ready for bed. He walks out of the bathroom and pulls off his tank top, tossing it into his bag as he heads for the couch. You stare at his bare back for a split second before tearing your gaze away and biting into your bottom lip as the image of his back muscles engrains itself into your memory for all of time.

You let out a shallow breath, reaching into your bag for your face wash, and then you practically run into the bathroom, doing your best not to watch Bradley remove his pants before sitting down onto the couch.

You brush your teeth while wondering why you’re all of a sudden possibly attracted to Bradley Bradshaw. Sure, the guy is hot. But you’ve never seen him as anything more than a friend – a slightly annoying one, at that. On the other hand, you’ve also never seen him shirtless until two minutes ago, and that changes things. Sort of. You would never have asked Bradley to pretend to be your boyfriend had you had feelings for him.

You spit out the toothpaste, your mind swarming as you try to rationalize Bradley’s unforeseen sex appeal. It’s fine, really. So, you find him moderately good-looking. You’re only human. And this is all temporary, probably prompted by your dedication to the role of being Bradley Bradshaw’s girlfriend. Meanwhile, the image of Bradley’s rippling back muscles hijacks each and every one of your thoughts.

You walk out of the bathroom and quickly slip into the bed, paranoid that Bradley might sense something off about your behavior. The faster you fall asleep, the faster all of this will be over. You close your eyes.

“Hey, Y/N,” Bradley calls from the couch.

You turn your head to look over at him.

“Forget something?” he asks with his eyebrows raised.

“What?” you ask, your heart beating at sound of his relaxed voice as he settles into the cushions of the couch. You’re not thinking about the thin blanket pulled over his chest or trying to imagine what’s underneath.

“The light?”

“Oh,” you say. “Right.”

“I’ll get it,” he says, lifting himself up. He stands, letting the blanket slip off to reveal his chiselled torso and black boxer briefs.

You hold your breath and avert your gaze as he walks over to the light switch, swallowing uneasily as your face heats up. “Thanks,” you say as he walks back to the couch in the darkness.

…

You wake up to find Bradley sleeping with one leg hanging right off the couch and the other bent in half and upright. The blanket has mostly slipped off to the floor save for a small corner that still covers his lower abdomen and hips. You cringe at the awkward position of his body, watching him sympathetically for a couple of moments. Then, you decide to grab the both of you some coffee and breakfast.

You change quickly and head out without waking him. Returning with two bagels and two coffees, you struggle to hold everything in one hand as you attempt to open the door. Before you can get a proper grip on the handle, you hear music coming from the other side of the chalet. You walk around the porch to see Bradley lounging in one of the chairs on the deck, looking out onto the water.

He turns to look at you and smiles. “Wondered where you went,” he says.

You return his smile. “Brought you a coffee,” you say, handing him a cup.

“Well, aren’t you just the perfect girlfriend?” he says, smirking. He nods at the other lounge chair. “Join me.”

You sit down after handing Bradley his bagel and start to unwrap yours.

“Hand me your coffee for a sec,” he says.

You narrow your eyes at him. “Why?” you ask, slowly extending your arm out so he can lift the cup out of your hand.

Bradley takes the cup, then reaches over and grabs the edge of your lounge chair, pulling it toward him. You let out a startled yelp and he chuckles. “You were too far,” he says.

You glance over his face, laughing uneasily, before returning your attention to the bagel in your hand. “How did you sleep?” you ask.

“Not bad.”

You scoff. “Yeah, right. You looked so uncomfortable this morning.”

He shrugs. “It was fine.”

You look out at the glassy water and sigh. “Just a couple more days,” you say. “Bachelorette tonight, wedding tomorrow. And then home after brunch the next day.”

Bradley nods. “Easy.”

You give him a skeptical look. “At least it’s beautiful here,” you muse, scanning the cliffside across the lake.

Bradley looks over at you, squinting his eyes because the sun is coming up right over your head. “It is,” he agrees.

You take a sip of your coffee to hide the flush in your face when his gaze lingers on you for a little longer than usual. “My sister said you’re invited to the Bachelor party. Are you going to go?”

He shrugs. “Why not?”

You smile at him gratefully. “Thank you for doing this,” you say.

He leans back in his lounge chair and closes his eyes. “My pleasure.”

You chuckle. “My offer still stands. Anything you want, Bradshaw,” you say. “Feel free to get creative.”

He peeks up at you with one eye, smirking. “Careful what you wish for.”

…

You spend the day swimming and sunbathing with Bradley, whose sculpted physique you try to ignore despite his numerous trips into and out of the water. It’s late afternoon and almost time for the two of you to head back to your chalet and get ready for the evening out. Bradley takes one last dip and, upon emerging from the lake a glistening spectacle of a man, starts brushing his hand through his hair to shake out the water. He makes his way toward you and you bring your hand up to your forehead and furrow your brow as though you’re thoroughly focused on the book in your lap when, in reality, you’ve been reading the same sentence for the past twenty minutes and you still don’t have a clue what the fuck it says.

Out of the corner of your eye, you see him bend down to grab his towel from the chair. He starts drying his face and hair, completely disregarding his dripping torso.

“You’re getting water on my book, Bradshaw,” you say, not looking up at him.

He stops wiping the back of his neck and looks over at you. Then, he nudges your knee with his leg and you flinch as his soaking swim shorts brush against your thigh.

“Bradley!” you scream, leaping out of your seat.

He laughs. “Aww, c’mon, Y/N,” he calls after you as you back away. He extends his arms out. “You look like you need a hug.”

“Bradley, I spent the last half an hour drying off! Stay away!” you yelp as he chases after you through the sand.

You stop short at the edge of the water, holding your arm out as he nears you slowly, a mischievous smirk on his face. You shake your head at him threateningly and, by chance, notice movement to your right. You glance over to the row of chalets near the beach and see your mother and aunt having tea on their balcony a few hundred yards away. Your cries must have attracted their attention because they are both looking in your direction.

Bradley follows your gaze and then looks back at you sheepishly. He shrugs and you know exactly what he’s thinking without him having to say a word. You have an audience now, so you have to hug him. He’s practically dry at this point and, were you actually his girlfriend, there would be no reason for you not to.

You step forward tentatively and his smile falters slightly as he watches you approach. The slight breeze coming off the water that covers your skin in goosebumps makes you suddenly painfully aware that you’re wearing the tiniest bikini known to man. You shiver slightly, biting your bottom lip when the two of you meet halfway and, for some reason, you’re distinctly conscious of all the spit in your mouth, gulping it down with much more effort than swallowing spit should require.

Bradley lifts his arm, putting his hand behind your shoulder to gently pull you closer. You bring your arms in – partly because you need a barrier between your bodies that’s thicker than the fabric of your bathing suit, partly because you’re cold as fuck – and you lean into his chest cautiously. Bradley wraps his other arm around your back and rests his chin on top of your head as you lay your cheek over his collarbone.

You endeavor to steady your breathing as your heart runs a marathon inside your ribcage, while Bradley’s soft skin warms your body.

“You’re not cold,” you mutter into his shoulder.

“Why would I be cold?” Bradley chuckles.

“You were wet,” you say.

“Are you cold?” he asks, starting to run his hand up and down your arm before you even respond.

You nod into his neck and he tightens his arms around your body. You sink into him slightly, relishing in his warmth, before finally pulling away.

Bradley gives you a tight smile and then turns to walk back to your beach chairs and collect your things. You let out a shaky sigh and then look up to your mother’s balcony. She’s still watching you, so you lift your hand to give her a small wave.

Your aunt enthusiastically waves back.

Tag List:

Tried my best to tag everyone who asked! The rest of the tag list is in the comments. Let me know if you'd like to be added to the tag list for the rest of the story!

I'll also be opening up a general Rooster tag list for anyone who might be interested in my future Rooster stories. You can watch for that post within the next couple of days :D

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@kindablackenedsuperhero

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@hope-love-equality2

You let out a soft laugh, then get back to business. “I’ll clean your room,” you offer.

“I’ll have you know that my room is immaculate,” Bradley replies.

You scoff. “Then do this for me out of the goodness of your heart!”

Bradley chuckles slightly. “I don’t know, Y/N. This is a big ask.”

“Please, my mother is rounding up all the eligible males on the western seaboard as we speak.”

Bradley laughs. “What does your mother have against landlocked states?”

“I don’t know. Political ideology?”

Bradley snorts. “Have you asked Hangman?”

You groan. “Please don’t make me ask Hangman. He will never let me live this down.”

Bradley nods. “That is true.”

“It’s just a weekend. A few photos here and there. Some superficial chitchat with my grandparents about the importance of educational funding for our nation’s youth. My niece loves airplanes so you can tell her all about your latest mission” –

“My classified mission?”

“Well, leave out the classified parts,” you retort impatiently.

Bradley contemplates your proposal while your mind scrambles trying to determine something that might make it worth his while.

“Free drinks for a week,” you say, wiping the already dry bar to give your free hand something to do.

Bradley raises his eyebrows. “You can’t do that.”

You roll your eyes. Bradley Bradshaw will never go along with a scheme unless it is one hundred percent above board. “Meaning I will pay for them. I get a discount on the alcohol.”

Bradley gives you an amused look. “So, you wish to buy my services.”

You let out a frustrated groan. “I told you, I will do anything you want.”

“Well, I don’t want you paying my tab,” he replies casually.

You lean into the bar with a heavy sigh, bringing your face closer to his. “You are really grinding my gears, Bradshaw,” you say.

His eyes lift to your face as he lets out a wry chuckle.

“Do you really think a weekend with me will be so torturous?” you ask.

“Nah,” he says, leaning back in his stool nonchalantly, but you wonder if he does it to expand the space between your faces. “I wasn't actually going to refuse. Just like to see you sweat.”

He chuckles, ducking as you go to smack him with the towel you just used to wipe the bar.

…

“Aunt Barb is a hard-ass,” you say in a low voice, turning your head toward Bradley as your aunt makes a beeline for you at the rehearsal dinner. You end up talking into Bradley’s shoulder because he’s so much taller than you and he instinctively lowers his head so he can hear you better.

“What’s that, shorty?” he mutters, and you roll your eyes at the nickname. But the next moment, you can feel his breath on your forehead and you gulp when his palm flattens against your back. You had been the one who'd asked him to pretend to be your boyfriend, but you hadn’t actually considered what that might entail. Apparently, it entails Bradley Bradshaw’s hand on your lower back and a woozy sensation in your gut akin to a 200-foot roller coaster drop. You aren’t too fond of roller coasters.

You glance up at him and your eyes meet for a split second. Bradley promptly straightens his back. You let out an unsteady sigh and say, “Aunt Barb will be questioning you; be prepared. Have you read my notes?”

Bradley gives you a pointed look. “Of course, I read your notes.”

But as Aunt Barb approaches, you feel Bradley’s touch along your back waver until his hand finally drops at his side.

“Y/N!” your aunt exclaims, giving you a kiss on each cheek. She blinks up at Bradley expectantly.

“This is Bradley,” you say. “This is my aunt, Barb.”

Bradley holds out his hand. “It’s great to meet you,” he says.

Aunt Barb gives him a crafty smile. “Is this your boyfriend, Y/N?” she asks, but her question is directed more at Bradley than at you.

Bradley returns her smile. “That’s me,” he replies, giving you a quick glance.

“Oh, good,” your aunt says. “We were starting to get worried after that whole fiasco with Steven.”

You stare at her as Bradley turns to you. “Who’s Steven?” he asks.

Aunt Barb gives him a probing look. “You don’t know?”

Bradley eyes you inquisitively. “Should I?” he asks, still looking at you.

“Her ex, of course,” Barb continues. “He’s here, you know?”

You peel your gaze away from Bradley to look at your aunt. “What? Why?”

She shrugs. “He’s friends with the groom, of course. Or have you forgotten?”

You grimace. You don’t remember Steven being exceedingly close with your sister’s fiancé, so the fact that he somehow weaseled his way into this function aggravates you greatly.

When your aunt walks away, Bradley turns to you with his eyebrows raised. “Steven wasn’t in your notes.”

You give him a sour look. “He wasn’t supposed to be here.”

Bradley shrugs. “Still think you should’ve mentioned him. Was it serious?”

“Nope,” you respond curtly, ready to put the topic to rest.

Bradley seems to sense your reluctance to engage in this particular conversation and drops the subject. “Shall we go grab some drinks?”

You’re about to respond when your mother appears before you and you nearly bump into her. “Mom!” you exclaim in surprise.

“Y/N, why are you so jumpy?” she asks.

You shoot a nervous glance in Bradley’s direction, but he appears unfazed. “Afternoon, ma’am,” he says, bowing his head slightly.

Your mother looks over at Bradley with a judgemental air. “Are you the aviator?” she asks with a hint of distaste in her tone.

“Indeed,” Bradley responds, giving you a confident look before glancing back at your mother.

But your mother is no longer paying Bradley any attention. She turns back to you. “Steven is here,” she says.

You let out a sigh. “Yes, I know, mother.”

She gives you a knowing look before glancing back at Bradley. “We all thought they were going to get married,” she says with an artificial smile.

Bradley raises his eyebrows and nods his head slowly. “You must be disappointed,” he says.

Your mother seems pleased with his response and nods at Bradley vehemently. “They have a lot of history,” she says.

You close your eyes. “Mom, stop.”

“I’m just saying, he’s here,” your mom says. “Do with that what you will.”

You blink at her. “I will do nothing.”

Bradley watches you squirm sympathetically and, when you glance up at him defeatedly, he takes you by the hand. “Ma’am, it’s been a pleasure,” he says and starts to pull you away. “We just want to hit the bar before the first course.”

“Sure.” Your mom gives him a quick nod and throws a pointed look in your direction.

You cling to Bradley’s hand gratefully, even going as far as clutching at his arm with your other hand just to get away faster. “Thank you, thank you, thank you,” you whimper.

He looks down at you, squeezing your hand. “It’s why I’m here, right?” he says.

“Right,” you agree, feeling his bicep flex under your fingers as his hand tightens around yours.

…

After dinner, you make your way through the crowd to the bathroom. The evening is nearly over and it seems that you and Bradley have put on a reasonably convincing charade. Bradley’s relaxed disposition has made the evening infinitely more enjoyable than you could have imagined and you find yourself feeling almost sorry that the night is coming to an end. Almost. Because, after all, you won’t be able to take a real breath of relief until you’re in the comfort of your room.

You’re lost in your thoughts as you walk back to your table and you completely miss the fact that your ex-boyfriend has spotted you and is heading your way.

“Y/N!” he exclaims as if he’s surprised to see you attending your own sister’s wedding rehearsal.

You blink at him in alarm. “Steven,” you say with a slight grimace, kicking yourself for not checking your surroundings before making your way across the open floor.

Your eyes scan the tables, desperately searching for Bradley. When you locate him, you can see that he’s already watching you.

Steven steps closer to you, holding out his hands. “It’s good to see you, Y/N,” he says, leaning in for a hug.

You recoil as he tries to put his arms around you. “Is it?” you ask, holding up your hand to keep him back. The last time you saw him, he was throwing every insult imaginable in your direction.

Over Steven’s shoulder, you can see Bradley getting out his seat and starting to make his way toward the two of you, a stony expression on his face.

“You look great,” Steven continues, finally lowering his arms.

“Uh, thanks,” you say uneasily just as Bradley steps around Steven to face him.

“Everything alright here?” Bradley asks, his eyes sliding between you and Steven.

“Mm-hm,” you say, instinctively shifting closer to Bradley as Steven continues to scrutinize your every move.

“I’m Bradley,” he introduces himself, confidently extending his hand to Steven.

“Steven.” Steven takes his hand tentatively and you can see the slight wince on his face as Bradley crushes his hand in a handshake.

“I’ve heard a lot about you, Steven,” Bradley says, and you look up at him sharply.

“Oh, really?” Steven lifts his eyebrows, giving you a smirk.

“No,” Bradley replies flatly.

Steven blinks at him in confusion, clearly taken aback.

Bradley slides his arm around your waist possessively and you lean into him slightly, relieved that he’s playing his part so perfectly.

Steven gives Bradley a hostile look which Bradley expertly returns. Then, he lowers his face, saying, “Drink?”

“Yes, please,” you say, letting out a sigh.

“You take care, Steven,” Bradley says, wheeling you around in the direction of the bar.