PURPLEVORTEX

Mrs. President and her husband, Frederick Miller, had four children, and everyone was waiting to see if Jo and Freddy's daughters would follow in their mother's footsteps. Lisa, the older sibling, was too preoccupied with her Hollywood career to consider a political career. That wasn’t for her. Keeya, the youngest, was now in her third year of college, and her dream of becoming a judge was more significant for the young Miller than becoming a politician. That wasn’t for her, either. 

And then there was Y/n. She was the middle daughter, always in the middle, even though Keeya had a twin brother, Keith. Keith was also studying law, but while Keeya was following her dreams at Harvard, Keith had chosen Yale as his dream college. It was the first time the twins didn’t follow the same path, and it still saddened them a bit. Keith thought that it was a good opportunity to prove to himself that he didn’t need to be around his sister to succeed. He could do it on his own. 

But this story isn’t about Lisa, Keeya or Keith. It’s about Y/n, or how everyone called her, Hawk. Hawk Miller, a Navy pilot, a girl who had been raised to fight the world’s evilness while sitting in a chair but decided to fight for a better tomorrow, sat on an F-18. 

Hawk Miller, who walked down the halls of the Top Gun Academy after receiving an invite with the girls of her squad. Ohana Squad, they called themselves. A family. Walking behind her were Hollie, also known as Bean, and Ari, whose callsign was Dragon. The two other pilots of her squad. Bean stood out with her golden locks, and Ari’s hazel eyes had a lot of pilots swooning over her. They were like the protective mothers of the group.

In front of her, the wizzos walked, talking excitedly and almost jumping around. Katie, callsign Duchess, the redhead goddess with the warmest smile and the kindest soul, and Shay, callsign Nova, whose quiet personality made her look like a cold person, but she was just a big ball of shyness and cuteness with a strong will and the best aim the Navy had ever seen. 

It was a curious group, but Hawk would never change them. Not even for a second. 

“I still can’t believe that we’re here." Dragon’s eyes traced the whole place, completely in awe. She was admiring the academy, taking in her surroundings, and appreciating the amount of history hanging from the walls. 

“Believe it, girl. We’re the best squad around!” Duchess said, raising her hand to get a high five from Hawk, who was oddly quiet. “Honey, are you okay?” 

But she didn’t answer. 

“Hawk?” 

“Oh! Sorry, I got lost in my thoughts. Were you saying something?” 

All the girls laughed a bit after noticing her friend’s nervousness. “Come on, Hawk. It’ll be okay. Just breathe in and out.” 

And even though Bean’s advice would have been really helpful, Hawk’s mind was already creating the worst scenarios. Most of them were different, but all of them had something in common: someone looked down on her just because she was the president’s daughter. 

It wasn’t uncommon to hear somebody claim that Hawk's Navy accomplishments were solely due to her being Joanne Miller's daughter. In fact, this treatment didn’t start at the Navy. Her mother had been a politician her entire life, and people assumed Hawk's good grades, scholarships, debate club trophies, and other accomplishments were given to her in order to appease her mother. Or that they were afraid of her. 

She was used to it. She knew people thought of her as a nepo baby. That she was given anything she desired. Reality, however, was completely different. 

And a small part of her was terrified that people would think her being at Top Gun was just a favor from some high-ranking official to her mother. Hawk Miller had fought really hard to prove everyone and herself she was a good pilot. One of the bests of her generation. She deserved to be there, as much as her friends. 

Nobody could tell her otherwise. 

Or so she thought. 

Walking into the classroom was unsettling. While Hawk thought that her very first day at the Navy academy was hard, that day at Top Gun proved it wrong. She was among the best. She wasn't special anymore, she was just like the rest. It was a comforting feeling to not stand out for once in her life.

“Hey, isn't that Lieutenant Commander Trace?” Ari asked while Hawk sat down next to her. Both pilots were looking at the Lieutenant in question, who was laughing with a man with blonde hair and glasses while observing the newbies taking seats. 

Katie gasped loudly. “Oh my gosh, it is!” 

Bean, who sat behind them both, leaned closer to the other girls, whispering too. “Girls, that means the Dagger Squad is in charge of instruction.”

The five girls looked at each other, shock and excitement written all over their faces in equal parts. “At last someone that knows more than me,” Hawk joked while sitting straight once Trace started calling everyone's attention. 

“Good morning, ladies and gentlemen. My name is Lieutenant Commander Trace, also known as Phoenix, and for the next five weeks, you're going to be under my care. Whether that means something good or bad is up to you.” 

A few other pilots entered the class, earning a glare from Commander Trace before they stood next to the blonde with glasses.

“You came here because you are the best. Or so you think.” She came to a halt in the classroom, next to Hawk and her girls, and looked down. “Right now, I am the best pilot in this class, apart from your other instructors standing there, and none of you have what it takes to beat me or them.” 

At the first rows of the class, a pair of male pilots snorted at Phoenix’s statement. The blonde guy with glasses stands in front of them, arms crossed over his chest, while the other one walked dangerously slowly towards them. He had a moustache and curly hair and a face that showed those two idiotic aviators had struck a nerve.

“Got a problem with your Commander, guys?” 

While one of them lowered his eyes and apologized, the other rose from his seat and looked at the man in glasses. “I’m just guessing this is some kind of prank to spread Joanne Miller’s gender equality agenda now that her daughter is among us. But you know what? I have enough of it already while having to deal with a nepo baby, I don’t want a woman to try and teach me what I already know.” 

It only took a second for one of the other instructors, a tall black man, to grab the moron by the collar and kick him out of the classroom. Hawk attempted to grab Ari's arm to keep her from going after that idiot, but failed. She dashed out of the classroom, Phoenix trailing behind her, while Hawk turned around and took a deep breath before looking at her friends. “Let’s go get her before she gets herself kicked out.” 

They could hear Ari’s voice from inside. She was the loud one in the group. “C’mere, big boy! Let a woman teach you a lesson. That ‘nepo baby’ is ten times better than your sorry ass!” 

Phoenix laughed a bit and popped her head inside the class, looking for one of her fellow instructors. “Hey, Hangman. I think I found one of your new students!”

And while the pilot called Hangman laughed himself and exited the class to get the girl who was now swearing in Spanish, Hawk realized every single other pilot or wizzo was either staring at her, taking a picture with their phones or gossiping in quiet whispers. 

All eyes were focused on her once again. 

Her worst scenario came true right in front of her. 

So the rumours were true. Y/N Miller was actually Joanne Miller’s daughter. The president’s daughter. Mickey didn’t like nepotism. He had his fair share of piltos who were there just because their parents were famous pilots or politicians. Experience had taught him that nepo babies only meant trouble. 

And the first daughter wouldn’t mean less. 

By the time Nat had finished giving her speech, Fanboy was sure of two things. First, Hawk Miller and her friends would be the center of all the disturbances during the next five weeks. And the second was that it didn’t matter her surname or her mother’s job; it didn’t matter that, in a way, Hawk’s mother was Mickey’s boss. He wasn’t going to give her a special treatment.

Hawk Miller was just another student. Five weeks, and she’d be gone. 

"Mickey, if you keep staring at her like that, she’s gonna notice your little crush on her.” Javy’s joke pulled Fanboy out of his thoughts, earning the pilot a glare from the wizzo. “Oh, boy, if looks could kill, Jake would have killed me long ago so don’t even bother.” 

“Not funny, Machado.” 

Javy’s eyebrows rose almost to his hairline. “Surnames? Really? Buddy, we’ve been to hell and back; we don’t do surnames anymore. What’s going on?” 

Mickey leaned against the wall, watching as Hawk Miller was surrounded by pilots and wizzos who asked her for pictures or autographs, like she was some kind of celebrity. It made his skin crawl. “She’s just here because of her mother.” 

“Come on, Miguel. You don’t really think that.” 

The wizzo retrieved from his bag a folder. Hawk’s file. “Have you read this? She’s not that great. She hasn’t done anything outstanding, either. Why’s she here?” 

Payback, who had been listening subtly to the conversation, approached his two friends, placing his hands on their shoulders. “You know, when Bob was called here, he didn’t have exactly an outstanding story. And he was with us on that suicide mission.” 

“And now is in charge of the WSO side of the program. He was good. Someone saw potential.” Javy adds, nodding at Payback’s words. 

For a moment, it looked like their words were going to convince Mickey, to actually get rid of that uneasy feeling that the wizzo had been feeling since the day he heard the rumours of the president’s daughter being a student at Top Gun. 

But when President Joanne Miller herself appeared inside his class ten seconds later, he realized that he was right. He had to trust his hunch. 

Hawk Miller not only meant trouble. 

She was a walking disaster. 

@purplevortexx

@novastories

There was a new text from an unknown number. And there was a photo attached. He grimaced, afraid of what he was going to find if he tapped on it. He read the phone number twice, but it didn't sound familiar beyond the San Diego area code. He let his head tip back as he recalled the time he pissed Nat off and she gave his phone number to a random sailor in retaliation. Bradley really hoped he wasn't going to have to kindly ask someone to stop sending him dick pics like last time. 

Before he lost the nerve, he tapped on the message, and his screen was suddenly filled with a photo of a woman who looked just a few years younger than him. And she was hot. He paused with his beer bottle halfway to his lips before letting it settle back down to his thigh. 

Hey, Alan. It's me. So now you have my phone number, too.

Bradley didn't know who the hell Alan was, but he wasn't mad about the mix-up. This photo was something else. It almost looked like it was taken in the bathroom at the Hard Deck. The lighting was bad, and there was a paper towel dispenser in the background, but whoever you were.... damn, you were stunning. All pretty features and smiling like you had a secret. 

It took him a moment to stop staring at the photo and return to the previous screen and your message. He was going to have to tell you that he wasn't Alan and that you had the wrong number, but he just sat there and tapped his phone case instead. He didn't even like the name Alan, but damn if he didn't want to be Alan right now. That lucky bastard had you interested in him. 

Bradley was wondering how the mix-up happened in the first place as he drafted up a text to you. Only some sort of fucking idiot wouldn't check and double check that he gave you the right number. "Amateurs," he mumbled as he typed with a little smirk on his face.

Hey, sorry to inform you, but this actually isn't Alan. However, I wouldn't mind one bit if you kept sending me the photos that are meant for him.

He hit send and tossed his phone aside, assuming you'd just block him and move on with your night. He brought his beer bottle back to his lips and enjoyed the way the drink helped cool him down while he contemplated taking a shower, but when he reached for the remote again, his phone vibrated. 

There was another message from the same number. Intrigued, Bradley unlocked his phone again, and he was pleased to see another text and another photo.

Hi, Not-Alan. Sorry about that! I hope you have a great night.

This photo was similar to the first one, except that you were flipping him the peace sign and winking which made Bradley laugh. You seemed fun, even through this limited interaction. And he was sure that was the ladies' bathroom at the Hard Deck, which pissed him off, because he got out of work so late he didn't feel like going out tonight. Maybe if he had been there, you wouldn't have been talking to Alan in the first place.

"Damn it." He was intrigued. He wanted to know more about this.

My night is substantially better now that I have two photos of you. So where did Alan get off to anyway? And why is he trying to steal my phone number?

This time Bradley was dying for another response. But it didn't come. He stared at his phone for a solid minute before returning to his beer and downing the rest of the bottle. Still nothing. He stood and made his way into the kitchen, tossing his empty into the recycling bin before getting another one from the fridge and eyeing up the food situation. He should probably eat something, but he swore he heard his phone vibrating. When he looked over to the couch, the screen was lit up. 

He slammed the fridge door and opened the new bottle before heading back to his phone. There was no photo this time, but there was a new message.

I actually lost Alan in the crowd, so really, the man could be just about anywhere. And I don't think he was trying to steal your number at all, Not-Alan. He wrote it on my palm, and it smeared before I could add it to my phone.

"Okay," Bradley said out loud. "Now we're getting somewhere." He sat down on the couch with his beer on the coffee table and started a new message. 

Alan should learn how to write neater in the future, because he's missing out here. You have to double check that someone who looks like you got the number right. Everyone knows that.

Bradley decided that he was going to have no shame for the night. Not as long as you kept writing back to him. He was contemplating how to save your number in his phone when another selfie with a message came through. You were out by the bar at the Hard Deck with a smile on your face, and you were holding up your palm complete with Bradley's smeared phone number.

Does this number look familiar, Not-Alan? Still no actual Alan in sight, by the way. 

Bradley supposed that the 7 could have been mistaken for a 1. Or maybe Alan's phone number had a 5 that got smeared into a 6. It didn't really matter. Bradley was going to shoot his shot and hope Alan didn't resurface. 

Good, Alan can just stay lost. What's your name, pretty girl?

Then he saved your number as Pretty Girl, and this time he did manage to turn the TV on while he waited with his phone in his hand. He muted the Clippers game and picked up his beer before promptly setting it back down again.

Pretty Girl: Not so fast, Not-Alan. You tell me your name first. And how old you are. And your blood type and the last four of your social security number. 

Bradley laughed and started typing. He realized he hadn't stopped smiling for the last twenty minutes as he hit send.

I'm Bradley. I'm 34. O positive. 2305.

On a regular night, the basketball game would have held his attention, but tonight he couldn't stop looking at his phone. "Come on, Pretty Girl," he muttered, running his beer bottle along his thigh before taking a sip. 

Pretty Girl: Okay, Bradley. You have my attention. Send me a selfie exactly where you are, and I'll think about telling you my name. No changing into something nicer. No fixing your hair. Just a selfie. Right now.

Bradley looked down at himself in just his black boxer briefs and mumbled, "If you say so." When he set his phone camera to selfie mode, he looked at the screen and realized his hair still looked pretty decent from work. So he went ahead and took a picture where he was wearing a bit of a skeptical smirk, and he sent it before he could think twice. 

And now his heart was beating a little faster. This was probably where you'd stop responding. Oh hell, at least he went for it, but a few minutes later, you still hadn't sent anything back to him. Maybe he could have tried to hide the scars on his neck and cheek, but what was the point? Clearly you were sending him actual selfies you'd taken tonight, and he did exactly what you'd told him to. Then his phone vibrated.

Pretty Girl: Do you really expect me to believe that you're not just googling "hot shirtless guy with a mustache", downloading a photo, and trying to pass it off as yourself?

He tipped his head back and laughed. There was just something about you. He didn't even know your name or what your voice sounded like, but he could already tell he was going to like both of those things. If you ever told him or let him hear you.

That's really me. Promise. Will you tell me your name now? Or do I have to keep calling you Pretty Girl?

He was wondering if you were still at the bar, surrounded by guys like Alan who would love to take you home while you were chatting with him. And he hoped the next text would contain your name. But you just ignored him when you wrote back a few minutes later. 

Pretty Girl: Prove you're not just sending some photos of a random hot dude. Go stand by your open refrigerator and take a selfie. Then take another one with your toothbrush. 

"She's a handful," Bradley murmured as he stood with a smile. He carried his beer into the kitchen, opened his refrigerator and snapped a selfie where the fridge light somehow accentuated his features nicely. Then he left his beer on the counter while he went into his bathroom. He was actively trying not to smile for this one where he had his red toothbrush hanging out of the side of his mouth, but he was on the verge of laughing at how ridiculous his night turned out to be. 

He typed up a message and attached both photos and then sent them off while he finished his beer at the kitchen counter, Clippers game forgotten. 

What is this, Pretty Girl? A hostage negotiation? I already told you, that's really me.

It didn't take too long for you to respond this time, and Bradley wasn't even letting his screen dim long enough to need to unlock it now.

Pretty Girl: Are you naked in these photos?

"Jesus," he muttered. Of course he wasn't. Did you want him to be? Shit, he needed to stop thinking about that.

No! I'm wearing underwear. You told me not to get changed or anything.

He felt flushed and too warm as he set his phone down on the counter and went to open some windows. Then he walked a few laps around his apartment in an effort to chill the fuck out. He wasn't even with you, and you were under his skin. 

When he returned to his phone, there was a selfie and a message waiting for him. In the photo, you were sipping a drink, and the way the straw pressed to your perfect lips had him practically moaning. 

Pretty Girl: My friend thinks there's something wrong with me. I'm at a Navy bar in San Diego at the moment. There are hot guys galore, and yet I'm glued to my phone. 

"Shit, shit, shit." Bradley thought about getting dressed and heading out to the bar himself. Then maybe he could hear you tell him your name in person right before he pulled the straw away from your mouth and kissed you.

How much longer are you going to be at the Hard Deck, Pretty Girl?

Bradley started heading for his bedroom closet when his phone vibrated in his hand.

Pretty Girl: How do you know I'm at the Hard Deck? Do I need to smash my phone to bits and go into hiding?

"Fuck," he grunted, typing so quickly he had to go back and fix several spelling errors before he could send it. The last thing he wanted to do was make you uncomfortable, so he paused before getting any clothing out of his closet.

Because I'm in the Navy, and I live in San Diego. And I recognized the inside of the bathroom from the first photo you sent me. I swear I'm not creepy. You can ask Penny, the bartender and owner of that fine establishment. I spend enough time there. Show her my photo.

Bradley collapsed onto his bed with his forearm over his eyes and his phone clutched to his chest. He didn't have to check the time to know it had been a while since he texted you. He also didn't have to look at his phone to know it was after midnight now and that you and he had been chatting for almost two hours. Bradley jolted when the phone vibrated against his chest.

Pretty Girl: Okay. Alright. Penny is a sweetheart, and your story checks out. Also, she told me your call sign and then told me to have you verify what it is for my own peace of mind. So what is it, Bradley? And how do you know what the ladies' restroom here looks like?

Oh, he was going to owe Penny big time. He typed away as he lay sprawled out on his bed.

My call sign is Rooster. And as for your bathroom question.... are you really going to make me answer that?

Bradley closed his eyes and thought about the girl who had taken him into the bathroom with her last year. He was pretty sure she had brown hair, but other than that, he couldn't really recall. But he did remember looking at that paper towel holder on the wall and the framed photo of an F/A-14 that was hanging over it while he was in there with her. 

He wouldn't mind taking a trip there with you, that was for sure. Or maybe you and he could skip the scandalous bar hookup and just go right to dinner or a movie. For some reason, he thought he might actually prefer that.

Pretty Girl: Be back soon. I'm getting a ride home.

Bradley mused out loud, "It better not be from Alan." Shit, he could have offered to go pick you up and make sure you got home safely. He'd only had those two beers all night, and now he was picturing some faceless guy named Alan driving you home and pawing at you.

He texted you back.

Let me know when you get home, okay? And you can always just call me.

With a sigh, he got out of bed and plugged his phone in, not sure what to expect at this point. He went back into the bathroom and used his red toothbrush. And then he went back to the living room and closed all the windows. When he was in his room again, he had no new notifications as he climbed in bed. He was about to text you again and check in when his phone rang.

CALL FROM Pretty Girl

Bradley was smiling as he answered. "Hey, Pretty Girl."

A soft laugh preceded your voice, and he had to bite the inside of his cheek as you said, "Hi, Bradley with the O positive blood. Are you trying to tell me that you were in that bar bathroom with a girl?"

He found himself laughing. "Can I plead the fifth?"

When you moaned softly, he dropped his phone onto the pillow and had to scramble to get it. "Oh, my god. Even your voice is sexy."

Okay. He should not be on the verge of touching himself after you spoke three whole sentences to him. "You make it home safely?" he asked, trying to play it cool as he thought about those photos you sent him. 

"Mmhmm. A very nice man named Alan drove me home. He's right here next to me as I get changed for bed."

Bradley thought for a beat that he had met his match in you. "You better be lying. You know what, put Alan on the phone."

Your laughter filled him up as you said, "He's not really here. I had to ditch him, because he doesn't even have a mustache. Apparently that's a deal breaker for me now?"

Holy shit. Bradley was in trouble. He was getting turned on, and you weren't even really saying anything dirty. "You're killing me. You gonna tell me your name, Pretty Girl?"

"No. I think I'm going to hold onto it a little longer."

"Fine. But please explain to me how I've never seen you at the Hard Deck before. I'm certain I would remember your face."

Your voice sounded a little softer now as you said, "I just moved to Coronado. It was my first time at the bar."

If he hadn't worked so late today, Bradley would have probably been there tonight as well. "You had fun? You think you'll go back again?"

"Probably," you replied casually. "When do you think you'll be there?"

Bradley was so warm he was starting to sweat. "Pretty Girl, you just say the word, and I'll clear my whole damn calendar."

Your little sighs and soft giggles were going to be the death of him. "You know, I still have Alan's, or rather your phone number on my hand."

He imagined himself kissing your palm and rewriting his phone number. "Should be in my handwriting. I'll make sure I always bring a pen with me to the bar."

You cleared your throat softly, and Bradley imagined you climbing into bed. "Penny told me to watch out for some of the other guys. But she said you're okay."

"Just okay?"

"Actually, she called you a big, brown eyed puppy dog."

Bradley laughed. "I've been called worse."

"I'm sure you have," you replied quickly. "You deserve some sort of punishment for daring to look good with a mustache."

"It's a blessing and a curse. Now, are you going to send me another photo? Or are you going to just agree to meet me tomorrow night?"

He heard a rustling noise and then you softly said, "Alan is not going to like this one bit." And then another photo arrived, and this one had Bradley's mouth hanging open. 

"Now it's my turn to ask if you're naked in this picture." He was taking in every inch of your exposed skin and your bedding tucked up to your collar bones. You took your makeup off for bed, and you looked cozy and intimate. And you were talking to him. You were letting him see this. Bradley had to actively think about not touching himself. 

"Totally naked."

"Fuck."

"Send me another one?"

"Yeah," he grunted, swallowing hard as he tried to pose for another selfie just how he was, sprawled out on his pillow with his left arm bent and tucked back behind his head. But his cheeks looked flushed, and his eyes looked darker than usual. He was turned on. 

Fuck it. He snapped the photo and sent it. And about ten seconds later, he was greeted with the strangled sound you made.

"It should be illegal for someone with that mustache to look so good. It's rude, honestly. Bradley, you're kind of rude, because now I want to know...."

He was hanging on your every word. "Know what, Pretty Girl?"

The call went completely silent before you said softly and sweetly, "What your mustache feels like...everywhere."

A soft, startled laugh escaped his lips. You were on the verge of some dirty talk now, he could just tell. And his cock was hard as he replied with, "I'd love to let you find out. But before you respond, I need to know how much you've had to drink tonight. I don't want to take advantage of anything here."

You whimpered on the other end of the call. "A mustache, brown eyes, and a gentleman? All Alan did for me was buy me those two Long Island iced teas."

Bradley grunted and said, "That's enough about Alan. Why don't you go ahead and tell me where you'd like to feel my mustache first, Pretty Girl."

You squeaked and said, "I want to feel it rough along my skin right below my ear while you whisper to me. Oh my god, I can't believe I said that out loud. I should just go to bed."

"Don't hang up," Bradley said, panting with need now. "Tell me more."

"Okay," you sighed with another little squeak. "I want to feel it on my lips. While I'm sitting in your lap, licking the taste of that beer you drank from your mouth."

"Holy shit," he groaned, palming himself through his boxer briefs.

"I know," you whined with need. "And I want to feel it on the back of my neck while you do filthy things to me. And I don't even know you!"

"You will," he guaranteed. "Please, tell me what time I can meet you tomorrow."

Bradley listened to the rustle of your sheets as he waited. Then you finally said, "Seven o'clock? At the Hard Deck?"

"I'll be there, Pretty Girl. I can't wait to see you."

--------------------------

It was barely even 6:30, but you were already at the bar all made up and wearing a cute dress. Penny recognized you right away, which was kind of nice and kind of embarrassing. When she asked if you wanted another Long Island, you waved her off and said, "Nothing yet. I'm meeting someone."

Her eyes lit up as she asked, "Is it Rooster?"

You'd barely slept all night, preferring to look at the four selfies he'd sent you after you ended the call around two. There was a little more dirty talk, sure, but you and he also learned a bit more about each other. And now you were going to meet this naval aviator who was originally from Virginia but loved the Los Angeles Clippers face to face. 

"Yeah. It's Rooster."

Penny looked truly delighted. "You have nothing to worry about. He's very sweet."

"Tell that to the butterflies," you muttered as you placed one hand on your stomach for a beat, willing the nerves to dissipate as you walked away. You'd told Bradley you wanted his mustache on your body. In several places. And then he told you he thought you were so pretty and fun that he wanted to kiss you everywhere. And right now you were just mystified as to how this could have possibly happened only a week after you moved to this neighborhood. And you still didn't know what happened to Alan after you went to the ladies' bathroom and saved the wrong number in your phone.

You laughed when you thought about it, and then you ran your hands along the fabric of your dress. You were so antsy, your palms were sweaty. You looked down at yourself and just got more nervous. Bradley hadn't seen much of your body in the photos you'd sent to him. You'd seen plenty of his though, and he looked tall and muscular even next to his damn refrigerator. And his face was gorgeous, right down to that sinful looking mustache. 

And you were just... you. Alan was really more your speed with his nerdy glasses and messy hairstyle and his lack of ability to even grow any sort of facial hair at all. You just hoped that Bradley wouldn't take one look at you in person and walk right back out of the bar. 

You were about to tell Penny that you thought you needed a drink after all when the door caught your eye, and Bradley strolled into the bar like he owned the place. "Oh...fuck," you whispered, gaping at him as he ran his fingers through his hair. The photos hadn't even done him justice. He had to be over six feet tall, and he was so broad and muscular, he looked like he could pick you up and toss you around a little bit. "Shit." He was wearing some snug fitting jeans and a tropical print shirt like he just knew he could pull off the most ridiculous look. "Damn." He was glancing around, trying to find you while you started scouring the room unsuccessfully for another exit. 

You were trapped in here, and he was walking further into the bar now. And you didn't think you could hide halfway behind this couple who was making out for very much longer.  

As Bradley's eyes scanned the crowd again, he looked a little apprehensive. His brow was scrunched, and he checked the time on his watch. You knew it was almost seven. So you took a deep breath and let it out slowly, and then you scooted one step to your left. When his gaze came your way again, his eyes landed on you. And then his face softened. The apprehension melted away, and he smiled a cute and somehow sexy little grin that made you whimper.

Now he was heading your way, his gait sure and steady. And then he was just a few feet away and you could see the scars on his face that you'd studied all night in the photos. And you could see the flecks of gold in his eyes that somehow the selfies didn't capture. And then he was talking, and his voice was even better in person.

"Pretty Girl."

Okay, so he'd seen you up close, and he wasn't running away. That had to be a good sign, right? You managed to say just one slightly breathless word. "Hi." And then his smile grew, and he was closing the space between your body and his. He was reaching for your face and running one rough thumb along your cheek. And then he kissed you.

And the soft scrape of his mustache was even better than all of the ways you'd spent your night imagining it might feel. You couldn't help but return his kiss, and somehow your hands ended up pressed to the front of him, sliding up to his chest. 

When he broke the kiss, he stayed close, his lips not far from your face. He covered your hands with his, keeping them on his body. And then he leaned close to your ear, his mustache scraping along your soft skin there as he whispered, "Tell me your name, Pretty Girl. I'm dying here."

Soft laughter bubbled out of you as he pulled away from you a bit, and those butterflies were going wild. His eyes were fixed on your face, begging for an answer this time as he stroked your hands with his thumbs. And then you told him, and he tried your name out on his tongue a few times with that grin that you liked so much. He kept saying it softly until you kissed him this time, and then he guided your arms around his neck. 

"Listen," he said in that raspy voice that you'd love to focus on all night. "I have no problem staying here for a while if you want to. I bet you could even persuade me to join you in the ladies' room."

"Sounds tempting," you told him with a smirk.

"It really does. But we could also just ditch the bar and grab dinner instead? Maybe watch the Clippers game and have a drink at my place? I'm a little worried Alan might show up here and try to lure you away, if I'm being honest."

You practically snorted with laughter. "I can't even really remember what Alan looks like. He was totally gone from my mind after the first selfie you sent me. Let's get out of here."

He took you by the hand. "Anything you want, Pretty Girl."

-------------------------

I love dreamy loverboy Bradley, and I love Pretty Girl too. Thanks to @mak-32 and @beyondthesefourwalls

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~~~~~

You glance at the GPS on the screen of your car again as you scan the street ahead of you. It’s situated on a quieter side of town and half the homes have beach access. Not at all where you’d pictured a single star-athlete in his early thirties to be living. It’s not like you expected a seedy bachelor pad riddled with used condoms and syphilis, but this was a neighborhood for the settled. Cookie cutter families walk along the sidewalks pushing strollers and chatting amongst each other. Kids ride their bikes unattended, safe in their suburban utopia. You and the well-loved car that you’ve had since you were sixteen are feeling slightly out of place in this picture-perfect neighborhood as if you’re a hopeless puppy tracking mud on a freshly cleaned kitchen floor. The GPS chimes, alerting you that you’ve reached your destination. The house on your right looks a lot like the others on the street, a cozy suburban beach house. The driveway is empty so Jake’s truck must be parked in the garage. You pull into the free space, sighing as you scan the home for any clues about its owner. There’s none to be found. Curtains shield the inside of the house from view, and there’s no furniture or decoration on the porch. The only evidence of the house even being lived in is the freshly mowed lawn. You frown hoping that Jake hired someone to do that. The idea of him pushing a mower with his knee in its current state fills you with irritation. The idea of Jake, shirtless and sweaty pushing the mower fills you with more irritation. You shake your head to clear away the image, before getting out of the car, and heading up the short path to the door. You hesitate before knocking, wondering if you should have just stayed in the car and texted him to come out. You decide against it since he has his leg to worry about plus wrangling a dog. Speaking of Pudding, you’re saved the trouble of deciding to knock as a chorus of barking alerts her owner to your presence at the door. You hear a muffled voice amongst the barks as the door swings open to reveal Jake wrestling with the collar of a Tibetan mastiff with a glassy caramel coat who’s doing her best to get away from her owner so she can give you a proper welcome.

“Pud, come on, you need to settle down. Come on girl.” He urges the giant fluffball of joy. You drop to squat in front of her.

“Hey girl, it’s nice to finally meet you.” You reach out a hand for her to sniff only to have her instantly soak it with slobber as she gives it an enthusiastic lick that lets you know that you’ve long since passed the friendship test. You laugh and fish into your purse, pulling out a ziploc bag with a dog treat in it. At the sight of the treat, Pudding begins wagging her tail so hard she almost takes out her owner. You extend it to her and her giant tongue sweeps it up easily, and you watch it disappear into her gaping maw and she looks at you expectantly, her tongue lolling. “Sorry sweet girl, I don’t have anymore.” You say with a chuckle, reaching out to ruffle the fur on her head affectionately. She noses at your hand as if to say that all is forgiven. Finally, you turn to her owner who’s been watching the two of you fondly from where he’s casually leaning on the doorframe. “Hey.” You offer him.

“Hey, Bugs, you sure clean up something pretty.” You can’t help the flush that paints your cheeks at the compliment. You’re not wearing anything fancy by any means but you suppose the t-shirt and dress shorts are a far cry from the scrubs you wear at work.

“Thanks, you too.” He’s wearing a short-sleeve button-down and shorts of his own. The brace on his knee is clearly visible and you like how honesty looks in him.

“I’m glad you like it, I picked this shirt just for you. It really makes my great tits pop, don’t you think?” He puffs out his chest for emphasis and you want to die from mortification.

“Please forget I ever said that.” You plead.

Jake looks at you incredulously. “Of course not, Bugs. I don’t think I’m ever going to forget that.” He’s wearing a shit-eating grin. You scowl.

“Come on, Lola, let’s get going or we’re going to be late.” He laughs behind you as you turn to start heading to the car.

“Hey!” You don’t turn. “Bugs, where are you going?” You turn to see him still standing in the doorway, a confused look on his face.”

“To my car? Since I’m driving us?”

“Bunny you can’t possibly think we’re all gonna fit in there with my leg and Pudding.”

You glance from the pair in the house to your car and frown as you realize he’s right. Jake and Pudding join you and Jake nods at your car. “Pull out and I’ll open the garage and you can park in there. We’ll take the truck.” You look at him, absolutely flabbergasted.

“Jake, I can’t drive your truck!” He arches an eyebrow.

“And why not?”

“Are you kidding? It’s HUGE!” He chuckles, waggling his eyebrows at you.

“I’m sure you can handle it, sweetheart.” You feel your face flush at the innuendo.

“But you told me to remind you…” You try once more even as you feel your resolve slipping and start accepting the reality that you’re going to have to drive Jake’s behemoth of a truck.

He arches an eyebrow. “Remind me of what, Bunny?”

“You told me to remind you to never let me drive your truck.” You grumble as you unlock your car, getting ready to move it into the garage. He laughs at that and you try not to preen at the sound.

“That’s my Bunny, always so responsible.” He teases, patting your head gently. “Well now you’ve reminded me but my mind’s still made up, so hop to it, Bunny, and I’ll grab my keys. He ambles back into the house as you pull back out of the driveway, idling as the garage opens and you pull into the free space next to the truck.

Jake’s waiting for you, and he extends his hand to you, holding his keys. You hide your smile at the faded hockey stick keychain as you take them from him. Then you turn to face the beast, swallowing hard. Jake places a gentle hand between your shoulder blades, guiding you to the driver’s side. He pulls open the door for you and you gape at the distance from the ground to the driver’s seat. You’re about to make a fool of yourself but at least you aren’t wearing a dress. Before you can even attempt the climb, though, Jake puts his hands on your hips and lifts you into the driver’s seat effortlessly. “Oh.” It’s all you can manage as his hands disappear as quickly as they appeared. He helps you adjust your seat and the mirrors and while you still feel overwhelmed by the size of the truck compared to your little car, you start to feel slightly at ease, but that could be the warm smell of leather and the cologne you’ve come to recognize as Jake’s. Jake makes his way around the truck, opening the back door so Pudding can jump in, before getting in himself. You’ve started the car and are familiarizing yourself with the controls. You take a deep breath, sitting back for a second, your hand resting on the gear shift, ready to move it into reverse. Jake’s hand covers yours, squeezing gently.

“You’ve got this, Bunny. I trust you.” It’s those words that give you the courage to shift into reverse and back out of Jake’s driveway as he leans over to hit the garage door control above your head.

***

Thirty minutes later you’re making your way through another suburban neighborhood on the other side of town. While Jake’s neighborhood looked unassumingly middle class, however, this one is clearly home to families in a significantly higher tax bracket. It makes sense, given the fact that Maverick is a multimillionaire but it’s not like he rolls up to work in a limousine every day. Instead, he drives a beat-up Kawasaki and you’re pretty sure you’ve never seen the man wear a tie.

“Are Mav and Penny married?” Jake asks, his knees bouncing into the bottle of wine he has clutched in his left hand. You’d made a pit stop on your way, a tasteful and way too expensive flower bouquet in his other hand.

“No idea.” You say as you continue shamelessly ogling the real estate. “I don’t think I’ve seen a wedding ring, but I’ve never really looked.”

“Google doesn’t say he is.” You peek over to see the bouquet abandoned in Jake’s lap as he types into his phone, brows tight in concentration. “Have you met Penny?”

You shake your head before realizing he’s still looking at this phone. “No, I had planned to meet with her after the physicals were over to draw up individual nutrition plans for each of you. I haven’t run into her at the arena so the opportunity just hasn’t presented itself yet.” Jake nods absently, still scrolling.

“I didn’t even know we had a nutritionist.” He mutters.

“Holy shit.” He finally looks up as you murmur the words. The house ahead of you is gorgeous. It sits on top of a hill, nestled into a private culdesac. A massive yard wraps around the circular street, dotted with trees. A wide driveway leads up to what has to be a four-car garage. The house itself is a sprawling modern Victorian style complete with a circular pointed tower. It’s a house that looks both like it’s been transplanted from the northeast and right at home in Southern California. You’re both awestruck as you pull the car up the driveway and shift into park. You suddenly feel extremely underdressed as you take the bouquet from Jake’s lap and follow him up the pristinely paved walkway. As you climb up to the excessively large porch, you feel yourself relax. Up close the house is well-loved, with chipping paint and mud streaks far too old to scrub out. You smile softly at the thought of all the memories it must hold as Jake rings the doorbell.

A beautiful brunette woman answers the door, a big smile wide on her face. “Hey there! You must be Bugs and Jake. I’m Penny, it’s so nice to meet you both!” You go to shake her hand but she opts for a hug instead and she smells warm and homey in a way you can’t place. She leads the two of you through the house, taking the wine and flowers from each of you. The kitchen is a myriad of bright dishes and rich smells and you catch sight of Mav manning a grill through gorgeous wide windows overlooking a sprawling deck.

“Is there anything I can help with?” You ask as you watch Jake beeline for the back door to offer the same assistance to Maverick. Penny waves you off.

“No no, I’m pretty much done here, just getting things to the table. It’s so good to finally get to meet you, Bugs. I’ve been busy helping Ice with the administrative side of things so I haven’t been at the arena since you started. I look forward to working together.” She flashes you a motherly smile and you’re reminded of home.

“I’ve been meaning to reach out and introduce myself since I was hoping we could collaborate on getting the boys set up with individual nutrition plans but I figured it would be better to get their initial physicals out of the way so we had the most up to date information to work with. As a physician, I’m strongly against restrictive diets, especially for athletes, but so I think a more general nutrition plan would be a better approach.” Penny nods.

“Pete mentioned you’re extremely dedicated to your patients.” She gives you a conspiratorial smile as she directs her gaze out the window to where Jake and Mav are and you feel yourself flush even as your heart aches as your eyes latch on the knee brace.

“My first priority as a physician is always my patients and making sure they get the best possible care. The fact that there are physicians out there who put their own selfishness ahead of their patients kills me. Jake’s been hurt in a way that the Hippocratic oath should never have allowed.” You shake your head, your hands clenching on the chair you’re holding onto. “He put his trust in the people hired to prioritize his care and they betrayed him. I refuse to let that happen again.” Penny sets a gentle hand on your clenched one.

“He’s in good hands now.” You try to believe her, but the events from Cyclone’s office yesterday make that hard. A wet nose nudges against your hand and Pudding gazes up at you with worry in her eyes and you stroke her head softly. You’re saved from responding by Jake and Mav coming into the kitchen, arms laden with plates of meat. You dash to help them, taking a plate from Jake and giving him your best scolding look.

“SIT.” You pull out a chair, setting your hands on your hips. A thump across the room draws both your attention as Pudding sits. You snort a laugh before going back to glaring at Jake who’s still standing. “Pudding has been kind enough to prepare a visual aid, now if you don’t mind.” Jake rolls his eyes but sits all the same. “No unnecessary strain until we have a treatment plan in place, mister.” You give him a sympathetic look. You know how hard it is for athletes to give up control, this isn’t your first rodeo. “You’ll be back up and running in no time.” You say gently. “Baby steps, right?” He nods and you notice a softness in his eyes that you try not to think about any longer than you have to. You head back out with Mav to grab the last of the plates, while Jake chats with Penny as she brings dishes from the kitchen to the table.

As you’re all getting settled and starting to eat, Jake pipes up. “So how long have you two been married?” You fight the urge to snack him with the rib you’re holding. After the conversation in the car, you thought it had been evident that Penny and Mav are NOT married.

Maverick chokes on his wine and Penny laughs. “Oh, we’re not married.” Jake looks genuinely confused and you wonder if he’s maybe missing a screw.

“But all the family pictures in the hallway…” He trails off sheepishly. You’d barely been in the hallway for a minute or two, how did he notice family pictures, and get enough time to stare at them to conclude that Mav and Penny were married?

“Oh, that’s my daughter, Amelia, she’s from my first marriage,” Penny says with a chuckle. “We divorced a long while ago, before Pete and I got together.”

“And you two never got married?” Jake pushes and you wonder why he’s so curious.

“Well, that’s because, technically speaking, I’m still married.” Mav joins the conversation and Jake’s jaw drops so hard you’re surprised it doesn’t hit the table.

“You’re MARRIED?”

Maverick chuckles at Jake’s reaction. “Yup, a long time ago and we separated on good terms, but never finalized the divorce. There was never a reason to, so yeah I guess I’m still married.” He rubs the back of his neck, sheepishly.

“Who is she?” The question is out of your mouth before you can stop it. “Sorry, that was so intrusive you don’t have to answer that.”

Mav waves you off. “You probably know of her, actually. She’s an NHL coach too.” The pieces fall into place all too quickly and you find yourself blurting out.

“Dare Mitchell is your WIFE?” It’s not rocket science. There are hardly any female coaches in the NHL, and there’s only one with the last name, Mitchell.

It’s Jake’s turn to choke on his wine. “Dare Mitchell? You’re married to THE Dare Mitchell?” His eyes are wide.

Maverick chuckles.“The one and only.”

“Holy SHIT.” Jake sits back in his chair, shocked into silence. You don’t blame him. Dare Mitchell is the best of the best. She’s been coaching for the Pittsburgh Penguins for the last 30-some years and is responsible for leading them to nothing short of five Stanley Cup wins. Her nickname, Dare, stands for Definitive Authority on Rink Education, or Referee Ejection depending on who you ask. She’s a force to be reckoned with and one of your personal heroes. Sure you were a Stars fan but every self-respecting hockey feminist worshiped the ground she walked on. She’d been the first female NHL coach when she started as an assistant coach for the Philadelphia Flyers and she’d not only broken the glass ceiling but now even the most misogynistic cynic puts respect on her name.

It shouldn’t have been such a shock that she was married to Pete Mitchell. Their careers had overlapped during his brief time with the Flyers before transferring to Anaheim but most people tended to forget that part of Maverick’s career. With the exception of the event that led to his move to Anaheim in the first place. If anything had ever been public about his relationship with or marriage to his coach, that had probably been buried by the tragedy that occurred shortly after. And now they were separated apparently. You wonder when that happened. Dare Mitchell was infamous for the lack of information on her personal life. Plenty of men had jumped to labeling her as undesirable and “impossible to deal with” due to her lack of a partner and seemingly single status. When asked about it in interviews, while she typically ignored such blatantly sexist questions, she occasionally responded along the lines of placing her career first, but now you know otherwise.

“I can’t believe Dare Mitchell is your wife.” Jake has come back to the conversation. Mav looks mildly uncomfortable at all the attention and you feel the need to change the subject for his sake.

“So, Maverick you mentioned wanting to talk about our game plan going forward?”

“Right, yes.” He claps his hands, sitting forward and you all return to your food. “Bugs, first I want your personal assessment of Jake’s condition. I know you mentioned some of that in Cyclone’s office earlier, but I think we should go over it with Jake present.” You nod in agreement, wiping your mouth and taking a sip of wine to clear your throat.

“Jake, we talked about this briefly this morning but you need to stay off your leg as much as possible at least until we’ve gotten all the necessary scans and tests done. I’m in the process of contacting some colleagues to get those scheduled as soon as I can.” You had a sneaking suspicion of how well that was going to go but you didn’t have much time to dwell on it now, there was a bigger issue at hand. You hesitate, wondering if now is the best time to bring this up. “I wanted to ask whether you’d be comfortable with me reaching out to your former physician on the Stars to get your initial test results. I just want to see them so we can compare them and get a better picture of your situation and how it's progressed. I don’t expect them to be particularly compliant, but I’m planning to ask Zam for guidance on getting the files without having to get lawyers involved. That’s only if you’re comfortable with me doing that.” You swallow. You know Jake’s had a long day and you can’t imagine how tired he must be, you know how exhausted you feel.

He nods slowly. “Do whatever you need to do, Bugs. Like I said, I’m in your hands now. If you think it’s necessary, do it.” You give him a small smile as your heart squeezes at the faith he’s putting in you.

“Are you actually planning to sue your former physician and coach?” Mav interrupts.

“WHAT?” This is news to you.

Mav puts his hands up in surrender. “He mentioned it in Cyclone’s office when he threatened to sue you for negligence.” Jake makes a low noise that sounds like a growl at the reminder of the events earlier in the day and you flush slightly at the memory.

“Honestly, I think I kind of checked out during all that…” you say, averting your eyes to your hands where they're fiddling with a rib bone on your plate. Jake’s hand comes into view as he takes one of yours and gives it a gentle squeeze and your eyes almost pop out of your head as your brain short circuits. You’re frozen, mortified at his audacity to do that in front of two of your colleagues let alone his coach. You pull your hand from his grip, in what you hope is at least a slightly dignified way, depositing both hands in your lap, clasping them tightly.

“I don’t know.” He admits. “I think it’s definitely something to consider. It depends on how much of a case I have. We’ll probably have to get that comparison between my records to know for sure. Legal stuff isn’t really my strong suit.” He shrugs.

“You should talk to Zam about it, she’ll be the best person to ask,” Mav suggests, a fond smile crossing his face at the mention of the team’s PR rep. Jake nods in agreement. “Bugs you were saying?”

“Oh right, well that means no practice for Jake. You can do upper body work but no leg stuff period. I also think we could talk to Cyclone about hiring you a driver for the foreseeable future-“

“Or you could just drive me.” Jake interrupts nonchalantly.

“What?”

He shrugs. “You drove me here tonight, why not? I don’t want you having to deal with Cyclone any more than you have to, and suggesting hiring another employee will probably piss him off.”

“What doesn’t?” Maverick mutters under his breath. “It’s not such a bad idea, though. You’ll both be working together almost exclusively since Jake can’t practice so this way you’ll always get in at the same time.” You consider throwing the rib bone at Maverick.

“See, Bugs, we’ve got Coach’s blessing, what do you say? I’ll throw in breakfast on me.” He waggles his eyebrows like he’s just made an irrefutable offer. You sigh, realizing this isn’t really up for debate anymore, and Mav has a point.

“As long as you’re ready on time. Three strikes and you’re out.” You give him a pointed look. Jake breaks into a huge grin, offering you a mock salute.

“Aye aye, cap’n.” You roll your eyes.

***

The sun has long since disappeared from the sky as you, Jake, and Pudding make your way back to the truck. You’re walking slightly behind him so you can observe his movement as he awkwardly shuffle-hops with the brace keeping his knee stiff. You have a good feeling about his scans. For an untreated grade three tear, he doesn’t seem to have too much of a problem getting around. Today was an overall success but it’s created a brand new problem. Jake may trust you now but now he’s crossing professionalism lines left and right and you can’t help the way your anxiety threatens to choke you at the idea of Cyclone getting the wrong idea. Not to mention the fact that your body seemed to have a mind of its own when it came to him. You’ve been out of the game for too long. So much so that your body reacts naturally to his touch. You’d thought you’d have no problem avoiding his advances given the precarious nature of your situation but here you were being betrayed by your own body and mind. And now he had talked you into spending even more one-on-one time together outside of work. You needed to lay down some ground rules.

You approach the truck where Jake’s patiently waiting by the driver’s side door, holding it open for you. Your cheeks flush as he scoops you up and deposits you in the seat without a moment’s hesitation before handing you the keys and hobbling around the other side of the truck and letting Pudding into the back while you start the engine. You swallow hard, drumming your fingers on the wheel nervously as you back out of the driveway. The two of you wave to Maverick and Penny on the porch as you drive away. Not even five minutes pass when Jake breaks the silence.

“What is it?”

“What’s what?” You don’t take your eyes off the road, your fingers drumming harder.

“You’re nervous.” You finally turn to glance at him and he gives a pointed glance in the direction of your drumming fingers. You stop the motion immediately, hesitating before you say.

“We need to talk.” He nods, encouraging you to continue. “I appreciate you trusting me, Jake, I really do, but if we’re going to be spending this much time together especially with me driving you now, I need to set some ground rules.”

“What kind of rules, Bugs?” His expression is guarded when you glance at him. You sigh.

“Jake I realize things are going to be complicated because we’re simultaneously coworkers and you’re also my patient, but like I’ve told you, my first duty is always to my patients. That being said, I need you to understand that you’re my patient first and my coworker second. That relationship takes precedence for me, at least while you’re injured.”

“And what about our friendship?”

“What?” You’re caught off guard by his question.

“Where does our friendship fall into your list of priorities? I’m your coworker, I’m your patient, and I was starting to think I was your friend too.” He pauses. “Or was that an incorrect assumption?” Your heart skips and your breath catches.

“No, uh, I mean yes Jake I would say we’re friends… or at least on our way there.” You trip over your words as you struggle to focus on the road and Jake’s brazen words. “I want to be your friend.” The words escape against your better judgment and you see the faint smile that ghosts Jake’s smile. “But that’s going to have to be strictly outside of work. Look, I’m pretty sure Cyclone thinks we’re dating or halfway there because he’s kind of a paranoid control freak in case you haven’t noticed.” You give a nervous laugh. He doesn’t know the half of it. “And if he's convinced? That breaks my oath as a doctor, Jake. I won’t just lose my job, I could lose my license.” You swallow hard. “So if you could just…” you trail off, not knowing how to phrase it.

“Keep my distance.” He finishes.

“More like just keep things professional.” He chuckles at that.

“Bugs, all my previous physicians were old men. That’s never been a problem before.”

“Then pretend I’m an old man.” He barks a surprised laugh.

“Bugs.”

“Lola.” You turn to look at him as he grins and winks.

“You’re one smoking hot old man.” Your face flushes beet red and you whip your head back to the road, unable to look at him.

“Relax, Bunny, you did say you thought I had great tits this morning so I figured I’d even up the score before we go full professional mode.” You can hear his grin. You roll your eyes, your face still blazing.

You’re quiet for a while before you interrupt the silence “Thank you, Jake.” He waits so long to answer you start to wonder if he heard you.

“For what, Bunny?”

“For all of it.” You pause. “Especially for respecting my boundaries.”

“You heard me earlier. We’re a team. If you go, I go, so I can’t let you leave that easily, Bunny.” He pauses. “After all, I’m a fighter.” You smile at that.

“Yeah? Me too.” You give him a shy look and he returns it with one of pure warmth and the silence is comfortable as you drive him home.

~~~~~

Whimper | listen to the song here

Neighbors | listen to the song here

Dull | listen to the song here

Drown | listen to the song here

Busy | listen to the song here

Homebody | listen to the song here

Aurora still hadn’t woken up. It had been three days since the bombing and she still was deep in her coma. The doctors said that her wounds had healed properly and that she should be waking up soon, but nothing had happened since.

She was transferred to a room out of the ICU since she wasn’t in critical condition anymore. All they were waiting for was for her to wake up.

The training for the mission had been postponed, especially since Maverick wasn’t in the right state of mind to train them as well as giving Coyote, Bob, and Phoenix a few days to rest.

Speaking of the rest of the squadron, they all had dropped by at least once a day to check in on Aurora, as well as Bradley and Peyton who spent most of their days at the hospital never wanting to leave her side.

Aurora’s NCIS team unfortunately had left to go back to DC, but not before exchanging numbers with the family so they would still receive updates on her condition. Ziva left the charm bracelet with Bradley, just as Aurora wanted.

He shed a few tears when receiving it because that had meant Aurora still thought of him even in her probably final moments. It broke his heart.

Today was the first day Maverick would be going back to base to talk to the Admirals, and training would be starting back up the next day.

At least, that’s what they had thought.

“What do you mean they took you off the mission?” Penny nearly shrieked at hearing the news. 

Penny and Maverick were in Aurora’s hospital room. Peyton, Amelia, and Bradley had left to go home for a bit while Carole and Goose left to bring dinner to Penny and Maverick.

“It means I’m done, Penny. Officially. There’s nothing I can do!” Maverick sighs as he sits in his chair.

“But, what about Ice-”

“There’s nothing Ice can do.”

“So, what? You’re just going to give up?”

“What else can I do, Pen?”

“You fight! If you had lost your wingman, you’d keep fighting. Just like when Goose left.”

“Pen-”

“If anything happens to them, you’d never forgive yourself. You know that.”

Maverick exhales. “I don’t know how to fight anymore Pen. They told me that I should take this time to be with Aurora. Maybe the admirals are right.”

“You and I both know that they’re not. Aurora would hate that you just gave up!”

“She’s right.”

Penny and Maverick quickly turn to the bed that Aurora laid in, which was a sight they were used to.

Except this time, her eyes were open.

“Oh, Rory!” Penny exclaims, rushing to hug her daughter. Aurora grunts from the hug, as Maverick rushes to press the call button for a nurse.

Aurora coughs a bit before Penny hands her a cup of water that was on the table next to her. After taking a chug of her water, Penny gave her another big hug.

Soon, all the emotions hit Aurora and she began to cry.

“I’m so sorry mom, I’m sorry I-”

“Shhh, sweetie, it’s okay, you’re safe now. It’s okay,” Penny assures her. Maverick stood on the other side of Aurora so he could hold her hand.

“We were so worried, Rory, but when we heard what you did, we couldn’t be more proud of what you had done,” Maverick tearfully told her as he brushed her hair out of her face. “It was stupid, but we’re just glad you’re okay.”

Aurora’s eyes bore into her dad’s as it filled with tears. “I fought, dad, just like you wanted me to.”

“I know, princess, I know.”

Aurora took a few seconds before asking him the question that hit him hard. “So why aren’t you fighting to go back?”

Maverick breath hitches. “B–Because maybe it’s time to turn in the wings, Ro. I’m getting old, and I should be spending more time with you.”

“Screw what the admirals say!”

“Rory, language,” Penny warns her daughter.

“You have to keep fighting, because if you give up, you won’t forgive yourself for what happens on that mission. We’re Mitchell’s, it’s in our blood. We keep fighting, no matter what,” Aurora affirms. 

Penny chuckles before kissing her daughter’s forehead. Maverick smiles, softly.

“I don’t even know what to do.”

“You’ll find a way, you always do,” Aurora smiles before she squeezes her dad’s hand. “Most likely, something illegal, but you’ll find a way.”

“Aurora Benjamin-Mitchell, don’t encourage your father!” Penny exclaims.

“Oh, please! I bet you he’s already thinking about it! It’s not like I told him to bomb the base or steal a plane!”

“Bomb jokes, really? This soon?” Penny gives her a worried look.

“Then you don’t want to hear any of the jokes Tony and I make when we’re on the field. We got head slaps from Gibbs so many times. I can feel one right now, it’s like Gibbs can tell I made a stupid joke,” Aurora winces, putting her hand on the back of her head as if Gibbs had just head slapped her. Penny rolls her eyes, as Maverick chuckles.

Soon a nurse comes by to take Aurora’s vitals, while Penny and Maverick leave so Aurora can have a bit of space. Penny rushes out to give Sarah a phone call, as Maverick calls Gibbs and the team about her being awake.

A few seconds after the call ended, Peyton, Amelia, and Bradley burst through the double swing doors that were used to enter the wing Aurora was staying at. Bradley was clutching a bouquet of flowers Maverick knew was meant for Aurora, as he liked to replace the flowers every day so Aurora would “wake up with a fresh bouquet” according to him.

Today, the flowers he had in his hand were pink carnations and white roses, symbolizing love and appreciation.

“S-she’s awake? The receptionist, they s-said, h-hold on, give me a second to breathe, I haven’t ran in s-so long,” Peyton bends over panting from running.

“Dude, we just ran from the front desk, which was not even that far,” Amelia gave him a deadpan look. Peyton ignores her and just keeps puffing out air.

“She’s awake?” Bradley looked hopeful at Maverick. Maverick smiled and nodded.

“Yeah, but right now she’s getting checked up on by the nurse, so we’ll wait until she’s done with the assessment. Wait, where’s Goose and Carole?”

“Here!” Goose bursts in dramatically through the double swing doors, holding a bag of takeout in his hands and almost hitting a nurse from the force of it, with Carole shaking her head behind him.

“Goose, careful!” Carole scolds him.

“It’s fine honey, if someone gets hurt, it’s all good because we’re already at a hospital!”

Carole sighs before turning to Maverick.

“We heard what happened. They pulled you out of the mission?”

“Wait, what?!” The trio of children exclaim at the news.

“Don’t worry, I’m going to figure it out,” Maverick reassures them.

The nurse soon walks out of Aurora’s room, saying that they were able to all visit her now. Everyone piled in, with Amelia and Peyton leading the group in, and were the first to hug Aurora.

Amelia and Peyton start tearing up, while Aurora holds them tightly.

To occupy himself, Bradley put the flowers he had in his hand in an empty vase that sat next to Aurora’s hospital bed side, as he already took the older flowers and left them at their house.

The dining table was filled with an older bouquet of flowers that Bradley had gotten for Aurora every day. Peyton complained when he started doing it because he kept sneezing from the amount of flowers, but he stopped complaining after day two. 

Carole and Goose were the next ones to hug Aurora next, Carole telling her how worried she was, while Goose kept trying to get Carole to stop nagging her. Aurora soon laid eyes on Bradley, and she started tearing up.

Bradley took that as a sign to rush to his best friend’s side and hug her tightly.

“I’m sorry, B. I’m so sorry,” Aurora whispered.

“Shh, it’s okay. You’re safe now,” he shushes her, as he combs his hands through her hair. She sniffles and they separate from the hug.

“You gave us quite a big scare there little star,” Goose sniffles as he and Carole come to Aurora’s side.

“Sorry, Uncle Goose,” Aurora cringes, knowing she had worried her family and friends.

“We’re just glad you’re alright,” Carole assures her, brushing some of Aurora’s hair back in a motherly gesture.

“Your team had to leave, but I gave them a call and they’re all happy that you’re doing okay and awake,” Maverick told her.

“And,” Amelia spoke up. “They told us about the case.”

Aurora looks at her confused. “What case?”

“You know…the case about…your scars,” Peyton hesitantly tells her. Aurora pales at that and almost starts going into a panic attack if Bradley didn’t rush to hold her hand.

“Hey, hey, you’re alright. No one’s going to hurt you now,” he assures her. Aurora hesitantly looks up into Bradley’s eyes, her eyes filled with tears.

“You all know?”

“We all know now.”

Aurora’s lips quiver thinking back to that case, where she barely had escaped with her life if it wasn’t for her team finding her and saving her.

Amelia and Peyton rushed to Aurora’s side, not only to comfort their sister, but to let her know that they were always by her side. Aurora cries and keeps whispering ‘I’m sorry’ to them, to which they kept telling her it wasn’t her fault.

Aurora was awake, and physically okay. The demons of her past haunt her on her darkest days, but with her family by her side, she was going to be okay. Because they were her light in the dark of everything, her flashlight when she’s lost.

—

It was about two days since Aurora woke up and right now, she was sitting alone in her hospital room. She was to be discharged soon, and she was grateful for it.

The doctor told her that she just needed a few days of bed rest, and that she should be okay, after they took a few vitals and scans of her. She had a few visitors after she woke up, one of them being Lucille.

“I can’t believe you almost got blown to pieces!” Lucille first said when she stepped into Aurora’s room before launching into a hug.

“Luci, I can’t breathe. Too tight,” was all Aurora could breath out when Lucille latched onto her.

“Oh gosh, I’m sorry,” Lucille lets her go before sitting next to her.

“Besides, it’s not like I could have stood there and done nothing. I had to save the hostages,” Aurora adds.

“And yet, you almost got blown up in the process. I know your job is dangerous, and you probably had gone through worse, but I really thought I lost you RoRo,” Lucille leans on Aurora’s shoulder.

“I’m sorry I scared you, Luci. I promise, you’re not losing me anytime soon.”

“Good, because you owe me donuts for what you put me through.”

Aurora chuckles, before also leaning on Lucille. “Deal.”

And when she didn’t have any visitors, she was able to video call Gibbs and the team.

“We’re so glad you’re doing alright!” Abby exclaims as she smiles at Aurora. 

The team had video called her from the NCIS HQ bullpen, and Aurora stares wistfully at the background, missing her old office space.

“Did you hear about the award ceremony that’s going to be happening in a few months?” McGee asks Aurora. Aurora looks at him confused.

“Award ceremony?”

“Director Vance is awarding you the Navy Distinguished Civilian Service Award for your service at NCIS as well as the actions during the bombing case.”

Aurora stares at them. “What?”

“You saved a lot of Navy dependents, plus your work at NCIS. Director wanted to-”

“But I couldn’t save Adam Lewis,” Aurora interrupts. She couldn’t save him, she didn’t believe she should earn an award.

“Artemis, there’s nothing you could have done. He entered that coffee shop knowing his end game was to kill himself,” Ziva assures her. 

“I still could have done something.” Aurora whispers, as a tear falls down her cheek.

“Rule #11.” Gibbs reminds her.

“Gibbs,” Aurora pleads.

“Artemis.”

Aurora bites the inside of her cheek before answering him, “‘When the job is done, walk away.’”

“We’re all glad you’re doing alright kiddo, but you need to walk away from the case. It’s done, it’s closed. You need to focus on yourself now.”

Aurora sighs, before nodding about what he said. Abby and Ziva soon start gossiping about what she had missed, with McGee and Tony joining in as Gibbs leaves them to chat.

She had another visitor that she was expecting, which was Jake Seresin.

“I was so worried. You scared us all half to death,” Jake ruffled her hair, and sat down next to her. Aurora had full mobility of everything, so she sat upright in her hospital bed.

“It wasn’t like that was my intention. I had to do my job.”

“Well, your job sucks.”

“My job also happened to save your life, remember?”

“Like you’ll ever let me forget.”

A lull hits in their conversation before Aurora speaks up.

“Have you talked to Peyton?”

Jake shakes his head. “Not really. I think he’s a bit mad at me for knowing about what happened to you and your PTSD before even he did.”

“He’ll get over it. I’m talking about you and him.

“There is no us, Rory. he’s made that very clear.”

“No, what he’s made clear is that he doesn’t want to go through heartbreak again if you’re just going to leave him how you always leave your wingman, hanging,” Aurora insists.

“Ro-”

“Jake, I nearly died. Life is too precious to waste, if you love him, what’s holding you back?”

“I-I don’t want to hurt him.”

“You’re hurting him now by not saying anything. What happens when you both go on the mission? What happens if you don't come back? You really want the last words you ever said to him to be something in passing?”

Jake looked at Aurora. This mission was already something he was nervous for, and now that Maverick was taken off as instructor, the parameters of the mission, although possible, probably would not work if they didn’t stick to the ones Maverick had set for them. They needed Maverick, whether the Admirals liked it or not.

“Just tell him, Jake. It would do you both a lot of good. And maybe he’d stop complaining so much about you,” Aurora snickers.

“We’ll see Ro,” was all Jake could promise her. “Maybe I’ll talk to him after the mission, or maybe even when they tell us who’s flying the mission. I guess we’ll just have to see.”

“When do they decide who’s flying the mission?” 

“In 2 days, the day before we leave.”

It was already the next day, which means they will be deciding who flies the mission tomorrow, making Aurora feel even antsier.

From what Maverick had told her, he was going to try and win back his place at Top Gun today, but what was the plan? She had no idea. 

Soon she heard running in the hallway and they stopped at her doorway, it was Peyton and Amelia.

“Dad stole an F-18!” Peyton exclaims as he catches his breath.

“HE DID WHAT?!”

“You should have seen him, Ro! He flew through the course like it was a breeze! It was so awesome!”

“Wait, can you go back to the part where he stole an F-18?!”

“Well, not stole, per-se. More like borrowed to prove to the admirals that they couldn’t just kick him off the mission.”

“And?”

“And now he's the team leader!” Amelia exclaims as she sat next to Aurora in the hospital bed.

Aurora’s jaw dropped.”What?!”

Peyton smirks. “My reaction too.”

“I was joking about him stealing an aircraft, but I didn’t know he’d actually do it,” Aurora shook her head, chuckling. Then she realizes her parents were nowhere to be seen.

“So wait, where’s dad now?”

“With mom. They wanted some ‘alone’ time together, as if we don’t know what that means,” Amelia tells her, making air quotes on the words alone.

Peyton and Aurora grimace at the thought of what Amelia was insinuating. But soon Aurora smiles.

“Mom and dad are together…again.”

“We all knew it was going to happen eventually,” Amelia smirks.

“Yeah, but now, it’s real. Like something about right now feels like it’s going to be “it” this time, you know?”

Peyton nods. “Yeah, I’m glad they finally came to their senses.”

“Which means, since dad or mom isn’t here, we are in charge of getting you home.”

Aurora pales. “Uh, I don’t know if I like that.”

“Oh c’mon, we’ll get some tacos on the way home and Amelia can sleepover!” Peyton assures her.

“Okay, that does sound good.”

“And, we can even let Amelia drive!”

“Yeah!” “No!”

Amelia looked sad as her sister shot down the idea.

“But, I need practice,” Amelia whines.

“Ami, when you get your permit, and when I’m not coming from the hospital, you can drive. But for now, we’re going to have to suffer through Pey’s driving.”

“What’s wrong with my driving?!”

“Let’s just say, I’m so glad you didn’t become a pilot with your driving skills, you would be a danger in the skies.”

Peyton scoffs before looking to Amelia for support, but she nods along at Aurora’s statement.

He rolls his eyes before he goes to sign the papers releasing Aurora while Amelia helped her sister get her things together as there were quite a few things people had sent and brought Aurora while she was in the hospital.

Aurora pauses packing staring at today’s bouquet of flowers, provided by Bradley of course. Today they were pink and red roses. She smiled as she touched the delicate petals.

Pink and red, colors that symbolized both Aurora and Bradley, Aurora being pink, and Bradley being red, which also suited him since they were also his helmet colors. She also knew it symbolized love and affection.

“Bradley got so many bouquets of flowers, they’re all waiting for you at home. He didn’t throw any out and he would bring a fresh one every day he came to visit. All meticulously picked out by him,” Amelia interrupts her thoughts as Aurora looks over to her sister who was smiling at her.

“He was really worried about you, Rory.” Amelia continues. “I mean, we all were, but Bradley was distraught. Your boss had to give him a talking to. I don’t think I ever saw Bradley that terrified and scared, even when Auntie Carole got cancer. He truly loves you.”

“I know,” Aurora gives her a small smile before turning back to the bouquet of flowers.

“So, what’s holding you back now? I mean, you should tell him. I overheard what you and Jake were talking about. It seems like it’s time for you to take your own advice. Before it’s too late.”

Aurora stares out the window. “You’re right, Ames.”

Her being in a coma definitely changed everything for her. It made her think about what she could have lost if something did happen to her. She didn’t want to live her life full of regrets anymore. She was ready to leave her past behind.

She was ready to move on and tell Bradley everything.

- - -

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—

Miguel Garcia has always had a dancer’s heart. Growing up in Miami, Florida, he’s been surrounded by music since the day he was born in an inner-city hospital to two people with pure music in their souls. If you asked either of his parents, they’d have thought he’d grow up to be a Merengue, Cumbia, or Salsa dancer. Instead, Miguel chose to join the Navy. When he was so serious, so sure of the decision, who were they to stop him? He’d worked incredibly hard to climb the ranks, but he’d never lost the rhythm in his heart. What was harder to find was the girl who dances in a complimentary rhythm to his own. 

It hasn’t helped either that he’s been deployed around the world for most of his career. It has been an incredibly fulfilling life, but a solitary one. Sure he has Reuben, who Mickey can unequivocally class as both a best friend and a brother, but it's not the same. A part of him has always wanted the kind of love his parents share, the kind of love he'd grown up with. The Uranium mission had seemed like the turning point in his career. The admiralty had formed a new squadron, electing to keep the Daggers together, and he was (he is) happy to have a permanent place to call home. It had finally felt like he had a family again. But something was still missing - someone was still missing.

He'd started up his old habits from his youth once more. Weekend after weekend he'd hit the dance clubs of San Diego, dancing with everybody who wanted to, until the nervous thrum in his veins had quieted once more. That was the only way he’d been able to fall asleep with the new monotony his life had taken. It had been one such night after a terribly boring week when he saw you for the first time. You were laughing and carefree, each elegant movement looking like poetry on the dance floor of the small salsa bar. It was the first time all night he’d felt the incessant energy thrumming under his skin grow quiet. 

"Hi, can I cut in?" He'd asked.

"Sure," You'd giggled. The minute you put your hand in his, he'd been lost to the music in your eyes and the rhythm of your soul. You'd felt like sin under his fingertips and your smile had been brighter than the sun. Mickey had not wanted to let go of you all night.

That rhythm had translated into what was the best sex of his life in the months following your serendipitous meeting. But night after night he always woke up in his simple, shitty little base apartment to the sight of you slipping out of the door like you'd never been in his bed to begin with. Just like that, too, he'd stay awake an hour longer to see your posts on social media about dancing in the Gaslamp Quarter. And every night he'd fall back to sleep wishing that one day soon your heart would beat to the same rhythm as his own. He'd known you'd wanted something light, "Just fucking, just for fun", you'd murmured in your musical voice that first night. And just fucking, just for fun was where he'd stayed.

Mickey isn’t sure when it happened, but you've been haunting his every thought. He only needs to blink and he can see your smile, your sparkling eyes, and everything about you in technicolor swimming in front of his eyes. All of a sudden, your arrangement isn’t enough. He wants to dance through life with you, not just waltz you into his bed every few nights. It’s no lie that work keeps you busy, just like the Navy keeps him. He knows you love it, dancing by night and during the day writing reviews of the places you danced at for one of San Diego's travel websites. But Mickey can't help wanting more of you.

Even when he's supposed to be flying, he's only thinking of you. His inattention could cause him to make some serious mistakes, but he can’t stop. The one time he’d mentioned it to Payback, he’d regretted it too. Reuben was no help. His advice had been, "Just tell her how you feel. Then you can woo her!"

Well, Reuben may know exactly what to say to Emily, his wife, but Mickey still has no idea what to say to you. Or when, to be honest. You're barely around for more than a few hours at a time. And when you are, your pretty mouth is too occupied to do much talking.

After months of trying and failing to tell you how he feels, Mickey's decided he has to take matters into his own hands and track you down at one of these clubs. He has to dance with you, take advantage of the close proximity and your body pressed against his to tell you the truth. But he has no idea what your schedule is. So Mickey does what he does best, analyzes all of the facts. If he can do it in the back of a jet, he can track you down, right? The first thing he does is call your best friend.

"Hey, Maria. Do you have any idea what Angel's doing this weekend?" Her response had been vague at best, something about a themed dance night at one of the clubs in the city. Okay, it's a start. But it's October. Nearly every dance club in the city is throwing themed dance nights Friday through Sunday. That's not going to help much. 

You'd mentioned something to him a couple of nights ago, about reviewing the theme night happening at one of the newest clubs in town. It was one of the few words of pillow talk he actually remembered before your mouth was doing wicked things that made his heart rate skyrocket. Now if only he could remember what kind of theme night. Not hip hop, funk, or soul. It could've been a kpop night, but you'd mentioned something about lycra? What the hell does lycra have to do with dance? Before he can update his list, his phone gets snatched right out of his hands. It's Hangman, because of course it is, and the nosey fucker's already looking into Mickey's phone like it's his god-given right to do so.

"Well, well, well, Fanboy. You like going dancing on weekends? Picking up the ladies?" The glare Mickey levels at the obnoxious blond could have been powerful enough to set him up in flames. 

"Can I have my phone back, please, Bagman?" But Hangman just keeps scrolling, quite gleefully ignoring his pleas.

"Nah. This is too interesting." He squints at the screen. "What do dancing and lycra have to do with each other?"

"I wish I knew. My girlfriend, I guess, mentioned going to one of these Halloween theme dance nights this weekend. And she mentioned something about lycra and one of the places she's going this weekend." Mickey should not be grateful to have his phone back, not when Jake just slumps down on the sofa and starts brainstorming out loud. Most of his suggestions are frankly ludicrous and the longer Mickey hears him talk the more his head pounds. 

By the time training is over for the day, every single Dagger knows and has contributed their two cents. Mickey's more than exhausted and all he wants is his Angel, but you're not there. But as it stands, there is a monster in his stomach growling loudly and he’s covered in sweat. So into the locker room he goes, praying that the guys have something, anything to talk about other than his Angel search. 

Of course the minute he walks into the locker room he’s bombarded with even more suggestions. At that moment, Mickey has to remind himself that he likes these people. They may be pains in his ass but he likes them.

"Aww, c'mon Fanboy! This is your girl we're talking about. So what's she like in bed? She has to be a bombshell in and out of bed to keep your attention." Mickey's not quite sure what to say to Jake's comment because you are. He calls you his Angel for a reason after all. But he's never once indulged in locker room shop talk and he isn't going to now. Not when he's not even sure how you feel about him and everything.

So he just shrugs and turns on the shower. With the hot water pounding down around him the tight band of pressure across his temples eases. It helps that Hangman has finally, finally shut up about Angel's weekend plans, too.

But it feels like it's nearly too good to be true. Because the squadron is at the Hard Deck later that night, and Mickey gets cornered by Natasha and Bob.

"So, Fanboy." Bob's smiling good naturedly as he pushes a soda towards Mickey. "What's your girlfriend like? The other guys probably just want the dirty details but you look happy, man. I'd love to know more about her if you'd like to tell me about her? Nix and I both would."

Under their gentle smiles and easy demeanors it's almost too easy to state all of the ways Mickey adores you. He probably sounds like a broken, stuck record, prattling on and on about your soft hair, sweet smile and your big brain. He even pulls up one of your reviews to share and oh. Oh. He's in love with you. But he’s not sure how he’s going to tell you, not at all.

“Okay, you obviously love this girl.” Mickey can only nod at Natasha’s fondly amused tone. “So why aren’t you tracking her down to tell her so?”

For the first time in weeks, an idea starts to crystallize in his mind. “Would you guys be able to help me find her? She’s supposed to be reviewing one of the Halloween theme nights this weekend. But all Angel told me is something involving lycra.”

"Maybe she is going to wear lycra? Like for eighties jazzercise?" Mickey’s so excited he could kiss Bob for that suggestion. Sure enough there is only one place hosting an eighties theme night this weekend. It would be too much to hope that he could manage to go alone. Because the minute Bob’s found the club, Hangman is right there to start planning a night of it. Before too long, Mickey’s quest to tell his Angel how he really feels has turned into a Dagger’s night out and a complete and total mess.

Come Saturday night, Mickey’s one of the first Daggers ready to leave base and head out for the night. He's not wearing anything too out of the ordinary, opting for a wide collared shirt, and trousers. The one difference is how his curls cascade over his forehead and the retro shades covering his eyes. It doesn't surprise Mickey at all to see Natasha appear in the parking lot minutes later dressed in lycra and a leotard, big puffy hair, sweatbands, leg warmers and all. Bob wearing a turtleneck and slacks and Reuben when he finally drives up is dressed like Mickey is. But the true surprises of the Daggers seem to be Rooster and Hangman who walk up side by side in matching leggings, leotards, wristbands and headbands. Javy appears sedately behind the duo, dressed similarly to Bob.

Mickey feels kind of like the Ringmaster of a particularly rowdy circus as he leads the way into the club not longer after. It feels like entering an alternate universe. The music is so loud he feels it in his bones. Everyone’s wearing bright colors and dressed like they stepped right out of the 80s. There are more than a few people wearing lycra like Nat, Hangman and Rooster. Already, Mickey can feel the thrum of the beat in his blood. But as much as he’d like to dance, he’s a man with a mission.

He melts into the crowd before Nat and Hangman are back with the first round. If he knows you correctly, and he thinks he does, you’ll be right in the middle of the dance floor. You’ve said it a hundred times, that the center of the dance floor is where you can get the best idea of what the mood is for a club. Sure enough, he finds you in the center of the dance floor. 

The sight of you, it takes his breath away. Lit up by the glow of the lights, you look ethereal. Your eyes are closed as your body moves to the beat.  Much like Nat, you’re in leggings and a leotard too, your hair a halo of curls around your head. But your leotard is more than a little sexier, only a scrap of fabric covering your breasts. You look like sin, your bare arms sparkling under the neon lights as beads of sweat drip down your neck. It’s obvious all the other men on the dance floor want you for themselves too, because one after the other, they keep trying to grind up on you. 

When your eyes open, they glimmer with rage, rage you rightfully use to push the wandering hands off of your skin. Rage that melts into a sweet O of surprise when you see him standing there.

“Miguel?” Here’s another reason why he loves you. The way you say his name is like music. He takes your hand just as the beats of an all too familiar song pound through the speakers.

Jitterbug

Jitterbug

Jitterbug

Jitterbug

"Hi, Angel." Mickey's voice would be barely audible were it not for the way he murmurs the words right into your ear. "I missed you."

You look flattered at his innocent admission, and Mickey's not sure why. 

"I remember you saying something about an Eighties Dance Night. It didn't take long to find this place."

To your credit, you let Mickey twirl you around the dance floor for a few more seconds before you pretty glistening lips part.

"Why do you miss me, Miguel?" You look like you're almost scared of the answer you're going to get. So instead, Mickey croons the lyrics of the song playing into your ear.

"You take the grey skies outta my way (ooh-ooh)

You make the sun shine brighter than Doris Day

You turned a bright spark into a flame (yeah-yeah)

My beats per minute never been the same"

Now there's understanding in your beautiful eyes and as much as Mickey wants to turn tail and hide, instead a glorious smile takes over your face. He doesn't object at all as you drag him outside. In the quiet, he finally, finally hears the staccato rush of your frenzied breaths, calming in tune to your own.

“Mickey, I …” You look lost all of a sudden and Mickey can’t stand to see that look on your face. So he steps forward and kisses you, slow and sweet, pouring all of his pent up feelings into the soft, tender kiss.

“Angel, please. This once, can I talk?” At your nod, he continues. “I know you just wanted some fun, and that was what I wanted too. But sweetheart, I can’t do this anymore. Cielito, it hurts too much.”

Your face falls at his words, and he can almost see the walls come up around your heart.

“I’m almost certain I’m in love with you, and I can’t stand that you’ve left me sleepin' in my bed. I was dreamin' but I should've been with you instead. Wake me up before you go-go. Don't leave me hanging on like a yo-yo.” Your giggle when Mickey starts singing the song is far better than your tears would have been.

“You’re a sap, Miguel Garcia.” But even as you say the words, you’re stepping into his arms. You taste like strawberries as he sucks on your plush lips and it's a taste he's not sure he'll ever get tired of. “I’m pretty sure that I’m falling in love with you too.”

"Come home with me, baby? And stay the night?" Your grin and nod makes his smile feel like a mile wide as he calls an Uber. You’re all over him on the drive to the base gate and all of a sudden it feels like the world is still. Because you’re in his apartment, and then on his bed, the scrap of fabric covering your tits riding up until it’s not covering anything at all. Your moan is musical, too, as he leaves wet kisses over his skin. But Mickey’s sure he likes you best when you’re completely naked and in his arms, a sheen of sweat over your soft skin as you pant against his chest. Your mind looks to be finally, completely silent, and your lips are pillow soft as you press soft kisses over his heart.

“Miguel?” Your voice is a little rough, vocal cords rubbed raw as you snuggle in closer.

“Yeah, Angel?” Mickey’s sure he’ll never get tired of you, not when you’re blinking sleepily at him.

“Take me out for brunch in the morning?” For some reason your sleepy words make him happier than he’s felt in a long time.

“I can do that, beautiful. But you’ll have to wear my clothes. I don’t think that lycra set of yours should be worn in public, ever again.” He has to stifle his chuckles when all he hears is a soft snuffling snore. There’s no way you’re going out dancing without him tonight. You’re too worn out. Is it a crime that he likes you that way?

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I DO NOT CONSENT TO HAVE MY WORK POSTED, TRANSLATED, OR PUBLISHED ON ANY SITES OTHER THAN HERE, ON WATTPAD, OR ON AO3 BY ME. IF YOU SEE MY WORKS ANYWHERE OTHER THAN HERE, ON WATTPAD, OR AO3, THEN THEY HAVE BEEN POSTED WITHOUT MY PERMISSION AND I WILL BE WORKING TO TAKE THEM DOWN.

It was like Bob was walking on eggshells around everyone. He knew why they were careful about what they say, and why even Hangman seemed to be taking pity on the heartbroken fool. 

They all got the same pristine invitation that he did.

The invitation for Jamie, his ex, and her fiancé’s wedding. It was like a slap in the face, and for a week Phoenix had hidden it from him. She’d intercepted his mail before he could find the crisp white invitation with gold and floral decoration. Perfect penmanship addressing the upcoming wedding, and inviting Bob to celebrate the day. 

Because he’d been too kind to say that they couldn’t stay friends when they’d broken up. Because he’d tortured himself with their friendship after their breakup, and suffered in silence when she’d started dating. Plastering on a fake smile and faux enthusiasm when it started getting more serious.

And now they were engaged. And like the good friend Phoenix was, she’d hidden the news as long as she could until Jamie and Hayden had shown up to games’ night flaunting the huge rock on her third finger. Rooster had dragged Bob outside, but Bob had pushed through. He had swallowed his hurt and put on a convincing performance.

One that was deserving of an Oscar, if you asked Rooster. One that had Phoenix casting worried looks at Bob throughout the evening. One that had Fanboy wondering if Bob had ever loved Jamie as much as he’d claimed to.

The wedding invitation hadn’t been intercepted, though several tried. Even Hangman tried to play the diversion, but they’d all been too late. Bob had found the invitation and had gone about his day the best as he could. It wasn’t until the third attempt to distract him that he simply asked outright if they were trying to find the invitation. When no one replied, he nodded and continued with his tasks.

It had been a week of deliberation. A week of people trying to convince him to just throw the invitation away and be done with Jamie for good. A week of hearing his friends whisper about not going in solidarity with him.

But he’d told them they didn’t have to choose. She was their friend too, and he wasn’t going to hold it against them if they wanted to go, even if he didn’t. Though Phoenix knew. She knew he’d decide to go, whether he told everyone otherwise or not.

It was why she planned a spontaneous games night for her birthday. Bob knew what she was trying to do. She was trying to buy time. Make him realise he didn’t need to cling to the memories he had with Jamie, and that he could make new ones. And what better time than her birthday, which her friend Y/N was in town for?

Bob was punctual, like always. He brought a bottle of Phoenix’s favourite liquor and helped finish setting things up. He made polite small talk and appreciated the distraction, but he didn’t want tonight to be a downer. No, it was Phoenix’s birthday! They were supposed to be celebrating! Hell, he even treated himself to a glass of wine when she offered him one before everyone else arrived. He wanted to loosen up and actually enjoy himself for a change, and what better way to do that than alcohol?

Coyote, Fanboy and Rooster were the next to arrive. They all brought games or snacks and drinks. Fanboy was quick to play some music before Hangman arrived and took control, and Bob helped himself to another glass. The only one missing was Payback, who’d said he’d be late, but by the time he finally arrived, Bob had a good buzz on. He was enjoying the banter that came from each game, and even commented some of his own. 

“Fanboy, close your eyes.”

They’re playing wavelength, a game Rooster had seen on TikTok. The aim was simple: person A had to guess the number using 5 questions. The questions varied every round, but the person answering the question had to gage their answer off the number. 

Say that the number was 7, for example. 10 is the best, and 1 is the worst. If the question was along the lines of “give me a fast food chain,” then the person answering had to give their third favourite place to go. The question could be a colour, or a hiking trail, but the idea was to get person A to guess the number that everyone else knew, based off where person B had ranked their answer to person A’s question. Hence, the name of the game being wavelength, because you’d all be on the same wavelength.

They’d played a practise round so everyone kind of understood how the game should be played, with a lot of clarification needed throughout, but they were there. 

Maybe.

And Fanboy was the unlucky first person to try and guess the number.

Bob held up 3 fingers. Everyone nodded in agreement, then Fanboy opened his eyes and tried to think of who to pick on first.

“Coyote, give me an alcoholic drink,” Fanboy requested.

Oh, another thing Bob learnt, if the question had been asked in the previous round, you couldn’t use it for the next two rounds. The hard part was trying to come up with new questions each time.

“Merlot,” Coyote replied, offering no clarification.

The game works best if you have a group of people who know enough about each other to kind of guess where they’d rank their answers. The fun part came from trying not to blurt out the number, as Hangman had learnt in the trial run. A bout of laughter had ensued, and Phoenix was convinced her plan had worked. She just wondered where the hell Y/N had got to.

“Interesting, okay,” Famboy said. “Bob, give me something you plug in?”

“You’re really scraping the bottom of the barrel with your questions, huh?” Bob teased.

“I panicked and zoned out staring at the cord for the tv,” Fanboy confessed with a laugh of his own. 

“Let me think for a second,” Bob told him, sipping his beer. 

He couldn’t tell you when he’d moved on to beer, but he didn’t mind it. The wine had been too tart for his linking, but the beer was going down a treat. He felt warm and relaxed, but it was taking a lot of effort not to blurt out the number like Hangman did earlier. 

“Hair dryer,” Bob eventually said. There were a few murmurs of agreement at his choice, and while Phoenix tsk’d under her breath, she didn’t put up much of a fight. It’s where person B, in this case Bob, would rank the answer to the question since he was called on.

Fanboy directed his next question at Phoenix. “Give me a flavour of milkshake?”

“You asking me out, Mickey?”

“Keeping my options open.” He winked.

Phoenix laughed. “Banana.”

The next question was for Rooster, who’d just returned from the bathroom. He sat down beside Bob and reached for his beer from the table in front of him.

“Roo, give me a type of candy,” Fanboy requested.

Bob didn’t hear Rooster’s answer because the apartment door flew open and he was faced with you – hair slightly messy and cheeks flushed. Arms carrying more wine and balancing a cake, and he felt floored. Like the breath had been sucked from his lungs and he’d forgotten how to breathe.

“They wrote ‘Happy Birthday Phoebe’!’” You exclaimed, kicking the door shut and placing the cake on the kitchen counter, not that there was much free space for it. Regardless, you didn’t care, you just opened the bottle of wine you still held and took a large swig. “What are we playing?”

“Two steps back, Y/N,” Phoenix said with a laugh.

She used Bob’s knee to push herself to her feet, and her grip helped bring him back to earth. He remembered how to breathe, sucking in a deep breath which Rooster mistook for a wince and cast him a concerned look. 

“Your knee acting up?”

“Sharp nails,” he lied. 

“Everyone, this is Y/N, she’s come to town for my birthday this weekend,” Phoenix said, taking a moment to introduce everyone by their name. “And I’m sure I can live with a cake that says ‘Phoebe.’”

“We’re playing ‘wavelength,’ have you heard of it?” Rooster asked. 

“Only from TikTok,” you said.

“That’s where I learnt it,” he replied, making room beside him so you could sit between himself and Bob.

Bob, who tried to not look like a complete fool as you smiled his way and sat down. Phoenix took her spot on the ground beside Bob’s left leg, but he didn’t miss the slight twitch of her lips before she spoke, “Type of candy, Roo?”

“I said warheads,” Rooster repeated.

You leaned over to Bob and whispered in his ear as Fanboy asked the next question. “What’s the number?” You asked him. At a loss for words, and not wanting to say them or hold three fingers up, he tapped the neck of his beer bottle thrice. An action you followed with your gaze before returning to his eyes once again and smiling. “Thanks, Bob.”

“‘Course,” he mumbled. 

He needed another drink, and signaled to Hangman for another beer while he was up. He snagged a few and handed them off before passing one to Bob.

“Who’s driving you home?” He asked.

“Probably sleep on Nix’s couch,” he replied, casting a glance at Phoenix. “That okay?”

“You’re making breakfast in the morning,” she replied easily, clinking her bottle with Y/N’s like some sort of victory. 

“Works for me,” Bob replied, thanking Hangman and opening the bottle before taking a sip. 

He wished he could focus on the rest of the game, but he was acutely aware of the warmth radiating from your leg that was pressed up against the side of his own that he couldn’t think about anything else. Even through the layers of your jeans and his own pants, he could feel the warmth of your skin. His fingers gripping his beer a little tighter so he didn’t make a fool of himself and rest his hand on your thigh, desperate to feel more. 

When Fanboy guessed the number 3 correctly, Coyote called for a round of shots to celebrate. Bob didn’t drink much, but he was down for a round. He needed to feel the warmth of the liquor rather than your leg.

Hangman volunteered to go next. Wavelength was a hit, and so was the round of Tequila shots. Bob felt lightheaded, but he felt relaxed for the first time in a long time. Everyone seemed to notice, too. Keeping an eye on how much he was drinking, making sure he was eating, but still letting him finally let loose a little. It was long overdue, and since he wasn’t driving home…no one was too bothered when he got up to get everyone another round of shots when Hangman guessed the right answer for the latest round of wavelength.

No one knew what to expect from a drunk Bob. They’d hardly ever seen him drink, so to see him actually drunk? He’d lost his shy exterior; shed it like a layer of himself and finally come out of his shell. He was boisterous and chatty, and sang along to whatever song was playing. Whether the song was one from the 80’s, or a newly released one, he was singing. 

Then came the dancing.

You watched with curious fascination as he led the majority of the guys in a somewhat choreographed routine. You’d heard that a few of the guys had one specific song they liked to dance to, but according to Phoenix, she and Bob usually sat out and laughed at them. As it turned out, he knew the entire routine, and was now showing them up.

You and Phoenix howled with laughter as Bob and Fanboy slut-dropped, while Rooster fell over his own feet at the unexpected behaviour from Bob. Coyote and Hangman didn’t seem fazed, and continued on like nothing happened.

But it did happen, and you were enjoying every minute of it. Even throwing a few loose ones at the group of guys as their shirts came off. The song changing to fit the whole stripper vibe that the evening had somehow come to.

Bob collapsed on the couch, in the spot between you and Phoenix. Slumping down and closing his eyes while he breathed heavily, a drunk smile on his face. 

“This is the most fun I’ve had in a long time,” he confessed. “Happy Birthday, Nix.”

“Thanks, Bob,” she replied with a smile of her own. 

“You didn’t want to strip for us, too?” You asked teasingly, looking over at the four men grinding against the air or flossing their shirts between their legs.

“Nah, you couldn’t afford me,” Bob replied, watching you turn your attention back to him. Amusement sparkled in your eyes, while his were hooded, heavy from the alcohol but still watching you as intently as he could. 

You registered Phoenix getting up, but Bob had your undivided attention.

“We could find out just how much I’m willing to pay for a private show,” you told him, keeping your tone light. Easy, while still serious. You didn’t want to scare him away.

“Or?”

“Or not,” you said with a shrug, sipping your wine. 

You relaxed back into the couch a little, the entire left side of your body pressed up against the right side of his. You swore you could hear his breath catch in his throat as you rested your hand on his thigh, maybe a little higher than you had intended, but it served its purpose. 

You’d seen the shy, reserved guy Phoenix had described. He was just as cute as you’d imagined, but once the alcohol had loosened his inhibitions? You wanted to see more. So much more. 

That was how you stayed until the song ended and Rooster offered you both another drink. Another round of tequila shots and you were up and singing loudly to the next song. Grabbing Bob’s hand and hauling him to his feet so he could join in with everyone, but it was like he wasn’t present. Not like he had been previously. He seemed to be stuck in his head, and was quick to sit back down once the song was over. Nursing a bottle of beer and picking aimlessly at the label.

“I think he’s hit a wall,” Fanboy commented to Phoenix, and you couldn’t help but overhear as you poured yourself another wine. 

“I think you’re right,” she replied. “You guys should head out without us. I’ll stay and make sure he’s okay.”

“It’s your birthday though,” he replied. “You should be coming out with us.”

“Another time, I promise,” she assured him. “Thanks for coming.”

“Of course,” he said, swiftly kissing her cheek. “Save us some cake?”

Fanboy herded the guys out of the apartment with a loud goodbye, and Phoenix shut the door behind them. When she joined you in the kitchen, she offered you a fork and you stood together picking away at the cake you got her. There was a good chunk missing already, but it was too good not to keep eating. 

“Is Bob okay?”

Phoenix sighed, “If you ask him, he’ll say ‘yes’ and pretend he’s not falling apart, but he won’t talk about it.”

“Girl problems?” She nodded and you reached for your wine. “Do you think my flirting was the catalyst for his sudden withdrawal tonight?”

Her silence spoke volumes, and you wished it didn’t. Downing the last of your glass while she grabbed the bottle of tequila and sat down beside Bob. 

You watched the two of them interact. Nothing was said, but there was mutual understanding. Respect. A comforting hand on his shoulder, a watery smile while he downed the last of his beer and gratefully accepted the bottle of tequila. He’d likely regret it in the morning, but if it helped him tonight? That was all he could think of.

“Room for one more?” You asked tentatively. 

“Yeah.” Bob’s voice was thick, like he was trying not to cry. 

The more he drank, the higher the likelihood that he’d be unable to help it. Tequila was notorious for making you feel your feelings. You’d know, you had a tendency to drown your sorrows at the bottoms of a bottle on the odd occasion. 

“You want to talk about it yet?” Phoenix tried to pry. 

Bob drank straight from the bottle of tequila. You shared a look with Phoenix – it was going to be a long night. Deciding to give them some privacy in case Bob didn’t want to talk about what was going on in front of you, you headed for the bathroom. Taking the time to brush your teeth and wash your face before changing into a pair of loose cotton pyjama bottoms and an old tee. 

By the time you joined Bob and Phoenix again, they were lying on the floor of the living room, staring up at the ceiling. Phoenix looked over at you and held up the bottle.

“The room was spinning so we laid down. Lie with us,” she said. You took the bottle and downed a large swig before joining them. 

“Do you remember the last time we drank tequila like this?” You asked her. “You’d just broken up with Sam, and I was having problems with Evan. We drank a bottle of tequila and you broke up with him for me so we could be single together.”

Phoenix laughed at the memory. “They were assholes.”

“Is Bob’s ex an asshole?” You dared to ask.

“No,” he answered after a moment of silence. “That’s the worst part.”

“She did an asshole thing though,” Phoenix pointed out.

“No, I did. By agreeing to stay friends,” he replied. “You can’t stay friends with an ex or it means you never loved them. I don’t think I loved her, I think I loved the idea of her.”

“How long were you two together?” You asked.

“Almost five years,” he said, reaching for the bottle from your hand and sitting up to take a swig. “Five years and she moves on like it was nothing, then invites me to her fucking wedding.”

He spat the last word like it pained him to say, and it probably did.

“You totally have to go,” you told him. “Show up with a hot date and pretend like those five years meant nothing to you, too. That you’ve moved on and you’re fine, and then never speak to her again.”

“I don’t think that–,”

Bob cut Phoenix off. “You’re right,” he agreed. “Except hot women don’t tend to fall at my feet.”

“Do you want me to trip or something just to prove to you that they do?” You challenged. “You’re hot, Bob.”

Phoenix rolled her eyes but she understood what you were trying to do. “If you want to go to the wedding, you know we’ll all go to support you. No one has sent their RSVP yet because we’re waiting to see what you want to do. And I think Y/N has just proven she’ll more than happily be your date. Think you can pretend to be in love with her for one night?”

“Do I have to answer right now?” Bob asked.

“No.”

“Good, ‘cause I think I’m g’na puke,” he said, shooting to his feet and darting towards the bathroom like a bat out of hell. 

Phoenix looked at you as you both heard retching from the bathroom. “Do you think this is a good idea?”

“Bob’s a big boy. He can make that decision for himself,” you answered. “Should probably check on him, though. Make sure he’s not drowning in his own vomit.”

The pair of you headed to the bathroom and found him hunched over, sobbing into the toilet. Phoenix crouched down and rubbed his back soothingly while you leaned against the doorframe.

“She’s not worth your tears, Bob,” Phoenix said softly.

“How does she get to be fine while I’m falling apart?”

Your heart broke as he sobbed again, immediately followed by more retching as he hugged the bowl of the toilet. 

“Sometimes we fall in love with people who don’t love us as much as we love them,” you told him after the toilet stopped flushing. “They love us 20% and we shoulder the other 80% because we don’t think that someone can love us more than that. We accept what we think we deserve, then they move on and we’re still hung up on what might’ve been. You deserve more than 20%, Bob.”

Phoenix gave you one of her all-knowing smiles, paired with sad eyes as she knew exactly who you were referencing. You’d been in Bob’s place before, a couple times actually. Moving on to the next person while still harbouring feelings for your ex and pretending that the new person was them. Loving them more than they loved you.

It sucked. Phoenix had picked up the pieces of your broken heart more times than you’d have liked. Now you’d been single the longest you’d ever been, but now you felt like you didn’t need anyone. Sure, company was great for a night or two, but your feelings were always more than the other person’s. You were tired of giving someone your all and not receiving even half of the love you gave them in return. 

“It gets better,” you continued, watching him wipe his mouth with a bit of paper before he turned to look at you. “It’s not always this hard. It only seems like the end of the world because she’s engaged and having the life you’d always talked about, right? You’d been talking about getting engaged and having a big wedding, and now she’s experiencing all of that with someone else.”

“I–yeah,” he confessed. “Do you really want to go to this wedding as my date?”

“I wouldn’t have offered to if I didn’t want to go,” you told him. “And if Phoenix and the rest of the guys come along, between us all we can make it fun.”

“Yeah,” Phoenix agreed. “We can be your buffers if you don’t want to talk to her, or if you do then we’ll be there to support you. And carry you home if you get drunk like you are tonight.”

“Okay,” he said, not too sure but then he repeated himself, “okay. I can’t keep torturing myself by seeing her anymore, so it’ll be the last time.”

“Exactly,” both you and Phoenix replied.

Bob woke up to the light streaming through the small gap where the curtains didn’t quite meet. He tried to shield his eyes and go back to sleep, but his mouth was dry and his stomach protested. He downed the water bottle on the coffee table as well as a few aspirin for the headache splitting his skull. Letting it work for a few minutes before he got up and scoured the kitchen to make breakfast.

He knew he drank too much. He knew he ended up crying on the bathroom floor. He knew he’d turned Phoenix’s birthday into a pity party and he felt terrible. Not only that, but he knew he’d likely scared you off. You, Y/N, who’d called him hot and flirted with him early on in the night. You, who’d given him some great advice, but also offered to be his date to his ex’s wedding.

Why would you do that?

Surely you could do better than the heartbroken man he’d become lately. 

With a sigh he watched the coffee machine drip coffee into a mug. When it was done, he took a sip before whipping up some pancakes. Personally, Bob thought they were overrated, but he knew Phoenix loved them. It was the least he could do after last night.

He fried some bacon and scrambled some eggs to go along with the pancakes, since that’s what he felt like eating. When he turned around to grab his coffee, you were seated at the breakfast bar already drinking it.

“How’re you feeling this morning?” You asked kindly.

“Would rather not think about it,” he replied, earning a soft laugh from you in response. “Phoenix up yet?”

“She’s awake but not up,” you told him. “I smelt coffee. Sorry for knicking yours.”

“It’s fine,” he assured you, already starting to make another, plus one for Phoenix. “Thanks for last night.”

“We’ve all been there, Bob, don’t sweat it.” You smiled sweetly and he nodded a few times, trying to get his breathing under control. “Smells good out here. I like the view, too.”

Bob suddenly felt underdressed. He’d removed his shirt to sleep and changed into a pair of sweatpants he’d left here a few months ago. He was glad he still had his briefs underneath, otherwise he would’ve felt more exposed than he already did.

“Uhh, you don’t have to flirt with me out of pity, you know that, right?”

“It’s not out of pity, Bob,” you told him. “I said it last night and I’ll say it again, you’re hot. And I’ll keep saying it until you believe me.”

Bob hated that when he blushed it went down his neck and covered the top of his chest. He hated that you could see just how flushed your comments made him. Turning back to the coffee machine, and essentially hiding from you, he dropped some bread in the toaster before making the next coffee.

“If it makes you that uncomfortable, I’ll stop,” you offered kindly.

“No, I just, I don’t get called ‘hot.’ Usually only ‘cute’ or ‘adorable.’”

“You can be ‘hot’ and ‘cute’ at the same time,” you argued lightly, a smile to your tone. “Like right now. You’re all cute and shy about my flirting, but you can cook, so you’re hot.”

“I think I’m following.”

“Good boy,” you praised and Bob felt like he’d been kicked in the chest with the way his breath got caught in his throat. His heart raced and he made a face, like he didn’t hate that, and you grinned as you caught the shock before he tried to keep his expression blank. “When’s the wedding?”

Finally, a safe topic.

Bob cleared his throat before looking at you. “Second weekend in June,” he said. “Are you sure you want to go? With me?”

“I’m sure,” you confirmed. “Do you still want me to go with you?”

“I do,” he said. He held your gaze for a moment before it flickered over your shoulder. “Coffee’s ready, Phoenix!”

“Thank god!” Her reply came a moment later. 

You smiled at Bob as he plated the food and set out some more plates and cutlery. Grabbing the syrup for the pancakes and the salt and pepper shakers for the eggs. You started serving yourself while Phoenix slowly joined you, accepting the mug of coffee from Bob as she sat down beside you. 

“How’re you feeling this morning, Bob?”

“Better,” he replied. “Sorry about last night.”

“We all fall apart sometimes,” Phoenix responded. “I’m just glad you’re okay.”

Once breakfast was finished you helped Bob clean up while Phoenix took a shower. You washed while he dried.

“Do you think I could get your number? You know, so we can plan for the wedding?”

“Ask me again without the part about the wedding,” you replied.

“Uhh, can I have your number?”

“Of course,” you said with a smile in his direction. He grabbed his phone from the couch and you rattled off the digits for him. You were glad to see he still hadn’t put a shirt on, but while he was by the couch he quickly changed that. 

“I sent you a text so you have my number, too,” he told you, unaware of the small pout on your lips as his chest was no longer visible. But still, you knew what he looked like without a shirt and you were happy about that. “What are your plans for the day?”

“Should probably go see my mom while I’m here, but then I’m driving home this afternoon. You want to meet me for coffee before I go?”

“Yeah, okay,” he agreed, and you saw the blush creep back up on his cheeks. 

“Great, around two? You pick the place. I don’t know many good cafés around here.”

“Okay, I’ll text you,” he said. You could hear the smile in his voice. “Will you tell Phoenix I said thanks again for last night? I’m gonna head out.”

“Yeah, of course. See you later, Bob.”

“See you later.”

By the time Bob was set to meet with you at a small café just after two, he was nervous. He’d been nervous when he’d asked for your number, but he was more nervous now that he had it. He was nervous he was somehow going to make you hate him. Acutely aware that you’d told him to ask for his number without mentioning the wedding, so wondering what the fuck you’d even talk about in the meantime. 

He blew out a breath and pushed open the door to the café. It was a quaint place with artwork on the walls done by a few local artists. If you saw something you liked, you could buy it. Bob had two small pieces in his collection already, and the staff knew him well.

He came in a few times a week and ordered a pot of green tea while he read a book. Today, however, he didn’t have a book with him and definitely seemed antsy.

“Your usual, Bob?” The barista, Marcy, asked him with a friendly smile.

“Uh, yeah, and a couple of menus, please,” he replied, thanking her for the menus before taking a seat at his favourite spot by the window. It gave him a good natural light to read, but also allowed him to people-watch.

You breezed through the door a second later, smiling as your eyes found Bob and he rose to give you a small hug.

“Hey, you look like you got a bit more sleep,” you observed, taking a seat opposite him. 

“I did, yeah,” he said with a chuckle. “How was your mom?”

“She’s good, thank you. Told me I have to come back and visit more often, and now that I only live an hour away I guess I will be back more often.”

“That’s good to know,” he mused.

“What, that I’ll be back?” You teased lightly.

“Well, yeah,” he said with a cough and an awkward rub of the back of his neck. “I guess we have to plan our wedding outfits, right?

“You were doing so well until you mentioned the wedding,” you told him. 

“You make me nervous,” he confessed. “I don’t know what else to talk to you about.”

“Okay, that’s an easy fix. Ask me what my favourite colour is, or what made me move away from/back to San Diego,” you supplied, attention being pulled towards the barista who placed a pot of tea on the table in front of Bob.

“Can I get you anything to drink?” She asked you.

“Iced Americano, thank you,” you replied, smiling at her before watching Bob pour himself a cup of tea.

“Why did you move from San Diego?” Bob asked you.

“I grew up here. Felt like I needed to get out and explore for a bit. Applied for a job up in Seattle and was living there for about five years, but it felt like something was missing, you know? So I packed up and moved back to San Diego.”

“Are you glad to be back?”

“Yeah, I am,” you admitted. “I think I missed the community here. It’s just me and my mom now, but it’s so familiar. I can still go to some little mom and pop stores and the owners remember me from when I was a little kid.”

“I get that,” he said. “It’s the same when I go back to Montana. Just feels like you never left, right?”

“Yeah.” You smiled. “I didn’t know you were from Montana. You can hardly hair the drawl.”

“Oh, it’s still there,” he admitted with a laugh. “It’s usually more noticeable when I’m stressed, so Phoenix gives me plenty of shit for it when we land after an exercise or a mission.”

“I’ll bet she does.” You laughed along with him. “What made you join the Navy?”

“I knew I had to get out of Montana. They had a booth at a careers expo when I was in high school. Told me all the great things I could do. Signed up the day I turned eighteen and haven’t looked back,” he said, sipping his tea. “I still go home to Montana when I can. It doesn’t feel like I belong, but it’s nostalgic. It’s home.”

Bob recommended the BLT when your stomach growled, saying it was easily the best sandwich he’d ever had at a café. Apparently they toast the bread a little bit, plus the aioli they add is housemade. It made your mouth salivate just thinking about it.

You both ordered one when your coffee came out, and conversation continued to flow easily. Of course, you continued to flirt a little, but sometimes it wasn’t as obvious. Just enough to see the colour appear on Bob’s cheeks before you moved on.

Bob was sweet, which you already knew. Once he was more comfortable with you, you went back to your teasing and flirting. Sometimes you thought he might’ve even been flirting back, but it was so subtle you weren’t sure. 

You talked about your favourite colour, your hobbies, and even what you did for work. It was so easy talking to Bob, it felt like you’d been friends for a long time, rather than having only met the day before.

When it was time to leave, because you had a few errands to run, Bob walked you out to your car. There was a battle for the bill, but since you’d asked him to meet with you, he reluctantly let you pay. Stating that meant he got the next one. Your heart fluttered a little at the promise of seeing him again. That you hadn’t scared him off. And graciously gave him a warm hug and a kiss on the cheek before you left.

By the time you reached the grocery store almost 40 minutes later, you smiled when you checked your phone to find a text from Bob.

I had fun this afternoon. You made me feel normal. Thank you

Any time, Bob, I mean that. I had fun this afternoon too x

Your thumb hovered over the ‘send’ icon, debating whether the kiss was too much. Deciding to send it anyway before getting on with your shopping, a pep to your step and feeling good.

Your week was busy. Your new job was still kicking your ass as you tried to learn everything you needed to know, but you felt fulfilled. Especially since Bob and Phoenix were messaging you several times a day, helping you keep sane.

They were busy training for something they couldn’t exactly talk about, but you knew it was a mission, and most of their team had been called forward. Even though you weren’t able to see them that often, you did spend most of your weekends hanging out at The Hard Deck. Phoenix and Bob had both mentioned that’s where they liked to hang out, and so you’d go there hoping that they’d have a free moment to stop by for a drink.

Sometimes they’d already be there when you arrived, while other times you’d enjoy a drink and text them until they showed up.

You’d even become closer with everyone else, but you had a soft spot for Bob. Most nights you’d talk until you were falling asleep, but not wanting to be the first to say goodnight. Bob would walk you to your car just for an extra few moments alone, you’d kiss his cheek and he’d tell you to text him when you got home so he knew you were safe.

The two times you’d hung out without everyone else had been wonderful. You’d gone to a farmers market one morning, and gone bowling the other time. Keeping it casual and light was easier said than done. You enjoyed spending time with him to the point you almost wished you hadn’t suggested being his date to his ex’s wedding. You wanted to suggest blowing the wedding off, but that felt cruel. He was ready to cut that chapter from his life and he deserved that closure. And you’d be there to see it through.

You’d asked Phoenix what she planned on wearing, but she’d been vague. Telling you to “ask Bob to coordinate your outfits,” each time. And yeah, you knew you should ask him about that, but you enjoyed the fact that he didn’t mention the wedding around you anymore. It would be like taking two steps backwards, but you knew it had to be done. After all, that was why you spent a lot of time together. You couldn’t pretend to be fake dating if you didn’t know the first thing about each other.

So you bit the bullet and fired off a text to Bob.

Hey, I’ve been thinking about what to wear for the wedding. What colour is your suit? I think it’ll be cute if we match x

His reply came moments later.

Haven’t got a suit yet, probably should organise that soon. I could use your opinion if you’re free tomorrow?

Of course, we can meet at the café for breakfast and then go from there. 9am suit you? x

Can’t wait x

You smiled at the kiss he’d added to the end of his text. Then came his next message.

Are you coming to the Hard Deck tonight? x

Got a work dinner that I can’t get out of. I’ll text you when it’s over to see if you’re still there. I might be due for some decent company x

I’ll still be here x

His flirting was more obvious through text, and though you couldn’t see his face, you knew it would be flushed. You also knew just how far down that blush actually went, and spent more time thinking about it than you should’ve while still at work.

You watched the clock throughout the entire dinner. You didn’t want to seem like you had better places to be, even if it was true, but you were acutely aware of the time dragging on. Sure, you made small talk and laughed with everyone, but it wasn’t where you wanted to be. You wanted to be playing pool and drinking with your friends, and Bob.

Bob, who you definitely felt was more than a friend. Bob, who you weren’t entirely sure felt the same way as you did. Bob, who was still shy and nervous around you, but had grown more confident with your flirting. Bob, who flirted back so subtly you were convinced you’d imagined it.

Bob, the cute and awkward guy who stammered over his words sometimes. Bob, who flushed a deep scarlet whenever you touched his arm or kissed his cheek, or even openly flirted with him in front of his friends. Bob, who consumed your waking thoughts.

But you were just friends, right? You were going to be his date to the wedding – even if it was his ex’s wedding, – and you were going to have a good time, damn it. You wanted him to see you, not compare you to his ex. Not use you to get over her.

Bob, who was sweet and funny and cared more for other people than he did himself. 

You smiled and gave a few hugs to coworkers who’d been friendly to you and farewelled everyone with a wave. Making a beeline to your car while you typed a quick text to Bob.

On my way, handsome x

See you soon, sweetheart x

Sweetheart. That was new. Obviously you didn’t hate it, but you were excited to tease him about it and see that gorgeous scarlet taint his cheeks and disappear beneath his shirt.

At the Hard Deck, Bob’s excitement was obvious to everyone except him. From the flush of his cheeks to his eyes darting towards the door every ten seconds. They knew who he was waiting for.

“Bob’s got a crush,” Fanboy teased, taking up residence on the stool beside Bob’s. 

“So do you, Mickey,” Bob pointed out, picking at the skin of his thumbnail. “You think we don’t see you and Phoenix but we do.”

“At least Tasha knows I have a crush on her,” Fanboy replied, winking at Phoenix just as she took her shot at the ball on the table. And missed. “Better luck next time, Tasha!”

“Shut up, Mick,” she replied, though her tone was light. Flirty. A smile on her face betrayed any hint of lingering animosity behind her words. “Y/N’s on her way, huh, lover boy?”

“Maybe,” Bob said vaguely, though his eyes darting to the door had both Fanboy and Phoenix making kissing noises. “Okay, fine, she told me she’s on her way.”

Mickey wrapped his arm around Bob’s shoulders while Phoenix smiled at the exchange. “We know. You can’t keep your eyes off the door long enough to watch Coyote and Payback kick mine and Hangman’s asses.”

“I’d put money on the reason we’re losing isn’t because of their skill, but your inability to stop eyefucking Fanboy,” Hangman pointed out. 

Fanboy laughed while Phoenix rolled her eyes. “Don’t be a sore loser because you’re the only one without a girl tonight.”

Payback and Coyote’s attention had been pulled away from the game by two gorgeous brunette’s. Bob laughed along with Fanboy at Phoenix’s jab, watching her lightly pat Hangman’s shoulder before standing beside Mickey.

“Another drink?” She asked, looking from Mickey to Bob.

Both men nodded and she set off to the bar.

“How do you keep it so light and flirty all the time?” Bob asked Fanboy. 

He was probably the only guy who wouldn’t laugh at him for this kind of question, aside from Phoenix. Phoenix was both of your friends, and she’d made it clear she wasn’t going to interfere in anything. You’d just have to talk to each other like adults. 

“The truth?” He replied. Bob nodded. “It’s not. She makes me nervous and I say things that make me look like an idiot, but she still smiles at me and flirts to her heart’s content, so I know I can’t have messed up too badly. A confident woman isn’t a bad thing, you just have to keep trying.”

“Thanks, Mick,” Bob said with a grateful smile. 

“I mean, we’ve all seen Hangman strike out more times than we can count,” Fanboy continued, dragging Hangman into the firing line. He looked pissed, but Fanboy pressed on. “The key is to adapt. What works with some women, doesn’t work with others. Yeah, rejection sucks, but he doesn’t let it get him down. Besides, she told you that she’s on her way, not Phoenix. She’s only coming to see you, Bob.”

“He’s right,” Hangman pointed out. “Whatever you’re doing is working for her.”

Bob’s eyes darted back to the front door to see you walking towards the bar, smiling at Phoenix. He couldn’t help the smile that formed on his face as he watched you two embrace. 

“You got it bad, Bob,” Hangman said, walking away with a laugh.

Yeah, Bob thought, don’t I know it. 

You smiled at Bob as you and Phoenix joined the guys, offering the beer to Bob as you sipped your drink. He smiled in thanks, getting up to offer you his stool which you gratefully accepted.

“Why can’t you be like that?” Phoenix asked Fanboy who shrugged.

“Perfectly good seat in my lap,” he replied with a grin.

“How was dinner?” Bob asked you, paying no mind to the two beside you who continued to flirt while they bickered.

“It was good. Glad I’m here now, though,” you told him truthfully, watching the colour darken on his cheeks as he sipped his beer. “Teach me how to play?”

“What’s that?”

“Pool. Teach me how to play?”

You knew how to play, you just wanted to be close to him. Lucky for you, Bob took the bait. Taking your hand and leading you to the pool table, giving you a basic run-down of the game. He racked the balls and set them before offering you a cue and showing you how to hold it. His body pressed against yours as he positioned your hands. Lips brushing your ear as he instructed you to use your back hand to pop the cue out and hit the solid white ball, sending it flying into the triangle of coloured ones down the other end.

“You’re a natural,” he praised, smiling as he took the cue from you and lined up his own shot.

“Maybe you’re just a good teacher,” you countered, leaning against the table and squeezing your chest together just a little. Enough that you saw his gaze flit downwards to your cleavage before he hit his lip and took his shot. You watched the ball he was aiming for miss the pocket. 

“That’s cheating,” he pointed out, handing you the cue while you smiled sweetly at him.

“If you’ve got it, flaunt it,” you replied. “Didn’t seem like you had any issue looking.”

“You made it hard not to,” he said, stepping closer to you. “You’re gorgeous, Y/N.”

“Thank you, sweetheart.” He groaned as you laughed and lined up your shot, looking over your shoulder at him. “You going to help me?”

“Call me ‘handsome’ again and I’ll give you anything you want, sweetheart.”

“You gotta be careful giving women that much power, handsome,” you said, taking the shot as you sent him a wink, hearing the ball sink into one of the pockets. You followed the cue ball around the table before lining up your next shot, peering up at him through your lashes. “A pretty girl might just take advantage of you.”

The back and forth was easy and you chalked that down to the couple of beer’s Bob had before you arrived. You liked when his words seemed to flow without any hesitation or overthinking, but you also liked the nervous babbling. The tripping over his words. Everything that made him him. You weren’t trying to change him, you were trying to help him love himself. 

Though that might’ve been easier said than done.

The smile dropped from his face and he lost all expression. He was blank and you couldn’t read him. But you turned around and followed his line of sight, watching a young couple enter the bar. One look at Phoenix told you everything you needed to know – his ex was here with her fiancé.

You walked over to Bob and took his hand. He slowly turned his head to look at you.

“Get me out of here,” he pleaded, voice weak and your heart broke for him. You dragged him out the back entrance into the cool evening air, the sound inside dying out and replaced with the repetitive yet calming sounds of waves crashing against the shore.

You dragged him down to the beach, further from the bar, and sat down in the sand. He continued to hold your hand but said nothing. Deciding not to talk until he was ready to, you enjoyed the warmth of his hand and the calming presence of the ocean.

“I’m sorry, I know this isn’t how you want to be spending your Friday night,” Bob apologised.

“I came here to see you. I don’t care if we’re playing pool or sitting out here in silence,” you told him truthfully, watching a smile tug at the corners of his mouth. “Getting over heartbreak isn’t a simple thing. If it was, we wouldn’t be able to learn and grow.”

“I just…I don’t want you thinking that I’m using you as a rebound or something,” he confessed. “You deserve better than that.”

“Right now,we’re friends who flirt and enjoy hanging out. It doesn’t have to be anything more than that,” you said. “It’s not always going to feel like this, Bob, I promise you. Sometimes all it takes is time, but other times? Other times, all you need is a friend who’s been there and gets it. Phoenix tries, but she hasn’t experienced this kind of heartbreak before. I’m like you, I love hard. Hard enough to make up for the other person’s piss poor efforts.”

“Thank you,” he said. “I know it’s not enough, but thank you.”

“It’s enough, Bob.”

Bob met you at the café early in the morning like you’d planned. After the evening took a turn last night, you’d driven him home before heading back to your place.

Your words had been true. You loved spending time with him, whether you were playing pool or sitting outside. It was his company that mattered the most, not the conversation or activity. 

You also revealed more about yourself to him than you’d intended. You hoped he’d picked up on the double meaning of your words – that you loved the other person more than they could love you. Because it was happening all over again. You were falling for someone who was emotionally unavailable. 

Bob. 

Breakfast was a short affair, but still sweet. The café had became a regular place you two liked to meet at and the staff were lovely. They’d have your drinks ready, even if there was a store full of people because you were both creatures of habit. Bob liked green tea, you like iced black coffee. 

With breakfast out of the way, you linked your arm with Bob’s as you walked down the street. Asking him what kind of vibe he was feeling for his suit, only to be met with a blank look.

“It’s summer, Bob, you’ve got to have a colourful suit,” you chastised. “Black is boring. It’s overdone. I think you’d suit a light blue, like a baby blue, but we’ll shop around a bit.”

That’s how he ended up trying on various suits throughout the day. You’d see his attention start to drift, so you’d pack up and drag him into a store while you tried on dresses. He’d sit in the change area waiting patiently, then he’d take his time watching you twirl and pose. 

He’d comment on aspects of the dresses he liked, like the neckline or the frills. It wasn’t until one of the workers tried suggesting a dress that he balked at the suggestion and went to find a better one. 

He was attentive and complimentative, more so than any boyfriend you’d ever dragged out shopping with you. You wanted to think it was because there was something else building between you, but your heart told you another story. That he only cared because you were his date to his ex’s wedding. 

But when he came back with a pale blue number you knew he had a winner before you even tried it on. 

“This is the one,” you told him through the curtain. You admired yourself in the mirror and smiled.

“Show me?”

You threw back the curtain and gave him a shy twirl. The dress was soft and flowed around your legs as you twirled on your tiptoes. The material was snug over your chest and could either be worn with the straps or without. You’d opted to tuck them into your bra for the time being. 

“You look gorgeous,” he said, voice having dropped an octave as he truly admired you. “You always look gorgeous. I mean, wow.”

You chuckled softly and reached for his arm. “I know. Thank you, Bob.”

You left him to pick his jaw up off the ground and quickly changed back, carrying the dress over your arm. Opening the curtain and placing the dresses you weren’t going to buy on the rack before taking Bob’s hand in yours.

“Will that be cash or card?”

“Card.” Bob handed his card over before you had a second to dig for your own to pay. “It’s on me. Please?”

“Only because you asked nicely,” you replied teasingly, smiling at the cashier as she rang you up and processed Bob’s card. You accepted the bag when it was ready and walked out of the store together after thanking the cashier.

“Now all that’s left is my suit,” Bob mused.

“Should be easy enough. Then we can have a late lunch.”

You didn’t want the day to be over yet. Call it selfish or whatever, but spending time with Bob was the highlight of your week. The more time you spent with him, the more you saw glimpses of the real Bob hidden away from the rest of the world. He could take charge, like he did when he found you the dress. His shell was slowly cracking open and the more you saw, the more you fell for his sweet nature. 

Bob smiled at the promise of lunch and you led him back into the store he’d tried on no less than 20 suits earlier in the day. The sales assistant smiled when he saw you both back again, surprised you’d found a dress already.

“We need a suit in this colour, or as close to it as you can,” you told him, showing him the colour of your dress.

He flew around the store picking up suits in various shades of blue, none of which were close to being right. Still, Bob tried on every single one of them to get your opinion.

“You do alterations, right?” You asked the sales assistant. He nodded. “Good. I’ll be back.”

You headed off on a mission. You’d seen a blue suit earlier, but it had been the wrong size so you’d all skipped past it. When you found it, you knew it was going to be two sizes too big, but if the alterations were done right, it would be perfect.

“That’s going to fall off me,” Bob commented.

“You’re not that skinny,” you replied. “I’ve seen your abs. The colour is right, Bob, please?”

“Only because you asked nicely,” he mumbled, throwing your words back at you which only made you laugh.

“Last night you said you’d do anything I’d ask, so get to it, handsome.”

He paused, trying to hide his smile as he accepted the suit, then stuck his tongue out at you. “Cheater.”

“All’s fair in love and wedding attire, or however the saying goes.”

You heard him laughing even with the door to the changing room closed. When he emerged, you signaled for the sales assistant. 

“It definitely needs to be taken in, but the colour is definitely the right shade of blue. You have a good eye,” he told you, making you smile as you looked over Bob. “I’ll just grab some pins and then we’ll size you for the alterations.”

“Thank you,” Bob said politely.

“That colour looks so good on you,” you complimented, smoothing your hand down his arm before walking around him in a circle. 

“Yeah?”

You smiled at his nervousness bubbling back to the surface. “Yeah. We’re going to look so good together.”

The apples of his cheeks began to pink up at your words. “You think so?”

“I know so.”

The sales assistant made quick work of pinning the suit where it needed to be tailored. Taking in the legs and the hem of the pants. Taking in the sides of the jacket and a little bit of the length, as well as attempting to make the shoulders look smoother. He made Bob turn a few times so he could adjust a few pins as necessary. Happy with his work, he told Bob to be careful while changing out of the pants, since he’d already taken the jacket off.

“Do you have a white dress shirt at home?” You asked Bob through the closed door. 

“Yeah, a couple,” he replied.

“Tie?”

“I’m not wearing a tie,” he said firmly. “Ties are for the groom and groomsmen. Since I’m neither, I’m going as casual Bob. Casual Bob has a hot date and will have a few drinks then carve up the dance floor.”

“Remind me to keep you away from the dance floor,” you teased.

“You didn’t have anything wrong with my dancing at Phoenix’s the other weekend,” he pointed out.

“That was a safe space,” you replied. “You were surrounded by people who care about you. Do you really think dancing like a stripper at your ex’s wedding is going to be a good look?”

“You just want me all to yourself,” he deduced, opening the door to find you flustered by his shirtless self. 

“I, uhh, what was the question?”

Seeing the roles reversed, that Bob was the confident one to your suddenly nervous self, fuelled him on. He took a step towards you, you took one towards him. Hand reaching out to touch him.

“Hot, fuck.” 

You pulled your hand back the second your fingers brushed over his abdomen like you’d been burnt. You’d expected him to laugh, or blush uncontrollably, but he surprised you by cupping your face with one hand while his other settled on your waist.

“Go on a date with me.” His voice was soft and low. Thumb brushing over your cheek, feeling the warmth. “A real date.”

“Okay,” you said softly. 

“Dinner tonight? No wedding talk. No talk about our exes. Just us talking like we do. Having fun like we do,” he said. 

“What time?” 

“Five, I have something else planned besides dinner,” he revealed, smiling as he stroked your cheek one last time. 

“Do I get a hint?”

“Bring a jacket,” he told you, and you missed his touch instantly as he took a step back. “And don’t wear heels.”

You dressed casually for your date, unsure what to expect. You paired your jeans with a comfy tee, as well as a warm jacket that you had draped over your arm for the time being. It was still too warm to wear the jacket, so whatever Bob had planned had piqued your interest tenfold.

He picked you up at five sharp, dressed in jeans that had the cuffs rolled, a pair of boots and a white tee with a bomber jacket over top. His usual Navy issued glasses sat perched atop his nose and he gave you a warm smile.

“Well, don’t you look handsome,” you greeted, smiling widely at the man standing in your doorway.

“You’re not supposed to compliment me first,” he chastised playfully, though his flushed cheeks betrayed the confidence shining brightly in his eyes. “You look beautiful, Y/N.”

“Thank you, Bob,” you replied, feeling warmth in your own cheeks.

The two of you set off, Bob’s hand firmly in yours as he led you out to his car. No matter how much you asked, he wasn’t going to tell you what the first stop was. 

“It’s a surprise,” he’d said with an all knowing smile. “Don’t give me lip about hating surprises either. I guarantee this is one you’ll like.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“Because I know you,” he’d replied simply, like he was stating a fact. 

You thought back to the past conversations you’d had, and what you might’ve revealed about yourself. There was a lot, and there was a good chance he did know you well enough to be able to state that you’d grant an exception to this surprise.

When Bob parked at the marina you cast him a bewildered look. He wasted no time in getting out and rounding the car to open the door for you.

“Ever the gentleman, Bobert,” you teased but there was no malice. There was never any malice. Just adoration for the man whose heart was slowly healing. 

“Bobert, huh?”

“You told me you hated Robbie and Bobby,” you pointed out. “Bobert is fun, fresh, and a combination of your name and your nickname. Like it?”

“Don’t hate it,” he replied with a laugh. “C’mon, we’re running late as it is.”

“Are we fishing?” You asked, his hand slipping into yours like it belonged there, and maybe it did. 

He held onto your coat as you walked along the boardwalk towards the docks, not giving anything away. There were lots of people milling around, heading towards other boats. Not you two. You weaved your way through the crowds until you arrived at a large tour boat already loaded with tourists.

“So, not fishing?” You asked, taking in the sign above the walkway up to the boat.

The sign read “San Diego Sunset Tours.”

“Not fishing,” Bob confirmed, taking in your excited expression. The way your eyes lit up when you looked at him with the biggest grin on your face that he’d ever seen. “Told you you’d like this surprise.”

“Okay, okay, you’re right,” you replied. 

In the many conversations you’d had, you’d told him how even though you’d lived in San Diego almost your entire life, you hadn’t actually been on a boat before. You liked to come down and watch them all go out or come back in, waving to the passengers on board. But you’d never actually experienced it before.

Bob wanted to change that. 

He’d planned it long before he’d found the nerve to actually ask you to join him for a date tonight. It took a while to secure a spot, even if he did know one of the owners as a former Naval Captain. They couldn’t play favourites, so he’d waited and waited. Grown more confident and playful around you, and you’d said ‘yes’ when he finally asked you out. He just hadn’t expected you to become so flustered about seeing him without his shirt on. 

He gave his name to the check in clerk, who introduced himself as the first mate. Telling you that you were the last to arrive, so to grab a drink and take a seat while they worked on setting sail.

Bob enjoyed your look of utter bewilderment. The childlike awe and unbridled joy radiating from you in tidal waves. It was contagious, and he was happy he’d invoked this kind of reaction from you. That something he did would be a memory you’d always look back on and smile, and it made his chest grow tighter and his heart race a little quicker. 

“When did you have time to plan this?” You asked. Bob was in half a mind to lie so as to not come on too strong, but you were here. Through his shyness, through his moments of boldness. You were still here. That had to mean something. 

“Been thinking about it since you told me the story of you coming down here every weekend when you were a kid,” he confessed, watching you place a hand over your heart as you gave him a watery smile. “I wanted to make sure you experience it at least once.”

“Thank you,” you said, though words couldn’t portray just how grateful you were. Bob seemed to understand, pulling you against his chest for a hug. Your arms wrapped around his waist, holding him tightly as you enjoyed his warm embrace. 

You chose to sit outside to watch the sunset. It wasn’t that cool yet, but you put your jacket on regardless. Not wanting to bother Bob with holding it, even though he didn’t mind, and kept an arm around your shoulders.

It was easy being with Bob. You didn’t feel compelled to fill the silence with mindless babble, because his company set you at ease. He was like a breath of fresh air, comforting and refreshing. 

He was everything you never knew you were missing, and when he smiled at you, you knew there was no going back. You’d fallen, and you just hoped he was there to catch you.

Your date with Bob weighed heavily on your mind in the days leading up to the wedding. No one had ever done something so special for you for a first date before, so how could you not think about it? 

The tour was amazing. You’d filled your camera roll with a bunch of images of the sunset, of the two of you smiling. A couple had even asked if you’d like them to take a photo of you, and you’d both gratefully accepted.

There were a bunch of you both wrapped in each other’s arms and smiling at the camera, but there were also a few where one or both of you were smiling at each other. 

Then there was your favourite photo of all. The sunset was illuminating the sky behind you in a mix of gorgeous reds, oranges and purples. Bob had a hand resting on your lower back, the other cupping your face. Your hands gripped the collar of his jacket and you two had forgotten that pictures were being taken. The look shared between you spoke volumes. Pure adoration for each other shining brightly.

You’d made it your phone lock screen. 

Of course, you’d sent a few of the others to Phoenix once Bob had dropped you home after dinner. You’d needed to gush about how much fun you’d had, and how Bob had surprised you with the best first date ever.

It wasn’t until you all met up at the Hard Deck later in the week that she saw what your lock screen image was. Apparently Bob’s was the same, and he’d been dealing with their merciless teasing all week. It brought a new wave of teasing around because apparently Bob hadn’t blushed over his choice of lock screen until it was revealed that yours matched. 

You thought that you couldn’t fall any further for him, but it turned out you were wrong.

The two of you slipped outside as the night wore on and more drinks were consumed. Hangman and Rooster were killing it at karaoke, and their voices were drowned out by the lull of the ocean.

You were nestled into Bob’s side, his jacket draped around your back, your head resting in his shoulder. You liked him. It was obvious he liked you too, but you needed to have a conversation. Talk about things like adults, because while the feelings were obviously there, his words stuck in your mind.

“I don’t want you to think I’m using you.” 

He’d said it a couple weeks ago. A lot has changed since then. You woke up to good morning texts from him, or would grab dinner or hang out watching a movie in the evenings after work. Your free time had been consumed by him, and while you loved it, you also needed clarification. You needed to know where his mind was at, because it’d been a while since you’d mentioned his ex. He never brought her up, so it was hard to know without being able to read his mind.

“You warm enough, sweetheart?” Bob asked you softly, pressing a soft kiss the top of your head.

You hummed. “Yeah, thank you. Can I ask you something?”

“Of course.”

You sat in silence for a moment, trying to find the right words. Bob didn’t pressure you, and part of you was glad. “Do you like me the way I like you?” 

“What way do you like me?” He asked cautiously.

“More than a friend, handsome,” you said lightly, peering up at him as your heart thundered in your ears. 

He chuckled softly. “Yeah, sweetheart. I like you the same way you like me.”

“Okay, good.” You smiled, catching his eye. 

He dipped his head, resting his forehead against yours. “I’m sorry if I’ve given you any reason to doubt,” he told you. 

“I just needed to be sure, that’s all,” you told him. “There’s been times when I’ve thought you were going to kiss me, but you haven’t.”

“I needed to be sure of my feelings for you before I kissed you for the first time,” he said, hand lightly cupping your face. Thumb brushing over your cheek. “You mean so much to me, sweetheart. I’d never be able to forgive myself if I hurt you because we weren’t on the same page.”

“We’re on the same page now, handsome.”

“Yeah, we are,” he said, tilting your chin so he could capture your lips in a kiss you’d been anticipating for a month. 

Finally. 

You kissed him back softly, slowly. Savouring the feeling of his mouth against yours and the fire that ignited low in your belly. Your arms finding their way around his neck, fitting against him like you were two pieces of a puzzle that had long awaited their missing piece. 

His hand slipped behind your head to cup the base of your skull, fingers winding their way into your hair. Your mouth parted slightly, sucking his bottom lip as a low groan rumbled in his chest. 

And then there was the cheering. Bob’s squadron of friends whooping and hollering as they watched the spectacle of your first kiss from the rear entrance of the Hard Deck. 

You chuckled against Bob’s lips, drawing him in for another kiss as you flipped them all off. His tongue pressed past your open lips as he deepened the kiss, earning a delicious moan in response. 

Neither of you cared about the audience, or that it slowly grew quieter again. The blood rushed in your veins, your body reacting to his touch and you felt hot. Shrugging off his jacket as your fingers tugged at his hair and his grip around your waist tightened.

You were breathing heavily when you parted, Bob’s own breath matching yours as you softly laughed from the bliss of it all and started to smooth back his hair. 

“You’re so fucking pretty,” you confessed, voice barely above a whisper. 

“Quit stealin’ m’ lines,” he said, voice thick and gravelly even as heat rose to his cheeks.

“Hello, Montana,” you teased, fanning your face with your hand at the sudden tone of the Montana drawl he said only appeared when he was stressed. “Been wondering if your accent also came back when you were turned on.”

“Might be playin’ it up a bit f’ you,” he replied, cocking his head as he smiled and brushed some of your hair back from your face. 

You hummed, smiling softly as he dipped his head for another kiss. This one was short but sweet, like he couldn’t help himself and he just had to kiss you again. Like he already missed the feeling of your lips against his and knew you weren’t going to protest. 

“You wanna go back inside or stay out here a bit longer?” He asked sweetly.

His gaze flitted to your lips so you kissed him. “I’ll go wherever you go, handsome.”

By the time you were ready to go back inside, because the temperature had dropped a bit more and you noticed the goosebumps on Bob’s arms despite his insistence that he wasn’t cold, your lips were puffy and his hair was a mess. He’d given you his jacket again and walked a little taller with his arm around your waist, guiding you back towards his group of friends.

“You finally resurfaced for air, huh?” Phoenix teased you both, earning a laugh from you as you stole her drink and finished the last of it. Bob simply smiled.

“Another drink?” You asked Bob. 

“Please and thank you,” he replied, earning a chorus of groans from his friends. His colleagues. His family. All he did in response was flip them off, grinning as you squeezed his hand before heading off to the bar.

“Treat her well, Floyd.”

Bob met Phoenix’s gaze. The woman, his pilot and someone he considered to be a best friend, wore a hard look. Of course, he knew her well enough at this point to know she was saying it out of loyalty to you, but also for his own benefit. If he hurt her, he knew she’d choose you. As much as she loved and respected him, she wouldn’t hesitate to kick his ass if he made you cry.

“Yes, ma’am,” he answered honestly. “You g’na give her the same talk? Would hate to accuse you of playing favourites.”

“Oh, there’d be some truth to the accusations,” she replied with a laugh. “I’ve had the same talk with her already, Bob.”

At the bar, you greeted Penny with a warm smile. She finished serving the flock of women down the end before making her way over to you.

“Your usual?” She asked.

“And Bob’s,” you replied. She was already cracking open a beer before you’d even said his name. “All knowing bartender you are.”

She laughed. “Just a heads up. His ex is here for her hen’s night,” she told you, gesturing to the group she’d just served. “They’re drunk and up to no good.”

“Uh huh,” you said. It was clear which one was his ex. She wore the tacky ‘Bride to Be’ sash and the other women wore ones that said ‘Bridesmaid’s to Be’.

“Don’t roll your eyes too hard,” Penny warned you with a teasing smile.

“Thanks, Penny,” you told her, taking a sip of your drink. “How much?”

“I changed them for it,” she told you quietly, earning a boisterous laugh in response. She shot you a wink. “They haven’t seen you guys yet, but they’re flapping their jaws.”

“Appreciate the heads up, Penny,” you said honestly. 

You’d had a great time tonight and you didn’t want Bob’s ex or her friends to ruin it. Part of you still believed he was hung up on her and you wished it wasn’t true. He’d told you he liked you. You’d seen his behaviour change from someone suffering through life to someone enjoying it. You were part of the reason his behaviour had lifted over the last few weeks. 

Squaring your shoulders, you headed towards the group with a huge smile on your face. 

“Oh my God, you’re getting married!” You gushed and it was just what the women needed to squeal and fawn over Bob’s ex. You knew her name, you just didn’t want to say it. “Congratulations, you must be so happy!”

“Thank you,” she replied, her answer quipped. “I’m sorry, we’re kind of on a mission to find someone tonight. Do you come here often? Maybe you could help us?”

“I can try my best,” you replied honestly.

“Do you know Bob Floyd?” One of the Bridesmaids asked you. 

“Yeah, I know Bob.” You cocked your head. “Why do you need Bob for this mission?”

The women all shared a look and giggled. A different one spoke. “We want him to strip for Jamie. As one last hurrah before she gets married, you know?”

This time you giggled. “Oh, you couldn’t afford him,” you responded, watching the Bride to Be’s face turn from amused to confused, then fall completely. “I’m sure there’s someone here who would be into it, though. Hangman maybe?”

“Jake’s an asshole,” the bride snapped.

“I think he’s a sweetheart. A little misguided, but his heart’s in the right place. Maybe you’re right though, he seems to be loyal to his friends,” you mused, enjoying the discomfort growing on the Bride to Be’s face. “Oh, what do I know? You ladies have fun tonight!”

You breezed off towards the back of the bar where Fanboy and Phoenix had carefully hidden the group, grateful for the large crowd tonight so the group of women couldn’t track where you’d gone.

Fanboy eyed you curiously. He’d had eyes on the whole situation since Penny had sent him a text about the unwanted bridal party’s arrival while you and Bob had been outside. He’d positioned himself in a way that he could be hidden but also see everything.

You gave him a smile before you handed Bob his beer and sat down beside him.

“Your ex and her bridal party are trying to find you so you can strip for them,” you stated. Bob stared at you with his bottle raised halfway to his lips. “Don’t worry, I said they couldn’t afford you and offered Hangman instead.”

There was silence for a beat while everyone awaited Bob’s response. It came in the form of laughter, his arm going around your shoulders and a kiss pressed to your temple. With Bob’s own laughter in the air, the group followed suit. Until Hangman realised what you’d actually said.

“Why’d you offer my services?” He asked you.

“I’ve seen you strip to Pony by Ginuwine,” you stated.

“If I remember correctly, you were too busy flirting with Baby On Board to even notice,” he argued playfully. 

“And she still knows I’m better than you, Hangman,” Bob replied in the same teasing manner. 

“What can I say? I have taste.”

The kiss Bob gave you had the group groaning at the show of PDA. He didn’t care. 

Neither did you. 

The day of the wedding rolled around quickly. You were set to get ready with Phoenix and had arrived at her place a little after 10am. Mickey and Bob would pick you up just after two to make your way out. You’d planned to meet everyone just before half three since the ceremony kicked off at four. 

You’d had a grueling week at work and didn’t even have the energy to see everyone at the Hard Deck last night. Instead, Bob had come over with dinner and the two of you spent the evening cuddling and making out on your couch like horny teenagers. You’d wished things had gone further, the noises he made ignited a flame inside you. A hot, passionate fire raging deep in your belly that your showerhead couldn’t quite extinguish.

He hadn’t stayed the night. You’d seen how torn he was between deciding whether he should stay or go, so you’d made the decision for him. Sure, you were straddling his lap at the time and grinding yourself against the bulge of his erection, but you’d told him there was no rush. No pressure to take things further if he wasn’t quite ready.

He was achingly ready. Fingertips digging into your hips, your lips ghosting over the shell of his ear and breath hot against his skin as you spoke lowly.

“Every second I have with you is more than I thought I’d ever have, so until you make the first move, this is as far as we go,” you’d said. 

“This is so much more fun than going home and getting off with my hand,” he’d replied with a groan. 

“But it’s so fucking hot knowing you’re going to jerk off thinking of me,” you’d told him, your core clenching at the thought. 

“You g’na get yourself off thinkin’ o’ me, sweetheart?”

“Seems only fair.”

The sounds he’d made had been replaying in your head all night. Nothing you’d tried had been as good at making you cum than the thought of him stroking his cock while thinking of you. 

You’d been distracted all morning since you’d been at Phoenix’s getting ready. When she’s tried to ask, you’d brushed it off as nerves for this wedding. She’d hummed skeptically but had given you enough glasses of wine that had you spilling your guts.

Then she’d wished you hadn’t, but you needed to get it out. Needed to tell someone about your frustration in the hopes they’d set you right and tell you what you needed to hear. So she pushed aside her discomfort and did just that.

“You’ve been patient with Bob for almost two months,” she said. “I know you’re on the same page now, but he doesn’t rush things. He’s in his head a lot because his job is to weigh every possible scenario before he acts. He’s never thinking of himself because my ass is on the line, too. That’s what he’ll be doing. Your patience will be rewarded, and I’ll have to mentally brace myself to hear all the details, but he’s so into you, Y/N. Don’t doubt that for a fucking second.”

“I know, I know. I do, believe me. I know I go all in too fast sometimes, so can you just tell me that going slow for once isn’t a bad thing?”

“Going slow isn’t a bad thing,” she repeated, except you believed her whereas telling yourself the same thing felt like a load of shit. “Now do you want lunch or nibbles?”

“Lunch. I need to absorb some of this alcohol before I get in the car for the next two hours.”

You ordered sandwiches from the shop down the street and continued to get ready while you ate. The music got turned up and the vibe was lively. Laughter flowed as you took dance breaks or strutted the fake catwalk. It wasn’t until there was a knock at the door that you realised the time. 

Phoenix opened the door for Mickey and Bob and you chugged the last of your wine.

“Don’t you two look dapper?” She greeted your dates with a teasing compliment. “A bow-tie, Mick? Really?”

“See, this is why I needed your opinion,” he countered, greeting her with a hug and a heady kiss. Phoenix was quick to take the tie off and undo the first two buttons of his shirt.

“Hi,” Bob greeted you shyly. 

He looked amazing in his suit, like you knew he would. His hair curled at the nape of his neck, evidence that it’d been a while since he’d last cut it, but you didn’t complain. No, you liked the length. You loved to tug it, and that’s what had convinced him to avoid the barber’s for the foreseeable future.

“Hi yourself, handsome,” you replied, sliding your hands up his torso to grab the lapels of his jacket. His hands found your waist as the two of you shared a sweet kiss. You hummed as you parted and wiped away at a speck of lipstick lingering on his lips. “How do I look?”

“Good enough to eat,” he replied lowly. 

“I’ll hold you to that,” you teased playfully. He kissed you again, unable to help himself. “Where are you glasses, Bobert?”

“He put contacts in,” Mickey supplied. “Ended up crying because he stabbed himself in the eye while we were driving over here.”

“You hit a pothole,” Bob stated.

“I miss the glasses,” you said with a pout. Bob shared a look with Phoenix and Fanboy who wore identical smiles. “What was that look for?”

“I’ll tell you later,” Bob assured you. You believed him.

The ride to the venue was a blast. You had the windows down, music pumping and shared a bottle of wine with Phoenix and Bob. They’d laughed when you’d grabbed the bottle before leaving, but Bob had a good buzz on and you and Phoenix were on a mission to appear more sober than you actually were.

That proved easier said than done, but at least you had a pair of sunglasses. 

You kept half an eye on Bob. He seemed to be in good spirits, but you weren’t sure if it was for show or not. Of course, he did keep you glued to his side, which you didn’t mind. His arm around your waist, helping keep you steady since it was obvious that you and Phoenix had started drinking hours before everyone else. 

Shit. 

You weren’t complaining about his close proximity. Standing beneath the shade of a nearby tree while you sipped a bottle of water from one hand or a glass of prosecco from your other. Bob and Rooster were chatting to some other people they knew. Friends of Bob’s ex, apparently. You paid some attention to the conversation, but Phoenix was waving you over to where her and Fanboy were.

“I’ll be back, just going to see what Nix wants,” you told Bob, kissing his cheek. He smiled in response, following you towards where the duo sat in front of a few snacks. “What’s up?”

“Mickey thinks we need to eat more,” Phoenix told you, stacking a slice of cheese on a cracker before dipping it in a bowl. 

“You almost tripped twice walking over here,” he commented, arm around the back of Nix’s chair. 

“You try walking on grass in heels,” you replied, taking a seat and setting your drinks in front of you before picking at a slice of salami.

“She’s right,” Nix agreed. “Lover boy is on his way over.”

“You have separation anxiety or something?” Mickey teased, earning a laugh from Bob.

He took a seat beside you, arm resting on the back of your chair. Copying the duo sitting on the opposite side of the table. “They’re talking about baseball and I couldn’t give a single fuck about it. Better company here, anyway.”

“Charmer,” you teased, slicing some brie to put on a cracker with half of a cherry tomato. He grinned your way as you put the whole thing in your mouth, shaking his head as you struggled to chew it.

“Hungry?”

“They’ve been drinking since ten,” Mickey told him, smiling fondly at Phoenix as she scooped guac onto a chip and shoved it in her mouth.

“Ahh,” Bob replied, swiping your prosecco and finishing it before you could protest. “Finish your water.”

Chat was aimless as you all picked at the snacks on the table. Talking about your job or their training. Making plans for a double date sometime soon. It was easy. 

Eventually Hangman and Coyote found you, handing out more prosecco or beer. They talked shit about some of the guests who looked annoyed to even be in attendance, which then started the game of trying to guess who everyone was. Making up stories about them, or names, until you were all in hysterics at Mickey’s description of an older woman. 

He’d said her name was Myrtle and she had a turtle, but she was undercover for the CIA because some ex-Russian military – who were the groom’s family, – were here to cause trouble. His exact words were “eliminate everyone in attendance,” but assured you all that Myrtle had it under control. 

Payback and Rooster joined you all after hearing your group’s laughter over everything else and immediately got in on the game too. 

Your table was the loudest by far. Guests casting disgusted looks your way whenever someone finished their description, starting another round based on who looked the most annoyed. How else were you supposed to pass the time waiting for the ceremony to kick off? Anyingling with people you didn’t know and gushing about how happy you were for the soon-to-be-wed couple? Get fucked. 

“More drinks?” Hangman asked. 

The guys had all hung their jackets over the backs of their chairs. It was hot, and while there was an umbrella covering the table, a few of the guys were still in the sun. Sleeves rolled to their elbows, empty waters on the table in front of them, and occasionally swapping just so no one burned. 

There was a chorus of yes’ as he headed inside. The snacks in front of you had been finished for a while, but Rooster had swiped a tray of finger sandwiches which didn’t last long. 

Bob had moved his chair closer to you to get out of the sun as it moved in the sky. You didn’t mind at all, especially not when you’d gone to the bathroom and come back to find him in your seat. Taking residence in his lap so you didn’t have to sit in the sun. 

He’d pressed the occasional kiss to your shoulder, hand resting low on your hip, the other holding a bottle of water.

“They’re about to start,” Hangman said, arms full of water and a few bottles of beer. 

Just as he said that, someone came out to ask everyone to move to the seats set up, or to stand at the back. It was obvious there wasn’t enough seating, so the group opted to stand under one of the trees not too far away. There was no need to be seated, and this way you all could still drink without looking obnoxious.

Mickey poured a bottle of water over Bob’s head, while Rooster and Hangman did the same thing on their own. 

Bob wrung some of the water out before standing up and combing his fingers through his hair. You watched his forearms flex with the movement, enraptured by the show and the few droplets that trickled down his face and neck.

He pressed a cold, wet hand to the back of your neck and you almost melted, earning a laugh in response.

“God damn, that’s nice,” you said, closing your eyes for a moment. When they opened again, Bob was smiling before he leaned down and stole a kiss. “That was nicer.”

He chuckled, snaking his arm around your waist. “You’re welcome.”

He pressed a kiss to the tip of your nose, much to the dismay of the group. To hell with them, though. You were happy, Bob was happy, and that’s all that mattered.

The music started and you sipped your beer as the bridesmaids slowly made their way down the aisle. 

Bob had anticipated this day for years. Except the reality was a stark contrast to what he’d envisioned. When he saw Jamie walking out with her father, he thought he’d feel bitter. He thought he still harboured some resentment towards her for moving on so quickly. For finding happiness with another man. For planning her wedding with someone other than him.

But he didn’t. 

He didn’t feel bitter, or even happy. He felt like though the plans he’d had ended up being far different, that he wouldn’t change it for the world. Yeah, he’d struggled with the separation and all of her life changes initially, but now? Now, he felt whole. He felt like he’d found what he’d always been missing. And to think you’d only breezed into his life almost two months ago, and now had become his rock. The person he confided in. The person he wanted to do better for completely took his breath away.

Everything he’d ever wanted was standing in his arms at his ex’s wedding. What the fuck? Bob felt like a fucking idiot. He wished he’d realised it sooner. He wished he’d blown off the whole wedding and taken you on another spectacular date. 

It was too late to leave now, but he didn’t want to stay. He wanted to whisk you away and tell you how much of an idiot he was for not acknowledging what was right in front of his face all along. 

You. 

Yet you smiled and leaned into him as the ceremony wore on. Your smile never once seemed fake, and he knew it was because you were a good person. A better person than he was, anyway. You’d supported him every step of the way. Encouraged him to find comfort in himself. Love himself first. And with that, you’d earned his heart. Words couldn’t even begin to explain it, but whenever you looked at him it was like you knew. You understood him without the need for words.

“If there is anyone who believes this couple should not wed, speak now or forever hold your piece.”

Jamie’s eyes were on Bob. He could see hopefulness, longing, and the evil green-eyed monster; jealousy. His arms were around you and you rested back into his chest. His chin sat atop of your head, and your group all stood with him in solidarity.

He knew you saw the look. She was looking right at the two of you. But still, you were relaxed and content in his embrace, and he didn’t bat an eye. 

The rest of the ceremony was concluded and Phoenix audibly exhaled beside him.

“She looked like she was hoping you’d interrupt,” she commented.

“My best guess is that’s why I was invited in the first place,” he admitted. “Especially since Y/N said they were trying to find me to strip for her at her bachelorette party.”

Phoenix hummed. You twisted in Bob’s arms, giving him a proper hug. He tightened his grip without question.

“Hangman, you wanna steal some more beers for the road? I feel like pizza,” Bob said, earning a laugh from Hangman as he slapped Bob’s shoulder.

“Coyote, Payback, let’s roll.”

You all grabbed your things before meeting out the front. Handing over jackets and sunglasses while accepting beer in return. Rooster and Fanboy planned where to meet, and then you were heading off. It was a short trip. Everyone was hungry and needed to eat before the drive back home. Sure, it was only a couple hours, but the heat played a factor in their exhaustion.

Bob took your hand and pulled you aside once you arrived at the pizza joint. Everyone else headed inside, but he needed a minute.

“You okay, sweetheart?” He asked softly.

“I’m so good, handsome,” you told him honestly, smiling proudly. Adoringly. “You okay?”

“The best I’ve been in a long time,” he admitted. “Because I have you. I have someone in my corner who only wants the best for me.”

“Bobert?” He hummed in acknowledgement. “This is the part where you ask me to officially be your girlfriend.”

“Hurry up and ask her so we can eat!” Hollered Rooster from the doorway. You both turned to look at him, only to be met with the faces of everyone closest to you. They all waited expectantly.

“Will you be my girlfriend, sweetheart?”

“I’ll do anything you want me to do, handsome.”