#natasha trace

Javy Machado’s wedding was supposed to be a relaxing getaway for you.

He and his wife-to-be, Paisley, had chosen Cabo for their destination wedding, and you were more excited at the prospect of a getaway with your squad than the actual ceremony.

If that made you a bad friend, then so be it.

It was a miracle that you’d all been granted leave for the three-night extravaganza, and you intended to make the most of every second. Your suitcase was full of brand new bikinis with matching sunglasses for each, paperbacks you’d been meaning to read for months, and two cute outfits for each day in case you wanted to change in the evenings. Your wedding outfit was in a separate garment bag, slung over your forearm.

The resort Javy and Paisley had picked was, quite frankly, magical—funny since it was situated in a “Pueblo Mágico,” which translated to “magical town.” Located in Todos Santos on the Pacific coast of Baja California Sur, it had its own private beach with clear blue water and white sand. Plenty of art galleries and surf spots surrounded the area if you fancied any excursions, although you had every intention of spending most of your free time lounging by the pool or swimming in the ocean.

Penny and Maverick checked in first, then the rest of your squad. Everyone was paired off and given their room keys, leaving just you and Bradley. Jake shot you a cheeky wink as he followed Nat across the foyer, and your skin prickled as realisation dawned on you.

‘You two are booked into one of our ocean-view rooms on the third floor,’ the receptionist said with a warm smile. ‘I’m going to give you two key cards, but if you lose them, let me know, and I can make you another.’

Your eyes flicked to Bradley, who had a shit-eating grin on his pretty face.

‘We’re sharing a room?’ He asked.

The receptionist frowned and glanced between the two of you with a confused expression on her face.

‘You’re Mr Bradshaw? And Miss Y/LN?’ She queried. ‘I’ve got you two down to share, as the rest of the rooms are filled with other guests from the Machado wedding party.’

You groaned internally as Bradley’s smile widened. ‘No worries,’ he said, taking the keys.

No worries? Of course he’d say that. And of course you’d be the one stuck sharing with him. Javy probably thought he was hilarious, orchestrating this. You made a mental note to tell him exactly what you thought of that when you saw him at dinner tonight.

It was an ongoing thing: Bradley’s overbearing and loud attempts at flirting with you and your hurriedness in shutting him down. Objectively, you knew he was attractive. And despite his loudness, he was funny, kind, and reliable. Bradley Bradshaw was the kind of guy most women tripped over themselves to be with, and rightly so.

But you?

You’d always believed that you were too quiet for someone like him.

He didn’t seem to share this belief, and he flirted with you every chance he got. Sometimes you wondered if he was just doing it for the bit, but he hadn’t been with anyone else for as long as you’d known him. As far as you were aware, he’d never even taken anyone home after a night at The Hard Deck, and you knew with absolute certainty that he could’ve if he wanted to.

On the walk up to the room, Bradley hummed to himself, irritatingly joyful about this turn of events. You still hadn’t said a word, because what were you supposed to say? “I snore when I’m really tired, and I like to have the windows open instead of the AC. Also, please don’t touch my expensive shampoo?” Anything you thought of in your head sounded ridiculous and obsolete. While Bradley fiddled with the key card, you pulled your phone out of your pocket to text Phoenix if she knew about this. 

Truthfully, you suspected that the whole squad knew. You wouldn’t have been surprised if Bradley had been the one to suggest it. Bradley opened the door and stepped aside so you could go in first, ever the gentleman. The room was stunning. Huge, bifold windows that opened out onto a balcony with a table and chairs for morning coffees, a flat screen TV that you doubted you’d even turn on, ornate decorations and crisp white bed sheets…

On the double bed.

The one large, double bed.

Bradley appeared behind you, smelling of clean cotton and whatever aftershave he always wore that you found yourself searching for in the shops. But that was besides the point.

‘Shit.’

You could hear the smirk in his voice, and you just managed to refrain from smacking him around the head.

‘What are we going to do?’ You fretted, scanning the room for a couch or a pullout bed, of which there was neither.

Of course.

Bradley wheeled his suitcase further into the room and pushed his aviators up into his hair. He turned to look at you, trying to gauge your reaction to the situation.

‘I can sleep on the floor,’ he offered with a shrug. ‘Or I can see if Mav’s room is any bigger. Maybe he has a couch.’

You ran your fingers through your hair. ‘You can’t share with Mav and Penny. That’s ridiculous.’

Bradley set his backpack down on the bed with a sigh. ‘Then I’ll sleep on the floor.’

‘I find it hard to believe that there’s not a single other room left in this whole place,’ you grumbled, dumping your purse on the bed next to Bradley’s bag.

‘Paisley has five sisters,’ Bradley reasoned, ducking his head into the bathroom to investigate. ‘Coyote has four brothers. They’ve invited most of their friends and family, and our whole squad and all their partners are here. That doesn’t even account for the rest of the people Coyote’s invited from the navy.’

You kicked your suitcase over with a little more force than you’d intended and unzipped it in search of a bikini. Just because you were stuck sharing a room with Bradshaw didn’t mean you had to change the rest of your plans.

‘I can’t imagine wanting a big wedding like this,’ you ruminated. 

‘You wanna get married someday?’ Bradley asked, sliding the balcony doors open.

‘If I find the right guy.’

‘Maybe you already have.’ He teased.

You gave him a flat look. ‘I think I’d know.’

‘See, you say that,’ he drawled. ‘But you seem to be painfully unaware of a lot of things.’

You gaped. ‘I am not.’ You flushed, indignant.

Bradley smirked. ‘Whatever you say, sweetheart.’

You set about unpacking some of your things while Bradley helped himself to drinks and snacks from the minibar.

It was strange to be alone with him in a setting like this. You couldn’t help but wonder if things might be easier between the two of you if he weren’t so damn forward all the time. Even after knowing him for the better part of a year, he always managed to catch you off guard with a flirtatious comment or a sultry stare. It wasn’t so bad at work or The Hard Deck, where you had common ground and the rest of your squad to act as a buffer, but you hadn’t spent a great deal of one-on-one time together.

Mostly because you avoided it.

If you weren’t alone with him, he couldn’t make you flustered. And if you weren’t flustered, you couldn’t make a fool of yourself.

Now, you kind of felt like you’d been thrown to the wolves, and you dreaded to think what was going to be left of you by the end of the weekend.

‘I’m going to the beach,’ you announced, grabbing your bag and a pair of sunglasses.

Bradley looked at you, chocolatey eyes wide and expecting in a way that made you want to run and jump into his strong arms. He seemed to be on the verge of saying something, but you didn’t give him the chance.

The sight of him was honestly just too much, and you didn’t trust yourself to be normal when he looked at you like that. 

You should’ve known you’d find Bob at the beach with a tattered paperback in hand, glasses sliding down his nose. He was a lot like you in the sense that he wasn’t one for commotion—perhaps that’s why you connected so easily.

When he saw you approaching, his cheeks dimpled with a smile so wide, you couldn’t help but smile back.

‘Hey,’ he said, closing his book. ‘You okay?’

You dumped your beach bag in the sand and pulled another sun lounger over so you could sit beside him. ‘I was,’ you replied as you sat down. ‘Until I got stuck sharing a room with Rooster. Apparently, there are no other rooms left.’

Bob gave you a glib look. ‘You know Javy and Jake planned the whole thing,’ he told you. ‘They made sure there were no more rooms left.’

Indignation sparked in your chest. ‘I knew it! I fucking knew it!’

Bob chuckled. ‘I’m sorry, Y/N.’

You waved him off. ‘I should’ve expected it from those two,’ you said. ‘Who are you sharing with?’

Bob handed you a bottle of water, and you thanked him. ‘Fanboy,’ he sighed. ‘We’re the only two singles left in the group.’

You took a sip of your water—it was nice and cold and just what you needed in the heat of the Mexican sun.

‘You forgot Rooster and me,’ you corrected, pointing your bottle at him accusingly.

Bob gave you a sly grin, which was a rarity for him. ‘Come on, Y/N. You don’t have to pretend with me.’

‘I’m not pretending!’ You sputtered. ‘Nothing is going on between me and Rooster!’

Bob scoffed. ‘Yeah, right. And I suppose the sky isn’t blue, either.’

You lay back against your sun lounger and covered your face with your hands. Sure, Bradley flirted with you incessantly, and yes, maybe you did have a teeny tiny crush on him. But you’d always found it hard to believe that there was any real weight behind Bradley’s words. You told Bob all of this, and when you peeked between your fingers, he was looking at you like you were the biggest moron in existence.

‘Rooster is a lot of things, but he’s not the kind of guy who’d play around with someone’s heart like that. He probably just doesn’t wanna go in too heavy and scare you off.’

Deep down, you probably knew this, but you weren’t ready to face the music.

‘I’m not the right type of person for him, Bob,’ you said quietly. ‘He’s literally the human embodiment of sunshine.’

The pages of Bob’s book rustled as he leaned forward and patted your hand affectionately. ‘Don’t sell yourself short, Y/CS. You’re pretty special, too.’

You looked away, blushing. ‘Thanks, Bobby.’

‘Any time you need a reality check, I’m your guy,’ he joked. ‘But seriously, you should think about what I’ve said. Maybe this weekend is the perfect opportunity to find out if he means what he says.’

Your stomach quite literally clenched at the thought.

Bradley was good at talking, but what would it be like if he actually put his money where his mouth was? You could only imagine what being truly loved by him would feel like, how changed you’d be after basking in his impossibly bright rays.

Water lapped the shore gently as you and Bob fell into an easy beat of silence. You liked spending time with Bob; being in his company was as easy as breathing, and he never asked anything of you. Because of this, you were rarely shy. What you wouldn’t have given for it to be like that with Bradley.

‘What are you reading, anyway?’ You asked, desperate for a change of subject. It was hot enough outside as it was without thinking about Bradley.

‘East of Eden,’ Bob replied, flashing the cover of his book to you. ‘I’ve read it before, but not since high school.’

‘The classic debate of good vs evil,’ you remarked. ‘Just a bit of light reading on vacation, huh?’

Bob laughed. ‘I like to keep my brain fed.’

‘I know you do,’ you smiled. ‘That’s why I love talking to you so much.’

It was Bob’s turn to flush. He looked away and swallowed nervously.

‘What about you?’ He stammered. ‘What are you reading?’

You handed him the battered, well-read copy of one of your favourite books. It was part of a series, and you’d been rereading them for nostalgia purposes. He read the blurb and nodded approvingly.

‘Sounds pretty good, actually.’

A heavy hand landed on your shoulder, making you jump. Thoughts veering totally off track, your body’s reaction told you who it was without you needing to turn around.

‘What does?’ Bradley asked, stepping over the end of your sun lounger and perching on the edge.

‘Y/N’s book,’ Bob replied, shooting you a knowing smirk.

‘What is it?’ He asked, reaching for the book which Bob handed him.

‘Just an old favourite from when I was a teenager,’ you explained, keeping your eyes planted firmly on your lap so you wouldn’t oggle too much. ‘I’m rereading the whole series.’

‘Oh, cool,’ he replied, hand coming to rest on your shin. ‘I forgot my book.’

Your eyes flicked to his calloused hand on your leg. It was such a simple, casual act, but it drove you nuts nonetheless; it was an effort to stay focused on the conversation. ‘I didn’t know you could read.’ You said sweetly, hoping you didn’t sound too affected.

Bob choked on his water, and Bradley tipped his head back and laughed, a full-on belly laugh that made your chest tighten.

‘I’ll have you know, I like reading,’ he said, locking eyes with you. ‘Just have to be in the mood.’ His grip on your leg tightened, and warmth pooled in the bottom of your stomach.

‘That so?’

‘Uh-huh,’ he grinned, winking at you over his aviators. ‘I’m going for a swim.’

And with that, he was off like a shot towards the water, muscles expanding deliciously as he ran.

Bob was trying and failing to contain his laughter.

You read a few chapters of your book, stopping now and then to share lines you liked with Bob, who was doing the same. When Bradley came back dripping wet and somehow even more God-like than he’d been thirty minutes ago, you decided it might be a good idea to go for a swim as well, just to cool down. Being around him on base or at The Hard Deck was bad enough, but on a beach in Cabo in the blistering summer heat when he looked like that? It was impossible to think straight, especially when he pulled a sun lounger so close to yours that the arms touched and took a long drink from your water bottle. The worst part of it was that he did all this as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Almost like you were already a couple, which everyone else in your squad seemed to think you were.

Nat and Jake appeared with more drinks and a large platter of fresh fruit to share, which she promptly deposited in Bradley’s lap so she could lay her beach towel out. Jake took one look at Bradley, who was so close to you you might as well have been sharing a sun lounger, and smirked to himself like the cat who got the cream.

‘This looks cosy,’ he drawled, moving his toothpick from one corner of his mouth to another.

Bradley squinted up at him, unable to move without jostling the impressive tray of fruit. He seemed to be on the verge of saying something smart in response to Jake’s comment—something that would probably make you even more flustered—so you jumped up and grabbed hold of Nat’s arm.

‘Shall we go for a swim?’

Nat straightened, eyes flicking from you to Bradley as a knowing look spread across her face. You could feel Bradley’s gaze burning holes into your back, and you adjusted the straps of your white bikini self-consciously, suddenly hyperaware of the miles of skin you had on display.

‘Sure,’ she replied, brows raised. Then, once you were out of earshot of the rest of the group: ‘You’re acting weird.’

You threw your hands up. ‘I can’t help it! I feel like a caged animal!’ She laughed and you shot her a glare. ‘Glad to see my pain is funny to you, Trace.’

‘Oh come on,’ she nudged your ribs playfully. ‘You need to relax, stop taking it so seriously.’

You’d reached the shore. The cool, clear water lapping at your ankles was just the kind of grounding you needed.

‘I can’t help it,’ you whined. ‘There’s too much pressure on the situation. Bob told me that Jake and Javy were behind us sharing a room.’

Nat rolled her eyes. ‘You weren’t supposed to know that.’

‘You knew too?’ You exclaimed, shoving her lightly. ‘I can’t believe you! Dating Hangman is really rubbing off on you in the worst possible way.’

The two of you waded deeper until the swell reached your waists; then, you leaned back and let the tide claim you, your hair fanning out beneath the waves.

‘If it makes you feel any better,’ Nat said, pushing her dark hair out of her face. ‘Bradley didn’t know.’

You regarded your friend. Being the only two females in your squad meant that you were quite close, and you always knew when she was lying. You could tell by the set of her shoulders and the look in her eye that she was telling the truth about this.

‘I just don’t like being backed into a corner,’ you admitted, scrunching your toes in the sand. ‘He makes me nervous enough as it is.’

‘Y/N,’ Nat sighed. ‘Can I give you a piece of advice?’

‘I have a feeling you’re going to anyway, no matter what I say.’

She gave you a glib look. ‘Get out of your own head and just lean into it,’ she told you. ‘So what if Jake and Javy orchestrated the whole thing? At some point, something had to give. He looks at you like you hung the fucking moon in the sky.’

You couldn’t help but glance back at the beach. With the distance, you couldn’t be certain, but you were pretty sure that Bradley was still watching you over the top of his sunglasses.

‘Bob said pretty much the same thing,’ you relented.

‘Well, Bob’s a smart guy,’ Nat said, standing up. ‘If you’re not gonna listen to me, you should listen to him.’

You followed her back to shore, mulling over what she’d said. Did Bradley really look at you like you’d hung the moon? Most of the time, you were too flustered to properly read into it, but maybe your friends were right, and there really was more to his flirting than simply getting under your skin.

As you approached the guys, Bradley tracked you without shame, leaning back on his forearms like he didn’t have a care in the world. You almost lost your nerve when he sat up higher and pulled his sunglasses down further so he could see you better. For once, instead of shying away, you decided to be bold and add a little sway to your hips. His eyes immediately darkened as he ran his tongue over his bottom lip.

When you reached your sun lounger, you took your time drying off with your towel and brushing the sand from your legs before sitting down. Bradley’s attention never once left you.

‘You’re always looking at me like that,’ you said lowly, so only he could hear you.

‘Like what?’ He asked, smirking.

‘You know what.’

He reached up and ran his fingers through his curls and released a long breath. ‘Sorry. Can’t help it.’

His voice had dropped lower, and he seemed to be struggling to sit still. In the spirit of leaning into it like Nat had said, you allowed yourself a small moment of satisfaction in knowing you had an effect on him.

‘Don’t apologise,’ you told him.

His eyes darted to you, questioning, like he wasn’t sure whether he’d heard you correctly. The air seemed to shift around the two of you, and you were distantly aware that there was no turning back now.

‘I’m gonna go get some ice cream,’ you announced. ‘Want one?’

‘Sure,’ he sputtered, tracking you once again as you stood up. ‘Thanks.’

You flashed him your widest, prettiest smile and relished in the way his lips tugged upward beneath his moustache.

‘No problem, roomie.’

Bradley let you take the first shower when you got back to your room. You took your time washing your hair twice, and then took extra care scrubbing the sand from every inch of your body.

You were stalling.

The Daggers had a reservation at a fancy restaurant a little way from the resort, but it wasn’t for another hour. That meant sixty whole minutes alone in a room with Bradley Bradshaw with nobody to act as a buffer and no ocean to disappear into.

Hence the twenty-minute-long shower.

The bathroom was just as beautiful as the rest of the suite, complete with a waterfall shower, his and hers sinks and light-up mirrors. You stepped out onto the fluffy mat in search of a towel, but all you could find was a couple of small hand towels.

An icy chill ran down your spine as you remembered the towels folded up at the foot of the bed.

Fuck.

Gingerly, you opened the bathroom door and poked your head out. Bradley was stretched out on the bed, flipping through your current read.

‘Can you pass me a towel?’ You squeaked. ‘There are none in here.’

Bradley’s head snapped up.

You watched the realisation that you were naked behind the door wash over him, and his eyes darkened just like they had on the beach. A sly grin tugged at his lips as he set your book down and swiped a towel from where they were folded into swans.

‘What’s the magic word, sweetheart?’ He teased, voice an octave lower than usual.

Your toes curled instinctively, grip tightening on the edge of the door

‘...Please.’

He came right up to the bathroom door, but didn’t hand the towel over right away—just stood there, a little too close, like he’d forgotten what he was supposed to be doing.

His eyes flicked over your face and settled on the water pooling in your collarbones. You thought you saw his breath hitch, though surely smug, confident Bradley Bradshaw wouldn’t be so affected by the sight of your naked shoulders.

You reached around the door and waved your hands impatiently, and he blinked as though startled.

‘Sorry,’ he murmured, biting back a grin as he handed you the towel. When his fingers brushed yours, your breath hitched, and you slammed the bathroom door shut suddenly and leaned against it.

He didn’t even have to try to get you worked up. Honestly, it was a little embarrassing.

After wrapping yourself in the fluffy towel, you bit the bullet and walked out into the bedroom. All your clothes were in your suitcase because—of course—you hadn’t thought to take them in the bathroom with you. You didn’t feel like asking Bradley to root through all your underwear to find you an outfit, thank you very much.

He didn’t move an inch as you sashayed across the room, just kept his eyes planted firmly on the wall in front of him, jaw set like it took effort to keep them there. After the way he’d stared at you at the beach earlier, you weren’t sure why he was bothering to be chaste now. He swiped another towel from the foot of the bed and disappeared into the bathroom, all without fully turning around, like he was afraid to look at you.

Or maybe he was afraid that you’d look at him.

After taking a deep, steadying breath, you moisturised and put on your evening dress. It was a cute, baby yellow number that you’d picked out especially for this trip. Admittedly, you’d had Bradley in mind when you’d bought it, though you’d die before ever telling anyone this.

It was hot enough outside that you could leave your hair to air dry, so you grabbed a mini bottle of prosecco from the fridge and a glass and headed out onto the balcony. The view of the private beach was breathtaking and made you wish you could take vacations more often.

By the time you heard the bathroom door open, the sun had started to set, and you’d nearly finished your drink.

Bradley had taken longer than you in the shower, and that was saying something.

You blamed the bubbly for your inability to keep your eyes on the beautiful ocean view, and turned subtly in your seat.

Bradley had his back to you, a white towel hanging low on his waist. Up until now, you hadn’t given men’s backs much thought, but now you were reconsidering. The expanse of tanned skin pulled taught over impressive muscles had you wondering about other areas of his body.

Now who was shamelessly staring?

Practically drooling, you watched him dig through his suitcase for some clothes, mesmerised by his fluid movements—so mesmerised, in fact, you only just managed to turn back around before he dropped his towel to the floor.

‘Hey, Y/CS?’ He called.

Your stomach somersaulted. ‘Yeah?’ You squeaked.

‘This mirror on the wall by the door’s nice, huh?’ He replied, smirk audible in his voice.

Your brows furrowed as you tried to work out what he was talking about. What did a mirror have to do with anything?

Silence stretched out for a second.

Then it dawned on you.

He must have seen you ogling him in the reflection.

Heat crept up the back of your neck as you rubbed your temples, wishing the ground would open up and swallow you whole.

After a few minutes of quietly simmering with embarrassment, Bradley appeared on the balcony, dressed in black dress pants and a loose-fitting, white linen shirt. He’d combed his wet hair back, and his aviators were perched precariously on the tip of his nose. To top it all off, he smelled delicious.

‘Ready to go?’ He asked innocently.

You knocked the rest of your drink back and stood up. ‘Yep.’

He followed you across the room, and just as you opened the door, he placed a hand on your shoulder to stop you. Gently, he untucked your wet hair from beneath the back of your dress and tucked it over one shoulder so your back wouldn’t get wet. It wasn’t the feel of his fingers against the nape of your neck that startled you; it was the softness of the gesture. It affected you more than his loud, outward attempts at flirting.

You were frozen to the spot as he let his hand linger for a little longer than he should’ve before pulling away.

‘Thanks.’ You squeaked.

He was so close to you that you could feel his breath on the back of your neck as he said: ‘No problem, roomie.’

The restaurant was called Jazzamango, and it sold the most expensive pizza you’d ever had in your entire life. It had been Mav and Penny’s idea to come here, and they were paying for the whole thing. The Daggers were family, and you were grateful for the way Penny had taken you all under her wing—just because Mav had to, didn’t mean she did.

Naturally, you ended up sandwiched between Natasha and Bradley, because there had been no other seats left when you arrived. It was incredibly hard to focus on your $400 pizza when Bradley’s leg kept knocking into yours beneath the ornately decorated table. Every time it happened, you inched a little closer to Nat.

‘Wanna sit in my lap or something?’ she whisper-shouted after the fourth time it happened.

‘Sorry,’ you hissed. ‘Bradshaw’s all up in my personal space.’

She rolled her eyes. ‘Well, you’re sharing a room with him for the next three nights, so you might wanna get used to it.’

You flashed your teeth at her. ‘Thank you for captioning my nightmare.’

‘You know, this whole playing hard to get thing is getting really boring to watch,’ she told you with a smirk. ‘I thought I told you to lean into it.’

His knee touched yours again, and this time you didn’t move away—you told yourself it was because you had nowhere else to go, but was it?

‘Relax,’ Bradley murmured, low enough that only you could hear. ‘You look like you’re about to bolt.’

‘Maybe I am.’ You shot back.

‘Don’t,’ he said simply, before going back to his conversation with Reuben and his girlfriend.

By the time desert came out, you were jumpy, exhausted and ready for bed. Which would’ve sounded inviting after a day of socialising, if not for the fact that you had to share with Bradley.

‘So,’ Nat said suddenly, cutting into her piece of cheesecake. ‘How’s the room?’

You almost choked on your drink, but Bradley didn’t even look up from his plate. ‘Great, actually.’ He said.

‘Is it?’ She asked.

‘Yeah,’ he said, finally glancing your way. ‘We’re getting along really well.’

You kicked him under the table. Hard. His leg didn’t move. In fact, it pressed closer.

You went completely still.

By now, you were sure this man was going to be the death of you, and you were sick of him always getting one up. Resolutely, you put your hand on the top of his thigh and squeezed, hoping nobody would notice. His fork clattered onto his half-empty plate as he glared at you, pupils blown completely black.

‘Yeah,’ you smiled at Nat. ‘We are.’

She couldn’t see your hand from this angle, but she could see the pained expression on Bradley’s face. Honestly, you were taken aback by your own boldness. You had no idea whether to move away or double down, and your pulse was going ohshitohshitohshit.

‘Weirdos.’ Nat huffed.

For the first time since you’d met him, Bradley Bradshaw didn’t have a comeback.

He ate the rest of his dessert in a stunned sort of silence, glancing at you now and then like he was making sure you were really there. 

When you got back to the room, the energy between you and Bradley was loaded in a way it hadn’t been before.

You didn’t know if Bob and Nat’s words had gotten to you, if you’d had too much champagne or if the forced proximity to Bradley had finally broken down the last of your resolve—either way, you were seeing the situation from an entirely new angle.

It was hard to believe that all these months of teasing had purely been for fun when he’d looked at you like that when you’d grabbed his thigh. And this stunned silence he’d been trapped in since the restaurant? It was so unlike him that you could only assume you’d had a real effect on him.

Bradley went over to the minibar and grabbed two miniature bottles of Patròn.

‘Do we have to pay for these?’ He asked, waving the bottles at you.

‘I guess so,’ you replied, following him out to the balcony. ‘Unless the happy couple are footing the bill at the end.’

He handed you one of the bottles and uncapped his. ‘Guess we’ll find out,’ he smirked. ‘You ready?’

You scrunched your nose up. ‘We’re just gonna drink it straight?’

‘That’s the whole point of tequila,’ he reasoned.

Shooting straight tequila in a hotel room with Bradley Bradshaw? You said a silent prayer for your sanity before following Bradley’s lead and downing it, wincing at the harsh taste.

‘I don’t usually drink tequila,’ you sputtered.

‘Neither do I,’ he admitted, smiling sheepishly. ‘Doesn’t normally end well.’

‘That’s exactly what I was thinking,’ you laughed.

And that’s how you and Bradley ended up swapping stories about your worst drunken nights. By the end of it, you were clutching your sides, which ached from laughing so hard, and your jaw hurt from smiling so wide. He made you feel careless and present in the moment, as though nothing and nobody outside of it was more important. It was easier to laugh than to acknowledge what had changed.

Eventually, you cast a glance at the very inviting bed. Bradley watched you intently, like he was waiting to see what you’d say first.

The tequila had gone straight to your head. You leaned back in your seat and took a deep, steadying breath of ocean air.

‘You can’t sleep on the floor, Rooster. I wouldn’t be able to sleep.’

Bradley gave you a bemused grin. ‘You wouldn’t be able to sleep?’

‘No,’ you pouted. ‘Because I’d just be thinking about how uncomfortable you were all night.’

Fiddling with his empty bottle, Bradley smiled dazzlingly. ‘You would?’

Before you could stop the words flying out of your mouth, you asked: ‘Is it so hard to believe that I care about you?’

Bradley’s smile dropped, suddenly serious. ‘Kinda.’

His admission was like a sharp stab in your chest. ‘Well, I do.’

He didn’t drop his gaze from you as he said: ‘That’s good to know.’

Suddenly, the quiet between you was too loud. You couldn’t sit still anymore, and you could feel your clothes sticking to your body.

‘I’m going to put my pyjamas on,’ you announced, getting up from your seat.

‘Need a hand?’ Bradley teased.

Your mouth dried out at the thought. ‘Nope,’ you squeaked, hurrying into the bathroom with your night things.

As you dressed, you wished you’d brought something a bit nicer than an old Harley Davidson t-shirt and skimpy sleep shorts, but you hadn’t been expecting anyone to see you after 10pm. What kind of psycho could sleep in lace, anyway?

After brushing your teeth and combing through your hair, you headed back into the bedroom where Bradley was perched on the edge of the bed scrolling on his phone. He was shirtless in a pair of grey sleep shorts, and your brain short-circuited at the thought of sharing a bed with him.

When you flopped down on top of the duvet, he turned to face you, propping his head up on his hands. God, he was handsome. Nobody had the right to be so perfect.

‘I sleep with the windows open,’ you told him, lips tugging upward. ‘No AC. And sometimes I snore if I’m really tired.’

Bradley laughed delightedly. ‘I sleep with the windows open too,’ he told you. ‘And I snore all the time.’

‘Now you’ve got me second-guessing letting you sleep in the bed with me,’ you joked.

Bradley laughed again, and something in your chest shifted. You found yourself trying to come up with ways to hear that laugh again.

He sat up and moved further up the bed, close enough to you that you could feel heat rolling off him.

‘You’re on my side, though,’ he said huskily.

‘That so?’ You asked, raising a brow.

‘Yup.’

Emboldened by the wicked glint in his eye, you straddled him so you could get to the other side of the bed. Instinctively, his hands flew to your hips, and even though the contact and proximity were short-lived, it still set an electric current buzzing beneath your skin. His little ‘oof’ had your pulse jumping into your throat.

Without giving him any time to respond, you reached over and snapped the bedside lamp on, plunging you into near total darkness. The only light came from the moon, which was almost full up in the sky, and a spattering of twinkling stars.

Bradley pulled the duvet back and nestled beneath it, and you followed suit. You could barely hear the ocean outside over the pounding of your own heart as you grabbed a few of the extra pillows (what bed needed this many?) and made a barrier between the two of you. You knew full well that it was childish, and you felt a bit like an idiot, but really, what other choice did you have?

‘You’re not serious,’ Bradley laughed, voice more unsteady than usual. You couldn’t tell him that you didn’t trust yourself, or that you knew you’d never drift off to sleep if you could feel him lying beside you.

‘Night roomie.’ You said sweetly.

He scoffed, but you could hear the smile in his voice when he said: ‘Yeah. Goodnight.’

You woke up a few hours later completely disoriented.

It took you a moment to remember that you were away in Cabo, and not in your own bed in San Diego.

Slowly, you came to terms with your surroundings: the lovely, light breeze in through the balcony doors, the sound of the ocean gently lapping the shore, and someone snoring.

Your brain hadn’t quite caught up yet—it was still somewhere between sleep and waking.

And then it did, all at once.

The pillow barrier you’d built hastily before falling asleep had been kicked to the foot of the bed. In your sleep, you and Bradley seemed to have found your way into each other’s arms. Your face was pretty much buried in his chest, and both of his strong arms were wrapped around you. He smelled of sandalwood and sunscreen, and he was so incredibly warm.

You’d never been this close to him before. Not like this. Not where you could feel every single breath he took.

The heat you were becoming all too familiar with unfurled deep in your belly. It was desire mixed with nerves and anticipation, and it was slightly intoxicating; better than any expensive champagne.

You debated rolling away, probably should have rolled away. But you didn’t.

You couldn’t.

Bradley was so warm and inviting, and he wasn’t awake to make a sly remark and totally ruin the bliss. Tentatively, you draped your arm across his middle, hand hovering for a second before you let it settle against his back, fingertips tracing slow, absent lines like you were testing whether the moment was real. He shuddered in his sleep, and your breath caught, and not because he’d moved—because he’d felt it.

You bit back a pleased grin.

Just as you’d started to drift off again, his arms tightened around you, somehow pulling you even closer.

‘Y/N?’ He murmured.

You inhaled sharply. ‘Yeah?’

‘Are we cuddling?’

And damn if his raspy, sleepy voice wasn’t the sexiest thing you’d ever heard in your entire life.

‘I think so.’ You whispered.

Silence for a second, then a quiet, ‘Okay.’

His grip didn’t loosen; it just settled, like he’d decided something. And not two minutes later, he was snoring again.

Just like that.

You didn’t move, not even after he’d fallen asleep.

And that meant something you weren’t quite ready to face just yet. 

Bradley didn’t think he’d ever been this close to losing his mind before.

Every little thing you did drove him insane—the way you got embarrassed and couldn’t hold eye contact when he flirted with you, the smell of your expensive shampoo, the sight of you in that fucking white bikini, water sliding down your stomach and legs.

And now, he could add your little snores and the way you clung to him like a koala in your sleep to the list.

He woke up to you still nestled against his chest, arms wrapped around his torso like you two did this sort of thing every night. It didn’t surprise him that you two fit together like puzzle pieces—he’d always known that you were meant for each other. What surprised him was that you hadn’t moved all night, even after waking up and finding yourself pressed against him. Most of the time, he had a hard time even having a serious conversation with you without you disappearing on him or retreating inward, so he was counting this as a step in the right direction.

Being careful not to wake you, he peeled your arm off him and crept to the bathroom, closing the door behind him softly. No matter what, he started every single day with an ice-cold shower, but today it was more necessary than usual. His skin smelled of your perfume, he finally knew what it felt like to hold you close, and after spending the better part of six hours pressed up against your gorgeous body, he was more than flustered.

He gripped the edge of the bathroom sink, suddenly all too aware of his own body, which had totally betrayed him.

He felt more than a little guilty for sorting out his morning problem with you sleeping ten feet away, but what other choice did he have? You cut and run from in The Hard Deck when he winked at you, so he couldn’t imagine what would happen if you woke up to his dick pressing against your stomach. Hell, you’d probably never be able to be in the same room as him again.

Bradley tried not to take it personally; he really did. He understood that you were shy and more reserved than the rest of your rowdy squad. But that was one of the things he loved most about you. He also knew that you didn’t believe that he genuinely liked you, that he wanted more with you than the sex he hinted at too often.

Maybe that was his own fault, but he just loved teasing you so damn much.

As he went through the motions of his morning routine, he thought about how incredible it had felt to wake up cuddling you. By the time he was done in the bathroom, he’d replayed the memory so many times he no longer fully believed that it had really happened. Had he dreamt your arms tightening around him, or the lazy circles you’d traced into his back?

The sight of you tucked up in the middle of the bed, hair splayed out across his pillow, was the only proof he had that any of it was real. Bradley dressed quickly and grabbed his phone and key card. Breakfast would be starting any minute, and he thought you might like some time to yourself to get ready for the busy day ahead. Cocktails had been scheduled for the afternoon, followed by the rehearsal dinner, and he knew you well enough to know that you’d want some time to charge your social battery before all that.

Down in the restaurant, Natasha, Jake, Mickey and Bob were already seated at a table close to the window. Bradley grabbed himself a cup of black coffee and a plate of fresh fruit before joining them.

‘There he is!’ Jake said, smirking smarmily.

‘Fucking finally!’ Nat exclaimed. ‘I need details, now. Did it happen?’

Bradley stabbed a strawberry with his fork. ‘No.’

All four of his squad mates visibly deflated with disappointment. ‘What do you mean “no?”’ Nat demanded. ‘You shared a bed with her! She had like, four glasses of champagne!’

‘So?’ Bradley rolled his eyes. ‘What was I supposed to do, take advantage of her because she was drunk?’

Bob leaned forward in his seat. ‘Did anything happen? Anything at all?’

Bob Floyd wasn’t one for gossip, so if he was interested, then the situation must have been getting dire.

Bradley shrugged. ‘We had some tequila, chatted for a while, then we went to bed.’

‘Did you share the bed?’ Mickey asked, waggling his eyebrows.

‘Yeah,’ Bradley snorted. ‘With a fucking pillow shield between us.’

Jake’s eyes lit up, and Bradley immediately regretted saying anything. If you found out that he’d told anyone about what had gone on behind closed doors, you’d never talk to him again.

‘Come on, Rooster,’ Nat pleaded. ‘Just make a move already!’

‘I don’t know if she wants that! She’s so hot and cold, I never know whether I’m coming or going.’

‘But I bet you wish you were co—’

Natasha punched Jake’s arm, cutting him off abruptly. Bradley busied himself with his fruit, although it was difficult to focus with four pairs of eyes boring holes into the top of his head.

He huffed. ‘We cuddled.’

Chaos erupted. He only meant to give them something to shut them up, but now he was being bombarded with a whole slew of other questions, like “who initiated it?” and “did you get to second base?” Bradley banged his fork down onto the table.

‘Can you guys cut it the fuck out!’ He snapped. ‘It’s none of your business—and if you tell her I told you that, I’ll never speak to any of you again.’

Mickey snorted. ‘Yeah, cos it took you a whole fucking year to even get her in a room alone.’

Bradley picked up a grape and threw it at Mickey’s head.

‘Low blow, Fanboy,’ Nat growled.

Mickey threw his hands up. ‘But it’s true!’

‘Y/N’s different,’ Bob said quietly. ‘If you really wanna be with her, you have to show her that it’s not all just for show.’

Bradley blinked. He knew you and Bob talked a lot, probably because you were both quiet and relatively reserved. Judging by the look in the WSOs eyes, he knew more than he was letting on.

Nat nodded in agreement. ‘Bob’s right,’ she said. ‘Maybe slow down on the flirting and let her get comfortable.’

Bradley chewed on this. Out of everyone in your squad, Phoenix and Bob definitely knew you best. If he was going to take anyone’s advice, it would be theirs. Maybe all his shameless flirting was only harming his cause.

He could tone it back, let you come to him for a change. He just had to hope that you actually did, because he didn’t think he could survive another night in bed with you without kissing you.

Bradley couldn’t stop admiring the way your pretty, blue evening dress clung to your body in all the right places. You looked so stunning he couldn’t think straight, just kept going back to the previous night in his mind.

You sipped your cocktail, smiling slightly at something Penny was telling you.

It was the first time he’d seen you since this morning in the room. When you hadn’t come down for breakfast, he’d taken you up a croissant and some coffee, but you weren’t in the room. He’d checked the beach, the pool and the bar, but he hadn’t been able to find you anywhere. He didn’t even see you when he went back to the room to get ready for cocktails and the rehearsal dinner, which was disconcerting.

It wasn’t until he’d arrived at the garden that he saw you, leaning against the wall with an impressive-looking drink in hand, chatting with Penny. Either you hadn’t seen him come in, or you were ignoring him, because you hadn’t so much as glanced in his direction.

Javy clapped a hand on his back, startling Bradley from his reverie.

‘How’s it going?’ He asked, face split in a wide grin.

‘Good,’ Bradley replied. ‘What about you? Feeling the pre-wedding jitters yet?’

Javy shook his head. ‘Not in the slightest. When you know, you know. I’ve never been more sure of anything my whole life.’

Bradley’s eyes darted to you. ‘I get that, man.’

Javy followed Bradley’s line of sight and smiled sheepishly. ‘I hear mine and Jake’s plan isn’t exactly working.’

Bradley shrugged, hoping he didn’t look as dejected as he felt. ‘Bob and Phoenix think I’ve been coming on too strong, but I’m not sure if it’s that anymore. Maybe she just doesn’t like me back.’

‘Bullshit,’ Javy said. ‘You just need to take a different approach.’

‘Yeah, so I’ve heard.’

‘It’ll happen. Like I just said—when you know, you know.’

Bradley nodded, because he did know. He just wasn’t sure that you did.

You were halfway through your drink when you felt him beside you. You kept your eyes trained on the couples dancing beneath the pergola, which was strung with twinkling, golden fairy lights. Bradley inched closer to you, resting his arm on the back of the stool you were sitting on. You wore a backless dress, and the feeling of his arm against your bare skin reminded you of last night.

‘You disappeared on me today,’ he said quietly.

You leaned back slightly until you were almost in the crook of his arm ‘Sorry.’

‘Everything okay?’

You didn’t even know where to start. ‘Yeah,’ you said. ‘Just wanted some peace and quiet.’

‘Charming,’ he said, voice teasing.

‘I didn’t mean—’ you sputtered, covering your face with your hands. ‘I didn’t mean it like that.’

His chuckle reverberated through your body. When you removed your hands from your face, he leaned even closer to you. ‘It’s okay,’ he murmured, eyes darting to your lips. ‘I get it. You don’t have to hide from me, Y/N. I can go as slow as you want.’

You lost yourself in the depths of him, totally enamoured. It was as if the rest of the garden had faded away, and it was just you and Bradley left. A few more inches, and you could’ve kissed him. It would’ve been so easy if you could just forget about your insecurities and stop overthinking everything.

‘Why do you keep trying with me?’ You asked a little breathlessly.

He tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear, thumb lightly brushing your jaw, and your whole body trembled with a mix of nerves and anticipation.

‘Why wouldn’t I?’ He answered.

Your eyes fluttered closed. His breath fanned across your face as he exhaled, slowly closing the distance between the two of you. Your stomach flipped just as the tip of his nose bumped yours, and

‘Everyone, if you could please make your way to the dining area,’ somebody announced over the microphone. ‘Dinner will be served shortly.’

The spell was broken.

Around you, everyone scraped their stools back or set their empty glasses down on tables. Your body was a live wire, veins coursing with adrenaline that now had no place to go. Bradley pulled back, and your heart sank, and that was when you realised just how much you wanted him to kiss you.

He gazed at you longingly and held out his hand for you to hold, which you took. ‘Later,’ he breathed. 

This time, when Bradley’s leg touched yours beneath the dinner table, you didn’t pull away.

That alone told you everything had changed.

Like last night, you’d spent most of dinner thinking about sharing a room with Bradley, but it was different tonight. You’d given yourself time to breathe instead of immediately talking yourself out of anything. You hadn’t let yourself go round in circles about the cuddling or what it meant, just let yourself accept that it had been nice. And that almost kiss? The way your body and heart had reacted told you everything you needed to know about how you truly felt about Bradley—something you’d always known, deep down, but had been too afraid to let yourself accept.

Part of you still found it hard to believe that Bradley truly liked you, but Bob and Nat’s words were starting to make a lot more sense to you now you’d seen he could give you more than obnoxiously flirty comments that set your skin on fire.

I can go as slow as you want.

Bradley was midway through a conversation with Mav when he filled your wine glass up for you, like taking care of you was something he didn’t even have to think about.

You tipped your head to the side, resting it on his shoulder for two seconds while you thanked him.

Nat, who was opposite you tonight, caught the whole thing and raised a brow.

You flushed scarlet, but didn’t pull away from Bradley, and she smirked knowingly. The two of you were good at having conversations with just facial expressions, and hers right now told you that you would be talking about this later, even if she had to tie you down to force information out of you.

When you finally looked away from her, your eyes caught on Bradley’s. He wasn’t listening to Maverick anymore; he was already looking at you. Not in that easy, teasing way you were used to—not like he was about to say something that would make your cheeks burn and your heart race for all the wrong reasons. This was quiet and steadier, like he was waiting.

Your breath hitched as something warm and certain settled low in your chest.

You didn’t look away this time, and neither did he.

After dinner, Javy and Paisley’s parents gave lovely speeches, and then, as he was basically an extra father for all intents and purposes, Mav gave one too. It made you a little emotional to see Mav standing so proudly as he recounted stories about Javy and his many achievements in the Dagger squad.

By the time all the plates were cleared and the speeches were finished, you could hardly keep your eyes open.

Bradley put a steadying hand on your shoulder. ‘Shall we go up to bed?’

You’d never experienced butterflies like the swarm that fluttered in your stomach at those words. Like going up to bed was something the two of you did—like it was normal. A world existed where those words actually meant something, and the two of you were right on the precipice of it.

‘Yeah,’ you said, taking his hand once again. ‘Let’s.’

He was grinning from ear to ear as you stood up and wrapped your hand around his bicep.

You threw a glance behind you at your squad, who were losing their collective shit. Maverick and Penny shared a knowing look that made you wonder just how many people were rooting for you and Bradley, and whether you were supposed to be flattered or embarrassed by it. 

The room felt different.

When Bradley closed the door behind you, it felt smaller than it had before. You kicked your shoes off and sashayed over to the bed, all too aware of Bradley trailing behind you.

‘Want a drink?’ He asked, voice thick with tension.

You nodded, and he set about pouring two glasses of wine.

He crouched down by the fridge, and you stared at the muscles in his arms as he uncorked a bottle of white wine and poured two big glasses.

It was a stark contrast to how you were used to seeing him: climbing into a multi-million dollar fighter jet, body tense but relaxed at the same time in a way that came only from being in the military. He was a totally different guy in this setting, and you couldn’t decide which version you liked best.

Your brain was ticking again now, starting to spiral. What if this didn’t work out? What if it all went to hell in a handbasket and you couldn’t work together anymore? What if all your worst fears came true, and Bradley decided you weren’t right for him after all?

You snatched your pyjamas from beneath your pillow and clambered off the bed towards the bathroom.

‘Going to change.’ You muttered.

You pushed the door open and stepped in, but before you could close it, Bradley was there, hand around your wrist and a steady look on his face.

‘Don’t,’ he said, gently tugging you towards him. ‘Don’t do that.’

‘Do what?’ You asked hoarsely, laying your hands on his chest to steady yourself.

‘Run. You don’t get to look at me like that and then run.’

He was almost pleading, and you were struggling to catch a breath.

‘This whole time, I thought this was just you being…you,’ you admitted. ‘I never thought you actually—’

‘Liked you?’ He released a shaky laugh. ‘I honestly don’t know what else I can do to get you to believe me.’

He let go of your arm and ran his hands through his curls.

‘At the start, I thought you were just flirting with me as a joke,’ you admitted, cheeks flaming. ‘And then when you didn’t stop, I started to wonder why you’d even go for someone like me. I’m quiet and boring, and you’re like sunshine, Bradley,’ you took a breath, and he reached out like he was going to touch you before thinking better of it. ‘Then this weekend, Nat and Bob have been trying to convince me that you really do like me and to just relax, but I can’t because you’re you and I’m me and you just make me so fucking nervous and—’

Bradley’s lips crashed into yours as he pressed you up against the wall, caging you in with his arms. You’d been kissed before, but not like this—not like you were the very air somebody needed to survive. It was natural then, the way you put your hands on the back of Bradley’s neck—still warm from the heat of the day—and pulled him in closer, licking his bottom lip and deepening the kiss. He whimpered, like actually whimpered, when you began exploring his mouth, and your stomach clenched so hard it was almost painful.

When he eventually pulled away, he was panting hard, eyes blown so wide you lost yourself in them for a moment.

‘I can’t believe you’d think that,’ he breathed. ‘You—you’re everything,’ he swallowed thickly, cupping your face in his hands. ‘I’ve liked you since the day I met you, but every day that’s passed since then it’s only gotten stronger. And maybe I should’ve given you more than stupid comments, but I didn’t wanna risk fucking things up with you.’

You closed your eyes and rubbed your nose against his. ‘I’m sorry for pushing you away.’

He kissed you slow and gentle, like he had all the time in the world. ‘You have nothing to be sorry for, sweetheart.’ You laid your hands flat on his chest and pushed him towards the bed, collapsing on top of him in fits of giggles. He gazed up at you, well, like you’d hung the moon. Nat had been right about that, at least. With his eyes wide, curls a mess and his lips slightly parted he looked totally disarmed, like you’d rocked the very foundations he existed upon. His hands came to rest on your hips as you leaned down and kissed him again, his moustache tickling the tip of your lip.

If you were to be honest with yourself, it was a feeling you’d been imagining for a very long time, but a feeling you never felt like you were allowed to want.

You could feel the way your weight was affecting him by his short breaths, wandering hands and the impressive length pressing against the inside of your thigh. The idea of sleeping with him both terrified and excited you at the same time. What if you didn’t live up to his standards? What if it made him change his mind?

It would’ve been easy to go into a downward spiral, but every passionate kiss and hungry grab pushed the negative thoughts further and further away until there was only him.

Just Bradley.

If you’d known it was going to be this easy, you’d have leaned into it a long time ago.

You pulled back slightly, and he leaned forward, chasing your lips for another kiss.

‘If we do this,’ you panted. ‘I don’t want it to be because of tequila and a wedding.’

He softened, adjusting you so you lay beside him, facing him. He twirled a strand of your hair around his finger absentmindedly. ‘We’ll go at whatever pace you want,’ he rasped. ‘I’ve waited a year for you, and I would’ve waited five more if I had to.’

Your heart soared. ‘You’re lying.’

He shook his head. ‘I wouldn’t lie about something like that, Y/N.’

And you believed him. ‘Thank you for being patient.’

He kissed you again and smiled against your lips. ‘Thanks for believing me.’

Bradley opened his arms so you could snuggle closer, tucking you beneath his chin and tangling his legs with yours. In a way, it was even better than the kiss. He made you feel safe and secure, and what more could you really ask for than that?

‘Big day tomorrow,’ he murmured, and you could hear how sleepy he was.

You ‘hmmed’ in agreement, and Bradley reached up and started combing through your hair with his fingers. Your eyes drifted closed, and you knew it wouldn’t be long before you fell asleep.

You didn’t miss the hopefulness in his tone when he asked: ‘That thing you said yesterday, about finding the right guy?’

‘Too soon to say,’ you replied, smiling against his chest. ‘But I’m pretty certain.’

The next morning, the two of you meandered down to the beach hand in hand. Javy and Paisley had chosen to have their ceremony on the sand, and you made Bradley stop so you could kick your heels off and walk barefoot. He had a massive, lottery-winning grin on his face that hadn’t disappeared all morning, and matched your own.

It had taken you longer than necessary to get ready because he’d kept interrupting you with kisses and hugs and compliments, and as a result, the two of you were the last to take your seats. The Dagger squad had a whole row to themselves, and Nat had saved you and Bradley the seats on the end.

All of them—including Penny and Maverick—had twisted around in their seats to get a look at the two of you walking down the aisle. All of them had variations of ecstatic and shit-eating grins on their faces. Nat and Jake were the worst of them all, and you knew that you were never going to hear the end of this. Jake would probably have “The Reason Bradley and Y/N Finally Got Together” carved into his tombstone.

‘Are those wedding bells I hear?’ Jake teased when the two of you sat down.

Bradley glanced around. ‘No, I think we’ve still got ten minutes till the ceremony starts.’

‘Not what I meant.’ Jake smirked.

Javy, who was standing at the altar looking very dapper in his tux, waved enthusiastically.

‘DID IT WORK?’ He yelled.

Everyone in the audience turned to look at you and Bradley. You’d never felt embarrassment like it, but Bradley squeezed your hand encouragingly, and it faded away.

He was good at that.

Jake stood up. ‘YEAH, IT WORKED! FINALLY!’

Javy cheered, and the rest of the Daggers followed suit. Nat and Bob were giving you smug, ‘I told you so’ looks that made you feel a bit like an idiot. You didn’t let yourself dwell on all the time you’d spent overthinking it.

Maybe it had taken a while, but you’d gotten here in the end. But you supposed everything happened exactly when it was supposed to—not a second before nor after.

And the two of you were right on time.

Your voice was laced thin with exhaustion. Every word being exhaled, like the effort of speaking was almost too much to bear. That it was only making you more tired with each sentence being pushed out.

You couldn’t wait to get home.

Roughly ten minutes ago, you’d quickly changed in the back seat of your car, ridding your work scrubs for a simple pair of jeans and a white tank top (the only pair of extra clothes you had back there). You’d shuffled your little girl into the bar, despite it being packed like an unopened can of sardines—with one purpose; get your dissertation and get out of there.

Being as gentle as possible, you reached down, lifting her, your daughter (who’d been clutching your leg—as if she were shy, she was the most social kid you knew), by her armpits.

You shifted, ignoring the way Maverick’s mouth opened to protest, as you passed her off without a second thought.

Maverick was family. Uncle Mavy you used to call him, teeth missing from repeatedly running into things, hair always tangled, and miss-matched socks. You’d grown up with him always ruffling your hair, teaching you how to throw a football and spike a volleyball into Bradley’s face. He taught you how to fly, how to beat up boys three times your size, and most certainly how to break the rules. Bradley had always wanted your mother’s approval and attention, especially after the death of your father (of course you wanted the attention, however, you found living on the edge a little more thrilling).

You were rebellious if you could even call it that. You liked to live life, you liked being free. And Bradley was no prude, especially in your high school years, but while Bradley fulfilled his momma’s boy arc, you found yourself sticking to crowds your mother would’ve had an aneurysm from if she ever found out.

Friday’s, Saturday’s, even into the early Sunday mornings—beer, weed, cigarettes, just normal teenage things, were your playmates. You’d wished you’d take care of yourself more back than, but you couldn’t really blame yourself. Living with Bradley and your mom, as much as you loved them, it was so hard sometimes. And all you ever wanted to do was to pack up and leave, just for a little while, just to get away and see what this world had to offer.

And with Maverick’s teachings, it wasn’t too much of a surprise that you’d gotten knocked up and did exactly that.

It hadn’t been planned, as things rarely were, but you’d loved the girls father, and you really thought you’d spend the rest of your life with him.

You’d met him in high school, your high school sweetheart, and the two of you eventually ended up in Texas, why you’d decided to end up there was—well, you were more or less following him. He’d gotten transfered to a base out there, and who were you to not go with him.

He was the father of your daughter and you loved him.

So you three had packed up, filled your car, kissed your family, told Bradley he had to call you every single day or you’d fly back and beat his ass—and then you were off.

But like always, the universe seemed determined to never let you be happy.

His death was classified, all you knew was that it’d been some sort of training incident—something too important to let the mother of his child know. And you tried to not blame anyone, you really did, but the one person you couldn’t give any slack to, was yourself.

You’d known the night before that something was going to happen, you’d felt it in your gut—hell even Bradley knew something was wrong. He’d called you, when you’d awoken yourself at four in the morning, nauseous and terrified out of your mind.

The man you loved who lay silently beside you slept peacefully. You’d kissed his temple, and answered your twin brother’s frantic call.

Call it twin-tuition, call it the universe laughing at you—you didn’t know. All you knew was that Bradley had been able to calm you down, you’d crawled back into bed, and hugged the man you loved tightly.

Like nothing could ever tear you away from him.

He’d left a note that morning, kissing your forehead and whispering a goodbye to your daughter, before leaving when the sun still stirred underneath the horizon.

You’d wished you’d woken up again, you hated yourself for not getting a proper goodbye from him.

You hated yourself so deeply. You should made him stay home, even though you knew he couldn’t.

You should have done, something.

Anything.

Now that stupid American Flag made your eyes burn every time you glanced at it on the display table. You’d burn it if it wasn’t one of the last things you had left of him.

Penny pulled you back from the land of memories, her finger reaching out to flick your forehead, fingers then dangling the keys to her office in front of your face.

You must have really zoned out.

Rubbing the spot where she flicked you, you tried not to whine in pain and furrowed your eyebrows at her. She had an incredibly strong grip, you were surprised she didn’t fracture your skull.

“Need someone to drive y’all home, hun?” She asked, now looking genuinely concerned with how exhausted you appeared.

Back to back 14hr shifts at the hospital were definitely not something you’d planned on, but you’d needed to pick up an extra shift and at least now you had two days off.

You planned to at least take one of those to sleep the entire time. You’d drop your girl off with Maverick, he deserved it, you never asked him to watch her, always feeling like you’d be burdening him.

“No s’alright Pen, we’re not too far.” You offered her a small smile, eyes flickering back to Maverick. It looked like he was currently playing for everyone’s drinks, for having said something (unintentionally…maybe) rude to Penny not even five minutes ago—so you didn’t feel bad about adding holding your daughter as another sentence for being disrespectful.

She was giggling, her head tilted, like she always did whenever you picked her up, twirled her, anything. She was just a bundle of happiness, it was no wonder her nickname was 'Sunshine' it was as if the world lit up whenever she entered a room, laughed, giggled, or even just smiled. Nothing could stomp out her light.

Even with her being absolutely more stubborn than the older man in front of you, she was still the happiest kid you'd ever known.

Maverick was ready to grumble, his hand pushing a drink to the side and away from the small child, mouth ajar—about to loudly proclaim that he wasn’t a babysitter, but a glare from Penny and a pout from you, sealed any form of complaints.

He gave a dramatic sigh in defeat as he watched the child settle herself onto the top of the bar. She wiggled to make herself comfortable, her sundress, the longer jorts, and cowgirl boots combo almost like nothing he’d ever seen before. Maverick reaching forward to fix her sleeves (they always seemed to be falling down, it reminded him so much of you), her smile bright as she reached her hand out.

"Evenin' Mavy.” Jasmine, your little girl, was desperately trying not to laugh, her attempt at being professional for a four year old. Maverick was used to the child's antics letting out a huff of a laugh, his eyes rolling playfully as he indulged her shaking her tiny hand and ignoring the grin Penny was shooting his way (even though he literally just pissed her off) as she filled another drink for patron.

The Hard Desk was definitely no place for a child, you knew that—especially with the rowdiness of drunk men tripping over their own foot. But you’d just gotten off your shift, picked Jasmine up from Richard Crane, your daughter’s best friend’s dad (which side note: you literally just got to this town not even two weeks ago and she already had a best friend), he’d been kind enough to watch her because you didn’t want to bother Bradley or Maverick (knowing their work). Penny had offered Ameila’s help—but you’d just waved your hand, they’d helped you so much already you hated feeling like you were burdening them. And Rich had basically trapped you into agreeing, his son and your daughter were best friends, he could pick her up from daycare, it just seemed like the easiest way—without bothering too many people. You just hated being a bother.

Especially now.

And you as much as you’d wanted to head home, tucking your daughter into her bed, and finish that crying session you were pushing off (watching your favorite romcom, Me Before You). But, Penny had sent you a text saying that she’d finished reading and annotating your dissertation that afternoon and you were afraid it might end up destroyed if it stayed any longer in her pile of—whatever the fuck of a monster she kept in her office.

So here you were, digging through the mounds of papers like Indiana Jones searching for the Art of the Covenant. Fingers threatening to receive a thousand tiny paper cuts as you dug and scoured. And after nearly ten minutes you'd spotted it, the thick packet littered with the pink sparkly ink of Penny's handwriting.

Sighing, knowing that even with the coffee stains, at least it was still intact.

Leaning over another stack of receipts you shimmed your way out of the office, locking it and doing your best to avoid the couple—or hookup—happening not nearly far enough away from you. God you really wished you didn’t have so much to worry about right now. Because you definitely needed to get laid.

Bracing yourself, the exhaustion really starting to catch up to you, you made your way back to where you'd left Maverick and your daughter at the bar.

However with a single glance you noticed that, that bouncing and bubbly girl was no where to be seen and Maverick was again busy chatting Penny up like he was hoping to take her home. (He definitely was).

“Mav, where the fuck is my child.”

Your voice cut off Maverick’s deep and drunk laugh as he turned, his hands raised to stop you from smacking the back of his head, something you couldn't help but doing because sometimes he was just a stupid old man.

“Rooster’s got her.” He mumbled drunkly with a wave of his hand, like he was trying to swat a fly. You would have punched him if Penny hadn't enacted that 'No violence at my bar' rule. You loved your brother. Truly you did, he was your twin, your other half—however, knowing Jasmine, she would want to hang onto Rooster for the rest of the night, even if that meant being around drunken military men and women.

“You’re so lucky I can’t afford to go to jail right now Mav.” You grumbled out not really caring if he heard you or not as you offered Penny a tired but soft smile, sliding her keys back across the table.

“Thanks for the annotations Pen, Jaz and I’ll be a little late tomorrow, forgot I gotta take her to the dentist." You smiled, your voice traveling slightly as you folded the packet of paper before tucking it into your cowgirl boots.

The jeans you wore were starting to grow tighter with each turn, the buckle of your belt (that you kept in your car) was digging into your lower abdomen, just a sign that your body was getting tired of being in 'actual' clothes—you couldn't wait to pull sweats on. You would have stayed inside your scrubs but, knowing the men here, you wouldn’t put it past one of them either spilling a drink on you, or trying to enact some nurse fantasy of theirs—you’d seen it all.

Not that what you were wearing now could be considered any better—the, albeit simple, white wife-beater clung to your body, riding slightly up to show a sliver of skin at your waist. And the bra you wore was practically on display, a black bra underneath a white top, not the smartest idea you’d ever had.

And it was so hot, so muggy, like a furnace had been turned on inside the building—even though the windows were open.

As your eyes flickered around searching for your daughter and Bradley, you couldn’t help by feel completely underdressed in the room full of military men and women, their uniforms making you stand out like a sore thumb.

God you’d forgotten how it felt to have eyes linger on you.

"S’alright hun, food’ll be ready whenever you stop by!” Penny called with a wave when you’d begin your search, stopping for a moment to turn, smile, and waved back.

Brushing past a couple dancing, you turned towards where you figured Bradley would be—probably swinging your daughter around or recruiting her to walk across the pool table to stealing the balls of whoever was playing against him. (It has happened way too many times to count).

With a sigh, you smiled when your daughter's laughter grazed your ears. Even over the music and loud conversations you were always attuned to her.

Crossing your arms over your chest, you watched her almost trip tugging on the pant leg of a man, who was not only holding a cola but also leaning down to listen to her.

Jasmine was muttering something you couldn’t make out over the music, her little hands debating on trying to climb into his lap. After a few moments the man laughed quietly, his head tipping back as he lowered his hand offering a drink from his cola. That was definitely something you would have chastised her for, but seeing as he was one of Bradley's friends you trusted he wasn't trying to drug your daughter.

Combed hair, glasses perched on the bridge of his nose, head lowered as his deep blue eyes kept his attention on your daughter as she rambled. It was so endearing, so precious to watch and you couldn't help the small smile that started to crawl up your lips.

Jasmine rarely liked men, especially not after her father had died (unless it was Maverick and Bradley, she actually despised Rich too for some reason). She wouldn't even go near a man she’d never met before. She’d always said that she just didn’t feel comfortable around men, so to see her leaning into the lap, let alone ramble and tug their pant leg, of this man it made your eyebrows furrow.

"Bradshaw, what did I say about stealing my kid." You called when you'd finally fully approached the group, arms crossed and hip jutted just slightly to the side as you leaned.

Bradley's smirk crossed his lips before his eyes even met you, that loud laugh of his echoing as crossed the distance between the two of you. It wasn’t even a second later before he had his arms wrapped tightly around your neck, squeezing the life out of you.

Curse him and his stupid strength.

"It's Sunshine's fault she came willingly." He called loudly making sure the girl heard him, lips in a permeant smirk just waiting for Jasmine to argue back with him.

Rubbing his back, you tried to not laugh at his antics.

It was normal, the bickering, he really loved teasing her, it was his favorite pass time. And your daughter, as if baited, sent him a glare, something she definitely got from you.

Bradley pulled away, pressing a kiss on your forehead before leaning to rest his arm across your shoulder.

Bradley was always a clingy brother—always hung on you, always took care of you, always made sure you were doing okay. You loved him, but sometimes he could just be a little too much at times.

With a tilt of your head, you watched your daughter, who was still playing with the man’s pant leg.

Jasmine began with a "Uh-uh", sticking her finger out to wave it, "Mommy, Chick'n kidnap me from Mavy." Her words were slightly jumbled, (one of her teeth still missing and the other loose—from face planting not even a few days ago) as she motioned towards Bradley who pulled away to put his hands up in mock-offense.

You bit the inside of your cheek, desperate to not laugh knowing that it would just feed the both of them into arguing more and making you stand there longer.

"Jaz, y'know it's Rooster." Bradley fake huffed his lips coming out into a pout as she only shook her head lips pursed into a line her cheekbones prominent as if she were a judge serving him his papers and not a four year old girl in miss matched socks, cowgirl boots, and a sundress, dirty from tumbling around.

"Yer a chick'n to me." She concluded as if it were the most obvious thing in the world and that caused the group to burst into laughter, a laughter that everyone had been desperately trying to keep to themselves.

When you'd glanced around you noticed that only a few of Bradley’s friends were here, the very pretty guy sitting on the stool, name—Unknown, the girl to your left, Natasha Trace or better known by her callsign, Phoenix, and by the smirk of the man beside Bradley you were most certain he was Hangman, or Jake Seresin.

It had been only a week in a half since you moved back, and Bradley had wanted you to finally meet his friends—however both of your schedules had just never synced up.

"Y'know what I kinda like the sound of Chicken, the kids gotta be right." The man smirked wider, if that was even possible, his head tilting as he sent Bradley a wink. Bradley in turn rolled his eyes flipping him off only to get a gasp from your four year old as she began reprimanding the man.

Jake leaned away from the pool table, his hand reaching out towards yours.

“The handsome, the glorious, the most stunning and perfect man you’ll ever come in contact with.” Jake introduced himself and you couldn’t help the confused tilt of your head as you tried to not burst into laughter.

Bradley was right when he said that he was very very full of himself.

You shook his hand, clocking the slightly accent as you ranked your eyes across his body. He was beautifully built—you couldn’t deny it, but the ego was definitely a hard turn off for you.

“Rooster said y’ah lived in Texas, y’know I’m from there.” He added and you hummed, that you had heard from Bradley, whenever he was having his daily rants about the ‘stupid cowboy who doesn’t know how to ever shut the fuck up’.

You couldn’t hold back a smirk.

“So I’ve heard.” You drawled out, releasing his hand as you tried not to physically step away from him. It wasn’t had he made you uncomfortable, he seemed like a decent guy, but you honestly just wanted to head home, not go down a line of introducing yourself to the remainder of Bradley’s friends.

You had time, you could do all of this another time.

A sigh left you as you shifted onto your other leg. You honestly needed to hurry up your little girl, knowing that if you didn't pull her away now, she would either fall asleep in some rando’s arms or you'd end up pass out on the dirty bar floor.

Both of which happened to not sound all that appealing.

Glancing back towards your daughter, you watched as she cut Bradley off with a wave of her hand completely done with the conversation. She turned and tugged on the pant leg of man (who you still didn't know—and if you were going to meet anymore of Bradley’s friends tonight, he was definitely one you would not be mad about) reaching and finally climbing her way into his lap as if he weren't some stranger she'd just met.

"No, no, Sunshine come on, time to go." You began to call, your arms uncrossing as you started towards them. You tried to be stern with her, but even you could tell that your voice was half-assing it. You only watched her snuggle more into this man, as if she were more interested in staying with this random man arms than going home and sleeping (like you were).

"Nuh-uh." Was all she replied back, turning fully around and facing the man, her hands coming up to play with his glasses.

The man, with the patience of a saint, let her play with his glasses, his ears flushing. You were sure it was more or less from being in the spotlight seeing as he was only drinking a cola. His hands were just barely touching her, just enough to make sure that she wouldn't fall off his lap with her wiggling.

You could already feel the ache of a headache forming and you didn't think you had enough patience in you to deal with your daughters persistent need to get her away.

But, how could you really blame her, she was your daughter after all.

"Bob, you do know when I said Bob stood for Baby-on-board, I didn't mean go-n-get yourself a kid." Jake began his hip leaning back into the pool table as he earned a chuckle from the Bradley and Natasha. (That comment was the highlight of Jake's night).

After noticing the way you tried not to sigh to loudly, your hand coming up to rub the furrow between your brows, and the occasional of switching which leg you were leaning on Bradley could tell that you were most likely more exhausted than the lot of them after doing three hundred push-ups, and so he started towards Jasmine. But the girl had seen him coming and she turned into her favorite animal; a koala, clinging herself onto the man. Bob—who, you felt bad for because he looked so surprised when she yelled out a "No!" before her arms wrapped around his neck, tried not to fall out of his seat, setting the cola down and adjusting.

"He's coming home with us." Jasmine mumbled but everyone had heard her, getting a stifled laugh from Natasha who whipped around to face the other way so that she wouldn't see the glare you sent her way.

They were all just feeding into you girls playful manner and all Bob could do was hold her arms so that she wouldn't choke the life out of him. That would be in an interesting way to go; death by a four-year-old from hugging too hard.

Bradley called your name with a slightly drunk tone as he waited for you to meet his eyes, "How does it feel to have your daughter as a wingman?" He giggled and you tried, you really really tried, not to glare too hard, you knew your brother was only joking, he was your brother, it was a simple joke at the fact that for over a year you hadn't met anyone, hadn't had the time or the patience to handle anyone that wasn't your daughter. But it still, the comment, hurt because deep down you knew this whole parenting thing would be so much easier if you had someone.

"Bradley, if you don't shut the fuck—" "Thats a bad word Mommy." Jasmine hummed out, cutting you off instantly and getting a few more stifled laughs from Natasha and now Jake as well. You were close to shoving your headache induced head into a wall.

Bringing your hands up to your eyes you tried not to scream in frustration, you rubbed them.

"Right, sorry baby, come on, let's go, you got daycare in the morning, y'know Ms. Jessel'll have my a—my butt if you're late again." You tried again using your pleading voice but she wasn't budging. Her fingers were playing with Bob's hair on the back of his neck mumbling about how she hated Ms. Jessel, when you for sure knew she adored the woman.

(You were the one who disliked her.)

You’d opened your mouth to speak again, to almost beg your daughter to let go of the man so that they two of you could go home, when a drunk voice drawled your name out from behind you. A chill ran down your spine, and you tried to not tense too awkwardly, too quickly.

You’d froze, shoulder blades inching together as you found Bradley’s eyes. He was glaring at the man behind you, and thats when you felt his presence. Unbearable and unnerving. As he occupied the space right behind you, like he owned it, like he was going to try and get back to owning you, you tried not to react, like he would want.

Demanding Bradley’s eyes, you gave him an ‘I’ll handle it’ look, motioning towards Jasmine in your own twin way of telling him to make sure she wouldn’t see what you were about to do. Because as much as you didn’t want to shield your daughter from the way of the world, you also didn’t think she was ready to see you beat the shit out of this douchebag—if it came to that.

The man behind you, reached, brushing your shoulder blades, his finger tips just barely ghosting like he had any right. Like he could touch you without your permission. He called out your name again, like he was reminiscing, a sigh leaving his drunken lips.

You definitely didn’t want to hear this right now. God the universe did actually hate you, what had you ever done to it?

“Thought I heard Bradshaw sayin’ his buckle bunny sister was comin’ home.” He mumbled, when you’d turned around to face him. His eyes ranking your body like a starved piranha. And even with the mumble, the group, Natasha, Jake, Bradley, and the man who still held your daughter carefully all quieted, a few people in the outer circles hushing their voices, also having heard the man.

God you hated that nickname, it wasn’t even remotely accurate to you. You’d dated two ‘cowboys’—one of which was standing in front of you, and suddenly you were a buckle bunny.

If you were a buckle bunny, then Bradley was Father Christmas.

“The fuck y’ah want Johnny.” You greeted, trying desperately to be polite (this was as polite as you could be with him), because you honestly didn’t know how else to approach this situation.

When his eyes finally left your chest, fingers tracing the metal part of your buckle, bile rose in the back of your throat. You should have swatted his hand away, but you knew how he got when he was drunk.

You’d forgotten he’d been transferred a month before you moved back, you truly thought you could put him past you. (Bradley also forgot to warn you, twin forgetfulness).

A few stupid one night stands—you’d all but used each other (you apparently more so than him), just to get frustration out, but this guy could not take a hint that you were not interested anymore. Hell you hadn’t been interested in him since before you’d met Jasmine’s father.

“And I’m not a buckle bunny, ‘member? You’re not much of a cowboy, couldn’ stay on that bull for more than a few seconds, if I recall correctly, so the buckle bunny status was revoked.” You added, not being too loud (you could have definitely been a lot louder, he’d done enough to you to deserved to be publicly embarrassed) watching the way his lip twitched in a slightly.

You couldn’t help in the smirk that tugged on your lips. He was so easily angered.

“I remember you stayin’ on for a lot more than 4 seconds.” He called back, taking a step forward (he definitely didn’t need to invade more of your space) not talking about the bull anymore, as you finally grabbed his wrist. His fingers were always so slippery, he always touched where he shouldn’t without the fear of Bradley beating the shit out of him. Because you always said that, you could handle it.

Ever since you were 13 picking fights with the older boys, you could handle it. Senior in high school, beating the fuck out of an older guy who tried to get into your pants at a college party, you could handle it. An old ex with loose fingers, a piece of cake—you could definitely handle it. Even if you wanted nothing more than to smack his smug grin off his lips.

“Nearly a decade ago, what the fuck do you want.” You finally snapped, smirk gone, fingers digging into his wrist as you brought it up and away from the way he was trying to reach underneath the hem of your tank top.

Johnny grunted in pain as you raised your eyebrows as if to tell him to continue explaining himself.

“Fuckin’ christ, forgot how strong your damn grip is, just wanted to see how you were doing s’all.” He snapped back, initiating his innocent act and yanking his hand away. You watched him finally take a step backwards in any attempt to gain his composure.

You raised your eyebrows as you refused to look away from him, he had something planned, he always did.

“Thought we’d reconnect y’know? My favorite Bradshaw in town, figured since y’ah boyfriend’s all dead and buried, we could rekindle that fire, go back to before you up ‘nd you ran off with that waste of space. Could’a told y’ah he was bad news, knocked y’ah up good though didn’ he? Such a pretty lil girl you got, too bad he’d rather nose dive into the ocean than be in a big ol’ happy family. What can you expect from a fuckin’ cuck like him, bet he would’a loved to see you creaming all over my c—”

The ‘No violence at my bar’ sign beside Penny seemed to blur from your memory. A lapse in judgement you’d claim as you leaned slightly, raised your fist and knocked the air straight out of Johnny’s jaw.

There was a gasp and a few ‘oohs’ as you connected your knuckles with his face. You didn’t stop though, everyone who knew you, knew you wouldn’t stop unless someone pulled you off. Your temper sometimes got the better of you. Blame Maverick.

You’d watched him fall back slightly, letting out a ‘fuckin’ bitch’ before you raised your wrist again and punched him once more. The satisfaction of hearing a bone crack should have made you smile for being such a fucking asshole, but you couldn’t find it in yourself—just the punching would have had to do.

His blood stained your knuckles as you let him fall climbing on top of him. You didn’t stop when Maverick started shouting out your name, not when Bradley (who had let you get in multiple blows without even stopping you—knowing the bastard deserved it) had jumped forward finally grabbing your arms and pulling you back as one of Johnny’s friends pulled him away from you.

You’d pushed Bradley off harshly, not really in the mood for his protective brotherly stance as you approached Johnny again, who was still on the floor, his buddy trying to help him up.

You kicked him, hard, in the side, continuing to beat him as if every kick would amend the words he’d said about the man you’d loved and lost.

Bradley grabbed your arms again, pulling you back once more as Maverick had put himself in between the two of you, pulling Johnny off the ground and escorted him out (more or so, so you wouldn’t jump at him again—because Maverick knew you were a carbon copy of him, you’d beat the shit out of him again if you even glanced in his direction).

“He’s such a fuckin’ prick, this fuckers gotta be fuckin’ kiddin’ me I swear to everything fuckin’ holy, swear to the fuckin’ ground, the fuck he thinks he can just talk about him like that, fuckin’ balloon headed stupid ass fuckin’ mozart wannabe fuckin’ lyin’ ass sack of fuckin’ piece of shit, get the fuck outta my way Bradley.”

You should’ve hit him harder.

You were pacing now, hands on your hips as you ignored the way your knuckles had cracked open, his blood and your blood. You really needed to get it cleaned up, but you couldn’t stop spiraling. He had no right calling him shit like that, especially when Jasmine’s father had been the most caring and kind man you’d ever met. He’d loved you so deeply, and you, him.

So someone attacking his character? Yeah you were gonna raise hell.

“The mouth on you girl, damn.” Bradley tried to lighten the mood a little as he stopped you from pacing, his hands reaching up to rest on your shoulders. Trying to ground you in the only way he knew how, physical contact.

“Just come on, cool down for a second.” He added tilting his head to try and get you to look at him.

“Fuck,” You pushed the air out of you chest as you brought your hands up to rub your eyes.

You didn’t even want to look behind him, afraid that Jasmine had seen it all—seen the anger you tried to keep so buried down that she would never see it. Especially when you’d told her violence was never the answer.

Maverick had come back with a warm cloth, slipping past a few patrons who’d gone back to their drinking and chatting. Especially now that the ‘show’ was over.

“Need a goddamn fuckin’ cigarette.” You muttered out as you took the cloth from Maverick, thanking him and telling him to get back to Penny—that you were fine, it was just a scratch.

Maverick sighed as he shook his head, leaning forward to kiss your temple before ruffling your hair.

“Can’t be smokin’ around her remember you quit for that reason.” Bradley hummed as you finally glanced backwards at the two (Jasmine and Bob). Bob had her faced away, still in his lap, from you and Bradley, involved in what looked like a very important conversation. He had moved a couple feet away, and from the position, Jasmine wouldn’t have been able to see that it was you throwing a punch into Johnny’s face.

You could have thrown yourself onto the ground and kissed his feet in gratitude.

"Jaz," You began again, sighing and handing Bradley the now bloodied cloth. You side stepped past Bradley, ignoring the way your body absolutely felt like it was ready to drop dead right in front of everyone.

Jasmine shook her head and only buried herself farther into Bob—like a mole into mounds of dirt. She was mumbling about how she didn’t want to leave her ‘new friend’. And if you weren’t so exhausted you would have cooed at the mention of her making a friend. Especially when her only friend was a boy she’d kicked off the swing set on her first day of daycare.

"I can bring her out for ya." Bob, the man who had mostly stayed silent—listening to the girls ramblings and mumblings, finally spoke in an offered whisper. And then his eyes finally met yours and you could have fainted. Right then and there, if you hadn't reached to brace yourself as quickly as you had, your knees would have fully given out. He looked so beautiful, you'd be surprised if your jaw wasn't on the floor already. And not only was he watching you with such fondness like you hadn’t just beat the shit out of a man not even minutes ago, he was also holding your daughter like she was the most precious thing in this entire world and you didn't know how to function.

God you needed sleep.

"No, no, no thats okay, she's just being stubborn." You forced the words out as you let go of the pool table that you'd braced yourself on, hands coming out as if to wave the thought of him carrying your child out of your mind.

"Wonder where she gets that from." Bradley tried to joke, wanting to put the little fight-debacle behind everyone, a smirk rising when you glared at him again.

Sometimes you hated your twin.

"This is all your fault Bradley, she gets like this because of you." You snapped.

Bradley raised his hands in innocence, "She didn't come outta me." He fired back with shrug and you were sure, as sure as that fuckass mustache he supported on his upper lip, that you could have killed him in that moment.

Bradley, who had just pulled you off a man, Bradley who had grown up with you beating him in every game of football, Bradley who knew from that look that you’d mess him up—had taken a step back, dragging Jake in front of him, because he knew you just might.

"It's no problem," Bob began again, his voice ever soft a n octave lover as he finally stood, "I also think she fell asleep on me."

Bob's arms wrapped around the small girl (who was definitely now pretending to sleep) protectively maneuvering her so that she could lay her head on his shoulder more comfortably. (Bob knew that Jasmine wasn't asleep, but who was he to give up this perfect opportunity of getting to spend more time with you).

Bradley watched, no longer frightened for his life, another smirk creeping onto his lips when Bob walked past him and he watched as Jasmine smirked one of her eyes peaking open to see if anyone believed her.

He had to hide his laughter in a cough, especially when you shot him another glare.

Bob passed you, his arm warm—like he was a living furnace—just barely brushing you as you tried not to stare (you definitely were, mouth slightly ajar, opening and closing like fish). And you just stood there, still, trying to comprehend if he was just being nice or if he was kidnapping your child.

And when his back was fully to you, (those big broad...shoulders..) you made eye contact with your daughter, whose eyes were open again now, playing with Bob’s hair again as she was smirking like she'd won the lottery.

"I'm gonna beat her ass."

"You can't even scold her without crying." Natasha laughed as she tipped her drink back before nudging your shoulder making you shake your head.

She was right of course, you would rather cry than tell her no, perhaps it was horrible, she definitely would turn into a monster, but you were doing your best. (You could beat the breaks off a man for saying nasty things, but if your daughter asked for cookies in the middle of the night, you’d climb out of bed and make them yourself—you had your priorities straight).

“And hey,” Natasha began again, nudging you with the edge of her beer bottle, “At least she picked Floyd, out of everyone, he’s probably the best one to trust with your kid. I mean—” She tilted her head toward the blond mid-debate with Bradley (probably over something stupid), “—imagine if she'd picked Bagman…”

She grimaced dramatically at the thought and gagged for extra emphasis while you tried not to laugh. It wasn't just the way she visibly retracted but also the way you could hear Jake gasping, like the comment had personally reached out and smacked him, that almost sent you over the edge.

"Hey!” He jabbed a finger at himself, lower lip jutting out in an exaggerated pout. “I’d make a great dad.”

You snorted, shaking your head and agreeing with Natasha, forever grateful that your daughter did not like him. Crossing your arms over your chest again, you watched briefly as he argued with Natasha.

“I pray the day you have children Seresin, never comes.” She responded with a tip of her bottle as if cheering to the prospect of him never having children.

Jake shook his head turning towards Bradley as if to say 'do you hear her?' But Bradley just raised his hands claiming he was Switzerland in this conversation.

"Wow,” Jake sighed out dramatically, still pouting but now theatrically wounded like his pride had taken a hit, "You all seriously underestimate how good I am with kids. I’d be the best parent in the world—no, scratch that, the universe.” He was definitely going to pout about this the entire night, and you knew that you didn't have time or the effort to stay and indulge him. So you began to bid your goodbyes knowing that Bob was just paying his tab and you didn't want to make him wait carrying your child.

Bob adjusted Jasmine, she was now curled up against him, little arms draped lazily around his neck, only wiggling slightly so she could lean back to wave Maverick and Penny goodbye, the both of them slightly confused at the sight because everyone knew Jasmine hated being held by anyone who wasn't you, Bradley or Maverick. Yet there she was, resting against Bob like she’d known him her entire life.

Placing cash down, Bob gave Penny a smile muttering for her to keep the change as his gaze kept drifting back towards you—you smiled, warm and unguarded and Bob felt his chest constrict. If he hadn’t been holding your daughter, he might have fainted.

You tried to ignore the way he was looking at you, your chest tightened and your insides turning to mush. You felt like a teenaged girl all over again with a stupid crush. And without a word, the two of you headed out together.

By the time the two of you had gotten to your car, the silence had becoming deafening. Bob honestly didn't know what to say, you also didn't know what to say, and so the two of you listened to Jasmine humming a tune as you unlocked your car, walking to Jasmine’s side of the car, opening the back door and letting him shuffle her into the seat, which she thankfully allowed him too.

Giving her a smile, Bob stepped aside, walking back towards the drivers side, as you took his place and leaned towards her.

"Yknow Jaz, we're not supposed to hang on strangers—you know that." You began softly in a whisper as you brushed her hair from her head before kissing her temple and buckling her in.

Jasmine lifted her eyes as she watched you get her all settled into her carseat, lip biting nervously as she waiting for you to meet her eyes again.

"He just reminded me of Daddy." She whispered, however not quiet enough from the cough that came from the man behind you.

Giving her a soft smile, you pressed another kiss to her forehead before gently closing the back door.

You circled to your side of the car, pulling the door open and leaning in to reach across the seat. With the shift of your tank top rising, your back dimples peaking out, it made Bob's throat dry up as he desperately tried to keep his eyes respectful. But with Bob’s presence just behind your shoulder it made your skin prickle, and you tried to ignored it, focusing on rolling down Jasmine’s window.

She was still humming some tuneless little melody until—

“Mommy I want Cherry Pie,” She announced loudly, punctuating her demand with a light kick to the back of the seat.

You let out a small groan, rolling your eyes affectionately. You’d cursed the day you ever introduced her to that damn song. Now it was the song—one of the only songs—on her personal playlist, and she didn’t have the faintest clue what the lyrics meant.

“Alright, alright…” You clicked the accessory on, switched the stereo to CD, and sure enough, the familiar opening strum of Cherry Pie by Warrant blasted out like a punch to the throat, as if the radio itself was trying to deafen you.

“Fuckin’ Jesus—” You winced, scrambling to turn the volume down while Jasmine giggled like it was the best joke in the world. She probably had been the one to turn it up all the way.

Shaking your head, you backed out from the front seat and shut your door. When you turned, you expected Bob to have slipped back inside to avoid the cool night air. But instead, he was still there, hands in his pockets, cheeks faintly flushed, a small, polite smile on his lips. And the unmistakable look of a man who had definitely been staring at your ass and was now pretending he hadn’t.

For a beat, neither of you said a word. The thump of “She’s my cherry pie,” floated between you, Jasmine singing the pre-chorus slightly off-key in the background, her feet kicking the seat with each beat drop. It was no surprise that your car had as many scuff marks as it did.

You cleared your throat, a smile tugging at your mouth. “Thank you. For, uh… not letting her see that back there in the bar, and for uh bringing her out.” You tipped your head toward the backseat, feeling a warmth creep up your neck. You didn't know why you felt so small underneath his eyes, like you hadn’t just beat up a guy twice the size of you. And as your eyes fawned over him, all you could think about in that moment was what he would look like above you.

“It’s no problem,” Bob said, voice quiet but earnest, swatting that image of him above you instantly away. His smile wasn’t flashy, it was soft, almost shy, but it had a way of burrowing itself somewhere deep in your chest.

You wanted to believe he would’ve done it for anyone. That it wasn’t personal. But the way his eyes lingered just a little too long, the way he shifted his weight like he didn’t want to leave, it made you doubt that.

“I mean it,” You began again, your own body suddenly not wanting to leave either, crossing your arms—not because you were defensive, but because you needed to keep from fidgeting under his gaze.

“I know she can be a little difficult.”

Bob glanced toward Jasmine, who was now drumming the tips of her boots against the seat in perfect time with the song. “She’s great,” He smiled softly, like it was the simplest truth in the world. “And for what its worth, I can see that you’re doing a good job with her.”

The words caught you off guard. Compliments about your parenting always did—but coming from him, they landed heavier than you expected.

You let out a slow breath, your lips curling into a small smile. “Thanks." It was breathy the way it pushed past your lips, as you reached up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear.

“That means more than you think.”

And Bob nodded, but you caught the faintest flicker of something in his expression—like he wanted to say more but didn’t trust himself. The air between you felt heavier, charged in a way you weren’t sure how to name.

"Put a smile on your face ten miles wide"

Jasmine’s voice rose again in the background, half-singing, half-yelling the lyrics, blissfully unaware of the tension simmering just outside her window.

You laughed under your breath, your daughter’s favorite part of "You ain't gonna swing with my daughter no more" continuing in the background as you tilted your head towards him.

“I’m sorry if you get that song stuck in your head now.” Trying not to laugh loudly knowing that it would draw attention to yourself but couldn't help in watching as Bob’s smile widened, his cheeks still lightly flushed as the corners of his eyes crinkling.

"Too late.”

And for another moment, you both stood there, the glossy overhead from the street lamps casting soft shadows across his face. His combed hair slightly tousled from Jasmine’s fingers, and the way his lips twitched slightly in a smile. He was so beautiful—not in a loud, showy way, but in that steady, grounding way that made you think of safety and home. You had not truly been looking for love, not now, especially with the way your daughter and your job kept you busier than anything. But looking at him, seeing how careful he was with your girl, god, he made you want to.

You opened your mouth to say something else, maybe even ask if he wanted to maybe meet up sometime for some coffee or something, when Jasmine’s voice rang out again.

“Mommy!” She interrupted loudly from the backseat, the song ending, just to restart again (because it was the only song on that playlist that actually worked—unfortunately for you).

"He can come for pie too!”

What was with your daughter and wanting to bring this man, this stranger, she had just met home. It was like last week when she tried to bring home that stray cat.

Bob’s brows shot up, as you were sure yours did, while he tried not to look at Jasmine knowing that he wouldn't be able to say no to her.

You turned toward your daughter a soft smile creeping onto your lips, knowing that even if you wanted him to come home for 'pie' he should definitely just go back into the bar with his friends. “Sweetheart, it’s bedtime.” You called softly as if that would sway her. Jasmine just waved her hand as if dismissing the idea that just because it was bedtime didn't mean they couldn't have pie.

“But he likes pie,” She insisted, as if she's known this man her entire life. She leaned across her booster seat, hands trying to free herself as if she could get a better view of him. “You like cherry pie, right Mr. Bob?”

Bob felt his heart jump into his throat trying desperately to not think about the innuendo—especially with the song playing in the back ground. But no matter how hard he tried to think of something else, hell even real cherry pie, all he could think about her you. You and that sweet scent of your shampoo, you and the way you looked so warmly at him, you and the way you took care of your daughter, you and the way you’d handed that man his ass, you and that stupidly beautiful smile you kept giving him.

God he wanted to bury himself in your thighs for hours.

Bob chuckled awkwardly, of course he liked cherry pie, and he definitely would not mind eating your cherry pie right about now either.

“Uh yeah, yeah I do.”

You shook your head, laughing despite yourself, taking the comment in the way that you knew he was thinking about.

Uncrossing your arms you motioned back towards the Hard Deck.

"You better get back in there before my brother thinks I kidnapped you, Bob.” You tried not to blush at the way he kept watching you, a small part of you was wishing he would stay even with you telling him to go back inside.

Bob's gaze lingered on you for a moment longer, like he was debating something, then he gave a small nod, his lips twitching slightly as if the words wanted nothing more than to escape.

"Goodnight.” He added a soft twang onto the way he send your name, your knees feeling instantly like jello.

Then he took a step back, and Jasmine piped up again—louder this time.

"Wait!”

Both of you turned toward the backseat, startled at the sheer volume of her voice. She was leaning forward farther this time, eyes wide and mischievous like she just had the brightest idea ever.

"Mr. Bob, you can’t leave yet, Mommy didn’t say thank you with a hug.”

Your jaw dropped, (you believed it’d fallen to the floor) heart stopping as you tried to not meet Bob's eyes.

“Jasmine—”

Bob shifted awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck.

“It’s okay, she doesn’t have to—”

“She has to,” Jasmine insisted interrupting Bob, and pointing at you like she’d just delivered a state sanctioned order. “’Cause hugs make people happy, right Mommy?”

She was smiling so wide, teeth peeking out as she used the back of her palm to pushed her hair back.

"Jaz, neither of us are sad right now." You tried to reason but she just shook her head and waved her finger as if she didn't believe either of you.

"You could thank him with a smoochy."

You felt the way your face heated up quickly as you glanced back at Bob, he was equally flushed his hand reaching up to scratch the back of his neck nervously, again.

“She’s very… persistent.”

His lips twitched like he was fighting a smile, eyes flickering back to meet yours fully.

“So I’ve noticed.”

The silence stretched just long enough for you to make a choice. Stepping toward him, you unfolded your arms, wrapping them around his neck, raising on your tip-toes to accommodate his height.

He was warm, like a walking furnace, and steady like he could throw you over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. His arms slid gently around you with a kind of careful certainty, like he was making sure you knew you could pull away at any moment. But you didn’t. You let him wrap his arms around you, engulfing you in his scent. And you truly never wanted to leave.

Jasmine let out a muffled little 'yay' from the car, but the rest of the world seemed to quiet, the thumping of Cherry Pie fading into a background hum.

When you finally eased back onto the heels of your boots, your hands still rested lightly against his shoulders, and you realized you were close enough to see the flecks of warmth in his blue eyes, the way his glasses slightly fogged from your breath, and the tips of his cheek bones burning so red you believed if you brushed them it'd burn you. He didn’t let go immediately either large hands tapping your hips and the air between you shifted slightly—heavier, charged. Like in that moment you could change the trajectory of whatever this possibly could be.

“Guess that was your official thank you,” You found yourself whispering as you still didn't pull away.

“Guess so,” Bob replied, his voice lower now, as he tried not to look down at your lips. For one dizzy second, you thought he might close the space entirely. Your gaze matched his flicking just barely down to his mouth without meaning to.

You’d almost forgotten about sleep, wanting nothing more than to just engulf this man. But before either of you could cross any line, Jasmine's voice rang out again.

“I'm tired!” Jasmine shouted, breaking the moment clean in half. You stepped back quickly, arms instantly pulling away from him and clenching to your sides as you cleared your throat. “Right, we, uh…we should go.”

Bob nodded, though there was something unreadable in his eyes, like he wasn’t quite ready to leave either. “Sleep well,” He hummed, quieter this time, before leaning around your body and towards the window, smiling at Jasmine. "You too, Jaz, sleep well.”

Jasmine smiled as she waved at him, before tucking herself into the corner happy with herself.

Watching him step back slightly, you tugged your dissertation from your boot before tossing it into the passenger seat and sliding into the driver’s seat. You couldn't get your heart to stop beating so fast that even your daughters singing sounded like it was underwater. Stealing one last glance as he stood there, hands back in his pockets. You absolutely hated that your heart was still thudding like you’d just done something dangerous.

Bob stayed there as you pulled out, trying not to smile to hard as he returned another wave from your daughter. He stayed there for a few more moments, his heart beating in his ears as he tried to control the way his chest felt so warm, his cheeks hot and his brain all foggy like he’d had several beers, when in actuality all he'd drank was cola.

He didn't remember entering the bar again, nor did he remember making his way back over to the group.

"So,"

Bob began to speak, his voice abruptly cutting off everyone's conversation—each of them curious as to what had taken him so long. He began settling into his seat again, brushing the seat awkwardly trying his best to ignore the way the others were waiting on him for the details.

"Uh, Rooster,” Bob avoided Bradley’s eyes, words spilling out, his cheeks warm, “Is your sister…uh..single or..?"

The color of Bob’s face grew more and more red as he cleared his throat.

He knew Bradley could have beat the shit out of him if he wanted too, he knew that asking about his best friends sister was probably crossing some sort of line—but in that moment, Bob physically couldn’t stop himself from asking.

He needed to know.

Bob would never forget the way the group immediately fell silent, like someone had cut the sound from the entire place. Even the hum of the jukebox felt quieter.

Bradley froze mid-swig, his beer hovering halfway to his lips. Natasha’s eyes went so wide you’d think Bob had just announced he was moving to Mars. And Jake's laugh had gotten caught in his throat, his hand coming out to pound on his chest, in an attempt to prevent him from choking on his beer and his tongue.

"Robert Floyd," Bradley lowered his bottle, eyes finding Bob (who was doing everything in his power to avoid). The hair on the back of his neck stood, a shiver inching—from the addressing of his full government name, "Y’ah telling me you’re crushing on my sister?"

Bob blinked, heat continuing to crawl up his neck. He was sure he looked like a tomato, there was no doubt about it.

There was a beat of silence before Bob opened his mouth, closed it, then opened it again.

"I…uh…I was…uh…just asking—"

The rest of the night Bob sat, practically strapped to his seat, while his three friends (and specifically an over protective brother) interrogating him relentlessly.

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The second time you’d meet Bob Floyd was when Natasha had volunteered him and Bradley (everyone else were all either busy or they were working their shift—Bradley invited himself) over to your place.

You’d off-handedly made a comment, while on the phone with Bradley (he always put you on speaker) and Nat over heard that; because you'd been so busy over the past couple weeks you still hadn't full unpacked your apartment. And Natasha being Natasha, had offered (the boy's) help (while she sits back, gossips, and drinks up your entire liquor cabinet).

And you'd tried, really tried, to deny the help saying that you had it covered. That Jaz’s friend’s father would be taking her to daycare—(another person you had to deal with), and it was your day off (finally) so you’d be home alone, with nothing to do.

But with one threat to invite himself over anyways, from Bradley, Nat convinced Bob to tag along also. (Not that Bob needed much convincing). And how were you supposed to deny the help, even when you hated burdening people, they would have found a way to break in anyways if you said no.

So here you were, ushering them into your small and currently chaotic apartment.

This morning had been rough to say the least. You were running late (as if you were ever on time), having rolled off the couch (because you hadn’t had the time to even put your bed frame together), not even twenty minutes ago—Jasmine shouting up and down the halls about how you were sleeping too long.

You had to give her credit for her little body waking herself up before you, because if she hadn’t awoken you from the deep sleep and possible lovely dream about a certain Lieutenant, Ms Jessel would have had your head on a spike, thats for sure.

Nat was currently in the middle of the argument with Bradley (who was smirking—so you knew he was winning unfortunately) who had one hand holding a bag of (definitely squished) donuts and his other arm wrapped tightly around Bob’s shoulder, keeping him close in an almost locked position like Bob had no were else to go.

Bob, flushed at the neck, lifted his head and raised his hand in a small wave.

You could have just dropped to your knees.

Why did he have to be such a heartthrob.

Letting the door close quickly, you didn’t bother locking it, knowing that Rich would be arriving sooner rather than later. Trying not to actively search for Bob’s eyes (oh who are you kidding, you meet his before you even looked at your brother), a blush crawling up your own neck as you waved back—doing everything in your power to not bite a hole in your cheek.

“Apologies for the mess..” You began, taking your eyes off Bob (who didn’t even try to hide the way he kept staring) and kicking stray shoes into the wall, out of the way.

Bradley let out a laugh as he squeezed Bob once more before pulling away and shuffling the bag of donuts into your face.

“You’re always a mess.” He replied shaking the bag trying to get you to grab it faster.

Sending him a glare you snatched the bag before sticking your tongue out at him.

“You’re such an asshole, y’know that?”

Bradley only smirked as he ventured farther into your apartment like he owned the place.

Turning back towards Nat and Bob, you gave them both a smile.

“Make yourselves at home, I’m kind of running late, so just bare with me, I’m so sorry.” You added quickly apologizing as Nat just shook her head swatting her hand like there was a fly.

“Don’t even worry about it,” She began, “You do you, girl.”

Finally letting out a sigh, like you’d been told you could finally breathe, you smiled.

But almost instantly you remembered Ms Jessel’s angry face before you nodded and then got back to being busy.

Bob slide himself beside Nat who was slouched on your couch, as he let his eyes wander about your apartment.

He could definitely tell that you hadn’t fully unpacked, the multiple boxes scattered around, things laying everywhere—mostly from you rushing this morning—but it was the song playing in the background that made a small smile crawling onto his lips again.

"Jaz can we please listen to something else."

You groaned, opening the donut bag, and shoving the donut Bradley bought for you, towards him knowing you wouldn’t have time to eat it.

“I bought that for you, you—”

You shoved it into his open mouth before grabbing a paper plate, placing Jasmine’s donut on it and then on the counter for her.

“No time.” You called back. (It would either grow stale on your counter or Bradley could eat it).

‘Cherry Pie’ was again blaring through your ears. Jasmine must have gotten ahold of your phone (how she knew how to open your phone and open the playlists was beyond you), putting her favorite song on. It was slightly muffled with her being in the bathroom, but as you quickly moved through the kitchen trying to make it look presentable you couldn’t help but groan at the lyrics you knew were gonna be stuck in your head.

Jasmine was ignoring you, singing her little heart out, as you found your eyes flickering to Bob again.

He was watching you, every time you glanced over, as quickly and subtly as you could (all in while trying to clean, pack your daughters lunch, and what not) and every time your heart skipped a beat.

Seeing him in his uniform had been one thing, but seeing him now in a loose shirt, his hair slightly messy and damp (as if he’d taken a shower before hand—you needed to calm down), and sweatpants. If you weren't so stressed trying to get the four year old ready, you would have dropped to your knees in a heartbeat. Even with an audience. (Of course you would first usher them out, you weren’t a fuckin freak—especially since one of the audience members was your brother).

Bob smiled at you when you met his eyes again and you quite literally sighed in relief, it was like the simple smile had cured all the tension in your shoulders.

"Mommy here you can change," Jasmine called from down the hall, her little feet patting against the cold wood. She was wearing her favorite tank top (the one with the big ass Kool-Aid man on the front—because she thought he was cute) and jean shorts that went to her knees. Her hair was still a mess when she entered the kitchen, eyes tired, toothbrush sticking out of the side of her mouth. Her hand was holding your phone for dear life as she thrusted it into your thigh.

You’d just barely caught it as she let go, skipping back towards the bathroom.

“But y’ah gotta put the American one on now!” She called loudly as she entered the bathroom again.

Bradley was trying to hide his laughter wiping his mouth from the donut, as you glared daggers at him. It was his fault honestly for her being obsessed with music—whenever the two of you would visit, he’d always took her for joy rides in his Bronco, blasting music without a single care in the world.

"What's with Sunshine and her favorite songs having the word 'pie' in them?" Natasha called with a laugh as she leaned forward to see you still glaring daggers at Bradley. Letting out a sigh, you gave up, knowing that you were wasting time. Rubbing your eyes, you tucked a few strands of lose hair behind your ears as you began to scramble around again.

"Just wait til she's asking for Custard Pie, or Country Pie or god forbid Slice of Your Pie." You huffed out with a laugh, flicking the song American Pie on before tossing the phone onto the counter and grabbing a couple shirts off the ground, smelling them and tucking them underneath your arm.

"I think she just loves pie." You added, as you stopped for a moment to look towards Nat and Bob.

Motioning towards the kitchen, you offered them both a tired but warm smile, “If y'all want a drink or something to eat, feel free." You spoke, not bothering to include Bradley knowing that he always made himself at home anyways, even without your permission. ‘Thats what twins do’ he’d shrug.

And then you were off again, not even bothering to wait for Nat’s or Bob’s response, nearly tripping over a Barbie with her head popped off heading towards the dryer room searching for Jasmine's missing socks.

When you had succeeded in your mission for the missing socks, you found yourself glancing down at your beeping watch. You had less than ten minutes before Rich would arrive.

Letting out another sigh, you entered the living room again and now Jasmine was, (hair no longer a mess thanks to Natasha for brushing it), trying to twirl around singing loudly "By by Miss American Pie" like she was on stage performing for the biggest audience.

Bradley had turned to lean against the island table, Bob was leaning his elbows against his knees smiling softly and listening intently and Nat was clapping along.

Even with the wonderful vibe, you felt that awful feeling. That feeling you always got when you were running late, or something just wasn’t going the way you planned. You should have woken up from your alarms, you should have had her ready thirty minutes ago, you shouldn’t be stressing yourself out so much.

And then, it left your lips, before you could slap a hand on it.

"Fuckin’ hell, I'm a terrible Mom."

Blinking the thoughts away quickly, you crouched down in front of her. Jasmine was no longer singing along, her lips pouted as she reached forward to hold your face.

"Y'ah the best Mommy don't say that." She spoke with such conviction as she reached forward to kiss your forehead. And if you weren't currently running late, if you definitely didn't have like ten thousand other things to get done and if you didn't have an audience you would have bursted into tears.

Reaching forward, when she pulled back to smile softly widely, you kissed her cheek, her forehead, and then her nose your heart warming as she giggled trying desperately to pull herself out of your arms.

There was a knock at the door, a dramatic groan leaving you.

Offering Jasmine another smile, a kiss on the forehead again, you patted her foot in a motion to tell her to put her socks on.

"It's open!" You called, the door swinging open as Richard popped his head in—freezing slightly when he saw the living room filled with people he didn’t know.

"Damn," He began calling your nickname, one that he had heard Bradley call you once over the phone—and now apparently thats all he wanted to call you (despite the way you hated how he said it), "You got yourself a full house." Rich chuckled, his hands going onto his waist as he scanned the room, unfamiliar with everyone, besides you and Jasmine of course (and he’d heard of Bradley but had never put face to name).

Each of them scanned him equally confused but you only hummed with a nod, taking your daughter's sweater off and flipping it around before putting it back over her tank top.

"She's almost ready Rich just, just gimme a minute." You called not even looking up at him as he waved his hand making his way into your kitchen as if he too owned the place. It was one thing for Bradley to prance around, but for him? You hated when he did that. But right now, you had more important things to worry about.

And if Jasmine wasn’t too busy trying to glare him down she would have shouted at him to stop drinking their water.

Bob had never been a jealous person before, truly, he found jealousy to be a taxing emotion and he hated the way it made his stomach feel.

But seeing this man just waltz his way into your kitchen, he couldn't deny the way his heart squeezed and his hands twitched just slightly at his side.

"If you get warm, give the sweater to Ms Jessel—Penny’ll skin me alive if you even get a drop of sweat on it." You said flattening out the wrinkles on the sweater before buttoning her pants, and brushing her hair from her eyes.

Standing you brushed your knees, "Get your boots on," You called with a nod of your head before making your way into the kitchen. Three steps and you were in front of Fletcher, taking the glass of water from him and drinking the remaining. That had been the first glass of water you'd had all morning (besides the little bit you used to swish your mouth when brushing your teeth). It wasn't weird for you to drink from the same cup, you drank from the same cup as your four year old, however to everyone else it looked more than friendly.

And you if you weren’t still sleep deprived and desperate for a glass of water, you might have wondered why you even did it.

Natasha’s eyes darted straight to Bob’s face, her brows climbing. She was leaned closer to Bradley, who had pushed himself off the island to settle into a spot beside her, her lips curling slightly into a smirk. "He’s not liking this, is he?" She narrated in a whisper, though not quietly enough, because Bob heard her clear as day.

Bradley was grinning like a cat playing with a toy. "Oh, he’s hating it." He mocked, his eyes watching Bob with amusement.

"I’m fine," Bob muttered, though he hadn’t been asked directly, doing his best to keep his eyes off of you and Rich.

"You’re red," Natasha smirked, "And not in the sunburn way."

Bob ignored them, clenching and unclenching his jaw as he focused instead on the little tug at his pant leg. Jasmine had approached him, looking up at him with big eyes, steadying herself on him as she wriggled one boot on, then the other.

"She already ate, please let Ms. Jessel know that she's been having an iffy stomach lately cause I know the bitch'll force her to eat if she doesn't know." You muttered the words to Rich, your side turned into his body in an attempt to keep your daughter from reading your lips because she had that phase going on currently. But to the others it looked even more personal especially when Rich laughed his hand coming up to brush an eyelash from your cheek.

Bob’s fingers curled into his palms.

Natasha leaned forward, eyes wide, the gossip train beginning again.

"Oh my God, did he just—"

"Yup," Bradley confirmed, popping the ‘p.’ There was a furrowed crease between his brows, especially because he’d been on the receiving end of you ranting about how close Rich tried to be with you. So to see you not even stop him was curious to say the least.

Natasha tilted his head at Bob.

"So ya gonna stand up or…?"

Before Bob could respond, Jasmine made a dramatic gagging sound, her tiny hands clinging into Bob's sweats as you tried not to fully push yourself away from Rich. He was a nice guy, truly, and perhaps you were allowing him to get away with more than you would like. But he also was your daughter’s best friend’s dad—and he was the one taking her to daycare, so letting him think you didn’t absolutely hate his guts was the only plan you currently had.

Sliding your cup onto the counter you ignored your daughters grumbling and the way Rich’s eyes kept watching you as you moved towards the fridge.

"Stop flirting with my Mommy Dick." Jasmine called with a glare as she reached to now hold Bob's hand playing with his fingers. Rich raised an eyebrow as he turned back towards the little girl a furrow creasing his brows.

"Rich," He called correcting her but she rolled her eyes turning back towards Bob.

"He thinks I care." She whispered, however it was loud enough for Rich because she wasn't really trying to whisper and Bob did everything in his power not to laugh at her bluntness.

"Jaz what have I said about sassing Rich, he's being so kind and taking you to daycare so I can spend the day sweating away trying to turn this apartment into a home." You called inside the fridge dragging a lunch pail of a lunch you didn't expect Jasmine to eat, especially with the way her stomach had been acting but just in case. Passing it off to Rich you glanced towards Jasmine who had her nose turned upward in defiance.

"Is Vince waitin' in the car with Barb?" You asked when you knew you wouldn't get your daughter to apologize.

Rich was still staring at you, his arms crossed and his body pressed closer than you had expected so when you turned back to face him you nearly jumped out of your skin.

Laughing nervously, you tried not to feel too bad back away quickly and knelt down in front of Jasmine (Nat and Bradley both watching as if it were their favorite reality tv show). Rich hummed in agreement, saying that they were just waiting in the car as you tried not to groan.

"Fuck, ‘m making you wait I’m sorry, come on, baby, let go of Bob so I can get a kiss before you leave me. Please be good, don’t yell at Ms. Jessel, don’t kick the older boys off the slide, and please for the love of everything good, don’t get into any fights."

Bob’s heart skipped at the brief brush of your fingers against his as you tried to pry Jasmine’s hand from his. She only laughed, hugging his arm tighter.

God she could be such a lovable pain in the ass.

Trying not to manhandle her out of his arm you just leaned forward and kissed her forehead, nose, and cheek before standing again and guiding her towards Rich, who was already at the door.

Jasmine, letting out a dramatic sigh as she finally let go of Bob, ignored the hand Rich offered, glaring at him instead as she strutted out like a four-year-old CEO.

"God, I’m such a mess," you muttered, repeating the words as you rubbed your eyes watching as Roch waved and closed the door behind him.

You turned back to find the three still staring like they’d just watched a soap opera play out in your living room.

Bradley was the first to burst out laughing. His loud and obnoxious tone echoing off your walls. "If I didn’t know any better—" He started, calling you by your nickname, "—I’d say you should take an hour to relax before we even start today."

Natasha folded her arms, grinning mischievously more or less at Bob, as you started towards the dryer room again in need of something to cover your now cold arms—now that you would most likely not be running around the apartment like a headless chicken.

"Or maybe we should let Floyd here help her ‘relax’ instead, seems like he’s got the patience for it."

Bradley giggled like a school girl, pointing between Bob and the door. "I think he’s about two seconds away from volunteering to do every school drop-off for the rest of the year."

"Shut up," Bob mumbled, cheeks heating as he adjusted his glasses, praying that you wouldn't be able to hear them from the dryer room.

“Don’t worry, Bobby, we’re absolutely gonna help you shoot your shot." Bradley’s grin sharpened as he leaned farther into the couch his knees sticking out. Bob felt like he was in a horror movie at that moment just slowly turning around to stare at the way Bradley and Natasha were wearing matching smirks.

"Oh, this is gonna be so much fun."

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It was only noon when your phone started ringing for the first time that day. Noon was the sort of hour that allowed a sort of lazy permission into your bones—the best time for a nap on your days off, the apartment (still new) smelled faintly of coffee and sawdust because you’d been currently building Jaz’s bed for the better part of the morning.

You usually didn’t get calls around this time, especially since Jaz was in daycare, so the ringtone cutting through the low thump of a power drill felt wrong—like an alarm that woke you from a deep sleep. It bounced off the plaster and the half-painted walls while you were knee-deep in a stack of pine slats and a pile of screws.

Bob was across from you, measuring twice and cursing once. You’d desperately, the entire time, been trying to keep your own thoughts PG with the way he looked helping you construct your daughter’s bed.

Forearms on display, sweat prickling his forehead, and the breath sounds escaping him.

God you’d lost count of the amount of times you’d wanted to jump his bones.

Natasha who had declared, louder than necessary, that Bob was “the absolute best builder, no contest”, was at the sink, loading a blender into the dishwasher, rubbing her hands clean.

Bradley and Reuben (whom he and Mickey—two you’d also just met, arrived a few hours ago, claiming they wanted to help—they just wanted to see Bob fumbling over his words around you) crouched in the living room, Ikea instructions spread between them like a small, folded map; they were arguing in muffled tones about Allen keys. And Mickey, bless him, had managed to wrap himself up in the throw rug and was making animal noises that might be described as ‘dramatic.’

You tilted back on your heels and called out, half expecting someone to shout “Unknown caller!” in reply.

“Hey—Nat? Mickey? Who—?”

The phone kept ringing. One, two, three times the melody continued to ring out. Then there was a thunk and a muffled groan before “Ms. Jessel’s calling!” left Mickey’s lips as he yelped, freeing one arm and holding the phone up like a trophy (he’d somehow managed to roll in the rug and grab the phone off the coffee table).

You could have named yourself the Flash with how quickly you’d launched yourself up, shin slamming into raw metal and a flash of white pain clouding your vision.

Tools clinked around Bob as his eyebrows drew together; he wiped his hands on the back of his pants and followed after you, like he knew how important this call might be and wanted to be there to comfort you in anyway.

You almost did a faceplant over that goddamn headless Barbie that nobody would pick up—a modern-day landmine—but you snatched the phone from Mickey’s awaiting hand and accepted before the fifth ring had time to finish.

Adrenaline made your fingers clumsy; the world spinning slightly as you tried to catch your breath. Damn you really needed to work out more, especially if only jogging into your living room made you dizzy.

“Hello?” Your voice started out unsteady, unsure, “Yes, Ms. Jessel, this is me. Who else—who the fuck else would answer my phone?” The edges of the words were sharp, already annoyed with the tone of the older woman.

She was quiet for a breath that stretched too long. And when she spoke again, it was careful, like she was stepping around something precious. You caught fragments, a word that sounded like “fight,” then another you couldn’t quite place, then “hospital,” and it was all your heart needed to jolt out of sync.

“What?” The single syllable came out like a punch to your chest.

The shift in your tone pulled the room into silence. Natasha paused mid-deep in the silverware drawer, Mickey froze from dusting himself off, Bradley and Reuben stopped scanning pictograms, while Bob’s head tilted as if he could try and listen with his eyes, being a few feet away.

“What the fuck?” You began again and than the rest poured out of you in a white-hot rush. “What the fuck do you mean she’s in the hospital? What the fuck? Is this a joke? What hospital? Who hit my kid? My daughter is four years old. Who the fuck put my girl in the hospital? How could you let this happen? What hospital—tell me what fucking hospital—who—”

Words continued to spill out of you like a knocked over carton of milk. You didn’t let Ms. Jessel get a sentence in; each syllable from the other end was a match and you were pouring fuel over it. You didn’t even realize you’d started moving, jamming one foot into a cowgirl boot while the other tried to keep yourself balanced. Your phone bounced between shoulder and ear as you tugged, trying to wrestle on a jacket, and doing your absolute best to not to trip on the chaotic evidence of a life mid-renovation: a coil of extension cord, a half-open paint can, crayons rolling under the sofa.

“And don’t even tell me you can’t give me the name of the kid who hit my kid because of some rights or whatever.” Your voice fraying into a shout that made even Bradley shutter. “I’m gonna find those parents and—” The sentence sputtered; you didn’t finish the violent promise because the next one took over. “What hospital where is she—”

Ms. Jessel, finally allowed a breath, managed two words: “Children’s—ER.”

The room went from crowded wood and human bodies to a tiny, echoing space inside your skull. You shouted another profanity, wishing the worst on the poor woman as you jammed the screen off with the pad of your thumb, more because you needed silence. For a second you just stood there, chest piston-sharp, trying to form a coherent thought, as you rubbed your eyes.

Someone made a noise behind you—a soft sound that could’ve been sympathy or fear. You shoved your phone into your boot, keys into your hand, and turned, a storm of movement and apologies filtering past your tongue.

“I’m so sorry, I gotta go pick up Jaz from the hospital,” You sighed, head already forming a headache as you turned towards the group of people who’d only come to help. “I don’t know anything as of now, Ms. Jessel wouldn’t loosen her lips, but, just—some kid hit her hard enough to the point they had to take her in. If you want to stay, eat, finish the bookshelf, whatever you’d like, please be my guest. But I gotta go, if you need to go, thats totally fine, I just gotta go.”

You tried to massage the rawness out of your throat, to make the edges gentler so you wouldn’t blow up on them for no reason. But that didn’t stop your hands from trembling as you shoved yourself out the door. Not bothering to lock it knowing Bradley had a key and that he would lock up for you.

They all watched you for a beat that felt too long and brittle. Like their brains were trying to catch up to the sputtering mess you’d become.

Bradley was the first to look over at Bob, whose face was unreadable for a second.

“You gonna go or what?” Bradley asked, voice low as if knowing that if he went after you, you’d definitely bite his head off—but he also knew that you shouldn’t be alone. And as angry as you might be, you’d never bite Bob’s head off (and he also really didn’t want you to drive pissed off by yourself).

Bob was moving before he could get an answer out.

At the car you tried to breathe like a normal person. Head down on the steering wheel, counting to ten and down to one and then to ten again. Your hands were clutching the sides of the steering wheel not even bothering to care about how your fingers were pulling lightly on your hair painfully.

And than a beat later, the passenger door opened and a warm shape slid in beside you. You blinked up, mascara speckled and stupid—you hadn’t even noticed tears were falling down your cheeks, to find Bob buckling his seatbelt with the same methodical calm he used to put the planks together on your daughters bed. His scent of faint sawdust and coffee filtered though the small space making your heart flutter slightly, even with the fear and confusion fitting your mind.

“So, we going or what?” He asked quietly, and there was none of the careful distance you sometimes saw in men who didn’t know what to do with other people’s panic, there was only a steady, low offering.

You wanted to say no. You wanted to tell him to go back inside and be with his friends (even though they were all in your apartment) and that you could do this—you’d done it before, been there for her despite her tendencies, you could and would have smashed every bureaucracy to get back to your kid back—but the truth was small and simple and immediate. You hadn’t eaten breakfast. You were furious and thin as glass. You needed someone who would not hand you tissues and platitudes, someone who would climb in the car and not ask for anything in return.

“Figured you’d need some emotional support,” Bob added, softer now, with a smile that didn’t try to fix you as much as to keep you from breaking. God he was so considerate.

You let out a breath that could have been a laugh or a sob.

“Yeah, you have no idea.”

“Want me drive?” He offered his head tilting towards the way you were gripping the steering wheel like it was a lifeline.

You shook your head quickly, the movement abrupt and causing an ache to form in the crook of your neck. “No. I just need to get there.” Your hands found the wheel again, grip hard and precise.

And while the city rushed past in a blur of late-morning light and impatient horns, one thought kept cycling through your mind like a stuck record: you just prayed she was okay.

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You carried her, bruised face laid gently on the side of your shoulder. She wasn't asleep, her eyes were opened just a crack as she watched Bob follow behind them. He looked so sorrowful, saddened at the state that Jasmine was in and it broke the little girls heart. Reaching forward she offered her hand to him, and Bob took it giving her a small smile as he squeezed it.

You tilted slightly to jam your key into the lock before using the toe of your boots to nudge it open, the coolness of the dark room inviting the trio of y'all as you stepped aside to let Bob in (him letting go of Jasmine's hand—despite her grumble) before locking the door behind you.

You hadn't expected him to stay the entire time, but seeing as he hadn't left your side you figured offering him a warm drink and a towel to dry his wet hair would suffice.

Bob followed you, closely, his hand making sure that you wouldn’t fall over in the dark apartment.

Bradley and the others had left the apartment cleaned, they’d actually finished up building everything.

You couldn’t help the tears the streamed steadily down your cheeks. You were gonna make them cookies, cupcakes, individual cakes, and bring them to them. You might even make them all pies as well.

It was still silent, as you entered her room and shuffled Jasmine into her newly made bed. She hummed head hitting the pillow gently as she snuggled into the warm blanket.

You tried not to coo as you reached down to kiss her forehead.

The two, Bob and you, exited the room, leaving the door a crack as you let out a shaky breath.

“Are you okay?” Bob was quiet, gentle, as he leaned slightly into your frame. You wanted to hug him so badly, just a hug right now would probably make everything better.

“I’ll be okay.” You mumbled back as you turned to try and give him a smile, “It’s her I’m worried about.” You added and Bob nodded, his hand coming out to guide you into the kitchen.

It was silent again between the two of you, Bob leaning against the counter as he crossed his arms.

Reaching into a cabinet, you grabbed a soft towel, before stepping towards Bob. Motioning for him to move slightly, you pushed yourself onto the counter, sitting comfortably before beckoning him to approach you again.

Bob flushed softly and you tried not to smile at him, opening your legs just slightly so he could step forward more.

Using the towel you began to dry his hair, using extra care to be careful of his glasses as you tried to not notice the way he was watching you so carefully.

It was so intimate, so close, and you’d tried to not make it weird. But holding his head, gently patting the dampness away, and staring into those soft blue eyes, it was a good thing you were sitting because you could have melted into the floorboards at any moment.

After finishing the drying, you tucked his now damp hair behind his ears and set the towel down beside you.

Bob whispered a ‘thank you’ as he leaned slightly closer his hands resting on the counter right beside your hips, fingers rubbing the skin that was bare, your shorts riding up slightly.

He was careful, gentle, slow and polite as he leaned in. You watched him, his eyes flickering down to your lips before into your eyes as if to tell whether or not you felt the same way.

The moment your lips met it felt like there was a fire that exploded in your chest, the warm engrossing you as you arched into him chasing the feeling.

"Gotta be quiet, wouldn't want little Miss Sunshine to walk in on us, huh?" His whisper sent chills down your spine, the prickling sensation making you bite your lip to stop a smirk as you leaned in again.

Bob's hand gently raised, fingers ghosting across your cheekbone bringing your chin in farther so he could kiss you again deeper as his warm body searched out for yours.

You'd almost gotten lost in him if it wasn't for the sound of your daughter.

"I would like a brother please." Was all she commented, waddling past with her nightgown halfway off from how she'd been sleeping as she walked in between the two of you grabbing her step stool and getting herself a glass of water. It was so domestic, just the way she didn’t even react fiddling with her strawberry shortcake mug.

You tried not to laugh, your lips pursed together as you pushed some distance between the two of you. Bob was flushed his glasses slightly fogged as he rubbed the back of his neck.

Jasmine filled her mug of water, stepped down and didn't even glance back at the either of you before she started back towards her room.

"I wanna name him too, so hurry up."

And then she was gone like a little thief in the night and Bob did his best to try and quiet the giggles that escaped him, reaching forward to play with the hem of your sleep shorts.

"What do you think, shouldn’t we hurry up?" His smirk was wicked as he pulled your waist forward capturing your lips again swallowing the giggle you let out.

"Hmm yeah, yeah I think we should."

The way she was referring to the plastic dildo in between her legs as hers had your stomach, and something way lower, flutter desperately.

“Also, the front of the harness is rubbing on my clit, but that’s just an added bonus,” she winks at you.

She nudges the tip of her strap at your entrance. Natasha had spent one long hour thoroughly preparing you to take her and the need was burning hotter than ever. Your hips buck lightly, trying to take more of her.

“Be patient, baby,” she soothes, a hand rubbing your hip tenderly, “I don’t wanna hurt you.”

“You’re not gonna hurt me,” you said, growing even more restless with the way Natasha was rubbing the tip of her strap on your puffy clit, “please just put it in.”

She flashes a cocky smirk at you before slowly pushing inside of you. You frown a bit at the stretch but the strain quickly turns into pleasure when Natasha buries herself to the hilt, her hips flush against yours. She stays still for a minute, allowing you to get accustomed to the size.

“How does it feel ?” She asks, her voice all breathy from the sight of you full of her.

Your walls flutter around the strap, “good, really good…” you exhale shakily, “it’s a good length, I’m glad we chose that one.”

Natasha’s hips begin to slowly grind against yours, not even thrusting yet, just a languid roll that has you moaning out in pure delight, your hips bucking up to meet hers.

“Nat, more,” you pout, the desire, the need, for her to fuck into you is getting stronger and more desperate every second she refuses to give into you.

She leans in, licking over your bottom lip, “yeah ? You need me to pound into you, baby ? Need me to fuck you hard and deep ?”

All you can do is nod desperately as she finally gives you what you want. Natasha is almost completely lying on top of you as her hips hit yours with a force you didn’t know she was capable of, her breasts move in tandem with yours, your nipples rubbing against each other with every thrust.

“Oh fuck, you feel so good, fucking me so good !” You cry out as the tip of her dildo hit that spot deep inside of you that makes you see stars.

She is almost putting you in a mating press with the way she is positioned above you, she feels so fucking deep inside of you, and you feel so so full of her, the sensation is setting your insides on fire.

Her head is in the crook of your neck, plastering open mouthed and wet kisses on the thin skin.

“You like that, baby ? Like how deep I am inside of you ?” One of her hand leaves your hips to snake its way on your lower stomach and she presses slightly, making you moan out, “I’m right here, you feel me sweet thing ?”

“Yes, yes yes yes,” you chant, half delirious on pleasure.

She leaves the confines of your neck, straightening back up, taking one of your hands with her. Her eyes are boring into yours as she takes your middle and ring fingers in her mouth, her tongue circling them and coating them in her spit.

“Touch yourself for me, pretty girl. Make that clit feel good while I fuck you.”

Your pussy clenches hard at her words and the obscene show she is putting on for you as your body obeys her on its own. Your slick fingers leave her mouth and trace down her body, squeezing one of her nipples on the way down before arriving at your messy cunt. Your neglected clit twitches hard when your hand finally makes contact, rubbing quick circles on it, your moans only become louder and louder.

“Fuck, Nat, ‘m so close, I’m gonna cum so fucking hard…”

Your pussy flutters desperately around Natasha as she smirks above you, keeping the delicious pace that’s slowly bringing you to your high.

“Do you feel good ?” You asked in between whimpers, “does that feel good for you ? Please Nat…”

“Awww, my sweet angel,” she coos squeezing your breasts affectionately, “yes it does, it feels so good watching you take my cock like a good girl.”

Her words spur you on, the fingers on your clit picking up the pace.

“That’s it, baby, cum for me, rub that pretty clit.” Her words are punctuated with those heavenly hard thrusts that fill you to the brim every time.

And before you know it, your pussy clenches down hard on the strap, practically locking Natasha in place as you ride out your high. Your back arches, tits pushing out into her hands as violent tremors shake your body. An obscene amount of slick is being pushed out of you, forming a white ring at the base of Natasha’s strap.

When you come back down, Natasha is still in you, rubbing your thighs appreciatively.

“You did so good, sweetheart, took me so well, I’m proud of you.”

Your stomach flips at the praise.

“Was it… good for you ? Did you cum, I mean ?” You question, out of breath and feeling a bit sheepish under her prying gaze.

A grin pulls at her pretty pink lips, “I did, it felt so good to fuck you like that, baby.”

Her words have you clench helplessly around the strap.

“Well… you must be pretty messy under that then, no ?” You point to the harness sitting on her hips.

Her eyes flick to you with a predatory glint.

“What do you say about me cleaning you up ?” You ask, your hands coming up to move the strap out of you and slowly take the harness off her, revealing her slick folds and puffy clit from rubbing against the material.

She smirks as she watches you trail kisses down her body, all the way to the place she needs you the most.

“I’d say you you better get to work, baby.”

Author's note : Currently struggling to finish my Jake fic so please accept this Natasha Drabble as an apology.

I have so many more Drabble ideas for her and they are all smut😭 need her so bad😔

She took pictures with everyone—every pilot, every crew member, every starstruck staffer on the runway. She laughed with Fanboy. Complimented Halo’s braids. Teased Payback about trying to sneak in two photos.

And then she paused.

Eyes scanning the group again, like she was looking for someone.

Then, pointing just past the main huddle, she smiled.

“Who’s that cutie patootie over there?”

Every head turned.

Bob, who had been standing half-behind a jet wing, blinked in confusion.

“Me?” he squeaked, touching his chest like she couldn’t possibly mean him.

She nodded and beamed at him. “Mmhmm! Hi!”

She walked over like she had all the time in the world—no rush, no pressure—and when she stopped in front of him, she took off her sunglasses and stuck out her hand.

“Hi,” she said, sweet and sunny. “My name’s Y/N L/N. It’s so, so nice to meet you.”

Bob’s mouth opened and closed a few times.

“I—I’m Bob. Lieutenant Robert Floyd. It’s—um—it’s nice to meet you too, ma’am—I mean—not ma’am, I just—”

She laughed softly and shook his hand. “Bob. I love that. You’re adorable.”

He looked like his entire brain just shut off.

“I’ve been meeting so many people,” she said, still holding his gaze. “Would you mind taking a photo with me?”

His eyes went wide. “With—me?”

She leaned in slightly, teasing. “Well, you are the cutie patootie, aren’t you?”

Phoenix absolutely lost it behind him.

“Y-Yes,” Bob said quickly. “I mean, sure! Of course! Yes.”

She handed her phone off to someone nearby and stepped beside him, slipping her arm through his like they’d done this a hundred times. “Ready?”

Bob didn’t know how to be ready for any of this. But the camera flashed, and she smiled up at him again.

“Thank you,” she said softly, like he’d just made her whole day. “You were the highlight of my visit.”

And just like that, she let go, gave him one last smile, and turned to walk back toward the group.

Bob stood frozen in place, flushed from his neck to his ears, still holding his helmet like it might float away.

Hangman clapped him on the back. “The Y/N L/N just called you a cutie patootie and took a solo picture with you. You better laminate that memory, Floyd.”

“I think I blacked out,” Bob muttered.

Phoenix leaned in, grinning. “If you don’t ask her out the next time she visits, I will.”

Rooster snorted. “Like hell you will. I’m still recovering.”

Bob adjusted his glasses with trembling fingers. “Is this real life?”

Fanboy pulled out his phone. “Buddy, the whole thing’s on video. You’re gonna be a meme by tonight.”

———

“America’s Sweetheart & Her Navy Sweetheart”

“Are we sure you want this one?”

Delaney—assistant, social media manager, therapist in crisis—tilted her head at the phone screen.

The photo was perfect.

Y/N looked radiant, obviously. But it was the guy beside her—tall, glasses slightly crooked, blushing like a Victorian debutante—that made the shot so unexpectedly adorable.

The world had seen her with presidents. With Oscar winners. With the Met Gala’s best-dressed. But no one had ever seen her like this.

Smiling softly. Relaxed. Standing next to someone who clearly had no idea how famous she was—or didn’t care.

“He’s so cute,” Y/N murmured, sipping from her iced coffee, sunglasses perched atop her head. She was scrolling through the pictures again like she hadn’t already hearted every single one.

Delaney stared. “You really want to post it?”

“I really do,” Y/N said, brightening.

“Caption?”

Y/N grinned.

Delaney’s eyes narrowed. “You already thought of one, didn’t you?”

Y/N said nothing. Just passed her a post-it.

Delaney read it once. Blinked. Then grinned like a devil.

⸻

@yourusername

📍Top Gun Naval Program

✨found my wingman✨

📸: @delaneydoesit

⸻

It took six minutes for the photo to hit one million likes. Ten minutes before #cutiepatootie trended on Twitter. By lunch, “Bob from the Navy” had a dedicated fan account and trending TikTok audio.

Y/N pretended not to notice.

She was lounging in her dressing room, reading scripts, but her phone buzzed every few seconds with a new mention. Every gossip site was foaming at the mouth. Paparazzi were now camped outside the base—looking for him.

“America’s Sweetheart Gets Starry-Eyed Over Navy Boy.”

“Who is Bob from Top Gun??”

“She Can Have Anyone—and She Picked This Guy?!”

Delaney popped back in with a smoothie and the numbers. “We’ve got 47 million views across platforms and about sixteen thousand girls crying over Bob’s blush.”

Y/N looked pleased. “Good for them.”

“You planning on going back there?”

She didn’t answer right away.

But then, with a coy smile and a glance toward the corner of the room—where Bob’s photo now lived quietly on her vanity—she said:

“I might have left something behind.”

————

Bob didn’t even make it through the hangar doors before he got tackled by a wave of phones.

“BOB. BRO. BOB. YOU’RE FAMOUS.”

“Have you seen Twitter?! You’re a meme now!”

Phoenix shoved a phone into his face. On the screen was a screengrab of the photo—the photo—captioned in Comic Sans:

“me when my celebrity crush notices me and I forget how to speak English 😍”

Bob blinked. “Is that… me?”

“You’re on TMZ,” Rooster called from across the room. “Twice.”

Hangman was grinning like the cat that ate the golden retriever. “My guy. You broke the internet. You broke it.”

“I didn’t do anything,” Bob muttered, cheeks already burning. “She just asked for a photo—”

“SHE POSTED IT,” Fanboy yelled, pointing at the giant screen someone had wheeled in. “With the caption ‘found my wingman,’ Bob! Her wingman!”

Payback looked personally offended. “I’ve been trying to go viral for years. This man just blushed and now he’s the Navy’s newest sex symbol.”

Bob pinched the bridge of his nose. “I—I’m not—”

“Shh,” Phoenix said, holding up her hand dramatically. “Wingman of the Year is speaking.”

“Guys—”

“No, seriously,” Rooster said, laughing, “what does it feel like to be America’s Boyfriend?”

“I’m gonna throw up,” Bob said earnestly.

Just then, Cyclone’s voice boomed from the hallway.

“Lieutenant Floyd.”

Everyone froze.

Bob straightened like he was about to be court-martialed.

“Yes, sir?”

Cyclone appeared, holding up a tablet with the photo in question still open on screen. “Would you care to explain why the Department of Defense is getting press requests for your dating history?”

Bob blinked. “I… I wouldn’t?”

Cyclone sighed, muttered something about “celebrities and chaos,” and walked off. But not before he added, “Tell her thanks for the recruiting spike.”

Everyone erupted again.

“She made you the poster boy for patriotism!” Fanboy whooped. “They’re calling you ‘Top Gun’s golden retriever boyfriend’ on TikTok!”

Bob buried his face in his hands. “This is a nightmare.”

Phoenix patted his back. “It’s a fairytale, sweetie. And she picked you.”

Bob peeked through his fingers. “Do you think… she was serious? About me being the highlight of her visit?”

Hangman, for once, didn’t joke.

“She could’ve taken a picture with anyone,” he said, voice unusually soft. “And she chose you. That means something.”

Bob blinked.

Then his phone buzzed. Again.

And when he looked down, his heart stopped.

A DM. From her.

Y/N L/N:

Hey, cutie patootie. Any chance I can come back for that second photo? 😉

Bob let out a noise that could only be described as a strangled squeak.

“Everything okay?” Phoenix asked.

He looked up. “She wants to come back.”

And just like that—chaos erupted again.

————

Bob had checked his reflection eight times before she arrived.

Phoenix had to physically take his glasses off his face to clean them herself. “Bob,” she said, “you’re fogging these up with your panic.”

“I’m not panicking,” he said, panicking.

“You’re wearing cologne.”

“It’s just—I thought I’d try something new.”

Rooster smirked. “It’s giving: ‘I’m calm, cool, and collected while my celebrity crush returns to base to maybe fall in love with me.’”

Hangman leaned against the lockers. “It’s giving: ‘he practiced what he’d say in the mirror all morning and he’s gonna forget every word the second she smiles.’”

“Thanks, guys,” Bob muttered, already red.

Then the hangar doors opened.

And she stepped through.

Y/N L/N. The Y/N L/N. Actress. Icon. Billionaire. Dressed casually like the cameras weren’t following her every move online. But what hit Bob the hardest wasn’t the press or the way the whole hangar paused just to look at her—it was the way she beelined straight for him.

Like she was looking for him.

“There you are,” she said with a grin. “Hi, Bob.”

The way she said his name—sweet and familiar, like she’d been thinking about it—nearly sent him to the floor.

“Hi,” he croaked.

She smiled brighter. “I wasn’t sure if I’d get to see you today, but I’m really glad you’re here.”

“I—I work here.”

Y/N giggled, and Bob blinked like a deer in headlights.

“You’re so cute,” she whispered, like it wasn’t going to set off every alarm in his brain.

Phoenix watched it unfold with her arms crossed and a smug grin. “We’ve been saying.”

“Oh!” Y/N turned to the others. “You’re his squad, right? You all were so sweet last time.”

Rooster elbowed Bob. “We’ve got a good one here.”

“He’s our best guy,” Fanboy added. “Smartest in the air. Saved my ass twice.”

“Three times,” Payback corrected.

Hangman chimed in, half-teasing: “Don’t let the glasses fool you—guy’s got a heart of gold and he’s low-key the funniest one here.”

Bob, mortified, ducked his head. “They’re exaggerating.”

But Y/N wasn’t listening to them anymore. Her eyes were already locked back on Bob.

“You’re kind of a hero,” she said with a soft little shrug, like it wasn’t a big deal—but it was.

“I—I wouldn’t say that.”

“You don’t have to,” she smiled. “They already did.”

Then she caught sight of a jet behind him and gasped. “Is that yours?”

Her hand reached out instinctively—like she forgot about the cameras, the audience, all of it—and wrapped gently around his arm.

“Oh my God, is that the one you flew in? That’s so cool—can I see inside?”

Bob might’ve blacked out for a second.

“You wanna see my jet?” he said, dumbly.

“I mean, yeah,” she beamed. “I came back to visit you—and, okay, maybe the plane too.”

She was still holding his arm.

“Tell me everything,” she said, leaning in. “Like—what you do in there, how it works. Please. I’m so curious.”

Phoenix whispered, “Breathe, Bob.”

Rooster added, “This is the best day of my life.”

Bob swallowed hard. “I—I sit in the back. I’m the weapons systems officer. I help the pilot navigate, track targets, communicate with command. I—uh—I read a lot of maps.”

Y/N looked at him like he’d just recited Shakespeare.

“I love smart guys,” she said softly. “You’re just full of surprises, huh?”

Then she grinned. “Show me how it all works?”

Bob blinked. “I—y-yeah. Yeah, I can show you.”

And the second he helped her climb up the ladder into his jet, the rest of the squad turned around like we are NOT watching this man fall in love from five feet away.

She actually climbed in.

Like, willingly. With a bright-eyed smile and a soft little “Oop!” as Bob offered her a hand and helped her settle into his seat—his seat, the one no one but him ever sat in—and now she was swiveling her head around like this was the most exciting thing in the entire world.

“Oh my God,” Y/N whispered, running her fingers over the side console, wide-eyed and glowing. “This is insane. I don’t even know what I’m looking at but I love it.”

Bob climbed in behind her, carefully easing into the front seat. His hands shook a little as he adjusted the straps of his harness—not because he was nervous, but because she was in his jet. Y/N L/N was literally sitting in the space he spent most of his life in, looking like she belonged there, like she might never want to leave.

“You sit back here?” she asked, pointing to the panel of screens and buttons in front of her.

“Yeah,” Bob said. “I—I manage all the tech. Radar, targeting systems, communication. Kind of like the guy behind the guy.”

She looked up, clearly impressed. “That sounds like a lot.”

“It is,” he admitted. “But I like it. It’s… it feels like where I’m supposed to be.”

Y/N smiled, this kind of soft, private smile—like she liked that answer way more than he meant her to. “That’s really cool.”

She looked at the helmet tucked beside his seat. Gently, she reached for it. “Can I…?”

“Oh! Um—yeah, of course,” Bob said quickly. “It might be a little big—”

He didn’t even finish the sentence before she was pulling it over her head with both hands and giggling as it sank just a little too far down her face.

“How do I look?”

Bob’s voice died in his throat.

“Perfect,” he said quietly.

Y/N pushed the visor up and blinked at him, and Bob almost forgot how to breathe again.

“I don’t get it,” she said after a beat, setting the helmet in her lap. “How are you not married? Or dating someone? Or at the very least, mobbed every time you walk outside?”

Bob flushed so hard he felt it in his scalp. “I—I don’t think people really notice me.”

“I notice you,” she said plainly, like it was a fact. “You’re thoughtful. Sweet. You have kind eyes. And you saved your friend’s life. You don’t think people notice, but I think you just don’t realize how worth noticing you are.”

Bob blinked. Stared. Tried not to pass out.

She smiled. “You’re blushing.”

“I—I’m always blushing,” he said faintly.

Y/N reached out, brushing her fingers gently against the sleeve of his flight suit. “I like it.”

And then—God—she just… rested her hand there. Like it was natural. Like it belonged. Like she wasn’t the most famous woman on Earth holding onto a guy who’d spent his whole life learning how to stay small.

Bob didn’t say anything.

He couldn’t.

Because her thumb was gently brushing across the patch on his arm.

And she was looking at him—really looking. Like he was someone she’d been waiting to find.

“Is it okay,” she asked gently, “if I take a picture in here?”

Bob blinked, startled. “Of course—I mean, yeah. Yeah, that’s totally fine.”

Y/N gave him a grateful smile and pulled her phone from the back pocket of her jeans. “I won’t post anything classified. Promise.”

He laughed under his breath. “You’re probably more careful than half the people who actually work here.”

She leaned back against the seat and angled the camera just right, catching her reflection in the canopy glass with all the panels glowing softly around her. A quick click. Then another. She turned slightly toward him.

“Do you mind getting one with me?”

Bob froze.

“In here, I mean,” she added quickly. “We don’t have to if you’re uncomfortable—”

“No!” he said a little too fast. “I mean—no, I don’t mind. Not at all.”

Y/N smiled like he just handed her the moon. “Okay, come here.”

He leaned back slightly, trying to get into the frame behind her without knocking anything important. The proximity alone nearly did him in—her shoulder brushing his chest, her phone held high between them, her perfume subtly filling the small space of the cockpit.

She angled the phone, checked the lighting, then whispered, “Smile.”

He did.

God help him, he did.

Click.

She glanced down at the picture and beamed. “This one’s my favorite.”

Bob didn’t even ask to see it. Just knowing he was her favorite anythingmade his head spin.

The rest of the visit flew by in a haze. She climbed down from the jet with his help—thanked him again, touched his arm again, asked the others about the air show schedule, then got whisked away to meet with the base commander for a quick tour. She hugged Phoenix on her way out. Promised she’d be back soon.

But just before she disappeared around the corner, she glanced back at Bob—gave him a little wave. Just for him.

And smiled.

Bob stood there long after she was gone, helmet still tucked under his arm, lips parted like he couldn’t quite believe what had just happened.

Phoenix came to stand beside him, arms crossed.

“Hey, loverboy,” she said. “You might wanna check your phone.”

He blinked down, startled—and saw that he already had seven missed messages. Three missed calls. Two voicemails.

Because Y/N’s assistant had posted.

⸻

📸 @delaneydoesit

✈️💋 “backseat beauty and the brains that fly it”

#TopGun #YNLN #BobNation #betterthanmaverick #callmeMrsFloyd

The post featured three pictures:

1. Y/N alone in the cockpit, head tilted playfully, sunglasses on, the helmet in her lap.

2. A shot of her and Bob together in the plane, his glasses slightly crooked, both of them smiling like they’d won the lottery.

3. A blurry candid of him helping her down from the ladder, one hand holding hers, the other steady at her waist.

The comments were already blowing up:

@selenagomez: oh she’s in love.

@pilotwivesunite: WHAT DO YOU MEAN SHE WENT BACK FOR HIM

@aviationfan69: bob is all of us. we are bob. bob is america.

@ynlnupdates: can confirm she did say “he’s the cutest” out loud in front of everyone

@roosterdaddy: as a pilot and a man, I salute you, Bob.

⸻

Bob didn’t say anything.

Didn’t even look up from the screen.

Phoenix patted his back, amused. “You’re a national treasure now, baby. You better start practicing your red carpet smile.”

He was already blushing.

And somewhere across the base, Y/N was laughing as her assistant read the comments out loud, heart full, cheeks warm, and only one name echoing in her head:

Bob.

———

The hangar was quiet. Late afternoon light spilled through the high windows, casting golden stripes across the floor. Most of the squad had cleared out, letting the adrenaline of the day wear off in the locker rooms or the parking lot.

But Bob was still here. Still trying to breathe normally.

Because she was still here too.

Y/N lingered by the nose of the plane, running her fingers along the cool metal with a curious little smile, her assistant off somewhere taking calls. Her hair was up now, sunglasses on her head, and she looked impossibly cool even while doing absolutely nothing.

Bob didn’t realize he was staring until she turned.

And walked straight up to him.

“Hey,” she said softly, smiling like they were old friends. “I was hoping I’d catch you before I left.”

He blinked, managing a nod. “Y-Yeah. Still here.”

She tilted her head. “I was wondering if… it would be okay if I got your number?”

Bob stared.

Not because he didn’t hear her—but because every nerve in his body just lit up.

“My number?” he repeated, voice slightly cracked.

She nodded with a soft laugh. “You don’t have to say yes. I just— I’d like to talk again. If that’s okay.”

“Y-Yeah,” he said quickly, fumbling for his phone. “I mean—yes. Please. Of course.”

She handed him hers without hesitation.

He typed it in carefully, checking it twice. Then handed it back.

Y/N looked at the screen. “Bob Floyd,” she read aloud, smiling softly. “I’ll text you.”

He tried not to look as stunned as he felt. “Okay.”

She lingered for half a beat longer, then gave him the gentlest touch on the arm.

“Thank you,” she said quietly. “For everything today.”

And just like that—she was gone.

⸻

Two weeks passed.

No text.

No call.

No new post with his name anywhere.

At first, Bob kept checking. A dozen times a day. Every buzz in his pocket made his chest jump. But as days turned to a week—and then another—he stopped.

He just… stopped hoping.

She’s a billionaire, he reminded himself. She travels constantly. She probably forgot. Or changed her mind. Or—

Or it was just a sweet moment to her. Not… not something real.

He never said anything out loud. Just kept his head down, flew his drills, smiled politely when Hangman joked about his “Hollywood girlfriend.”

But inside?

He felt like he’d dreamed the whole thing up.

⸻

Until one night.

Bob was lying on his couch, glasses slipping down his nose, a rerun humming softly on the TV, when his phone lit up.

Unknown Number:

Hi Bob. It’s Y/N. I’m so, so sorry it took me this long to text you. Please don’t think I forgot. I’ve been to five countries in two weeks—Australia, Japan, Glasgow, New York, and now finally San Diego again.

I’ve been thinking about you this whole time.

Can I take you to dinner?

He read it twice.

Three times.

Then let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding.

His fingers hovered above the screen.

Then, finally—

Bob:

You had me worried.

A minute passed.

Then:

Y/N:

I know. I’m sorry.

Let me make it up to you?

And just like that…

Hope came roaring back.

———

Bob had never gotten dressed so slowly and so nervously in his life.

He changed shirts three times.

Debated cologne.

Put on a jacket, took it off. Put it on again.

He even cleaned his glasses twice, just in case. Because Y/N L/N—the most famous woman on the planet—texted him and said, Can I take you to dinner? Like it was the most normal thing in the world.

It wasn’t.

And it definitely wasn’t normal when she sent the location with a simple:

“Come hungry :)”

When he pulled up, Bob did a double take.

It was Joe’s Diner. A little 24-hour joint he knew well. Kind of rundown, all-day breakfast, the kind of place you could get pancakes and a cheeseburger at the same time. Local favorite.

But tonight?

The neon sign was glowing—and every booth was empty.

Except one.

Right in the corner.

With her.

She was already seated, sipping a milkshake with a red-and-white straw, grinning when she saw him through the glass.

Bob walked in slowly, trying not to trip over his own feet. “Hey…”

“Hi!” she said brightly, standing to greet him. She looked insane. Like she just stepped off a magazine cover—jeans, heels, a tight black top and diamonds like they were casual. Hair loose. Smile soft.

And still—somehow—completely down to earth.

“I hope this isn’t too much,” she said, biting her lip. “I tried to pick somewhere low-key. But when I got here it was packed and I got nervous and I kind of… rented the whole place out.”

“You what?”

She cringed playfully. “It was just a little panic move. I didn’t want people filming or asking for pictures while we were catching up, and I—I tipped!” she added quickly. “A lot! And I gave everyone working tonight $500 each. Just as a thank-you for letting me be a drama queen.”

Bob blinked.

“You rented out a diner… to get pancakes with me?”

She smiled. “Yeah. I missed you.”

He swallowed. “That’s… really nice.”

“You’re really nice.”

She sat back down, gesturing for him to slide in across from her. “I hope you like breakfast for dinner.”

“I do,” he said as he sat, heart pounding in his ears.

“Good,” she grinned. “I already ordered. I got waffles, pancakes, eggs, bacon, hashbrowns… and a milkshake.”

He blinked. “All that for you?”

“No,” she laughed, nudging his foot under the table. “For us.”

⸻

The food came fast—heaping plates of breakfast heaven—and Bob couldn’t believe how easy it was to talk to her. Like nothing had changed. Like the weeks apart hadn’t happened. Like he wasn’t sitting across from the most beautiful, famous woman in the world while she poured syrup like a child and kicked her heel against his under the table.

She asked about his flights. His callsign. His favorite movie. If he liked dogs or cats. If he’d ever been to France.

And when he turned the questions on her, she answered just as openly.

Her eyes sparkled when she laughed. And Bob couldn’t stop smiling. Not once.

By the time they were finishing their second milkshake—sharing it this time—Bob didn’t want the night to end.

Neither did she.

Outside the diner, the night air was cool and quiet—except for the low murmur of four very serious-looking bodyguards stationed at every possible entrance and exit.

They stood at full attention, one by the curb, two by the diner’s double doors, and one tailing discreetly behind as she walked with Bob to his car.

Bob had never felt so… important. Or awkward. Mostly awkward.

He shoved his hands in his pockets, trying not to look like he was floating on air.

“I had a really, really great time tonight,” she said softly, slowing her steps as they reached his car.

Bob nodded quickly. “Me too. I… yeah. It was amazing. The waffles, and the shake, and you—uh, not that you’re—no, I mean—you’re amazing, I just meant the diner—the night was amazing, with you, and—”

Y/N giggled, cutting off his ramble with a gentle touch to his forearm. “Bob,” she said, and he shut up immediately. “Can I…?”

Before he could ask what she meant, she leaned up and pressed the softest kiss to his cheek.

Bob went rigid.

She pulled back just a few inches and blinked at him, shy for the first time tonight. “Was that okay?” she asked, suddenly unsure. “I—I don’t want to make you uncomfortable. That might’ve been—”

“That was more than fine,” Bob blurted out.

Her smile bloomed slow and warm. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

She paused. Tilted her head.

“…What if I actually kissed you?”

Bob blinked. Then swallowed. “Like… kiss kissed?”

She nodded.

“Oh my God please.”

She laughed—full and sweet—and before he could process it, she leaned in again, this time meeting his lips with hers.

It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t too much. It was… perfect. A little hesitant at first, then deeper when Bob finally remembered how to move. His hands hovered at her waist, not quite touching, until she pulled him just a little closer by the lapel of his jacket.

One of the bodyguards cleared his throat.

They pulled back, breathless.

She looked up at him through her lashes, smile dizzy and sure. “Now that’smore than fine.”

Bob was red. Like full-blown scarlet. But he was smiling, too.

“Should I… text you again?” she asked.

Bob nodded quickly. “Please.”

“I’ll try not to wait another two weeks.”

“I’ll survive,” he promised, and meant it a little too much.

She kissed him once more on the cheek for good measure before her security detail politely reminded her it was time to go.

But Bob stood by his car, lips tingling, heart thrumming, eyes locked on her retreating figure like he’d just watched a miracle walk into the night.

Because maybe he had.

———

Bob walked into the hangar the next morning like he’d just discovered heaven. Or touched it. Or made out with it behind a classic 1950s diner while four bodyguards pretended not to look.

He had that kind of dazed, floaty, not quite all the way here look about him. Hair tousled. Coffee half-sipped. Smiling to himself like an idiot.

And the squad? Oh, they noticed.

Phoenix clocked it the second he walked in. “No. No way.”

Payback leaned over. “Bro. What is that face?”

Bob blinked, snapped halfway back to earth. “What? What face?”

“You’re grinning,” Fanboy said, pointing. “You never grin. You… barely smile. You smirk at best.”

Rooster walked by with a protein bar and raised a brow. “Did you get laid?”

“Bradley!” Phoenix hissed.

Bob choked on air. “No! I—God, no! I mean—not no, I just—wow, what?!”

Phoenix crossed her arms and smirked. “Okay, so not laid. But something happened.”

Bob’s ears were already going pink. “It’s not a big deal.”

“Oh, it’s a huge deal,” Payback grinned. “You haven’t even taken your backpack off. You’ve just been standing there smiling at the floor like a golden retriever in love.”

Fanboy leaned in. “Tell us.”

Bob hesitated. Bit the inside of his cheek. Then—

“She kissed me.”

“OH—”

It was like a bomb went off.

“NO. NO WAY.” Rooster shouted.

Phoenix straight-up slapped his arm. “You’re lying!”

Bob held up his hands. “Swear to God. At the diner.”

“She kissed you?” Payback repeated.

Bob’s smile got a little dreamy again. “Yeah.”

Fanboy let out a slow whistle. “On the cheek or…?”

Bob didn’t answer.

“Oh my god,” Phoenix whispered. “You got kissed kissed.”

He nodded.

“You got kissed,” Rooster said, pointing dramatically. “You got full-on superstar, movie-premiere, Hollywood-kiss kissed.”

Phoenix looked ready to explode. “Okay, so when’s the wedding?”

Fanboy gasped. “Did she post again?!”

Everyone immediately whipped their phones out, and sure enough—

@ynln

📍San Diego

🎬 had to see my pilot again before flying out to shoot the next movie 🤭💋

[photo of her in the cockpit next to Bob, hand on his shoulder, both of them beaming — and Bob? Blushing like hell]

And then the caption below the pic:

@ynln:

also, someone tell lieutenant floyd that i’m gonna marry him if he keeps being this cute

Rooster screamed. Phoenix looked like she was going to pass out. Fanboy started pacing in a circle with his hands on his head. Even Payback was speechless.

Bob stood there, stunned silent, staring at the screen.

Phoenix grabbed his arm. “She posted that? About you?!”

Bob nodded faintly, barely breathing.

Fanboy turned to him, deadly serious. “Do you know what this means?”

Bob blinked. “That… she likes me?”

“That you’re America’s Boyfriend now,” Fanboy said. “And also maybe her future husband.”

Payback grinned. “How’s it feel to be the luckiest man alive?”

Bob, still dazed, just whispered: “Unreal.”

———

Bob was pretty sure he was dreaming when the email showed up in his inbox.

Subject: 🎬 You’re Cordially Invited

From: Y/N’s personal assistant

Ms. Y/N L/N formally invites Lieutenant Robert Floyd and members of the Top Gun program to attend the official U.S. premiere of her upcoming film “Starlight Syndrome” in Los Angeles, California. Transportation will be arranged. Tuxedos required. Press will be present. Photos encouraged. Please RSVP within 48 hours.

Phoenix screamed when she found out. Literally screamed. Rooster nearly choked on his gum. Hangman tried to act unfazed, but even he ended up checking the mirror twice after hearing what the dress code was.

But Bob?

Bob just stared at the invite like it was written in gold. Like it might disappear if he blinked.

It had been two weeks since their diner night. Two weeks of silence. Two weeks of maybe she forgot or maybe it didn’t mean as much to her. He’d told himself not to get his hopes up. He tried not to check his phone. Tried not to look at the diner pic she left in his messages. Tried not to imagine her red carpet photos with someone else.

And then—this.

“You okay, Bob?” Fanboy asked, glancing at him.

Bob looked up slowly, blinking back into reality. “…She remembered.”

⸻

Cut to:

Red Carpet Night

She’s in some GOWN that looks like it cost six months of rent. Diamond earrings. Hair curled like old Hollywood. Makeup perfect, but not tooperfect—still the soft-eyed, sweet-talking girl who once whispered, “sorry, was that fine?” before kissing him behind a diner.

Bob steps out of the black SUV in a fitted tuxedo he nearly passed out putting on. Everyone looks great, but the second the press cameras see him—

“Lieutenant Floyd!”

“Bob Floyd, over here!”

“Are you the pilot she mentioned in her caption last week?!”

“Are you dating Y/N?!”

Bob freezes. Phoenix leans in. “Don’t lock up, just smile and wave like a politician.”

And then—she’s there.

Coming down the carpet in heels that cost more than his car, glowing,smiling, her eyes scanning through the crowd until they land right on him.

She walks right up to him and grins. “Hey, Lieutenant Floyd.”

Bob clears his throat. “Hey, Ms. L/N.”

She laughs softly, slipping her arm through his like it’s the easiest thing in the world. “So glad you made it.”

“You invited me,” he says dumbly.

“And you came,” she says, then pauses. “Sorry I didn’t text sooner. Press tour had me all over the globe. again. I didn’t forget you. Not for a second.”

Bob blinks. “You didn’t?”

She leans in, brushing her lips against his cheek again, soft and familiar. “Of course not. I’ve been thinking about you the whole time.”

And the flashbulbs? They explode.

——

As soon as she spots the squad getting out of the black SUV, she beams.Instantly waves them over, not caring that half of Hollywood is watching.

“There they are!” she says to the press with a laugh, her earrings glittering as she turns. “These are my guys!”

She doesn’t wait for them to approach—she walks toward them in her heels like she’s floating. Her team freaks out behind her. “Wait, Y/N! Stay in your mark!”

But she just waves them off. She’s on a mission.

“Rooster, Fanboy, Phoenix, Coyote, Payback, Hangman…” she’s pointing at each of them, remembering all their names. “Come take pictures with me—please. I need at least a hundred.”

They’re all caught off guard, not used to being the ones asked for photos, but they rush in, adjusting ties, smoothing hair, suddenly aware this moment will be everywhere.

They take group shots, laughing, hyping each other up. She makes them laugh for the wide angles, does one where they’re all pointing at the camera like a boy band. And then:

“Okay. Solo shots. Come on.”

She poses with each one—smiling with Phoenix, pulling Hangman into a fake headlock, matching sunglasses with Rooster—but when it’s Bob’s turn?

She turns fully toward him, voice dropping just slightly. “Hi again.”

He’s already red. “Hi.”

She wraps her arms around him, warm and confident. “This okay?”

He nods quickly. “Y-Yeah.”

“Good,” she whispers, and leans her head on his shoulder for the photo.

The cameras go insane.

Click. Flash. She’s giggling in another. Click. Flash. She’s turned toward him, both hands holding his now. Click. Flash. One more, and she hugs him again, resting her cheek briefly against his chest.

“You’re gonna break the internet,” Phoenix mutters behind them.

Bob’s eyes are wide. “Me?”

“Yes, you,” Hangman says, actually impressed. “You look like the lead in a romance movie.”

⸻

And when the photos hit Instagram that night?

Her official account posts a carousel.

📸🎞️ Premiere night magic

🎬: #StarlightSyndrome

💫: Thank you to the real-life heroes who showed up tonight—your support means the world to me.

(Also yes, Bob gives the best hugs.)

swipe ➡️

First photo: her and the whole squad, all grinning.

Second: her arm-in-arm with Bob, her cheek against his shoulder.

Third: them mid-laugh, eyes only on each other.

Fourth: just Bob, caught off guard in a tux, smiling small but real.

———

The venue is glowing—low golden lights, deep velvet couches, a live band in the corner playing sultry jazz that occasionally slides into pop covers. The crowd is dressed to the nines, champagne everywhere. But she’s not interested in Hollywood small talk. Not tonight.

Because when she walks in and sees them—the squad huddled around a table near the back, already laughing with drinks in hand—her smile lights up the whole room.

“There’s my table,” she says to her assistant, ignoring every producer who tries to pull her away. “Don’t let anyone drag me off. I’m going there.”

And she does.

She walks right over, hugs Phoenix from behind, taps Rooster’s glass with her own. Bob stands when she gets there—of course he does—and she gives him a grin before leaning in and kissing his cheek.

“Hi, Bob.”

He’s already red. “Hi. You—you look stunning.”

“So do you.” She sits right next to him. Doesn’t even hesitate.

⸻

She makes the rounds from there—laughing with Coyote over bad pick-up lines, cheers-ing Payback when he dares her to take a shot. She dances with everybody.

At one point, she pulls Fanboy into a spin. At another, she drags Phoenix out for a full choreographed moment when the band switches to Beyoncé. She even twirls Rooster like he’s the belle of the ball and he goes with it.

“Where’d you learn to dance like this?” Hangman asks.

“On set. You think I’m gonna waste those choreography lessons?” she quips, grabbing his hand and flipping it to lead him into a swing move before pointing dramatically to Bob.

“Okay—my turn. Come on, Bob.”

He freezes. “What?”

“Dance with me.”

“I—uh, I don’t really dance—”

“Lucky for you, I do,” she teases, grabbing his hand. “Let me lead?”

He can’t say no. So he lets her pull him in. It’s awkward at first—Bob trying not to step on her toes, her laughing gently when he almost trips—but she never lets go.

“You’re doing great.”

“You’re lying,” he mutters.

She laughs and leans closer, her forehead brushing his. “I don’t lie to you.”

⸻

Eventually they all collapse back at the table, flushed from dancing, laughing too loud, sipping drinks with messy garnishes and half-melted ice.

She looks around at all of them—grinning, bickering, teasing each other—and then looks at Bob beside her.

“This is my favorite table in the room.”

His chest tightens a little. “Yeah?”

She nods, resting her head briefly on his shoulder. “And you’re my favorite part of it.”

He doesn’t say anything. He’s not sure he could, not with his throat tightening and his heart thudding like that. But he doesn’t need to.

Because she’s still holding his hand under the table.

———

The after party was in full swing—music pulsing, people dancing, drinks flowing—but Bob had somehow ended up on the balcony. He wasn’t avoiding anyone. He just… needed air. Or maybe he needed to think. About the night. About her.

And speak of the devil—there she was.

She stepped out, her gown glimmering under the soft patio lights, her heels clicking gently on the tiles. She was holding two champagne flutes and passed one to him like it was the most casual thing in the world.

“You disappeared,” she said, smiling like she already knew where he’d gone.

Bob cleared his throat. “Just wanted some quiet.”

“Good. I needed a break too.” She leaned on the railing beside him, shoulder just brushing his. “This was nice. All of this.”

He smiled. “It really was.”

Then she turned slightly toward him, something playful in her voice.

“Do you think your friends like me?”

Bob blinked. “Like you? Are you kidding? They’re obsessed with you.”

She laughed, tipping her head back slightly. “What about you?”

And that was when it happened.

He looked right at her, soft-eyed, serious as ever, and—

“I was obsessed before I even met you.”

There was a beat of silence. A pause. Then his entire face turned red.

“Wait—I didn’t mean— I mean, I did, but not like—I just meant—”

She was smiling, watching him unravel, clearly trying not to laugh.

“I mean, I’ve always admired you. A lot. Not just how you look—God, not just that—I mean you’re obviously—you know—but you’re really… you’re so kind. And smart. And I just—okay. Yeah. I’m gonna stop talking now.”

She took a small step closer.

“Bob?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m really glad you said it.”

He blinked. “Wait—what?”

“I’ve been obsessed with you since you stuttered out your name that first day.”

And then she clinked her glass gently against his.

“To quiet balconies and flustered pilots.”

Bob leaned against the balcony railing of her rented house in San Diego, one hand wrapped around a sweating glass of water, the other loosely tucked into his pocket. She stood beside him, the hem of her dress fluttering in the warm breeze, her elbow barely brushing his. They’d been talking about nothing and everything for the past hour. He had never felt more at ease.

Then his phone buzzed in his back pocket.

He glanced at the screen. Mom.

“Give me one sec,” he murmured, stepping away a little, pressing the phone to his ear. “Hey, Mom—”

Her eyes were on him immediately. She didn’t even try to hide it. She could see the way his body stiffened before she could hear anything, see the way his free hand shot to his mouth, pressing against it hard like he could physically hold the sound inside.

His knees nearly buckled. He leaned hard against the balcony wall, his face dropping out of sight.

“Bob?” she asked softly, already moving.

He didn’t answer. The phone slipped from his hand and hit the wood with a dull thud.

She was there instantly, no hesitation, both hands coming to his shoulders. “Bob—hey. Hey, it’s okay, sweetheart, look at me.” Her voice was gentle but firm. “What happened?”

He turned to her, eyes already glassy, and in a choked whisper, he finally got it out.

“It’s my grandpa.”

A beat.

“He’s gone.”

The silence that followed was still—but not empty. She pulled him into her arms without a second thought, his face buried into the curve of her neck as his shoulders began to shake. Not a full sob at first—just breathless, body-wracking grief that broke through the careful calm he always carried.

“I’m here,” she whispered, over and over, her hands running up and down his back, her heart splintering for him. “I’m right here. I’ve got you. Shhh… I’m not leaving. I’ve got you.”

Minutes passed like that. She didn’t rush him. Didn’t speak unless he needed it. Just held him, solid and unwavering, while the sky dimmed behind them.

When his breathing finally slowed, he still hadn’t let go. His cheek was pressed against her shoulder, and his voice was barely audible.

“C-Can you come with me?”

She didn’t hesitate.

“Of course I will,” she said, tightening her arms around him. “Just tell me when we’re leaving.”

⸻

The next morning, her team was already mobilized before sunrise.

Flights were canceled. Meetings postponed. Her stylist sent condolences. Her assistant was on the phone coordinating with security.

They boarded her private jet just after noon—Bob sitting quietly by the window, hands clasped in his lap, while she curled into the seat next to him, fingers laced gently through his.

The six security guards kept a respectful distance. No press knew what was going on. She made sure of it.

The funeral was quiet and heartbreaking. Bob’s family welcomed her immediately, touched by her presence and her grace. She stayed two full weeks—meeting cousins, helping his mom with errands, holding his hand through every difficult moment. She was dressed simply, spoke softly, and never once made it about her.

She was just his—the girl who didn’t blink when he fell apart, who flew across the country to sit beside him at the hardest table he’d ever faced.

And every night, when the house fell quiet, she sat next to him on the porch swing with two mugs of tea. She never said too much.

Just enough.

———

It was late. Almost midnight. The crickets had taken over the soundtrack of the sleepy Texas town, and the porch swing creaked every so often with the rhythm of the night.

Bob had gone inside to help his mom with something in the kitchen, leaving her sitting alone with a cup of tea she’d made herself at this point. Familiar now. Natural.

The screen door opened behind her, and she turned to see a woman—older, warm-eyed, and sharp in that matriarchal way. Bob’s Aunt Carol.

“Mind if I sit?” she asked.

“Please,” Y/N said instantly, scooting to make room. “Of course.”

Carol sat down with a sigh, her hands folded over her lap. She looked at the actress—the actress—the same one Bob had had posters of on his bedroom wall since he was sixteen—and gave her a long, thoughtful once-over.

“You’re not what I expected,” she said gently.

Y/N smiled, not offended in the slightest. “I get that a lot.”

Carol nodded, still watching her. “You’re sweet. Not just in a polite kind of way. I can tell. You see people. You saw him.”

She swallowed, caught off guard. “I… I hope so.”

“He’s always been our quiet one,” Carol continued, glancing toward the house. “Shy. Gentle. Loves deeper than he lets on. Lost his dad young. Took it hard. Carried more than he ever should’ve.”

Y/N blinked back sudden emotion, nodding slowly.

“You holding him like that?” Carol said softly. “Out there when that call came? I saw it. I know what that meant.”

Y/N pressed her lips together, heart tight in her chest.

Carol leaned in slightly. “So I just have one question for you.”

“Okay,” Y/N said, barely above a whisper.

“Are you gonna break my nephew’s heart?”

The question didn’t sting. It settled heavy. Honest.

Y/N looked her dead in the eyes, shoulders square, voice unwavering. “No, ma’am. I’d rather someone break mine first.”

Carol sat back, studying her for one long moment.

Then she smiled. “Good. Then you’re welcome here. Anytime.”

Y/N let out a breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

From inside, Bob’s laugh echoed faintly through the walls. She turned toward the sound, like gravity had shifted just slightly in his direction.

Carol watched her for another beat and said, “You love him already, don’t you?”

She didn’t deny it.

Didn’t even look away.

“…Yeah,” Y/N murmured, lips curling just barely. “I think I do.”

———

The house had quieted, humming low with the sounds of settling: dishwasher running, floorboards groaning under the weight of memories. The kind of silence that only came after a long day filled with too many emotions.

Bob stopped just outside the guest room, like he always did. He never let her walk alone, not even down the hall in his childhood home.

She turned and faced him at the door, her hand still on the knob. Her expression was unreadable—soft, but serious.

“Can you come in for a second?” she asked.

His heart stuttered.

He hesitated for half a breath too long.

“…Yeah. Sure.”

He stepped inside, standing awkwardly near the dresser while she sat on the edge of the bed. She motioned for him to sit next to her, and when he did, the mattress dipped with the weight of what he thought was coming.

“You okay?” he asked quietly, trying to keep it neutral, but his voice betrayed him.

She folded her hands in her lap, took a breath. “There’s something I need to say. And I’m a little nervous, so please don’t interrupt, okay?”

Bob nodded immediately. Scared stiff.

She met his eyes. Really met them.

“I didn’t mean for any of this to happen,” she started. “I didn’t expect to come to a Navy base and meet someone like you. And I definitely didn’t expect that you’d be the one person I couldn’t get out of my head.”

His brows furrowed slightly, unsure. Guarded.

She went on.

“And when I asked for your number, I meant to text you the next day. But things snowballed. Press junkets, red-eyes, interviews… I didn’t even have time to breathe. And I thought about you every single day.”

Bob’s throat moved with a quiet swallow.

She scooted a little closer on the bed, her knee brushing his. “I know this isn’t normal. None of this is. I have six bodyguards and a schedule that’s insane, and you fly jets for a living and barely look at your phone.”

That made him smile, just a little.

“But I want to try,” she said. “I want you. I don’t care about the noise or the press or how different our lives look on paper. I care about the way you treat me. The way you look at me like I’m just a person. The way you make me feel safe without trying.”

He was frozen. Wide-eyed. She reached for his hand, gently easing it into hers.

“I don’t know how this will work,” she said, voice softer now. “But if you want to try, too… I’m in. No matter what.”

Bob blinked fast, then looked down at their joined hands like he couldn’t quite believe they were real. “I thought… I thought you were about to say this wasn’t gonna work,” he admitted.

She smiled. “I kind of figured you’d panic.”

“I was preparing myself for the worst,” he laughed nervously. “Like full breakup speech.”

She shook her head and leaned in, pressing her forehead gently to his. “No breakup. Just… beginning.”

He pulled back slightly so he could look at her, really look. And then, voice barely a whisper:

“I’ve wanted this since the moment you called me a cutie patootie in front of everyone.”

She laughed, breathless. “So… you’re in?”

Bob nodded, cheeks flushed, heart racing.