#two step

“What do you mean you challenged her to a two-step when you don’t know how to two-step?”

Bradley knew he’d made a mistake the second the words left his mouth last night. But it wasn’t until Jake Seresin was staring at him like he’d grown a second head that the full weight of his stupidity settled in.

He dragged a hand over his face, wishing he could sink into the chair and disappear. “She gave me her number and said “I should call her if I ever wanted to debate song choices again.”

“And your next brilliant move was to challenge her to a dance you’ve never done in your life.”

“I didn’t want to just… call her. She’s only here for a couple days. I wanted to make an impression.” Bradley bowed his head, heat crawling up his neck.

Jake barked out a laugh loud enough to echo. “Oh, you’ll make an impression, alright. When you fall flat on your ass.”

Bradley groaned exactly what he needed—public humiliation before the briefing even started. Phoenix slid into the seat across from them, raising a brow. “What are you teasing Rooster about this time, Hangman?”

“He challenged this girl to a two-step date. This man—” Jake slapped his knees, practically vibrating with joy. He pointed at Bradley like he was presenting evidence in court, “—doesn’t have an ounce of country twang in his body.”

“Can you not announce it to the whole hangar?”

Jake leaned back, boots crossed, grin wide. “Bradshaw, buddy… you don’t even clap on beat. You’re a danger to rhythm.”

“I can keep a beat.” Bradley shot him a glare.

“On a piano,” Jake said immediately. “With your hands. Not your feet. Feet require coordination. Swagger. Soul. You walk like a dad at Home Depot.”

Phoenix nearly spit out her coffee. “Oh my god.”

“I’m not that bad.”

Jake pointed triumphantly. “That’s the voice of a man about to embarrass himself in front of a very pretty girl from Nashville. They two-step in the womb, Rooster.”

“Okay, enough. Let him breathe.” Bradley exhaled—until she added, “But Hangman’s not wrong.”

Jake slapped the table. “Thank you!”

“But it’s fixable.”

“Fixable?”

“Yeah.” She jerked her chin at Jake. “He’s from Texas. He can teach you.”

“I did not volunteer for that.” Jake’s laughter died instantly.

“You’ve been running your mouth for ten minutes. Put your boots where your ego is.”

Bradley looked between them, mortified and desperate. “Jake…?”

“Rooster, if you step on my toes—” Jake groaned like he was being tortured.

“You’ll live,” Phoenix said.

Jake muttered, standing like he was preparing for combat. “Alright, Bradshaw. Up. Let’s see what we’re working with.”

“This is going to be amazing.” Phoenix leaned back, sipping her coffee like she’d bought front‑row tickets.

Bradley stood slowly, stomach twisting. “I can’t believe I’m doing this.”

Jake clapped him on the shoulder. “You want to impress Nashville girl? Then you’re gonna learn. And if you’re lucky, you’ll only humiliate yourself a little.”

Bradley swallowed hard. But beneath the embarrassment, something warm flickered—determination. He wanted this to go well. He wanted her to have a good time. So he let Jake drag him into the open space. And of course, Phoenix immediately pulled out her phone.

“Natasha,” Bradley warned. “Don’t you dare.”

She hit record. “Too late. For posterity.”

Jake cracked his knuckles like he was about to perform surgery. “Alright. First rule of two-stepping: don’t be weird.”

“I’m not weird.”

“You’re already being weird,” Jake said, circling him. “You’re standing like you’re about to give a safety briefing.”

Phoenix snorted. “He is a safety briefing.”

“Can we just start?”

Jake grabbed his shoulders and physically repositioned him. “Relax. Pretend you’re not a 75-year-old man who collects vinyl and reads weather reports for fun.”

“I do not read—”

“Shh.” Jake patted his cheek.

Phoenix whispered dramatically, “Day one: Hangman attempts to teach Rooster how to be a functioning human.”

Bradley glared. “I can hear you.”

“Good,” she said.

Jake clapped. “Step one: left foot forward.”

Bradley stepped and Jake stared at his foot. “That’s your right foot.”

“No it’s not.”

“Yes it is.”

Bradley switched feet, cheeks burning. “Fine. Left.”

Jake nodded. “Now right foot back.”

Bradley did it.

“Okay,” Jake said. “Now do it again. But in time.”

“In time with what?”

Jake stared at him. “The imaginary music in your soul.”

“Jake, I don’t have imaginary music in my soul.” Bradley rubbed his forehead with a hand.

“That,” Jake said dramatically, “is the problem.”

Phoenix whispered, “This is the best day of my life.”

“What are you—” Then Jake grabbed Bradley’s hands in his.

“Dance with me, Bradshaw.”

Phoenix nearly dropped her phone when Jake tugged him into position like they were at prom as Bradley’s voice cracked. “Jake—”

“Shut up and follow my lead.”

Phoenix whispered watching the two men move their feet almost in sync, “I’m sending this to the entire squad.”

“Okay, okay, you’re getting it. Just don’t look at your feet.” Bradley immediately looked at his feet. “Rooster. Eyes up. You’re dancing with a woman, not inspecting runway damage.”

Phoenix cackled. “He can’t help it. He’s built like a dad.”

“Nat—”

“Don’t stop,” she said. “I need at least three minutes of footage.”

Jake spun him and he stumbled badly. “Warn me!”

“Nope,” Jake said. “Real two-step is chaos.”

Phoenix whispered, “He’s gonna die on this date.”

“I just… want it to go well.”

Jake paused, sincerity slipping through. “It will. You’re trying. Girls love that.”

“Effort counts.” Phoenix lowered her phone slightly.

“Alright! From the top! And this time, try not to look like you’re being held hostage.”

Phoenix hit record again and Bradley groaned. “I hate both of you.”

Y/n’s point of view

Three knocks came from outside my hotel room door right at six o’clock, right on the time we had set for the date tonight. Staring at myself one more time trying to calm the nerves building in the pit of my stomach. Walking up to the door I turned the handle, opening it only to have my mouth fall open slightly at what I saw standing in front of me.

Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw was wearing a green Hawaiian shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, dark blue jeans paired with some dark boots he has for work and his aviator sunglasses lazily hanging from the middle of his black tea shirt. He stood in the hallway of my hotel room with a bashful expression on his face as he took in my appearance while I was obviously doing the same to him.

I had changed a total of four times before finally going back to my first outfit choice : a tan tea shirt tucked into some jeans, a red-brown-white flannel thrown over that paired well with my cowgirl boots that I got for my high school graduation before I left Indiana to go to Nashville. My hair was left in its naturally wavy manner.

He blinked a few times and shook his head pulling himself from the trance. “Wowza - you look - you look good.”

“Thanks.” Tucking some pieces of loose hair behind my ear I nodded, closing the door behind me. “You don’t look too bad yourself, Bradshaw.”

Exiting the hotel lobby he led me out and helped me climb into a Bronco after opening my door first like a gentleman which I appreciated. The drive was a nervous quiet for us until we parked outside a bar that was quite a ways away from my hotel yet that wasn’t what caught my eye about it. Bradley held my hand helping me out of the passenger seat with the familiar and comforting sounds of country music meeting my ears before we’d even stepped inside. “You found a country music bar all the way out here in North Island. How’d you manage that?”

“I had some help from my friends.” He responded, finding us a spot up close to what appeared to be a dance floor in front of a stage. “But that’s not the best part.”

He raised a finger pointing to a sign that read “Country two-stepping tonight.”

“You weren’t kidding about challenging me were you.” Whipping my head back around I gasped kicking my legs back and forth underneath the table ready to see what he had up his sleeve.

He shrugged his shoulders, dropping his gaze quickly like he was afraid to look me in the eye when he said his next words. “Well I did let you win in pool so I figured I needed to get one win under my belt.”

“Let’s see what you’ve got, Bradshaw.” Getting up from my barstool letting my boots hit the hardwood floor I was curious as to why he seemed nervous yet the still cocky pilot right now.

The bar smelled faintly of whiskey and fried food, the kind of place where neon signs buzzed above the counter and boots scuffed against the wooden floor in rhythm with the music. Couples were already two-stepping across the dance floor, skirts twirling, laughter spilling out as the band on stage struck up another country tune.

Bradley’s hand brushed mine, as he led me toward the dance floor. I could see the nerves in the way his jaw tightened, the way his eyes flicked toward me like he was checking to make sure I hadn’t bolted yet. “Alright. Hangman swears I’m ready for this.”

“Jake Seresin taught you how to two-step? Oh, this is going to be good.” I raised a brow, teasing.

Bradley chuckled, scratching the back of his neck. “Don’t laugh too hard. He made me practice in the hangar. Said if I stepped on your toes tonight, he’d revoke my man card.”

That earned a laugh from me as I let him place one hand at my waist, the other holding mine. His touch was careful, like he was afraid I’d slip away if he wasn’t gentle enough. The first few steps were clumsy—his boots dragging slightly, mine trying to keep us in rhythm. He spun me too quickly and before either of us could recover, we stumbled, collapsing in a heap right in the middle of the floor when his longer legs got tangled with my short ones making us both lose our balance.

The crowd chuckled around us, but Bradley only laughed, covering his face with one hand. “Hangman is going to roast me alive for this.”

“Correction,” I said, giggling in his direction, “I’m going to roast you alive for this.”

He helped me up immediately, brushing off my flannel like it had been through battle. “Okay, okay, round two. No more falling. Scout’s honor.”

As we found the rhythm again, Bradley’s confidence grew as did my own where I started asking questions during our little dance. “So, what made you want to be an aviator?” Looking up at him I kept one hand on his shoulder and my other was intertwined with his, finally keeping his other hand on my lower back.

His eyes softened, and for a moment the bar noise faded. “Honestly? I wanted to be like my dad, Goose was his Callsign. He died when I was really little, completely broke my mom but luckily she had me. Flying though, It’s in my blood. Carrying that forward felt right. Plus, nothing beats the view at 30,000 feet.”

“That’s… actually really sweet.” I smiled, squeezing his hand.

“Don’t tell Hangman I said anything sentimental. He’ll never let me live it down.” He smirked down at me then he shot me a look. “Alright, your turn. If you weren’t a singer, what was your plan B career?”

“Plan B? Teaching high school English. But then I realized teenagers are scarier than stage lights.”

Bradley barked out a laugh, nearly missing a step. “I can see it now—Miss Y/n confiscating phones while secretly writing songs in the teacher’s lounge.”

“Your turn, what’s your favorite color?”

He stared up at the ceiling for a minute before he decided to mess with me. “Purple.”

“Oh no, no. We’re done here.” Pulling away from him I attempted to remove myself from him. He chuckled watching me push my hands against his chest playfully shoving him away from me.

“Wait, you really don’t like purple.”

Nodding my head, yes I sternly looked at him. “Yep. You won't find anything purple in my closet and if that’s your favorite color then it’s a deal breaker.”

“Good thing I was joking cause it’s green.”

Wiping a hand over my forehead I sighed, slumping my shoulders in relief. “Phew, there may be hope for you yet Bradley.”

“Even if I can't do two-step right?”

Smiling up at him with a dorky grin playing on my lips I couldn’t remember the last time I laughed this much with a guy on a first date. “Especially then, you silly goose.”

“Alright Little Singer,” Bradley must have been starting to feel confident again when he caught me off guard by twirling me away from his chest and then back in with me going underneath his arm. Once my body coiled with his chest I gasped when he leaned his head down closer. “How did you learn to play guitar?”

“Self-taught,” I said proudly, moving forward so that our chests were up against each other’s. “I begged my mom for one when I was twelve, and when she finally caved, I locked myself in my room until I could play ‘Sweet Home Alabama.’ My fingers were blistered for weeks.”

Bradley grinned. “So basically, you tortured your family until you got good.”

“Exactly.”

The tempo picked up, and Bradley misstepped again, sending us tumbling sideways into another fit of laughter. Once we caught our breath, I nudged him with the tip of one of my boots. “Okay, your turn. Tell me a funny childhood memory.”

Bradley’s grin widened. “When I was eight, I tried to impress a girl by riding my bike with no hands. Ended up face-first in a bush. She laughed so hard she snorted, and I decided right then maybe comedy was my calling instead of romance.”

“So you’ve been crashing for love since you were eight?”

“Guess some things never change,” he said, giving me a wink as we spun again—this time without falling.

Around us, couples swayed and spun, boots thudding against the floorboards in perfect rhythm. The band’s fiddle sang, the steel guitar twanged, and the air buzzed with energy. Bradley’s hand never left mine, his touch grounding me even when he stumbled. Every time he caught my eye, his grin widened, and the nerves that had knotted my stomach earlier melted into something warm and steady.

By the time the music slowed, Bradley pulled me close, his forehead brushing mine, his voice low and rough from laughing. “Thanks for not laughing too hard at me,” he murmured.

“Oh, I laughed plenty,” I teased, “but only because you made it fun.”

Eventually we left the busy bar laughing like we had been together for months and not simply on our first date. Bradley moved forward to open my door for me but saw me halt in my tracks when an idea came to my head, thinking about doing something reckless in order to keep the date going just a little longer. “You know when I was growing up as a kid I went through a phase where I wanted to go fast. And since you’re an aviator you know a thing or two about that.”

“Going fast in what way?” Bradley raises a brow curiously.

Rolling back on the heels of my boots with my hands clasped together behind my back I shot him a wink. “I could show you if you're cool with me driving your Bronco.”

“Let’s see what you can do I guess. Just don’t scratch it.” He put one hand into the pocket of his pants, fidgeting for keys. He dropped them into my open hand getting into the passenger seat.

Bradley carefully watched me the whole time as I adjusted the seat and mirrors, patiently waiting for whatever was going to happen next. Shifting the gear into drive I turned my head to look him in the eye, smirking a giddy grin. “What’s something you aviators say before you take off?”

“Let’s turn and burn.” He asked me simply. “Why?”

“Let’s turn and burn then, Rooster.”

The Bronco’s tires burned rubber on the parking lot, squealing as she floored the gas and quickly turned the wheel doing two donuts before racing out the exit. “Holy shit!” Bradley’s back got harshly pushed into the back of his seat when Y/n gave the Bronco gas a heavy push where he swore it was fully down on the floorboard. He gripped the middle console and the door handle of the passenger door for deer life. He thought he was frozen in fear until he shifted his gaze over to Y/n and his whole demeanor became focused on her.

He was in awe of her at that moment. Her free spirit was something he’d never be able to ignore. He’d dated other girls but this one - his little singer was someone who could match his world just from the ground and not the air.