Hotter Than Texas | Part IV
Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x F!Reader
A/N: My friends, I'm finally posting an update. Y'all are extremely patient XD Hope you like it!
Summary: Bradley Bradshaw is tasked with transporting a not-so-delicate package in the form of Jake Seresin's baby sister, who turns out to be Bradley's dream girl worst nightmare.
Aka it's a road trip, strap in.
CW: swearing, age gap (10 years)
WC: 2200+
Part I | Masterlist
It takes Bradley a good long minute of staring before he can formulate a thought worth sharing, and the worthy part is highly debatable. “I don’t think that’s a very good idea,” he finally says.
You furrow your eyebrows at him in offence. “Excuse me?”
Bradley squeezes his eyes shut and rubs his face as though, with this action, he could effectively erase the last five minutes of the evening. If only he hadn’t asked. What had possessed him to ask? He slides his hands slowly down his face just as the server delivers a plate of tortilla chips and cheese dip to your table. The truth is, he just can’t picture you in a uniform, conforming. You are one of a kind – the antithesis of the military mold. “Why?” he asks, instead of voicing any particular opinion – of which he has many.
You shrug. “Because I can.”
Bradley grimaces. “You’ve got to have a better reason than that.”
“Why? Because you did?”
Bradley watches you wearily. “Because it’s not easy. Because it’s the fucking pits, actually.” He sighs heavily. “Because it’s all consuming –”
“You told me to follow my gut.”
Bradley takes a beat, flabbergasted. “Obviously, that was before I knew which direction your gut was pointing.”
You purse your lips and glance down at the untouched queso on the table. “I want to fly,” you say quietly.
Bradley stares at you. “Take a vacation,” he says. “Get a window seat.”
You fix him with a cold look. “You ass.”
“Come on,” he responds with a small smile. “You’re not going to tank half a decade of your life just to sit in a cockpit.”
You stare through his eyes right into his soul. “You don’t think I can do it, do you?”
Bradley groans uncomfortably. “That’s not it at all. On the contrary, I think you can do pretty much anything you want. I just don’t think you’d be happy doing this.”
“You can’t possibly know what would make me happy. You don’t even know me.”
Bradley nods despite being hurt by the comment. He’s only known you for a couple of days, sure, but somehow, it feels like a lifetime. “You’re right,” he says, suddenly losing his appetite. “I barely know you. You probably shouldn’t have even told me.”
You roll your eyes and gather about a pound of queso onto your chip. “Are you seriously going to sulk all through dinner?”
“I’m not sulking,” Bradley replies, irritated that you’ve noticed.
“I told you because you asked,” you say. “But nobody else knows. And I’d like to keep it that way until everything is finalized. I don’t want to be swayed.”
Bradley raises his eyebrows. “You want me to keep this from your brother?”
“Mmhmm,” you mumble around the chip in your mouth.
“Are you crazy?” Bradley hisses. His relationship with your brother is strained enough as it is. And crushing on his baby sister is bad enough without also lying to Jake on top of it all.
“Pretend you don’t know,” you suggest.
It’s Bradley’s turn to stare you down. “I can’t do that.”
“Why not?”
“Because,” he sighs wearily, “I want you to be swayed. You can’t just join the Navy on a whim –”
“This isn’t a whim –”
“Do you realize the implications here? You are signing your life away. That’s it. It’s not yours anymore. You want that?”
“There’s more to it than that.”
“Sure, but that’s the main part. You don’t get to decide anything anymore. Where you live, how you live, if you live. They decide for you.”
You shrug. “I can live with that.”
Bradley shakes his head. “Do you want that?”
You give him a meaningful look. “Do you regret your decision?”
Bradley releases a steady sigh. You got him there. “No,” he responds grudgingly.
“So, obviously, there’s more to it than just completely renouncing your freedom.”
There is, and he wouldn’t give it up for anything. But still, something tells him that it’s not for you. “You’ve made up your mind?”
You swirl another chip in the cheese, deliberating. “I think so.”
Bradley watches you soak your tortilla until it’s soggy, wondering how any of this is real. “Okay, I won’t say anything.”
…
The next few hours of the drive are mostly silent. Bradley concentrates on the route rather than his unfortunate exchange with you while you spend the time looking out the window. Not that there is much to see on the interstate, but that doesn’t seem to deter you.
He feels bad. He was kind of hard on you – and perhaps a tad overbearing considering he isn’t a close friend who might have any influence over your decisions. You didn’t tell him because you wanted his input. You told him because Bradley’s a nosy prick who wouldn’t let it go until you did. And now you’re mad at him and you have every right to be.
Truthfully, he considers that this may be the best-case scenario. The two of you were becoming far too friendly and Hangman would certainly have noticed. This way, he can drop off his passenger in ten hours’ time without a second thought and be on his way. No drawn-out goodbyes, no clumsy embraces, no guilt-ridden conversations with brother dearest. Yes, this is how it should have been from the start. Awkward silence, buzzing radio, peace and quiet.
Bradley eyes you inconspicuously as he checks his rearview mirror. Your expression is completely stoic as you stare straight ahead, ignoring Bradley’s presence completely.
Bradley looks over at you more obviously; he can’t help it. But you turn your head to look out your own window.
Bradley sighs. “Now who’s sulking?” he says.
You glance at him bitterly but say nothing at all.
“Look, I’m sorry, alright?” he says, sounding more impatient than apologetic. “You just took me by surprise.” Everything about this trip has taken him by surprise, if he’s being honest.
You fold your arms over your chest mutely.
“Don’t be mad,” Bradley says.
You look over at him sharply. “Trust me, darlin’, this ain’t mad.”
Bradley smiles at you despite himself. “Well, that’s worrisome.”
You roll your eyes but the corners of your mouth lift microscopically. “I’m just … irked.”
Bradley pulls his lips in to keep from grinning as this might irk you further. “I’m sorry for irking you.”
You draw in a deep breath, as though you’re trying to gather the strength to continue coexisting with an imbecile like Bradley. But then you release it and say, “I know that it was unexpected,” you say calmly. “And I know that you’re concerned.”
Bradley nods solemnly at the road ahead of him rather than at you.
“Which I appreciate, I suppose,” you continue, shrugging.
Bradley furrows his brows apprehensively. “I just want you to think it through,” he reasons. “And part of thinking it through is discussing it with someone who’s been in your shoes.”
“Maybe,” you respond. “I guess I’m just worried someone will talk me out of it.”
Bradley nods again. Somebody talking you out of it is exactly what he had in mind.
“Anyway,” you say, reaching over and placing your hand on Bradley’s thigh. “Friends?”
Bradley, whose leg is tingling so intensely under your palm that it nearly spasms, looks over at you feebly. “Friends,” he manages to say, although it comes out as a half-whispered croak.
…
“Should we call roadside assistance or something?” you say, skeptically eyeing the wrench in Bradley’s hand.
Bradley gives you an amused look and crouches down before the flat. “You think I’ve never changed a tire?” he calls back over the roar of traffic trying to beat rush hour on the I-10 as he starts to loosen the lug nuts.
“I think you might stain your shirt,” you respond, still sounding hesitant.
“I’ll be careful,” he says, positioning the jack under the Bronco. “Stay back from the road, will ya?” he adds when you walk around the car to observe the flow of traffic.
“I’m looking for a tow truck,” you say absently, craning your neck.
“We don’t need a tow truck,” Bradley replies emphatically. He rises from his squatted position and walks around the vehicle to where you’re standing. “Can you please step back?” he repeats patiently, placing a hand on your arm. “You’re making me nervous.”
You turn to face him, your back to the speeding cars on the freeway. He just missed the last exit when his tire blew, so he had to pull off onto the shoulder, which isn’t the safest place to stop.
“Maybe you should wait inside the car” – like he’d originally suggested – but Bradley doesn’t voice that part.
“I’d rather stretch my legs,” you say, twisting your hips to one side and then the other as though you’re loosening your joints.
Bradley watches you wryly. “Can you stretch them over here?” he asks, pulling you right up to the concrete barrier.
“How’s the tire coming along?” you ask, eyeing the raised back end of the Bronco.
“It’s coming,” Bradley retorts with a smirk. “It’ll come faster if you behave.” In all honesty, Bradley didn’t anticipate the amount of supervision you’d require. Not that he’s averse to keeping an eye on you. After all, you’re pretty easy on the eyes.
You raise your eyebrows at him. “Am I misbehaving?” you ask with a mischievous smile.
Bradley does a double take just as he’s about to go back to attend to the tire. He’s not surprised at the way you’ve interpreted his statement; he meant for it to be misconstrued. Although, now that you’ve responded in kind, he’s sort of speechless, especially since you were giving him the silent treatment not two hours ago.
You push off the barrier and approach him slowly, your eyes holding his gaze temptingly. You place a hand over his chest and Bradley experiences something he imagines is akin to being struck by lightning – but infinitely more enjoyable. You proceed to sweep your fingers over his pecs while Bradley proceeds to dissolve beneath your touch. “You got your shirt dirty,” you say matter-of-factly, as though you might as well be dusting a mantelpiece.
Bradley, very much shaken by this interaction which he’s clearly misread, gulps and takes a hold of your hand before you can continue to brush at him. “It’s an old shirt,” he responds, trying to keep his voice as calm and as steady as he can.
“What if it won’t come clean?” you ask sadly.
Bradley watches you for a moment, captivated and bewildered in equal measure. “I have other shirts,” he reassures you.
“I like this one,” you say, tugging slightly on the lapel.
“Alright, well, I can soak it overnight, I guess.”
“You guess?” you ask reproachfully.
Bradley stares at you in confusion. “Yeah, I guess – listen,” he pauses to emphasize his point. “It’s kind of a dangerous place to be discussing laundry.”
You glance up at him, your eyes searching his. “Are you gonna kiss me, Brad Bradshaw?”
Bradley blacks out for an entire three seconds, then says, “Here?” because he hasn’t even let himself rehearse this type of situation. And now, he’s evidently unprepared. He gulps again but his throat is so dry it feels like he’s been chewing on dust for the last half hour. “Do you want me to?” he stammers.
You shrug, as if you could take it or leave it. “If you want.”
Bradley, so immersed in the moment that he forgets entirely their precarious position on the shoulder of the interstate, blurts out, “I’ve wanted to since the moment you called me the dorkiest guy at the station.”
You giggle. “Is that all it takes?”
“Apparently.”
You take a step closer to him, your eyes drifting down to his chest where you tentatively place your hand right over his heart. “You were also the cutest,” you say, lifting your gaze to meet his again.
Bradley, who’s riding a fine line between delight and delirium, tries to hide his growing grin as he verifies, “You think?”
“With a great sense of style.”
Bradley snorts, picking up on your facetiousness. “Accessories sold separately,” he mutters as you tug on his open Hawaiian shirt. He takes a step toward you obediently.
You eye him mischievously, a staring contest for the ages. “Kinda had my heart set on the whole package.”
Bradley’s insides violently convulse, but he can’t fathom a more pleasant experience. He’d really like to tell you that it’s yours, whatever your heart desires. He’d really like to sink his hands into your hips and pull you in, press himself against you, watch as your lips part in anticipation. And he’d truly give just about anything for a taste of your mouth, of the skin on your neck, of…
He takes a step back, clearing his throat awkwardly. “I – uh – gotta finish this while there’s still light.”
You blink at him in surprise but quickly regain composure. “Sure, of course, sugar,” you respond nonchalantly. “I won’t get in your way.”
Bradley sighs mournfully. “You’re not getting in my way.”
You hold his gaze boldly. “Well, I was about to, wasn’t I?” you retort with a knowing smile.
Bradley briefly closes his eyes. “Yeah,” he admits, opening them back up to look at you. “Yeah, you were.”
You hold your hands up mildly, as if to indicate that you’re conceding. “Won’t happen again, Lieutenant.”
Bradley, who receives this statement with as much disappointment as would a toddler deprived of his Halloween candy, grimaces. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” he replies, knowing full well he's bound to break before the two of you ever reach Dallas.
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