Faking It and Other Top Gun Stories - Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw

Faking It - Part III

You douse your face in one final misting of setting spray and, with your eyes closed, fan yourself with your hands.

"What are you doing?"

Your eyes fly open and, in the reflection of the bathroom mirror, you see Bradley standing in the open doorway with a curious expression on his face. "Setting my makeup," you say matter-of-factly, as if you're surprised that he's not familiar with the practice.

He nods slowly. "Are you almost done in here?" he asks. "I was going to take a shower."

"I'm done," you say, zipping up your makeup bag. You squeeze past him in the doorway, careful not to let any part of you brush up against any part of him.

Bradley lifts his eyebrows, watching you squirm, and then narrows his eyes. "Everything alright?" he asks, the corners of his mouth twitching as he tries to suppress a grin.

You glance up at him just as you clear his shoulder. "Why wouldn't it be?"

He surveys your face suspiciously. Though, after a moment, he seems to reconsider interrogating you, turning and disappearing into the bathroom. Before the door is fully shut, however, he opens it again, sticking his head out and asking, "Will I see you before you go?"

You meet his gaze as you lift your bag onto the bed. "Depends on how long you're planning on showering," you respond.

Bradley purses his lips, but you can still detect the slim smile playing on his face. "I won't be long," he says. "Will you wait?"

You blink at him. "I'll wait," you say, suddenly curious as to why he's insisting on seeing you again before you leave.

Once he's gone, you dig into your bag to pull out the sparkly, black dress you purchased for the occasion. You slip into the outfit, adjusting the twisted straps and pulling on the hem that had not appeared as short in the store's changing room as it does in front of the full-length mirror hanging on the paneled wall of the chalet. It will, without a doubt, be riding up your thighs all evening. Nonetheless, the dress looks stunning on you, and you turn to the side, admiring your figure in the reflection.

You're just touching up your hair when Bradley walks out of the bathroom, pulling a tank top over his head. When he sees you, he stops abruptly at the foot of the bed.

You look at him questioningly. "Am I in your way?" you ask, shifting closer to the wall.

"No, no," he says, still staring at you. "You can stand anywhere you like," he adds, waving his arm to indicate the entire space of the room.

"Thank you?" you say.

He lets out a resolute sigh and his expression darkens slightly. "Thanks for waiting," he says, walking over to his bag.

You follow him with your eyes, but he seems distracted and isn't looking at you anymore, so you bend down to slip on your heels. They are extremely high and extremely uncomfortable but, most importantly, they are extremely sexy. So, in summary, they rock. You straighten your back just as Bradley returns, his eyes sweeping over your face as he nears.

"You're getting there," he says, holding his hand over your head and measuring your new height against himself.

"Fuck off," you say, laughing and giving his shoulder a hard smack, which sends you stumbling backward.

Bradley's reaction is instantaneous; he steps forward, his arm sliding behind your waist before you fall to the floor. "Well, that was an overreaction," he says, a lopsided grin on his face.

He helps you regain your footing but, with his hand still on your back, you are unquestionably at risk of losing it again. "Shut up, Bradshaw," you say, ignoring the literal sparks set off by the friction of his fingers as they trail down to your hip. "You want me to hit you again?"