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tongue-like-a-razor · 6 months ago

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Hotter Than Texas | Part III

Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x F!Reader

A/N: Thank you for all the lovely messages about this series! I'm so happy y'all are loving it and are excited to see it continued <3

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

“You got a girlfriend, Brad Bradshaw?”

Bradley looks over at you, sitting in his passenger seat in a green sundress, fiddling with a charm on your bracelet. “No,” he replies rather hoarsely, unsure how to interpret your question.

“Why not?” you continue, your tone light and carefree, as though you’re just asking about the weather.

“I dunno,” Bradley mutters uncomfortably, returning his attention to the road.

You look up at him abruptly and he throws you a brief glance; just long enough to see the concern on your face. “Think about it,” you suggest.

Bradley sighs, making a concentrated effort to check his blind spot before switching lanes – like driving could distract him from this conversation. Why doesn’t he have a girlfriend? He’s never really thought about it so, clearly, it hasn’t been at the top of his priority list. “The last girlfriend I had was in college. Didn’t last long, either,” he says, hoping this might appease your curiosity enough for you to change the subject.

“Hmm.”

He looks over at you again, wondering what you’re thinking. Wondering if you might consider this little detail a red flag. “I haven’t really met anyone I wanted to spend all my time with,” he says. Until now.

“Interesting,” you muse, leaning back into your seat as though you’re satisfied with this response.

“Is it?” Bradley asks, his gaze inadvertently coasting over your bare thighs every time he glances at you.

You shrug mildly, your fingers once again toying with your bracelet.

“Do you have a boyfriend?” Bradley asks, feeling temporarily bold.

“Mmm,” you deliberate, dropping your hands into your lap and slanting your head back against the headrest. “We’ll see.”

Bradley furrows his eyebrows, now watching you more than he’s watching the road. “What does that mean?”

“It means, we’ll see, sugar,” you respond absently. Then, suddenly, you spring up in your seat. “Apple orchard ahead!” you exclaim, pointing at the sign on the side of the interstate.

Bradley, more confused than ever, blinks between your outstretched arm, the billboard, and the road. “You want to pick apples?”

You give Bradley a look and say, “They’ll have pie!”

“Oh!” Bradley chuckles. “Say no more.” He makes a few lane changes so as not to miss the fast-approaching exit.

“We can have the pie for lunch,” you say, glancing at the clock on his dash.

“We can stop for lunch and then get pie,” Bradley proposes, hoping to once again enjoy the pleasure of your company at a restaurant.

You consider his offer and then counter with, “We can have some pie, then have lunch, and then have some more pie.”

Bradley laughs. “Sold.”

…

About an hour later, Bradley is sitting with you on a small dock overlooking a creek, the open pie box positioned in between the two of you.

“That’s a fresh pie,” you comment, sticking your fork into the flaky crust.

Bradley grins at the top of your head as you lean over the box to take a bite. For some reason, your obsession with pie supremely amuses him. “You’re fucking adorable,” he says before he can stop himself.

You freeze with the fork in your mouth and then slowly blink up at him, your eyes searching his for a moment before you sensually draw the fork out of your mouth and then lick it for good measure. Bradley nearly has a heart attack. You smirk at him playfully and then get to your feet. “You think?” you ask, as though you want to hear him say it again. You bend over slightly and lift your leg to remove a sandal.

Bradley watches you gracefully step out of your shoes while beads of sweat collect under the collar of his t-shirt. How could he have let that kind of thing slip?

“Fancy a dip, Rooster?” You eye him mischievously.

Bradley gulps as you bunch up your sundress, exposing more of your legs than he should ever get to see, and dip a toe into the water. The current bubbles around your foot.

“It’s cold!” you squeal, lifting your foot out of the water with a laugh.

Bradley chuckles, getting up as you hop in your excitement on the edge of the dock. “Careful,” he cautions, holding his arm out in case you fall. “Don’t slip.”

You plunge your whole foot into the water before promptly removing it with a splash and a yelp.

“Come on,” he says. “How cold can it be?”

You giggle, taking a hold of his arm as you once again lower your foot into the creek.

Bradley lets his hand close gently around your elbow, steadying you while your toe makes circles in the water.

“How deep do you think it is?”

And before Bradley has a chance to respond, you make your way to the bank and take several steps into the creek, squealing as you go. Bradley shakes his head with a laugh as you wade further in.

“What’re you waitin’ for, handsome?” you call to him when you’re about knee deep in the water.

Bradley, who’s pretty sure he’s going to be replaying that line in his head for the next week, strolls up the dock toward the bank. He slips off his shoes and stands on the slope for a moment, letting the water lap at his bare feet.

“It’s freezing, right?” you exclaim giddily.

Bradley shrugs as he finally enters the – admittedly frigid – water. “It’s nice,” he says. “Refreshing.”

You snort as he strides toward you and, when he’s close enough, you dip your hand into the water and splash him.

“Hey now,” he cautions. “Don’t start something you wouldn't want me to finish.” He’s deep enough now that the bottoms of his shorts are skimming the surface of the water.

You giggle and splash him again – harder this time.

Bradley shakes his head, lowering his hand into the water. “Just remember,” he says, “you asked for this.” And then he glides his hand along the surface, sending a cluster of water droplets in your direction.

You screech, covering your face and, not a moment later, start a boisterous aquatic attack, showering him with icy water and completely impairing his visual field. The skirt of your dress floats in the water like a lily pad as you retreat deeper into the creek.

Bradley, who’s now soaked from head to toe, peels off his t-shirt and tosses it onto the dock. Then, he follows you deeper. “You’ve been warned, princess,” he says, gathering a wave of water and sending it in your direction.

You scream as the giant splash drenches you entirely. You stand still for a moment, accepting your fate, and then you wrap your arms around your shoulders, shivering as you glance up at Bradley whilst water drips from the tip of your nose. “I’m all wet!” you shriek.

Bradley laughs, finally approaching you. “What did you expect?”

“That you’d let me win!”

Bradley eyes you with a smirk. “Let you win? Honey, you don’t know me at all.” Bradley can’t remember the last time in his life he’d used so many pet names, but, looking at you, they just keep rolling off his tongue.

You pout at him, your lashes dripping water every time you blink. “I’ll get you back when you least expect it,” you say.

Bradley chuckles. “Your lips are turning blue,” he says, noticing that your teeth are starting to chatter.

You let Bradley lead you out of the water and, once you’re back on the bank, you start to wring out the bottom of your sundress. The wet material sticks to your curves invitingly and Bradley begrudgingly looks away.

…

“Want me to drive for a while?” you ask, approaching the car.

Bradley looks over at you with an amused smirk as he pulls open the passenger door. “Nope,” he responds.

“You don’t trust me with your precious Bronco?” you ask playfully.

Bradley chuckles, shaking his head. “I just don’t mind driving.”

“Neither do I.” You shrug.

Bradley ponders for a moment before replying, “Next time.”

You raise your eyebrows at him. “Planning another road trip with me already?”

Bradley feels the unwelcome – but vexingly predictable – stutter of his heart as you continue to hold his gaze. He tightens his grip on the frame of the door he’s still holding open because he can’t very well sink his hands into you. Not only are you much younger than anyone Bradley’s ever dated, you’re also Hangman’s little sister, a reality so unfortunate that it almost feels contrived. Of all the girls in the world, why does he have to be so utterly infatuated with you? After a few seconds of – we’ll call it deliberate – silence, he grins. “If you’ll have me,” he says.

You smile. “Fun,” you say, drawing a little closer to the passenger door – a little closer to Bradley. “Where are we going?”

Bradley gulps uneasily. “Anywhere,” he says, his voice raspy and uneven.

You graze your teeth over your bottom lip and Bradley could swear that the heat of the afternoon sun is about to melt his very bones. “I’ve always wanted to take the scenic route to Alaska,” you muse, pursing your lips.

Bradley watches you unblinkingly. “Let’s go,” he says.

You let out a peal of laughter and slap him lightly on the chest. “Can you imagine?” you exclaim.

He can. “It’s a bit in the opposite direction,” he says somewhat ironically. “But anything’s better than the desert,” he concludes, slowly shifting his weight after standing very still for a very long time.

You smile at him sympathetically, as though you can tell he’s suffering greatly. “Rain check?” you ask softly.

Bradley, who is absolutely sure that there isn’t a single organ in his body left uncooked, comments facetiously, “Does it ever rain here?”

…

“Let’s stop for some coffee,” you say about half an hour after getting back on the road.

If Bradley didn’t know any better, he’d think you might be finding excuses to extend the trip. “With a pinch of salt?” Bradley teases you, but obediently merges onto the offramp.

“I’m thinking of switching majors,” you say quietly, as though you’re unsure whether you really want to share this information.

Bradley glances over at you as he pulls up to a red light. “Sounds like you might need something a little stronger than coffee.”

You snort loudly and then let out a dramatic sigh. “I’m thinking you might be right, darlin’.”

Bradley’s heart races as he pulls into the lot of the first bar he sees. Frequenting watering holes is absolutely on the list of things Bradley should not be doing with his colleague’s baby sister. But you seem like you need to get something off your chest. And Bradley can’t imagine a more ideal way to spend an evening.

The tavern is low-lit and crowded, and you shift slightly closer to his side upon entering. Bradley instinctively places a hand on your back, like it’s meant to be there or something. He guides you through the packed bar toward an empty table near the back and waves down a server before taking a seat across from you.

He slides you a cocktail menu and watches you peruse it without saying a word. When the server arrives, you order a paloma.

Bradley orders a whiskey neat and fixes you with a weighty look once the server departs. “You want to talk about it?” he asks.

You shrug. “We can.”

Bradley continues searching your face. “Do you want to?”

You sigh and look down into your lap. “Nobody knows yet,” you admit. “I’m halfway through my junior year so switching would really set me back.”

Bradley nods sympathetically. He knows all about being set back. “What are you thinking of switching to?”

“Psych,” you respond hesitantly.

Then the drinks arrive and you fall uncharacteristically silent. Bradley takes a sip of his whiskey while you down a quarter of your cocktail in one gulp. “You want my advice?” he asks. “Or are you just sharing?”

You meet his gaze distantly. “My parents are gonna flip shit,” you says monotonously, as if you haven’t even heard his question.

Bradley smirks at you. “It’s their job to overreact,” he says. “They just want to protect you.”

You absently run your finger around the rim of your glass. “My brother’s gonna question my judgement. Say I’m making a mistake.”

“Your brother has questionable judgement, himself,” Bradley points out.

You let out a small chuckle. “I wish I knew both outcomes before making a decision.”

Bradley could sure relate to that feeling. “Sometimes, you just have to go with your gut. It may not apply here, to be honest, but this guy I know – one of my superiors – he uh, he has this motto: ‘Don’t think, just do.’ I’m not saying yours has to be a split second decision. But, if it were, and you had to decide this minute, without weighing the consequences or talking it over with your family, what would you choose?”

You blink up at him soberly and state, “Naval Academy.”

Bradley’s eyes widen stupidly as he processes your words. “That” – he croaks, then clears his throat – “that’s not psychology.”

You suck in your cheeks and solemnly shake your head.

Tag List

I’ll be tagging the rest in the comments shortly!

@joaquinwhorres

@katiemcrae

@sehnsuchts-trunken

@toomuchfluffs

@wintercap89

@lonelywitchv2

@callsign-jupiter