"Didn't you drive here, Y/N?" your sister asks as you take your sixth – or eighth – shot; you might have lost count.

You shrug. "I'll take an Uber."

Your sister purses her lips. "Or we could call Steven. I bet he'd love to give you a ride home."

"I have a boyfriend," you respond curtly.

Your sister gives you a pointed look. "You only moved to North Island two months ago. How serious can it be? You and Steven are soulmates."

You cringe. "I really hope not."

"Fine." Your sister waves a hand. "Call the aviator."

"I don't need to call anyone. I'll take an Uber."

...

Several drinks and a questionable table dancing situation later, you've ventured into the heart of the crowd, losing yourself entirely to the beat of the music. A few songs in, you feel a hand brush over your shoulder and you jerk away, nearly losing your balance in the process.

Bradley's fingers close around your arm to keep you steady.

"Oh," you say. "It's you."

Bradley furrows his brows. "Who else would it be?" he asks.

You dismiss the question with a wave of your hand. "Never mind," you say. "What are you doing here?"

"Our parties are merging," he says. "I think we're all heading to the pub across the street. They serve late. Are you okay?" he asks as you sway on the spot.

"I'm fantastic," you respond, giving him a broad smile. You let yourself admire the colorful lights dancing across his face in the darkness of the club because you're far beyond caring whether he catches you staring. Yes, Bradley Bradshaw can be annoying as hell but there's no denying that he's good looking. "Let's go," you say, starting for the exit. "I could go for another drink."

You end up veering into a couple of guys who jeer at you in response. One of them tries to grab your ass. Bradley quickly takes a hold of your shoulders, aiming a livid glare at the men in question, and steers you away. "You sure you're alright?" he murmurs into your ear from behind, his hands still guiding you.

"Totally," you respond distantly, relaxing so much into his grasp that your legs start wobbling in your heels.

"I don't know if having more to drink is the best idea," he says when you get to the door.

You glance up at him sleepily, leaning into the wall near the exit as you wait for the others. It feels amazing to have Bradley looking out for you, but also nauseating because you know he's only doing it for show. "I'll be fine," you say dismissively.

Bradley's eyes search your face suspiciously, as though he can tell something is bothering you. He doesn't have a chance to ask, though, because at that moment, your sister shows up.

"Y/N!" she calls as she approaches you. "Drinks at the Rusty Raven, come on!" She stops before you and Bradley and looks him up and down. "Okay, aviator," she comments on his getup. "Not bad."

Bradley holds back a smile, adjusting the collar of his leather jacket. "Thank you," he says.

"Good on you not flipping out about Steven," she says.

You close your eyes, hanging your head.

"What about Steven?" he asks. You look up to find his expression has hardened.

"Did I speak too soon?" Your sister grimaces.

Bradley studies your face, then glances between you and your sister. "Somebody's going to have to elaborate."

"He came by earlier," your sister says nonchalantly.

"He did what?" Bradley asks, and you notice his fists clenching at his sides.

"Oh, don't worry," your sister pats Bradley on the arm. "She wanted nothing to do with him."

"He really is a piece of work, isn't he?" Bradley shakes his head. "Where is he?" He starts looking around.

"I don't think he's here," your sister says quickly, giving you a knowing look.

You nod at her, bringing a hand to your spinning head. "Listen, sis, I think we're just going to head back to the resort. I'm so tired all of a sudden, I really need to go to sleep." You do not want to chance a confrontation between Bradley and Steven tonight, considering how drunk Steven was during your last encounter.

Your sister smiles at you, wiggling her eyebrows. "Yeah, you're going to go home and sleep."

You nearly burst out laughing at her insinuation but catch yourself just in time. If only she knew the torment that awaits you back at the chalet.

...

Bradley steadies you as you stumble along the boardwalk that leads back to the row of beach houses on the water. Your heels keep catching on the planks and your legs keep tangling as if they're new to walking. You decide to remove your heels and, leaning your weight into Bradley, you lift one of your legs to unclasp your shoe. The moment your foot leaves the ground, however, you start to tip over.

You let out a yelp as Bradley grabs you before you could fall. "I've got you," he says. "Here, let me." He crouches down and you lean your weight into his shoulder as he starts pulling on the straps of your heels. You feel yourself wobbling so you put your hands on his head, your fingers instinctively running through his soft, wavy hair.

Once he's unstrapped your heels, you step out of them and he picks them up. He rises slowly and your hands trail down to his shoulders and then to his chest as you are still relying on him for support. "Thanks," you say, giving him a smile.

"Anytime," he responds.

You chuckle. "I'll just holler whenever I need my shoes removed."

Bradley laughs. "You do that."

You bite your lip, thankful that the darkness of the evening hides the subtle blush creeping up your cheeks. You start walking again but, as you make your way past the beach, you suddenly get an idea. Stopping abruptly, you detach yourself from Bradley and veer to the side of the boardwalk, hopping down into the cool evening sand.

"Where are you going?" he calls.

You glance back at him with a wily smirk. "I'm going swimming."

"Uh," you hear him say behind you. "Right now?"

"Are you coming?" you ask, turning back to look at him and teetering as you do. You dig your feet into the ground to stabilize yourself and the sand feels amazing under your feet after the torture of your heels. You curl your toes in blissfully, but the slight imbalance on your feet causes you to stagger backward.

"Careful," he says, stepping off the boardwalk toward you, his fingers still curled around the straps of your shoes. "Maybe we can do this tomorrow?" he suggests.

"C'mon, Bradshaw," you say, giggling as you try to find your center of gravity. "Live a little."

"Live a little?" he says, smirking. "You know I fly jets for a living, right?"

"Ooh, that's right. He's a fighter pilot," you respond teasingly. You stick your arms out at your sides and start swerving to imitate an airplane.

Bradley laughs, shaking his head.

"You think that makes you cool?" you ask, slowly walking backward to the shoreline.

"Undeniably," he says, following you up the beach.

You laugh and then squeal as a surge of cold water washes over your feet from behind. You jump toward Bradley, clinging to his t-shirt. "It's freezing!"

Bradley chuckles, putting his arm around you. "What did you expect?"

You drop your head into his chest. "I thought I'd be drunk enough not to notice."

You feel the low rumble in Bradley's chest as he chuckles. His arm tightens around you. "Y/N," he says gently, lowering his head so that you could hear him over the lapping of the water. "Not that I don't want to throw you into these cold, dark, possibly crocodile infested waters, but I was thinking – on account of your possibly altered state of mind and all – perhaps we should take a rain check."

You chuckle, nodding your head against his body, and he starts to steer you back toward the boardwalk. "You think there are crocodiles here?" you ask, picking up your pace. "I'm barefoot."

Bradley laughs. "You think your heels could save you?"

You shriek and start to run ahead.

"What?" he calls, jogging after you.

"I felt something on my leg!" you yell.

"It was probably just grass. If it were a crocodile, you wouldn't be running anymore," he responds with a laugh.

"Bradley!" you screech as he catches up to you. "Stop freaking me out!"

"Come here," he mutters, squatting quickly to wrap his arm around your legs and lift you off the ground.

You let out a yelp and he chuckles, carrying you upright as if it's completely effortless. Your head spins and you bend at the hip to lean forward over his shoulder, squeezing your eyes shut and praying you don't throw up all over his back.

"You alright?" he asks.

"I think I'm dying," you croak.

"We're almost there," he says.

When he walks up to your door, he sets you down gingerly, holding his arms out as he rises to ensure that you don't fall. You're so dizzy that you have to grab his forearm to steady yourself as he reaches for his key with the other hand.

He's watching you carefully as he sticks his key into the lock. "What did he do?" he asks.

You look up at him in confusion. "What are you talking about?"

Bradley set his jaw, turning the key. "Did he do something to you?"

"Not enough to warrant the pepper spray, if that's what you're wondering," you respond.

"Stalking you is enough, if you ask me," he says gruffly, pushing into the door and guiding you to go ahead of him.

You make your way inside, swaying from side to side. Bradley keeps at least one hand on you at all times, making sure you don't trip over anything. "He just pisses me off," you say, heading straight for the bed. You collapse onto the mattress sideways, closing your eyes. "Can we not talk about him?" you ask quietly.

Bradley walks over to the minifridge and pulls it open as you prop yourself up onto your elbows to watch him. You aren't exactly in the condition to analyze the state of your relationship but, nonetheless, you try to remember the last time a friend carried you home when you were too bombed to walk straight and displaying an irrational fear of reptiles. Then again, Bradley is one of the nicest people you've ever met, so you imagine that he'd probably carry your aunt home if she were a drunk enough, lizard-fearing mess.

Bradley approaches you, holding out a water bottle. "Drink this," he says. You sit up and take the bottle from him as he extends his other hand to drop two tablets into your palm. "And take this."

"I don't have a headache," you say, examining the pills in your hand.

"You will," he says.

You look up at him, smirking. "Speaking from experience?"

He gives you a soft smile before backing away to remove his jacket. He hangs it on a clothes tree and digs his wallet and car keys out of the back pocket of his jeans, setting them down on the dresser. He glances over at you, presumably checking if you're following his advice. You take the cap off the bottle, realizing that he'd already unscrewed it for you, and bring it to your lips. He studies you for another moment before heading to the bathroom to get ready for bed.

You drink the entire bottle as instructed and then lay your head onto the pillow with a sigh, replaying every word Bradley has said to you over the course of the evening. Most of it had been for the benefit of your sister – the anger, the curled-up fists – but there were moments where you felt that he was genuinely upset by Steven's actions. Regardless, his aversion to Steven doesn't necessarily indicate that he has feelings for you. Before you could continue speculating on Bradley's sentiments, he returns from the bathroom.

He approaches the bed, crouching down at your side and resting his hand by your head. "How're you doing?" he asks.

You blink at him sleepily. "Everything is spinning," you say weakly.

His eyebrows converge sympathetically and he lifts his other hand to brush some hair out of your face. You stare into his dark eyes, wondering how the fuck you'd never fallen for him before this godforsaken trip.

"Hey, Rooster," you murmur as your eyelids become increasingly heavy.

He cocks his head slightly. "You've never called me that," he says.

"Only because it's so ridiculous," you say with your eyes closed.

"You think my callsign is ridiculous?" You can sense the smile in his voice.

"Well," you reason groggily. "Roosters don't fly."

Bradley chuckles. "They shouldn't," he agrees. "I guess I'm the exception."

You open your eyes to find him watching you wistfully. "Please don't sleep on the couch," you say. "You're going to damage your spine."

Bradley lifts an eyebrow skeptically, biting into his lip in amusement. "I don't think that's possible."

"Don't argue," you say.

"I'm not arguing."

"We can be adults about this," you say. "We can make a pillow wall if you think the temptation will be too unbearable," you add, smirking.

Bradley chuckles. "A pillow wall is the most adult thing I've ever heard."

You smile. "Good. Now, come to bed because I'm falling asleep," you say, closing your eyes again.

Bradley gently runs his thumb over forehead before removing his hand from your pillow as he rises. You open your eyes slightly as he lifts his shirt over his head and goes to turn off the light. You gulp, wondering why you're putting yourself through this agony. What you should be doing is ignoring your feelings – which are merely the result of you needing a good lay – until the weekend is over and you could go back to being just friends with Bradley Bradshaw. Instead, you're taking every opportunity to get closer to him, even if it'll never truly be close enough.

Bradley climbs into the bed and you decide to continue 'sleeping', until you feel the movement of pillows against your back. You turn around slowly, eyeing Bradley as he arranges a wall of pillows in between the two of you.

"What the fuck are you doing?" you ask.

He looks up at you pointedly. "The pillow wall," he replies.

You start giggling. "I was joking."

"I believe you said something about temptation," he says, his voice slightly husky as he leans into his elbow on the bed.

Your heart flutters at his words, but you internalize the sensation and move on. "I'm still in my dress," you say, glossing over the topic of temptation as if it hasn't been consuming you for the past two days. You lift the covers and sit up quickly, groaning when the dizziness catches up with your head due to the sudden momentum. "Look away for a sec," you say, hanging your legs off the bed.

You hear a shuffle behind you as Bradley turns in the other direction. You hop out of bed and stagger to your bag, nearly falling over as you bend down. You let out a small cry and Bradley sits up in the bed. "You okay?" he asks. "Do you need help?"

You look over at him reproachfully. "Changing?"

He chuckles. "Walking." He's wearing a half-smile and you can hardly handle the fact that he's sitting shirtless in your bed. He looks so sexy, you could die.

You plop yourself down on the floor clumsily, still rocking from your excessive alcohol consumption, and dig through your bag for your pajamas. "I'll crawl back."

Bradley laughs, lowering himself back onto the bed and turning away again.

You change out of your dress and return to the bed. You pull the blanket over yourself while Bradley rolls onto his back and turns his head to look at you. "How're you feeling?"

"Cold," you say. "I should've put on some socks. But I'm not getting up again."

Bradley cringes. "You wear socks to bed?"

"If the situation warrants socks, I wear socks," you say, lying on your side, facing him.

Bradley turns his body to face you too, keeping a strict foot of empty space in between your bodies despite the absence of a pillow wall. "I like your pjs," he says.

You smile at him in amusement. "You like my pjs?"

He nods. "They're cute."

You snort, although you have to agree. Your pajamas are space themed, and the shorts are sprinkled with stars while the top features a cluster of the Solar System's planets, with Pluto sulking in the corner as if it's been excluded from the party. "They're comfy," you say.

"They look comfy," Bradley replies.

You pull the covers all the way up to your neck and clutch them under your chin, shivering.

Bradley, whose upper body is completely uncovered, reaches across no man's land to find your hands as they cling to the edge of the blanket. He wraps his fingers around your fists. "How are you cold? It's like a million degrees in here."

"It's freezing!" you respond, your teeth chattering. "We should turn down the AC."

Bradley's eyes scan your face as he considers whether or not to say what he's about to say. He squints his eyes, speaking hesitantly, "I could warm you up."

You blink up at him, your mind racing through all the possibilities of what that could mean. Whatever it does mean, you're probably up for it. "Okay," you respond cautiously.

He releases your hands and brings his arm around your shoulders, pulling you forward as he shifts closer to you. You lift the blanket to cover the both of you, already feeling the heat of his body as you tuck your head underneath his chin. Your legs find his under the blanket and you slide one of your legs in between his, sighing softly as your body starts to warm up. He runs his hand up and down your back before finally resting his arm over your side. Your arms are squeezed in between your bodies, feeling the rise and fall of his chest as well as the frantic beating of your own heart.

You wonder vaguely how you'll ever go back to being just friends with Bradley Bradshaw when you've become so deeply infatuated with him. Every one of his touches accelerates your heartbeat, every one of his glances makes your head spin nearly as much as the Grey Goose that's currently filtering through your veins. His smile consumes your thoughts even when he's nowhere near you, and you could probably listen to him talk indefinitely just to have his pleasant baritone playing in your ear.

You close your eyes and take a shallow breath. Bradley's chest smells like a mixture of pine trees and cologne. His skin is smooth and warm, and his steady breathing is so soothing that you could get lost in its rhythm forever. This entire weekend may be a sham, but somehow it feels more real than anything you've ever experienced.

.....

A/N: Thank you for your wonderful comments on this story! It really means so much to me that ya'll are enjoying it <3

Omg look at his HANDS I'm dying

ps. come party with me on tumblr XD