Siren In The Sky // Bradley Bradshaw

Chapter 5

After getting home Regina and I ate dinner where I ranted about the conversation I had with Bradley. She's one of the only people that know about my non existent relationship with the man I call my father. Now that I've cooled off I understand his perspective on the matter. I would be pissed to if someone pulled my papers from the academy, setting me behind several years. But what's done is done. In all honesty I feel like an idiot. So what do I do when I feel like an idiot? I avoid the person like the plague.

We're about a week into training now. At first, Bradley tried to talk to me about our conversation. Eventually he got tired of the cold shoulder and started relentlessly getting under my skin. All potential feelings for him are gone and now the only thing I have left in me is my hatred for the guy. Hatred for his teasing, his arrogance, and lastly hatred for myself for still being attracted to him. 

The top spot keeps rotating between me, Bradley, and Hangman. I'll be damned if I let a man beat me. Of course I want to win, but I'd be way less pressed if Pheonix was ahead of me. But no, it's Rooster and Hangman of all people. 

"Rooster! Get your head out of your ass and cover me." I yell over the radio.

In this exercise we are in pairs facing two enemy migs. Rooster is supposed to be my wingman but decided he wants to go off on his own, putting me and Striker at risk. 

"I love it when you scream my name," he teases. Nonetheless he moves to my wing for cover.

"Go to hell Bradshaw." "As long as you're there with me."

My teeth are gritted as I focus on the mig in front of me. "As much as I love the sexual tension between you two, we've got an assignment to do." Striker says over the radio. "I concur," utters Omaha.

"There is no sexual tension," I spit out as make a hard turn around a mountain- still on the mig's tail. "He's too close for missiles, switching to guns." After switching I finally got him locked. 

"Great. One down one to go. Do you have eyes Omaha?" Rooster asks. "I can't see him. Striker?" "I've got nothing." 

Suddenly a plane rises just behind us. "Shit he was under us," Striker hisses into the comm. Before I know it an alarm is going off that he got us in missle lock, Rooster is out right after. 

"Fuck we're dead," Omaha groans.

"Great fucking work covering Bradshaw." 

I quickly turn my plane towards the base after turning my mic off. I'm livid. Luckily Hangman didn't get both migs out so we're still in first, but it's too close to be comfortable. I should be far ahead by now. Once we've landed I trudge to the lockerroom, ignoring Bradley's calls from behind me. 

In the lockerroom Striker informs me that she's going to go shower at home. Now alone I throw my helmet on the ground, free to vent out my frustrations in private. Quickly undressing I make my way towards the showers. I have my towel wrapped around me while waiting for the water to heat up when I hear the door to the room open. 

"Did you forget something?" I ask thinking it was Striker. When no response comes I look up to see Rooster turning the corner. When he spots me in only a towel his eyes darken considerably. Scolding myself for the twinge I feel between my thighs the liquid anger coursing through me returns full force.

"What the fuck are you doing here? Get out!" He snaps out of his lust filled stupor and gives me a lazy smile, all the while I grip my towel tighter against my chest. "No I don't think I will." His eyes are twinkling with mischief. All I can do is groan in frustration. 

He saunters towards me until he is about an inch away. His large hand distracts me as it goes to play with the hem of my towel. "You've got a lot of nerve blaming that exercise on me. If I recall you were out before I was."