Chapter Text
Saturday night at the Hard Top is never quiet, but this is ridiculous.
I should have expected the crowd and avoided the place, but I forgot that it was the arrival weekend for the new TOPGUN class until I walked in the door and saw the sea of khaki.
No point in heading out without a drink, though.
I head over to the bar and order a beer, tucking myself between a bachelorette party and a completely sloshed tourist couple. The counter is sticky with some kind of substance. Probably best not to think too hard about it and just enjoy the jukebox.
I feel a large body behind me and look up over my shoulder. The guy is clearly a TOPGUN student, given the unbuttoned uniform and aviators perched on his nose. He has an easy smile below his mustache as he leans over the counter to order a beer.
“Hey,” he says, turning to look at me. He leans up against the bar, crosses his legs, and smiles even wider. “What’s your name?”
I give him an exaggerated look up and down, then settle back on his sunglasses. Who even wears sunglasses in a dark bar? “Pass.”
“Fair enough, darlin’.” He shrugs and grabs his beer before being absorbed back into the horde of khaki.
***
After an hour or two of drunken singing and a truly claustrophobic crowd, I nip out the back door and onto the beach to get a little peace and quiet. I lay out my flannel and sit, enjoying the sound of the waves and the cool breeze. It’s pretty bright with the full moon ahead and the neon of the bar behind, and I can see little crabs wandering up and down the beach now that all of the humans have gone.
“Fancy seeing you out here,” a voice says from behind me. I nearly jump out of my skin and turn around, peering through the night.
It’s that TOPGUN guy again. He sits down on the sand next to me. I measure the distance to the bar, if anyone can see us out here, if I can run back before he catches me.
He lays back flat on the sand. “Don’t worry, darlin’,” he groans. “I heard your pass loud and clear. Just out getting some fresh air.”
I lift my eyebrows, impressed. “What’s your name?”
His head turns in my direction. “Rooster Bradshaw.”
“Is that your name or your callsign?”
“Callsign. My real name’s Bradley but don’t tell anyone.” He puts an exaggerated finger to his lips and grins widely.
“Rosie.”
“Nice to meet you, Rosie,” he sighs, throwing an arm over his eyes. “Damn, I could fall asleep out here.”
I find myself relaxing. He doesn’t seem at all threatening. Just…nice. Much nicer than most of the cocky-ass pilots coming through here. “Your buddies too loud?”
“Ah, they’re just young and full of themselves.”
“Okay, gramps,” I snort. “What are you, 60?”
“30. It’s not the years, it’s the mileage.”
“Raiders of the Lost Ark,” I say. “Good movie.”
We lapse into a comfortable silence and I wonder briefly if he’s really fallen asleep. But then one of his buddies shouts his callsign out the door and he shouts back that he’ll be in in a moment. He stands and dusts himself off, and I catch a whiff of his cologne. Not, I have to admit, too unpleasant.
He comes to stand over me. “It was nice meeting you, Rosie No-last-name.”
“Nice meeting you too,” I say a bit softly.
“Am I gonna see you again?”
I find myself responding without realizing. “I come for Thursday night karaoke most weeks.”
“See you then, darlin’.”