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The sheer curtains of Emerson's bedroom danced in the soft breeze that her ceiling fan generated as the early morning sun shone through them. Outside her window was the gentle crash of the ocean waves that were mere steps from her porch. Emerson Blackwood still resided in her childhood home in Miramar, California.
She glanced at the sleeping man beside her. The early sun created a glow across his already tan skin. This wasn't the first time Emerson had found herself in bed with Bradley Bradshaw, and it certainly wouldn't be her last.
A relationship just wasn't in the cards for Bradley and Emerson. There would always be a mission and the fear of not returning. Bradley had experienced that firsthand. Plus, it didn't help that they both grew up without a father. They didn't know how traditional relationships worked. How could they expect to form one? But this, whatever this was, seemed to work just fine for them.
Emerson scooted closer to Bradley, rubbing lazy circles across his toned back. "You keep that up and I'm not getting out of this bed," he said in his raspy morning voice.
"We have a big day ahead of us, Lieutenant."
He rolled over, now on top of her, leaving a trail of kisses down her neck to her collarbone. "Or we could spend the day right here." Emerson hummed contently as his lips traveled lower down her body.
Using her pointer finger, she tilted his chin up, "You keep that up, Lieutenant, and I'm not getting out of this bed." She tossed the covers off their bodies and began picking up their mess of clothes from the night before. She tossed Bradley his white tank top and Hawaiian shirt. "Are you worried about today?" She asked, sliding her jeans back on.
He pulled his shirt over his head, "Should I be?"
An image of Maverick danced in Emerson's head. Should she warn Bradley about the possibility of seeing Maverick? She decided against it in hopes that she was wrong about him being their instructor.
Emerson shrugged, putting her top on, "Just asking."
He kissed her cheek, "I'll see you in a bit."
⎯
The selected Top Gun graduates sat in neat rows of desks in one of the base's hangars as they awaited further orders. "Attention on deck!" They all rose from their seats, standing at attention for their superiors.
Admiral Bates approached the podium, "Good morning. Welcome to your special training detachment. Sit down." Following the Admiral's orders, the aviators took their seats. "I am Admiral Bates, call sign, Warlock. You are all Top Gun graduates; the best of the best. But that was yesterday. The enemy's new fifth-generation fighter jet levels the playing field. We no longer possess the technological advantage. Success depends on the man or woman in the box. Half of you will make the cut and only one of you will be named mission leader. The rest will attend to any reserve roles necessary."
