*a Chris Evans fan fic*
Chris overhears an interesting comment at the local gas station
Warnings: None, Fluff, Language
Word Count: 727
Chris holds back his laughter from the one sided conversation he overhears from the next row over. He looks over the top of the aisle and sees the young woman has her headphones in and is taking on the phone.
“I’m telling ya, if you want to get hit on, wear one of your Cap shirts. I swear, happens every time.”
Smirking, Chris stops to listen, shaking his head.
“Like yesterday at the coffee shop, the cute barista flirted with me, and asked for my number… This old guy, like eight, in front of my apartment building stopped me this morning and we talked about the comics he remembered when he was younger. And just now when I walked into the gas station… I need to get cat food. Yea, I know. Any way, sure he was too not my type, but I have no make-up and “I don’t give a fuck” hair, and he still stopped to talk to me. The shirt? It’s like magic, really.”
Chris looks over the food options, realizing the dust on top of the cracker box is not a good sign.
He nearly chokes on his coffee when he hears her next comment.
“Yea. I’m sure his dick is like magic too! Good lord, girl, stop with that talk! I’m in public!”
He shrinks back down and hides behind the box of cereal he was looking at when he realizes she is on her tip toes looking around to see if anyone heard her off color remark.
“Ok, babe, I gotta go too. Don’t let the patients wear you out today… yup. Yea, ok. Sure? If I don’t meet the man of my dreams today while wearing this shirt, we still meeting tonight? Ok. See ya around nine, then. Bye. Luv you too!”
Man of her dreams? Chris walks down the aisle as she walks down hers, both headed the same direction. She crosses over to the soda station, and he stops to watch her. She bends to put the cat food down, and rests a loaf of bread on top. The black yoga pants stretch over her curves and the tight Captain America shirt pulls up, exposing a tanned, defined midriff, as she reaches for a Styrofoam cup. She definitely has his attention. She chats with one of the employees and Chris can tell she is a regular at the shop.
He walks over to the counter, to add another packet of sugar to his coffee. He bumps her arm, and catches a glimpse of her shirt. “Hey, nice shirt,” he starts and turns to smile at her.
“Thanks,” she giggles, “I’m a Cap girl!” Her voice sweet and innocent, different from the tone she used with her friend. She never turns to look at him.
She bends to get the bread and cat food, her hip bumping his crotch, calling him to action. “Sorry,” she calls over her shoulder walking to the register, totally oblivious to who he is or the effect she’s had on him.
He joins her at the register. Waiting patiently to pay, he tries to strike up a conversation with her, not sure why he’s intrigued by her. She politely answers his questions, but never turns to look at him. Instead she smiles, watching a young dad helping his excited children pick the fresh donuts they want from the display. He’s a little surprised she doesn’t recognize his voice.
When it’s her turn to pay, Chris hands over his credit card quickly. The attendant looks at the two, confused and her eyes widen with recognition. The young woman turns to argue with Chris, beginning with, “Thanks but I’ve got-” Her words stop, her reaction frozen. She blinks her surprise. Her mouth turns to the shape of “oh,” innocently, before the sound of the word comes out. Chris likes that shape, thinks her mouth could do wonders in that shape.
She blushes and nods her thanks. “See, Betty!” She addresses the older woman working the counter. “How many times have you heard me say, ‘If you wanna get hit on, wear a Captain America shirt!?’ I’m telling ya, it’s magic! It works every time!”
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