The Interview • Chris Evans

The First Time

"Can I get you a drink?" Chris asked, hanging up his coat and helping you as you shrugged out of yours.

Dodger had bounded in ahead of you, leaving wet paw prints all over the hardwood floor. Chris looked at the mess, rolling his eyes indulgently. "Crazy dog," he muttered, grabbing a towel from the basket by the front door.

"How about you get us drinks, and I'll take care of this," you said, reaching to take the towel from his hands.

He relented with a sigh, though when you tugged the towel he didn't let go, instead using it as an excuse to get closer to you, his lips brushing against yours. The butterflies in your stomach were fluttering almost painfully, every nerve ending in your body lit up from just this gentlest of touches.

"Or we could just let him trash the place and go upstairs," he suggested, and you pushed him away with a laugh.

"You'll regret saying that when the wet paw prints are dried into your floors."

Chris whistled, calling Dodger back. He trotted over, and Chris picked him up so you could dry his wet paws. He set him back down, and you shooed them both towards the kitchen.

"I'll meet you in there in a minute," you insisted, and he headed for the kitchen as you followed Dodger's previous path, wiping up the paw prints he'd left as he'd circled around the living room and hallway. Thankfully he hadn't gone far, so Chris was only just finishing pouring you each a drink when you walked into the kitchen.

"Crisis averted," you said, taking the drink he handed you. "The house will survive to see another day."

"I'm sure he's already plotting some new and creative ways to bring the place down to the foundations," he grumbled, which seemed ridiculous considering Dodger was currently curled up on his giant bed in the corner of the kitchen, the picture of innocence.

Chris tapped his glass against yours before taking a sip of his drink, and you did the same. You weren't sure what it was, but it was a bit sweet, and typically for him, pretty strong. The way he was looking at you had your nerves back in full force, and you took a couple healthy gulps.

"Do you want to watch a movie?" He asked, and it eased some of your nerves to know that even with inviting you here, asking you to spend the night, he didn't want you to feel pressured. However, you had no intention of watching a movie and going to sleep. But maybe it would be a good way to warm things up.

"Yeah, that sounds good. Do you have a TV in your room?" You asked, feeling bold. Though you'd been to this house many times, you'd never been inside of his bedroom.

He finished his drink without breaking eye contact. "I do."

You followed suit, emptying your glass as well. He offered you his hand, and you took it, letting him lead you upstairs to his bedroom.

The space was dark, but he walked over to his bedside table and flicked on the lamp, a soft glow illuminating the space. Floor to ceiling windows lined one wall, and even though it was dark out you could see the snow really starting to build up. It was turning out to be quite the storm.

Chris opened his dresser, pulling out a pair of dark blue pyjama pants and a white long-sleeved shirt, and offering them to you. "I'll close up everything downstairs. You can get changed? The TV remote is on your side – you can pick something for us to watch."

With that he headed back downstairs. After casually stating you had a side to his bed. As though he'd thought about you being here, in this room, in non-sexual ways, before this very moment. It made you feel fluttery as you stepped into his ensuite bathroom, changing into his pyjamas – without underwear – in hopes of where this night would go.