Chris Evans: Professor Chris

Chapter 13

You stuff your bag with an extra pair of clean underwear, bra and toothbrush, just in case you were really going to spend the night at his apartment. It would be the first time you would see how his place looked and you didn't know why you were nervous. He was going to cook dinner, provide wine, and all you had to do was show up.

You managed to change into a pair of leggings with a flannel and leather jacket over it. You can say that he was definitely rubbing off on you. Besides, you looked damn good in a leather jacket.

You look down at your phone to see the text message he sent. It was his address and he mentioned about taking a cab instead of driving.

When the cab pulls into the apartment complex, you bite your lower lip and pay the man. Climbing out, you look down at your feet before walking to his apartment. It was bigger than what you had, but you figure that was all due to his profession.

You knock, tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear absently. Nervously.

When he opens the door, you feel a blush appear on your cheeks at the sight of him. You would never be able to get enough of him. He was extremely handsome and you had to wonder what you did to deserve him.

"Hey. You made it on time. Just finished cooking spaghetti. Come on in." He motions you into his home and you hesitantly step inside, removing your shoes. He takes note of the leather jacket and instantly smirks, shutting the door behind you.

"A leather jacket, huh?"

Rolling your eyes playfully, you remove it to set it on his own coat hanger with your bag. "I saw it at the mall and I liked it. Had nothing to do with you."

Chris takes your hand, the smirk remaining on his damn lips. You couldn't resist him; the dimples were extremely persuasive.

"Uh huh. I've never seen you wear it."

"Oh, so what you're saying is you've taken notice of what I wear?" You try to retaliate, but his smirk, his dimples, the beard... It was clouding your thoughts.

"I mean, I have fucking checked you out before," he admits, leading you to his kitchen where the aroma of his cooking filled the small area.

You grin, but not because of his compliment, but rather the smell that filled your senses.

It smelled fucking good.

Not only did this man love literature, but now he was a good cook? You scored big time with this one.

"I can't say that I haven't checked you out. I would be lying and you know, I hate lying," you tease.

He grins down at you, stirring the homemade spaghetti sauce.

"Your tone suggests otherwise, but I take your word for checking me out. I've seen your eyes drift to a certain place sometimes." He smirks, scooping the sauce into the wooden spoon and bringing it to your lips. "Have a taste before you quip back."

You lean forward, tasting the sauce and instantly looking up at him. You grab a nearby napkin to dab at your lips and grinned.

"Holy shit. That is fucking good," you say.

He smirks proudly. "Damn right it is. You can take a seat at the table. I'll bring us our plates."

You walk to the small round table, bringing your leg up onto the seat as you watch him from the dining room. You bite your lower lip, seeing him pour an ample amount of food into two separate plates. He walks to the dining table to set it down, kissing the crown of your head in the process.

When he comes back with two glasses of wine, you couldn't help but smile to yourself. Chris was no man like you have ever been with and you try and force yourself to relax, to take things slow, but somehow you knew he would never do anything to intentionally hurt you.