Just a Hair Stylist - Chris Evans story \\✔️

Chapter seventeen

There was something awkwardly funny about Chris driving you home. Something along the vein

of dropping you off after the first date kind of awkward. It wasn't the first date, but it was the first

time he was driving you to your home, not some temporary home for work in a hotel on a

location shoot. It was home home and something about that made you want to snicker that you

were still coming up with awkward situations.

Backing out of Chris' driveway, he turned on the radio. He had satellite and, of course, it was on a

talk sports channel. You made some sarcastic comment about what a surprise it was to hear men

talking sports in Chris' car and he rolled his eyes over at you at the stop sign.

"I was going to ask what you wanted to listen to," he explained, sarcastically, "but now I think we

should listen to these guys talk about the game."

"That's fine," you shrugged. "We can listen to this." You waited a good couple of minutes before

you looked over and, somehow straight-faced, asked, "What's the Super Bowl?"

Chris looked over at you, markedly unimpressed, flattening the brake just a tad bit harder than

needed at the next stop to lurch the car forward. "I'm gonna pretend you didn't just say that," he

grumbled. He turned back to the road ahead and started to drive as he seemed to sulk. "Football,"

he muttered, quietly. "It's football and you know it."

You somehow managed to keep from laughing or smiling. "That's the one with the weird, brown

ball and the guys in tight pants all pile up and try to hump each other?"

"Yes," he unenthusiastically agreed. "With the weird ball where they're trying to hump each other."

Chris looked over at you, mockingly exhausted with you, and shook his head. "You're fuckin'

killing me, woman. You can get out an' walk the rest of the way." he offered, giving a quick

look your way as he drove. "Just say the word."

You finally cracked a sly smile. "You wouldn't kick me out."

He glanced over. "Keep it up, smartass," he taunted. "Find out."

You chuckled and he hit the scan button on the radio. "Find something else," he said, shaking his

head with a small grin.

The radio sampled new channels several seconds at a time. You watched the display, reading

channel and song info as it changed, waiting to see what caught your ear as you put the window

down for some fresh air. You jammed your finger into the button to hold the station and turned up

the volume as you mimicked the electric guitar plucks of El Scorcho in the air with a happy smile,

singing along when Cumo dropped back in on the 90's Rock channel.

"I wish I could get my head out of the sand," you smiled at Chris. "'Cause I think we'd make a

good team." You started bobbing your head to the music. "And you would keep my fingernails

clean." Chris glanced over with a small amused smile. "But that's just a stupid dream that I won't