Just a Hair Stylist - Chris Evans story \\✔️

Chapter thirty-two

You spent the better part of Thursday afternoon watching Chris' question and answer event at

Buzzfeed. It was a beautiful day and, after awhile, you changed into you bathing suit and finished

the rest of the Q & A with your toes in the pool and Archie wondering around the yard. With your

feet dangling in the water, you laid on the patio with a towel beneath you and iPad propped up on

your stomach to check out the end of the online promoting. You didn't send in a question, but your

phone was on hand to send the occasional screen grab or message to Chris and Sebastian with a

joke or two.

You hadn't done too much work on large studio productions yet much beyond what little you've

seen so far of Chris and Frank's movies. You were kind of blown away by the variety of marketing

and promos Marvel was putting into Civil War. The Buzzfeed event was thoroughly amusing and

got you a little excited for what else was coming up in the schedule.

When Chris came home, you were still soaking in the sun. Archie met him at the door and you

smiled up from the ground while your fingertips danced over the water after you'd flipped over to

your belly, listening to music on your phone. Chris dropped into one of the loungers nearby and

leaned over his knees to tussle Archie's head and ears. You talked for a bit about his day with his

cast mates before he helped you to your feet so you could get a shower and get ready to go for the

night.

You went on a quick adventure with Chris, needing to go by your apartment for a slight wardrobe

change. You were meeting people for dinner before drinks and didn't exactly have anything nice

enough to wear at Chris' place. You let him carry you upstairs again, just to hurry the night along.

But after you changed into something a bit more fetching than the t-shirts and shorts or yoga pants

you'd been bumming around in this whole time at Chris', you stubbornly insisted on going down

the stairs on your own. You were down to using one crutch for support, determined as ever to get

over the discomfort in your foot. Now that you could put your toes or heel down to help bear some

of your weight, you were pretty confident with taking it a step at a time. Sure, it took a little longer

than it used to, but, by God, you did it yourself and that felt good.

Scott picked you and Chris up, from Chris' place, and drove to meet Josh and a few of their other

friends for dinner. The meal was good. The company was great. But when you all moved on to The

Nice Guy for some cocktails, there was a small line at the door and a group of photographers on

the sidewalk. Chris groaned his quiet disappointment as you turned into the lot.

"Are you fahckin' kidding me?" Chris complained, looking over his shoulder at the paparazzi

waiting for anything to walk by them. "Fahckin' vultures are always here."

"Hey, no problem," Scott said, optimistically. "We'll all just go in separately."

"How's [y/n] supposed to get in?" Chris asked, checking the view in the mirror on his side of the