Just a Hair Stylist - Chris Evans story \\✔️

Chapter forty-four

You partied into the wee hours with Chris and the others. You caught up with Joe's wife again, an absolute delight to talk to, by the way, and chatted with her about how you were both enjoying the trip so far. Drinks were flowing and everyone was having a good time. The boys managed to behave themselves, for the most part, for the rest of the night. There were some animated stories and jokes, followed by boisterous laughter and a few selfies to remember the night by.

Just before 2 a.m., you were tucked under Chris' arm, leaning on each other a little, as Chris tried the room key upside down. You giggled and he groaned, in frustration. You grabbed his hand with yours and twisted it over for the card to face the right way. He sputtered, unhappily, his head ticking back as he gave the door a shove to swing open and sent you in ahead of him. Dropping your purse on the dining table, you shuffled into the bedroom and fumbled around the wall for the light switch. Behind you, you heard the rattle of loose change, and other things from Chris' pockets, settling on the tabletop. He joined you, a moment later, and crashed down into the mattress on his shoulder.

"Ffahhhck," he groaned.

You toed off your shoes and laid down beside him, stretching your arms out ahead of you to slide into the bed on your belly. Chris flopped an arm over the back of your waist and dragged you close, tucking his hand underneath you. He let out a loud and tired breath and nuzzled into the pillow of your outstretched arm under his cheek. You stuffed your left hand beneath you to lay between his and the mattress, with your own contented, albeit, more demure sigh.

"D'you have a good time, babe?" Chris mumbled into your shoulder, his breathing warm and damp on your skin.

"Mhm," you nodded.

"Good," he said, brushing a kiss on your neck.

"We should get up and change," you suggested and Chris nodded.

Except neither of you budged. Almost as soon as he was still again, you heard the soft sounds of Chris sleeping. A minute later, you fell asleep.

You woke up to the sound of insistent thumping on the suite door. Still hugged against Chris, he petulantly moaned and loosed his grip of you. He rolled away, from where he had cuddled across you, and turned onto his back. You buried your face into the fluffy bedding, rubbing your forehead against the covers, as if it could dull the pounding in your head. Why, Alcohol? Why were you not friends anymore?

The knock came again and, from the living room, you heard Chris' cell phone ring. Chris slapped his hand into the mattress with a thud and an aggravated growl, as he kicked himself off the bed. 

"Ah, shit," he complained.

You gave an inquisitive hum, the closest you could muster to actually verbalizing a question. It didn't get an answer. Instead, you heard Chris' heavy footsteps toward the door and the scrape of something across the table.

"Yeah," he groaned, at the same time the ringing stopped. "Hold on." You heard the distinct clicking of the door's locks being opened and Chris go on, "Yeah, I know."

"The hell, man?" It took you a second to place Josh's voice. "You've got, like, ten minutes."

"I know," Chris griped. 

"What can I do?"

"No. Nothing," Chris sighed. "I got it. [Y/n]'s still asleep. Hey, can you maybe get some coffee or something?"

"Sure," Josh agreed. "No problem."

The door shut and Chris came back into the room, sitting on the side of the bed. Rubbing a hand in small circles on your lower back, he gently said, "[Y/n]? Sweetie, wake up. We overslept. We gotta go."