Just a Hair Stylist - Chris Evans story \\✔️

Chapter Fifty-five

The wave of happiness over the Red Sox win rolled on for another few hours. You listened in as the guys traded stories about their favorite moments in Red Sox history. You chimed in with a few of your own fond memories about going to ball games with your family and friends at home. Surprisingly, nobody faulted you for being a Reds fan. Well, at least they didn't hold too big a grudge against you. After all, the Redlegs have had their share of woes and they appreciated a fan who could stick with their team in good times and bad. And besides, they had the word "red" in their name. They couldn't be all that bad, right? Ahh, boys and their jokes.

Somewhere toward the end of the night, the shield came out of the closet. You elbowed Chris, playfully reminding him that Sebastian isn't the only one to play with the prop. A couple of the guys took turns wielding Cap's signature weapon. The shield shenanigans provided a whole new round of laughs. They played at their best Captain America impressions and Chris nodded along, with a good hearted smile, even though they got the lines wrong. There were a few cell phone pics taken and, when you asked, Chris reluctantly nodded. Yeah, this does happen as often as you think it could. 

Eventually, the party thinned out. You went to let Archie out into the yard, planning to head out soon yourself. While you waited for your pup, you started straightening up the kitchen a bit. All the perishable stuff had been put back in the fridge some time ago, but there were still plenty of snacks and dishes spread around. You put lids back on chip dip jars and folded up open bags of chips and pretzels. You gathered all the empty glasses on the counter beside the sink and started filling up the dishwasher.

Behind you, Scott came in to put his own dishes away. "Well," he smiled, "aren't you just the perfect little 50s housewife."

"Whaaa?" you frowned.

Scott snickered, cutting in to add his glass to the washer rack when you straightened up to grab another pair of cups from the counter. "Cleaning up after the men and their party," he smirked.

"Well," you decided, pushing in the full rack and dusting off your hands, "won't make that mistake again."

"What mistake?" Chris asked, walking into the room with a handful of empty glasses from the living room. He looked between you and the open dishwasher door, frowning, "You don't have to clean up."

"But she's so good at it," Scott noted. "Get her a little apron an-"

"Hey!" You pointed a shaming finger his way. "Keep it up and I'll find someone else to mix drinks with."

"You wouldn't dare," he assured you, with a confident, if not a little smug, grin and raise of his chin.

"I've come to the recent decision," Chris mused, "not to ask anymore what you two are even doing."

"That might be for the best," Scott nodded.

"For everyone," you seconded, moving on to add the dirty plates to the machine.

You all chuckled together and Archie pranced back into the kitchen. Scott walked over to shut the door and wondered, "So, what kind of trouble are we getting into tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow?" you curiously repeated.

"Yeah," he nodded, crossing over to the fridge for a bottle of water. Scott looked at his brother, observing, "We got all morning before we gotta be at the airport."

"That's so sweet of you, to drop your brother off at the airport," you smiled.

"Pfft," Scott grimaced. "I'm not a taxi." He took a drink of his water and explained, "No, weee are going to the airport. For the trip to New York."

"Oh," you blinked, putting the last dish into the washer and shutting the door. "I didn't know you were-"

"Geez," he chuckled, pointing his finger back and forth between you and Chris. "Don't you two ever stop fucking long enough to actually talk to each other?"