Win A Date With Chris Evans

At least it isn't the Cecil.

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Love you, appreciate you. Thank you

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"Tabs I can't do this...what if its all some sick fuckin' joke..." Jaime paces nervously around the swanky Los Angeles hotel room. She storms back to the iPad that rests on the a dresser trying to drown out the panicked voices in her head and heed what Tabitha is saying.
There is absolutely NO WAY this is real. You're going to end up with egg on your face and the whole world is gonna laugh at you.
Ha! Even better...it is real, and the whole world is going to laugh at you and your old ass trying to fit in on the red carpet.
Fuck.  Why did you have to do this? You could really use Stephen Strange's time stone right about now.
Fucking fuckity fuck.
Jaime tries to compose herself through panicked sobs, her chest strangling her lungs through the dense anxiety.
"Listen to me Jaime Collins!" Tabs bangs her desk, the flat, hard packing sound out of sync with the hand movements, the buzzing noise uncomfortably cutting through the speaker, "this is Chris FUCKING Evans...this is Captain America, Ransom Drysdale, fucking hot smart uncle dude from Gifted..."
"Frank Adler," Jaime corrects her, wiping away a tear.
"Frank Adl...why are you so weird? whatever! Do not self sabotage this for yourself...you need this...we need this Jaime. Don't ruin this, I am counting on you!" She looks softly into the camera, her dark eyes crinkled at the corner.
"What do you always say your toxic traits are?" Smiling encouragingly her head tilted inviting a response.
Jaime inhales sharply, "my toxic trait is believing that when I meet Chris Evans and Sebastian Stan they will fall head over heels in love with me." She lets a faltering laugh escape.
"Aaaand..."
Jaime heaves a stressed sigh, "and my other toxic trait is believing that I'll meet them at all."
Thats a bit better.
The stress melts away, Jaime puts it into her back pocket to dwell on later.
"Thats ma girl, call me later bitch." She hangs up abruptly.
Before Jaime gets a chance to talk herself into another panic attack there is a loud knock at the hotel door.
She had to send her measurements to Roxanne, Chris' publicist after their phone call 4 weeks ago. But since then she crash dieted trying to shed a few pounds, not that it will make any difference what so ever. Because in reality...
Its a few rounds with a butchers meat slicer you need.  
She opens the door and a mixture of 5 faces bustle in, "I'm Roxanne, we spoke on the phone." The gorgeous red head spins in for a kiss, rapidly texting on her cell phone at the same time, "I'm gonna leave you in the capable hands of Josh, Rachel, Carol and Ricardo."
You'll never remember all those names. You barely have the ability to contain a thought right now.
Jaime is too stunned and too nervous to speak.
A rail of dresses different lengths, colours and styles hangs in the middle of the room, that one of them must have trailed in. This is her living nightmare.
Not one of those dresses will fit nor hang right on her.
She focuses on the material of each one.
They'll cling to every roll you have.
All 5000 of them.
She tries her best to suppress the knot of bile that is threatening to expel from her gut.
No body directly spoke to Jaime or maybe they did but her mind was lost to the sea of conversations happening around her as she was spun and teased, prepped, primed and fluffed. And before she knew it it was time.
She stood in front of a mirror, barely able to recognise herself. Slipped into a pale pink chiffon gown, that surprisingly hung neatly on her curves skimming the bad ones intelligently, it's spaghetti straps sat neatly on her tanned shoulders.
Is this really you? Ashamed to admit you like it, arent you? Ashamed to admit that you feel pretty.
Taking a step closer to the mirror to scrutinise the makeup, Jaime's mouth twitches into a little smile.
Fuck. Don't smile like that, if you smile like that you'll get addicted to it and then you'll wanna stick around.
Ricardo comes up beside her, clipping a dainty gold chain earring into her lobe, the little stars that dangle off the end adding a feminine touch.
"More highlight I think Carol, on the cheek bones aaaaaand maybe a touch on the collarbone. We want her to pop...to wow! Shes living millions of woman's dreams after all."
A dust here, a touch up there and shes done.
A pink floor length gown with a split up the side, gold stilettos that pinch like a motherfucker, a little handbag big enough for lipstick, gum and a cell phone.
Her blonde hair frames her face gorgeously, though she'll never admit it.
You look like Scarlett Johansson, if Scarlett Johansson ate Scarlett Johansson. Twice.
"Ah! The limos here..." Josh jumps up and down, "you ready...you excited?"
No. You are shitting yourself.
God can you see the shot gun wound in the middle of my tummy?
Its time.
"Mr Evans is in the limo waiting," Carol sweeps a side of Jaime's hair behind her ear showing off the stars.
"Lets go shall we?" Ricardo ushers her out of the door down to the lobby.
Jaime didn't expect to see him standing there, she thought that he would hide out in the limo embarrassed that he had to bring her as his date. Like he was being forced to take his little cousin to the prom.
But no. He stood there tall and handsome in a navy blue suit.
Of course he came to the lobby to meet her, he is a gentleman.
A nervous smile etched across his god like face.
"I've changed my mind, who the hell do I think I am."