Influence

Chapter Three-Lunch

Turns out, Steven Rogers is not a safe driver. Not in the fact that he doesn't keep us safe, but the fact that he has absolutely no care for any driving laws. Yellow lights just seem to challenge him and the speed limit is just the barest of guidelines. The one time we have to actually stop at a light, I crack up because the people in the next car freak out since Captain America is beside them. Steve's chest shakes slightly and I know he's laughing too before we take off again. It takes ten minutes to get to the Grand when it would normally take twenty. When I get off I can't help laughing again.

"You are..." I shake my head as he parks. "surprising." I settle and head towards the steps.

"I hope that's a compliment." He says, following me at a little distance so I can deny him entrance.

I mull over the choice in my head before speaking, "Uh, look. I'm sorry I didn't call." My move is blunt but as Steve's eyes widen his smile does too. "One-night stands aren't really a thing for me and I was drunk and embarrassed. Not of you, just in general." Steve waves a hand at me and I shut my mouth in relief.

"It's okay. Honestly, I think I gave you my number just so I could excuse the fact it was a one-night thing." He allows and I sigh to relieve the tension in my body.

"Really?"

"No." He laughs softly at my expression and I hate to admit that my lips ache to smile at the sound. "Would've been an idiot to not at least give you my number after a night like that." Pink brushes across our cheeks, although mine is definitely darker. "I understand though. Wasn't sure you'd even remember-"

"Oh, I remember." I interrupt. Have to be comatose not to remember that night. His eyebrows raise and I rub my temple. Jesus, when am I going to learn to just keep my mouth shut.

"I'll take that as a compliment. Anyways, let's call it even. You ditch me and then save a kid. Friends?" Steve suggests, offering his hand. A tentative smile on my face, I accept.

"Friends." We shake once, then our hands drop. We linger a moment before he steps back towards his bike. "Uh, are you hungry?" I ask without thinking, but he stops. "It's about lunchtime and we've got time to kill before Sam's. Come in for a minute?" I propose, my heart softening slightly at his gentle smile.

He shrugs. "Sure." We walk into the big lobby and I wave to the concierge as I slip my beanie into my jacket pocket, loosening my curls with a hand. When I don't head towards the elevators, Steve's brows furrow.

"Don't think you're the only surprising person here, Steve," I tell him and walk through the dining room, then through the kitchen. "Hey, Don!" I shout and hear the crash of a dropped plate.

"Rea, my girl! What do you need? Just made alfredo, up for it? New recipe." An Italian man with short hair blacker than ink turns around a corner and surprises me with a plate. Laughing, I accept and smile smugly at Steve.

"You're the best, Don. Brought you a new fan. Steve, meet Donny." I introduce an increasingly confused Steve, but he shakes Donny's hand nicely.

"I'll make him a plate too. Garcia! Scendi dal tuo culo pigro e prendimi un altro piatto!" Don yells and a fat man jumps to his feet, plopping fat noodles onto a plate then slathering them with alfredo sauce. Don takes this plate and sprinkles a little white pepper on top before shoving a fork into it and giving Steve the plate.

"Thanks, Don. Tell you what we think in a little while, promise." I wink at him and grab Steve's hand to show him the way through the labyrinthine kitchen. We emerge out of the exit to a relatively clean alley. "Tada." I release Steve's hand and wave around the space. A purple van sits to the left, snug in its place with brick walls inches away from the sides. There's a small table with two mismatched chairs sitting alongside it, a cream table cloth draped on top of the wood. I step forward and put my plate down on the table, taking Steve's as well when he looks like he's in shock. I open my van's doors to reveal blankets upon blankets, books stacked on either side, a pillow made from a large bag of my clothes, and a partition blocking the front from the back. "Make yourself at home," I tell him and take a seat while he looks around a bit.