You’d just knocked back your fourth shot of Jack. It really did make it easier to laugh at the stories of your co-workers who talked endlessly about their kids and their cats. The pretty redhead who worked in the cubicle next to yours got up from her seat at your table to go to the bathroom, giving you a clear view of the bar.
It was the third time you’d looked at him, sitting there at the end of the bar and facing it. A nice-looking man with dark gold hair and a beard, big and muscular - just like you liked them. He was dressed plainly enough in jeans, a black jacket. He wasn’t there to get attention, but he got it anyway because he was one hell of an imposing figure. He’d gotten there not long after you had, drinking fat glasses of whiskey and watching the baseball game playing on the widescreen over the bar.
He looked so familiar.
“You okay?” your other co-worker asked.
You nodded. “Sorry.”
“Checking out the snack at the bar,” she teased you.
You huffed out a humorless laugh at that.
And you noticed that he’d turned his head just slightly in your direction and you were facing the same direction he was.
It’s the alcohol, stupid. It’s wasn’t like he could hear what you were talking about in the noisy din of the busy bar.
“He’s a snack alright,” you told her. “Way out of my league.”
She shook her head at you, but her expression was friendly. “Not true. You look hot tonight. Go talk to him.”
Taking a drink from the glass of water you’d requested, you thought maybe you should think about sobering up a little and making an exit. Something about that guy…
“You should do something about that,” she went on, jerking a thumb back in his direction. “When was the last time you got laid?”
The last time you’d been laid?
It had been well over a year ago. A one-night stand that had started out a lot like tonight.
And you weren’t that type. It had been your only one-night stand. Outside of one serious relationship just after college, it was your only other sexual experience.
And what an experience it had been.
That relationship had ended. You were just out of college, not having any lucking finding a job and panicking about paying student loans. In hindsight, you’d realized that you had no business going to a bar and getting plastered with your friends in such a vulnerable place.
But you had. And he’d been in a similar place, lonely and disillusioned. That you hadn’t immediately recognized him made you feel stupid even though he’d seemed genuinely pleased that you’d been talking for an hour or so before putting together that he was Steve Rogers. The Steve Rogers.
In your inebriated state, you’d eventually explained that you weren’t looking for Mr. Right that night. Just Mr. Right Now. And you still couldn’t believe you’d actually said that.
But he’d been more than happy to accommodate you, taking you back to a nice apartment here in Brooklyn and spending several hours completely rocking your world. You honest-to-God would have felt guilty for having a one-nighter with Captain America of all people except that he’d seemed to need the release as much as you had.
And sex with him had been… breathtaking.
Sometime before dawn that morning, when you’d been about to drift off to sleep, he’d pulled you back against him. In a voice rough from sleep, he’d told you he wanted to see you again. He wanted to take you to breakfast if you’d let him.
You’d panicked. You weren’t proud of it, but you could admit it to yourself now.
You’d been nowhere close to finding your own way, defining who you were. The damage that one relationship had done to you left you reeling. The last thing you needed was another relationship. And one with an Avenger who had a whole lot of baggage?
Panic bled on insecurity and it had sent you scurrying out of his apartment the minute you thought he was sleeping soundly enough. You hated leaving that way. You did. You hated that he’d be disappointed that you fled like a coward. You hated that he’d probably be left with the impression that you were some sort of slut who fucked and ran a lot.
You had regrets. While you weren’t entirely sure you would have made a different decision where he was concerned, you definitely would have changed how you handled it.
And since then, Captain America had become a war criminal, on the run from the law and the government.
“The last time I got laid? So long ago that it’s a sad story,” you said finally to her. “I probably should think about getting home.”
“It’s Friday night,” she told you. “You’ve got the weekend off. Live a little.”
The redhead returned to her seat. “What did I miss?”
“I’m trying to get her to go talk to the hottie at the bar,” the other woman explained.
Then, to your horror, they both flagrantly turned around to ogle him.
Pulling a couple of bills from your purse, you left them on the table and shook your head.
“I’m good,” you said. “I’ve got to go. It was fun.”
They were disappointed at your early exit but each rose to hug you before you made your way out of the bar and into the chilly night. The sense of relief you felt in escaping the bar and walking up the sidewalk was palpable.
You grinned when you reached your apartment. You still had a nice buzz going and you were looking forward to getting a good night’s sleep, sleeping in. Tossing your purse onto your couch, you stretched and headed to your kitchen for a glass of water before heading for the peace and comfort of your bedroom.
Your heart lurched in your chest when a rough hand covered your mouth and a strong arm wrapped around you like a band of steel. Your water glass fell to the floor, the wet contents splashing your feet and the strappy heels you wore.
“Hi, Y/N,” an all-too-familiar voice purred in your ear in the darkness.
Heated lips coasted just above the skin of your throat, the tickle of facial hair making your shiver. He held you there in the darkness, hard against his solid form as your heart threatened to beat out of your chest.
At that moment, you realized why the man at the bar had seemed familiar.
It was Steve Rogers.
And he’d followed you home.
"So you have the weekend off," Steve said before teasing the shell of your ear with his hot mouth. "I need a place to lay low. Let's have a little fun."