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Summary
Steve did the same and settled into the stool. There was silence. Bucky took the hair tie off his wrist and with little effort twisted his hair and tied it into a low bun. It softened his features when he did that. He played with a cardboard coaster between his fingers, and Steve swore that maybe Bucky was humming to the muffled music that was playing overheard. Honestly? Bucky was nice. Was that the right word? It’d be good enough for now. If anything, he was nice to look at.
Bucky raised his glass to his lips. “Maybe I'll let you ride shotgun if you’re lucky.”
Steve felt warm. His chest, his cheeks, his hands. Surely Bucky was simply offhandedly joking, screwing around. Perhaps, maybe a touch of flirting. “I can only hope I’d be so lucky.”