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God forbid a girl reward herself with a Dr. Pepper.
What was meant to be a little treat after answering emails all morning—more emails than you’d signed up for considering you were working with literal superheroes, but whatever—was now dripping down the bridge of your nose and painted across your white t-shirt.
You stared blankly ahead at the fridge, simply blinking.
Sam called your name again. “Hello? Usually a conversation is something that happens between two people and not—” He turned the corner, stopping abruptly at the sight of you. “Oh.”
You looked at him, the can of Dr. Pepper clutched tightly in your hand.
“I, uh, meant to tell you not to open that one.”
You blinked.
“When I was getting my water out, I dropped it. That’s why it was on the bottom shelf.”
You finally wiped the Dr. Pepper from your nose. “Oh yeah, because I was just supposed to know that a can on the bottom shelf means don’t drink.”
Sam winced slightly, rocking his head left to right like he was thinking. “I meant to tell you; I just got busy.”
Moving over to the sink, you took your first and final sip of what was supposed to be your little treat, wincing and shaking your head. “Flat.” You poured the can out before turning back to face Sam. “I brought that specifically as a treat.”
Sam was staring at you, attempting to look sympathetic but mostly looking confused. “I’ll, uh, buy you another one.”
You waved at him dismissively. “It’s fine; I was just looking forward to it all morning. A reward after answering all those emails we’ve been putting off for weeks—but it’s fine.” You nodded resolutely, lips pressed into a thin line.
“Your words are not matching your tone right now, and it’s honestly a little scary.”
Leaning back against the counter, you couldn’t help the laugh that escaped you, abruptly stopping when you caught a glimpse of your shirt. Your formerly white shirt that was now decorated with…more than a little Dr. Pepper.
Your laugh quickly morphed into a sigh as you pulled your shirt away from yourself to fully assess the damage. It looked like the can had exploded, not opened, after it was knocked on the ground. That’s not to mention the sensory nightmare that was currently seeping through, leaving you slightly sticky.
You peered at the clock on the stove, sighing again. “Sam, I have a Zoom meeting scheduled with Mr. Shostakov in fifteen; I cannot wear this science project of a shirt—” Pausing, you raised your eyebrows.
Sam raised his right back. “I don’t like that look.”
“If you could just—” You gestured wildly. “Fill in for me—”
He immediately started shaking his head. “No.”
“Sam—”
“I told you I’m not talking to-to—” He spluttered for a second.
“The New Avengers?”
“No, no. They are not the ‘New Avengers.’” He spat out the name mockingly, almost like it hurt him to even utter it.
“Okay, whatever, the wannabe New Avengers, the off-brand Avengers.” You shook your head. “Whatever you wanna call them, I’m not talking to them looking like this.”
Sam opened his mouth to protest, but you quickly cut him off. “Let me guess, you’re gonna say, ‘Oh, it’s just a Zoom call.’” You dropped your voice a few octaves in an attempt to sound like Sam. “To which I say, it doesn’t matter if it’s a Zoom call; I still need to look professional.”
“First of all, I don’t sound like that.”
“Oh, come on—”
“Second of all, exactly! Who cares what you’re wearing to talk to these—”
“Sam!” You exclaimed, exasperated. “I need to make a good impression, okay? I know you and Bucky’s conversation was—”
“Don’t.”
“Okay.” You held your hands up in surrender. “I won’t. Even though you won’t even tell me what he said—”
He said your name slowly, in a tone that made you feel like you were back in high school, getting told off by your dad for skipping class.
“Okay, okay. I’m done. Put that disapproving dad look away.”
“Okay,” he repeated, nodding. “And if you are so dead set on changing shirts—”
“I am.”
He shot you another look. Oops.
“I think Joaquín keeps a few extras in his desk.”
You blinked. “What do you mean he keeps extras in his desk? Does he regularly change clothes multiple times a day?”
“Yeah, we actually have a fashion show in here every—”
“Oh, ha ha,” you retorted.
Sam cracked a smile before clarifying, “For all-nighters. You know how he is; once he gets started on something, he won’t quit.”
A smile crept onto your face. “Yeah, that sounds like him.” Glancing back at the clock, you pulled your phone from your pocket. “I’ll just call him and make sure it’s—”
“Oh, it’ll be fine.” He waved you off.
You weren’t convinced. “Sam, I’m not just gonna steal one of his shirts.”
“He won’t mind.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I do.”
“Surely this is some kind of HR violation—”
Sam said your name, exasperated. “I promise you, he won’t care.” After saying that, Sam furrowed his brows, clearly fending a smirk off his face. “Well, he probably will care—”
“Sam.”
“But not like you think.”
You didn’t have time to figure out these riddles he was speaking in. “You sure it’ll be fine?” You glanced at the clock again. “Because I only have like ten minutes before I need to—” Sighing, you shook your head. “I’m just gonna call him and make sure.”
Sam sighed. “If you can get him to pick up.”
You waved a hand at him. “He’ll pick up,” you said confidently, dialing his number and pressing your phone to your ear.
…
…
…
“Okay…maybe he won’t.”
Sam raised his eyebrows, the ‘I told you so’ evident by the look on his face. “It’s the drawer to the right.” He then moved back over to his desk, plopping down in his chair and peering at his computer.
You sighed, nodding as you moved to Joaquín’s desk. “Where’d he have to go?”
“The dry cleaners.”
“Dry cleaners?” You furrowed your brows, stopping way before you reached Joaquín’s desk. “What’d he have dry cleaned?” The moment the words left your mouth, you winced—you knew you were rambling. Stalling. “Oh shit, tell me that charity gala’s not tonight.”
“Yep,” Sam answered, somewhat mindlessly as he clacked away at his keyboard.
“I don’t have to, like, attend that or anything, do I? Not that I don’t care about charities, it’s just I don’t have, like, any fancy clothes or anything, and—”
Sam said your name.
“I mean, I might have a friend I might could ask to borrow some clothes from—”
Sam said your name again, and you could tell he was sporting that disapproving dad expression without even looking at him. “If you had to attend this gala, I would’ve told you weeks ago, and you know this.”
“Right, right.” You nodded, tucking a rogue strand of hair behind your ear.
“Joaquín’s not gonna hate you for borrowing a shirt,” he added, his tone a little softer. “There’s nothing to be nervous about.”
“Hate” wasn’t exactly what you were worried about, but you definitely didn’t have time to have that conversation with Sam. He was just trying to be nice.
“I know,” you said, nodding. Sam hummed in response, like he wanted to say something else, but ultimately decided to stay silent.
You stood in front of Joaquín’s desk, peeking over your shoulder to make sure Sam’s back was still to you. Your cheeks were flush and your palms sticky with sweat. Sure, you felt a little bit…wrong for essentially plundering at Joaquín’s desk while he wasn’t there, but another part of you felt almost giddy.
Getting to be at his desk felt like you were learning more about him, getting a peek at a different side of him, even. He was a great guy to work with and seemed like an even better guy all around. He was hardworking, determined, kind, funny, attractive—
He is your coworker, you screamed at yourself. Don’t make it into something! But a part of you knew that it was a little too late for that, especially given the fact you were schoolgirl-level excited just to look at his desk.
Oh my God, forget the desk—you were about to borrow one of his shirts. What if it smelled like him? What if you started smelling like him? Would he notice if you forgot to return it? What if he didn’t want you to return it? What if he wanted you to return it…but washed so he’d smell like you?
Oh, Christ. You furiously shook your head as if to rid those thoughts from your mind.
Much like your own, his desk was almost like an extension of himself: various trophies, a speaker, and a Miami Hurricanes hat. You leaned closer to inspect one of the trophies. It read, “Most Improved: Joaquín Torres,” making you smile despite yourself.
Spotting a picture frame, you leaned even closer. Joaquín was front and center, with a smile so bright that it overtook his entire face, with a small boy tucked in his side and another perched on his shoulders, all of whom were wearing similar smiles and had the same scrunch of their noses.
You recognized the boys from when Joaquín brought them to tour the office—his little cousins. Their dark eyes practically sparkled as he explained his gear, mirroring that of their older cousin so much that you could’ve been convinced you were peering into a time machine.
Joaquín had already looked so excited to show them everything but had practically beamed when one of them exclaimed, “I wanna be just like you when I grow up, Quíno!”
When he turned that proud smile to you, your heart had thumped a little quicker—similar to the way it was beating now. If you hadn’t known any better, you could’ve sworn Sam could hear it from across the room.
You reached out to the drawer, yanking your hand away before you even touched the handle. You took a deep breath and ran a hand through your hair. Why did it feel like you were in elementary school again, dared to tell your crush you liked him?
Except it wasn’t like that at all. You were just borrowing a co-worker’s shirt. That’s all. Even if you did think your co-worker was one of, if not the best, men you’ve ever met.
Jeez.
Sighing again, you nodded to yourself, quickly opening the drawer before you could overthink yourself out of it.
“Huh.” It was full of various items—miscellaneous cords, a stapler, a bottle of cologne, sticky notes, a screwdriver, and a pair of sunglasses, just to name a few. It seemed like you found Joaquín’s junk drawer.
You blinked, letting it slam back shut and yanking the handle beneath it.
There we go.
Neatly folded into the small drawer were t-shirts. Knowing if you stood there any longer, you’d manage to overthink which shirt to borrow, you quickly grabbed the closest one. It was grey with a navy graphic of a jet, reading “United States Air Force.” The shirt was soft and the graphic faded, clearly very well loved.
Heat pricked up your neck again as you went to the bathroom to change. You definitely didn’t bring the fabric up to your nose and inhale deeply. You definitely didn’t smile when you recognized his familiar scent. You definitely didn’t have to splash water over your face after putting it on because you just couldn’t stop blushing.
Definitely not.
Wearing his shirt, it was impossible to escape his familiar smell. It had taken over your senses, like it went up into your nose and managed to make its way down to your heart, keeping it trapped there, pumping through your arteries like blood.
You couldn’t help but cringe as you plopped back down in your chair. Here you were, freaking out because you smelled like Joaquín, when he probably didn’t even think twice about you. If you had any shame, you think you’d feel pathetic. But you didn’t.
You just logged onto your Zoom account and had to fight back a grin when you turned your webcam on and caught another glimpse of the graphic displayed across your chest.
When you got the notification that Alexei Shostakov had joined the Zoom, you plastered a polite smile on your face. “Hello, Mr. Shostakov, can you hear me?” His square was dark, with the icon displayed that his microphone was muted. Smile faltering, you added, “Are you there?”
After a few moments of silence, his bearded face suddenly filled the frame. His smile was so big, you would’ve thought he had won the lottery. It was kind of endearing, actually.
“Ah, hello!” You greeted again. You watched as his mouth began to move rapidly, his microphone still muted. “Oh, uh, I believe your mic is muted.”
His eyebrows furrowed as he shook his head, mouth continuing to move.
“I can’t hear you. Your, uh, microphone—”
He shook his head again.
Oh, Jesus Christ.
“There should be a button in the bottom left. You know, where you turned your camera on?”
He squinted at the screen, face drawing closer, before he flopped back against his chair and looked somewhere off-screen. Based on the way his shoulders shook, you could tell he was yelling.
You glanced nervously at Sam over your monitor, but the man was none-the-wiser, clicking away at his own keyboard. When you looked back down at the screen, a head of blonde hair was in the webcam.
You watched as the muted microphone icon disappeared from the screen. Yelena Belova leaned back and shot Alexei a smile that radiated passive aggressiveness, even through the computer, before retreating back off camera.
Your best customer service look crossed your features. “Alright, Mr. Shostakov, I just wanted to thank you for taking time to—”
His mouth began moving once again. You blinked as no sound came out.
Maybe your shirt should’ve been the least of your worries.
“Sam!” You called, peeking over your monitor. “I can’t hear my Zoom call.”
“Uh, is your volume turned up?”
“Uh, yeah,” you mocked, but still double-checked just in case it wasn’t. God, imagine how embarrassing that would’ve been.
“I dunno then.”
You squeezed your eyes shut, sighing. You knew Sam was being difficult on purpose—he wasn’t the one adamant on figuring something out with these “New Avengers,” you were. It was clear he didn’t want anything to do with it.
On your screen, a small crowd appeared to have gathered around Alexei’s screen. Yelena was standing next to Alexei while John Walker and some guy you didn’t recognize peered down at the computer. All of them shared similar looks of confusion.
“Sam, I seriously don’t—”
“Jeez, guys, sorry that took so long.” Joaquín came barreling through the door, two suit bags in his left hand and a brown paper bag and a drink carrier balanced in the other. He stumbled slightly over the suit bags as he quickly planted the contents of his right hand onto the nearest surface.
“Joaquín, perfect timing!” You called. “I can’t get this stupid Zoom to work.”
He hung the suit bags on the rack by his desk before leaning over your shoulder, face near yours as he peered at the computer screen. “Let’s see…” he mumbled, “click there.” He pointed to the lower corner of your screen.
“Here?” You asked, cursor following his instructions as you turned to look at him.
You flushed, his own gaze shifting to meet yours. He was so close that you could see the spots where his facial hair was beginning to grow back in. You tried to keep your vision there and off his full lips.
His eyes darted down to your chest and then back up to your face, his eyebrows furrowed. He did a double take. “Is—is that my shirt?”
“Oh! Oh, yeah. I, uh—Dr. Pepper exploded all over my white shirt.” You tugged at the neckline nervously. “Sam told me you kept extra shirts in your desk and that you wouldn’t care if I borrowed one.”
His expression remained unreadable, and you swore you could feel your stomach down in your toes. “I’m sorry—I can, uh—you—”
“No! I don’t.” He shook his head, his eyes squeezed shut. “I don’t mind. It’s fine.”
You weren’t convinced. “Joaquín, seriously, if it’s like…weird, I’ll change. I wasn’t trying to make you—”
“It’s fine. Like, seriously.” His gaze had shifted back over to the computer screen.
“Well, you’re not acting like it’s fine.” You chewed on your bottom lip nervously, the Zoom call the furthest thing from your mind. “I’ll just change—”
“No!” He exclaimed, surprising you. Based on the look on his face, it looked like he surprised himself too. “Keep it on.”
You swallowed deeply. “Are you sure?” You asked quietly. He still refused to look at you.
“Yeah.” He nodded, lips curled into the ghost of a smile. “Looks better on you anyway.”
You blinked. “What—”
“Ah! The Falcon is ladies’ man, I see!” A voice boomed from your computer speakers. “Not just wingman, eh? You see what I did there? Wing. Man. You know, because he has wings.”
The entire desk shook with the force of your and Joaquín’s collective flinch, the various trinkets littered across your desk toppling over and your picture frame, the one with the group picture of you, Sam, and Joaquín, landing face down.
Your gaze shot back to the screen, where Alexei was grinning, Yelena was smirking with one hand perched on her hip, and Walker looked like he was seconds away from vomiting all over the keyboard. The mystery guy had disappeared.
Great. What a wonderful and professional first impression they had of you.
You looked between Joaquín and the screen a few times. “I, uh—I apologize. My, uh, sound wasn’t working.” A bashful smile was on your face, and you hoped your shitty webcam wasn’t picking up the redness of your cheeks.
“Ah, no need to apologize for young love,” Alexei responded.
“Oh—no, it’s not—”
“I was young once too, you know. Once, this woman—very large-chested woman, like bird—”
“Okay, and that is enough,” Yelena interjected.
“Lena, let me get to the good part.”
“I somehow doubt that there is a good part.”
“This woman, she was tough like boar—”
“Explain to me how this is important right now—”
As the two bickered, you turned back to Joaquín. “We can, uh, talk later if you want. Thanks for your help.”
“I mean, it’s not like I did much.”
You laughed. “Yeah. Guess you just have the magic touch.”
“Guess so.”
“See!” Alexei boomed. “The way they gaze into each other’s eyes,” he sighed. “Oh, to be young and in—”
You cleared your throat loudly, shooing Joaquín away so you could actually do what you got on the call to do. “Thank you again, Mr. Shostakov, for agreeing to speak with me. Especially behind the back of Ms. de Fontaine.” Just saying her name left a sour taste in your mouth.
At the mention of Valentina, Alexei seemed to straighten up. “I—yes, uh, of course. We have, uh, much to talk about!”
Joaquín shot you a thumbs up from behind your monitor.
Finally, maybe you could make some progress with these guys.
You didn’t make any progress with them.
“It felt like I was talking to, like, the troll under the bridge or something!” You complained, hands thrown up in the air. You were perched on top of Joaquín’s desk while he leaned back in his chair. “I mean, I didn’t expect to suddenly solve all of our problems in one Zoom call, but still.”
“Well, you at least tried, right?”
“I—well, yeah.”
He raised his eyebrows at you. “That’s something.”
You groaned. “But it’s not enough.”
“You said it yourself, this isn’t the kinda problem that’s gonna magically fix itself overnight.”
“I know, but—” You sighed. “The whole call, Alexei just…danced around what he wanted to say. I had to piece together what he meant half the time—almost like riddles or something.”
“Well, Valentina probably has everything in that tower bugged to hell and back.”
“I guess,” you mumbled, slouching slightly.
Joaquín leaned forward to nudge your knee. “You at least managed to actually make contact, right?”
“I guess,” you repeated. “It’s just so frustrating, and I get where Sam is coming from 100% don’t get me wrong, but I just wish he’d help me out here. And on top of all this ‘New Avengers’ shit, I was looking forward to drinking my Dr. Pepper all morning just for it to explode on me, like right before my Zoom— ” You paused, glancing at the clock on the wall. “Shit, you gotta go.”
He turned to check the time, shaking his head. “Nah, I got time.”
You sighed, shaking your head. You brought your hands to your face, pressing your palms into your eyes. “Jesus, listen to me. Complaining isn’t going to get anything done. Meanwhile, you actually have an important event to get ready for, and here I am bothering you with all my prob—”
“Hey.” Joaquín stood, placing a gentle hand on your knee. You could feel the warmth of his palm even through the thick fabric of your pants. “You could never bother me.”
You smiled bashfully and made the mistake of glancing up at him. His dark eyes were soft yet somehow still felt like they were piercing right through you. Quickly darting your eyes away, you placed your hand on top of his. “Thank you,” you said softly.
“I was serious about earlier, by the way.”
Looking back to him, you furrowed your eyebrows, confusion evident on your face.
“My shirt. It really does look better on you.”
If you weren’t blushing before, you were positively red now. “Oh, jeez, Joaquín.”
“I’m serious! Thought I was gonna drop dead when I walked in and saw you in my shirt. Had to pinch myself to make sure I wasn’t dreaming.”
You shook your head, smiling. “You’re being silly.”
“I’m so serious!” He shifted his hand, which was still beneath yours, where he could squeeze your hand. “You can keep it too.”
“Joaquín,” you started, “I don’t wanna steal—”
“Unless, I mean—” He shook his head as if he were mentally weighing his options. “You want to bring it back to me on Friday at 7?”
You raised your eyebrows, biting back the smirk that was creeping onto your features. “Where at on Friday at 7?”
“How would you feel about…Iron Gate? You know, over on Dupont Circle?”
You nodded slowly, pretending like your mind hadn’t been made up the moment the words left his mouth. “I think that sounds perfect.”
“Yeah?” He didn’t even try to keep the broad grin off his face.
“Yeah.” You grinned right back.
Before either of you could utter another word, the door to the office swung open. “Joaquín, man, come on!” Sam called, pausing when he noticed the two of you. “...Am I interrupting something here?”
Joaquín opened his mouth, likely to make a smart remark, but you quickly interjected, “Not at all. I was just leaving.” You hopped down off his desk, untangling your hands.
You made your way back over to your desk, glancing back at Joaquín, who had moved to grab his suit off the rack. “So, Friday at 7 at Iron Gate, right?”
“Right.”
You smiled, ignoring the pointed look Sam was giving you both. “Have fun at the charity gala.” You grabbed your bag off your desk and gave the two one last wave, feeling more like you were floating instead of walking out of the office.
When the door shut behind you, Sam turned to Joaquín, who was busying himself with getting his suit out of its bag. “Are you committing some kind of HR violation?”
Joaquín shook his head, not sparing another glance at the man. “Nah, man.”
Sam practically stared a hole into his back. “Alexei was right; you are a ladies’ man.”
Joaquín laughed. “Oh, come on, you know it’s not like that.”
“I know. If anything, I’m glad you finally grew the balls to ask her out. Maybe now you’ll stop longingly staring at her when you think no one’s looking—”
“Hey! I do not do that.”
“Sure, man.”
“I don’t—”
“Whatever you say. Now, hurry up; you’re gonna make us late.”
The next morning, you walked into the office, going to your desk to put your bag down before walking to the kitchenette to put your lunch away.
When you opened the refrigerator, you were greeted by a can of Dr. Pepper adorned with a sticky note that read “See you Friday – J ♥︎.”