Three steps out of his neighborhood bodega, Sam Wilson felt his pocket buzz. He mentally ran through the people who had this number - few - and the ones who ever texted - fewer. Curiosity and worry had him shifting the bag of fruits and vegetables to his left hip and digging out the phone. The screen flashed unhelpfully:
1 Text Message
Sender: Unknown
"What the...?" He instinctively glanced up and down the street, but neither the young couple groping each other in a nearby car nor the middle-aged Hispanic woman chatting to her Pekinese seemed inclined to provided any answers.
Forced to confront the mystery head-on, Sam took a deep breath, held the phone a little ways away from his body - in case of...something - and clicked "Read." Fortunately, the text required little decoding:
On your left.
Sam wasn't sure whether to laugh or roll his eyes, so he settled for a little of both. "I bet you think you're funny, Rogers." He pivoted slowly to his left and sure enough, there was Steve Rogers himself, leaning up against the crumbling brickwork of Angelo's Pizza. "I bet you think you're real funny."
Steve ran a hand over the back of his neck and smiled sheepishly. "I was going for charming."
"Oh you were, were you?" With the groceries preventing him from breaking out his trademark crossed-arm stance, Sam settled for cocking a hip and raising an incredulous eyebrow in Steve's direction. He wasn't getting off that easily.
"I, uh, pulled a few strings and got your number." Steve's obvious nervousness was adorable enough that Sam was having a hell of a time keeping a straight face.
"Mm-hmm," Sam said, the eyebrow arching even higher. "And I'm taking it those strings got you my address, too?"
Steve actually blushed. "They are pretty powerful..." The light dawned and he blurted out, "God, this was so inappropriate. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I should go."
"You can make it up to me by taking these," Sam interjected quickly, hoisting the groceries into Steve's hands before he could make a run for it.
"Truth be told, I'm still getting the hang of all this new technology," Steve admitted. "Back in my apartment, this all seemed like a really good idea."
"Well, two truths being told..." Sam mirrored Steve's previous position and leaned against the wall. "You going to all this trouble to find me...it's pretty damn flattering."
Glimmers of a smile danced over Steve's lips, but he said nothing. Finally, it was Sam who prompted, "So...did you want to ask me something, or was this just you giving those 'strings' a test drive?"
"Pizza!" Steve blurted out. "That is, I, uh...I wanted to know if you, that is if you and I - God, I'm out of practice - only if you want to, of course, but -"
"Steve," Sam interjected, taking pity on him and placing a hand on his shoulder. "Would you like to go out for pizza with me?"
"Well, sure, that's how a sane person would phrase it." Steve sighed, then a smile burst onto his face. "Oh! You were actually asking me! Yes! The, um, answer is yes."
Sam ran his hand down Steve's arm and linked their fingers together. "Hey, if you don't mind sharing a table with my avocados, we could do it right now."
Steve let out an audible sigh of relief and nodded enthusiastically. Sam opened the large, wooden door of the pizzeria and began to lead Steve inside. "Oh, and Steve?" He turned and winked at him. "This time, I get to be on your left."
