"That's a cute tattoo you got there."
Eva didn't meet the gaze of the hipster man as she made his latte, but she could feel his eyes on her. "Which one?" she asked, in her best customer-service voice. Her shirt had ridden up beneath her apron, which meant the inked skin of her hip was visible as she leaned over to operate the coffee machine.
She could hear the grin in the man's voice. "That would be telling."
Creep, she thought, not for the first time since working in the coffee shop. It was so early on a Sunday morning that customers were still coming in drunk from the night before, and that was never an enjoyable shift. "That's five dollars twenty please, sir."
"Hang on," said the man, leaning on the counter (I'll have to disinfect that now, Eva thought), "you didn't finish my order."
She blinked. "Yeah, I did."
The woman behind her customer in the queue glanced up at them, made an impatient face, and went back to tapping away on her phone.
"No," said the man, "I also asked for your phone number."
"Well," said Eva, "I'm sorry, but that's not on the menu."
"Not even the secret one? I hear there's some wild stuff on there. You look pretty wild, if you don't mind me saying."
"We don't have a secret menu," said Eva, "Mr G ain't creative enough for that. Are you gonna pay, or what?"
The man was still grinning. She could smell stale beer on his breath. "I still haven't got your number," he said in a sing-song voice.
"Do I need to kick you out?" she asked, and the guy raised an eyebrow.
"I'd like to see you try," he said with a wink.
"Right." Eva snatched the cup off of the counter and emptied it into the sink behind her. "Leave, now."
"Whoa!" he laughed, "you're feisty! What're you gonna do, sweetheart? Manhandle me?"
"Hey," said the woman behind him, "asshole. Do as she says."
The man turned around and met the flinty gaze of the next customer. "Hey there," he said, "seems like I'm sandwiched in by two cute chicks. My night just took a turn for the better."
"What the hell did you just call me?" the woman asked.
"It's fine," Eva said wearily, "ma'am, please, I can deal with him…"
"Yeah," said the man, "I'd love to let her deal with me."
"That's it!" snapped the woman, and grabbed the man by his scarf. "I do not have the energy to deal with pervs like you this morning!" She dragged him with a surprising amount of strength into the street outside, dropped him onto his feet, and when the man tried to get a hold of her waist she smacked him round the jaw with a right hook that sent him flying into the road. Dusting off her hands, the woman marched back inside, slammed the door behind her with such a force the glass rattled in its setting, and took her place at the front of the queue. Her knuckles weren't even bruised.
"Um," said Eva, "thanks."
"No problem," said the woman brusquely. She was tall and kind of pretty, with dark hair and dark clothes. "Double espresso, please."
"On the house," Eva said, and the woman's mouth twitched into a half-smile.
"You're cute," she said, and squinted at her name tag. "Eva. You get guys like that in here often?"
"Not really," Eva lied, and the woman raised an eyebrow. "I deal with it."
"Well," said the woman, "if you ever need someone to chuck a creep through a window, call me." She took a napkin from the holder and scribbled a name and number down on it. JESSICA JONES, it said, with a Hell's Kitchen landline.
"Hey," said Eva, "you live round by that Daredevil guy. Ever thrown him through a window?"
"I wish," Jessica snorted, and as Eva handed over her cup she took a hipflask from her trouser pocket and turned it into an Irish coffee. Eva tried not to drool at the thought of how good that would taste, even if it was coffee. "You want some?"
Eva shook herself. "Nah," she said, "I, uh, I'm reluctantly teetotal."
Jessica raised an eyebrow. "What are you?" she asked. "Twenty, twenty one? And you already got a drinking problem. Girl after my own heart, Eva. See you around."
The coffee girl blushed. "You too," she said, and watched as Jessica walked out onto the street, landing a quick extra kick on the prone form of Creepy Hipster Guy as she went.
I think I'm in love.
A/N ask and ye shall receive. Also, having now watched it I think me and Jessica Jones might be soulmates. And not in a platonic-Evasion-friendship type way, either. In a gay way. I mean, I'm drinking whisky from a hipflask as I type this. IT'S DESTINY.