New York.
Outside a 24-hour diner, a Bentley rolled to a stop.
Maguire and the red-haired woman stepped out of the car.
Looking at him, she thought to herself,
*"What a charming little guy. Too bad he's so young… otherwise, he'd make a good 'friend.'"*
…
Maguire grinned at her.
"Come on, it's just the two of us now."
She shot him a playful glare before walking into the diner.
…
Soon, they were seated. After ordering, the redhead looked across at him.
"Little brother, how old are you? You look about 18. Also, I still don't know your name."
Maguire smirked.
"You can call me 'brother,' but don't call me 'little brother.' I'm not little. My name's Maguire—remember it."
She gave him a sultry glance.
"Is that so? Maguire… I'm Natasha. You can call me Natasha-sis."
…
Maguire almost choked.
*"Sis? Don't kid me. You're over seventy, aren't you? Calling you sister would be ridiculous."*
That's right—this red-haired woman was none other than the Black Widow, Natasha Romanoff of the Avengers.
As a product of the Super Soldier program, Natasha was technically in her seventies, though she still looked no older than her early thirties. Years of training and enhancements had reshaped her body into something extraordinary.
…
Maguire, however, only wanted to pass the time. He didn't expose her identity.
"So, Miss Natasha," he asked casually, "are you here on business?"
She smiled faintly.
"Business… something like that."
Their late-night meal passed in an atmosphere of playful tension.
Natasha thought to herself,
*"What a witty, amusing kid. Let's see how much self-control he really has."*
Suddenly, she pretended to be tipsy. Her eyes grew hazy, her charm radiating without restraint.
As a world-class spy, her performance was flawless—half seduction, half restraint, perfectly executed.
To most men, it would have been irresistible.
But Maguire wasn't most men.
He chuckled.
"Miss Natasha, you don't look so well. Where are you staying? Want me to take you back?"
Her eyes narrowed slightly.
"All right… I suppose I did drink a little too much."
She swayed as she stood, then deliberately stumbled forward, falling into his arms.
Maguire caught her instantly.
His cheeks flushed bright red—not from shyness, but because he decided to play along.
Natasha, seeing his expression, laughed inwardly.
*"Boys will be boys. He's already flustered."*
…
"I'm really sorry… I must've had too much," she said, trying to stand before falling against him again, her eyes clouded.
"Please… just help me outside."
Maguire sighed helplessly but complied, even making his heartbeat quicken for effect.
…
Soon, they reached the Bentley.
Inside the car, Natasha leaned back, giving him a sly, suggestive look.
Maguire, feigning embarrassment, stammered,
"Miss Natasha… where do you live? I'll drive you."
Hearing his stammering tone, she smirked inwardly.
*"Teenagers… no matter how they pretend to be experienced, the truth always shows at the crucial moment."*
She gave him the address of her hotel.
Maguire drove quickly, while Natasha pretended to fall asleep in the passenger seat, unconsciously making small suggestive movements.
Maguire kept up the act, blushing and pretending to be overwhelmed.
Natasha, still "asleep," was secretly delighted.
*"He's adorable."*
…
Before long, they arrived at a luxurious hotel.
Natasha kept up her act, still feigning sleep as the Bentley stopped at the entrance.
…
PS: To take or not to take—that is the question. What do you think, dear readers?
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