"That's it! I'm sick of this!" Chris Pratt shouted as he slammed the door behind him.
"Sick of what?" Hemsworth asked, coming in with a bowl of chicken and rice.
"Sick of this!" He grabbed the bowl out Hemsworth's hands.
"Hey, I'm still eating that." Hemsworth complained.
"It's great that my careers taken off once I got a body like yours," Pratt said, ignoring Hemsworth's complaint, "but I was way happier when I could just eat whatever I wanted and you know what? I'm going back to that! If that limits my roles again, so be it. I have money to live on for a long time even if I do lose roles."
"Well, I'm in." Chris Evans said, rubbing his damp hair with a towel around his waist. "I could so go for a steak."
"Great! You in Chris?" Pratt asked Hemsworth. Evans looked at him uncaringly as he continued drying his hair.
Finally, he shrugged. "Fine. Why not?"
Pratt cheered. "Yes! From now on, no more dietary restrictions. We eat what we want, when we want."
Hemsworth's stomach growled, interrupting Pratt. "Fine. Then lets go since you already took my lunch." He growled.
Pratt looked at the bowl still in his hand. "Oops. Sorry."
"Give me a minute to get dressed." Evans left for his room.
"You in the mood for anything?" Pratt asked Hemsworth.
He shrugged. "Steaks always good. Might as well go to a steakhouse."
"Steak it is." Pratt smiled.
Once Evans was ready, the three got loaded into Pratt's car. Once they got to the steakhouse, the hostess took them to a private corner of the restaurant. They barely even looked at the menu before Pratt....
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