~Monday, January 2, 2017, 2:12PM, Fanelli Café, NYC~

Putting her fork down, Sigyn pushed her plate aside, set her elbows on the table, and leaned forward onto them, staring at Loki sitting across from her as he recounted a story from his Harvard undergrad days.  She chewed on her lip, trying to focus on the story itself, which would be a genuinely interesting one if her mind would quit checking out of the conversation every three seconds to just gaze stupidly at the mouth telling the story.

But honestly, how the hell could she process verbal communication when he insisted on describing this story with his hands?  Loki could probably sell his left wrist to Rolex for millions.  Who knew tendons and knuckles could be so appealing?  In her mind, his fingers were the star of the show.  They were longer than most guys (in her experience) and better groomed, for sure, with perfectly rounded ends and smooth surface curvature, giving the tips a natural-looking sheen.  Finally— a man who knew how to buff his tips properly.  Heat flooded her cheeks when the wording of her thoughts hit her.

He knows how to buff his NAILS, not TIPS, for god’s sake, her mind clarified itself.

MOVING ON.

Reaching for her glass, Sigyn took several gulps, which she nearly choked on thanks to her hilarious head spouting off a string of sexual jokes— “yeah, I bet you’re thirsty” “don’t spit it out” “you should offer to get on your knees and give him a MAN-icure HAHAHA.”

For the love, her one brain cell was actively working against its own best interests.  If she wanted to turn her totally respectful Loki-centric thoughts into reality, then perhaps she shouldn’t allow her mind to wander away from the real guy right here in front of her.  Setting her glass down, she shifted in her seat, unable to stop crossing and uncrossing her legs.  She took several deep breaths, forcing her consciousness to turn Loki’s volume dial all the way up once more, to let only the sound of his voice permeate the space between her ears.

“…thought my father had the corner on the condescension market, but this calculus tutor made that merciless man who sired me look more charitable than Jesus Christ…” Loki paused, watching Sigyn move restlessly in her chair.  Trying to ignore the rising insecurity in his chest, he cleared his throat.

“So…um,” he sighed, scratching the back of his neck,” my father was…he was…not nice…but that’s beside the point.  This other guy was a prick-and-a-half, and…” he stopped again because, fuck, he couldn’t think straight with her moving like that.  

Leaning forward, he looked her straight in the eyes. “Are you alright?”

Sigyn tilted her head, blinking several times.  Was he upset with her?  The tone of his voice suggested that was a possibility.

Oh, please no no no no, Loki, I am SO INTO YOU.

“I’m great,” she replied, putting on a smile that hopefully reached her eyes.  When he didn’t respond immediately, only squinting at her quietly as though trying to read her mind, she swallowed nervously.  “Why?”

He looked over her face, searching for the truth that she was most assuredly not sharing with him.  She was great?  Ha, okay.  Consider him not convinced.  That was, unless her “I’m great” response was supposed to conjure up an image of him taking the first sip from his to-go coffee while walking out of Ground Support with her this morning— that moment when he’d cringed at the unexpected soymilk flavor in his supposed almond latte, while muttering “fucking GREAT.”

He leaned forward onto his elbows. “You know that feeling during those last few minutes of class when your ears turn the professor’s words into a dull hum?  As though your body senses the need to switch from the vulnerable, present-focused ‘learning’ mode that was required throughout the lecture to instead prep itself with a future-focused ‘green light GO!’ mix of adrenaline and cortisol or whatever, enabling you to bolt up out of your chair the exact moment that second hand touches the 12 on the clock over the front board?”

Sigyn smiled faintly. “Yes?” Where was he going with this?

“Yes?” He repeated her answer, to which she nodded. “Is that how you feel right now?”

She frowned, momentarily confused. “Wait…what-” she stopped when his question clicked properly. “Do you think that I think you sound like a droning professor??”

“Well, I mean,” he chuckled, somewhat amused by the offended expression on her face, “you seem antsy.  Listen, I’m not saying that you’re bored per se, but maybe that you’re interpreting this conversation as annoyingly one-sided, you know?” He put a hand on his chest. “I don’t want you to think that I just like the sound of my own damn voice.”

Her eyes didn’t quite pop out of her head, but it was a close call. “You can’t be serious.  No way in hell could you interpret anything I’m doing right now as me being annoyed with you.  No no no,” she said, shaking her head, “you are wrong.  Wrong.  On all accounts.  Wrong.”

Loki opened and closed his mouth a few times, genuinely concerned that she was in any way upset with him now. “Sigyn, I didn’t mean to-”

“Good god, no,” she spoke over him, laughing nervously. “I would gladly listen to your voice all day, alright?  I’m grateful for the opportunity.”

If luxurious, melt-in-your-mouth, world-class cacao had a voice, it would sound exactly like Loki.  Oh, that deep baritone timbre was phenomenal.  Her eyes glazed over (probably into hearts).  This was the first man she’d met who wouldn’t have to beg her to say his name during sex because, god almighty, she would already have moaned it, unprompted, about a hundred times in a mere five minutes with him.  Blinking several times, she pressed her lips together.  Well, at least she had the self-awareness to catch herself each time her brain short circuited into NSFW Land.

Her mouth fell open into an ‘o’ then—OH—as her exceptionally slow head finally flipped the empathy switch on.  Shit, she would feel so dejected if she were in Loki’s position.  If she’d noticed him fading in and out while she’d been talking, if she’d seen the dazed look in his eyes, or his incessantly bouncing knee, she would have excused herself to run to the restroom and cry into a wad of paper towels.  She would have apologized for her sudden, adult-onset attention deficit disorder, but his deep, rasping laugh cut through the silence instead.

“Shall I continue blessing you with my mouth then?” he asked, giving her a look that had no business showing up in any situation that didn’t allow her to immediately rip his clothes off.

Oh god, she couldn’t breathe.

RIP Sigyn Elena Frey.

“Blessing you with the sounds coming out of my mouth, that is,” he clarified, barely managing to keep a steady voice.  In the span of two seconds, his flirtatious “ha ha” innuendo had morphed into something far more intense, and now, here he was, needing to practice goddamn yoga breathing to get his heartrate down.  (And some blood back up into his head—Jesus Christ.)

Sigyn forced a laugh, as though his “joke” had done anything other than turn her on to the point of pain.  Other than the obvious things she would consider as “blessings” from his mouth, she could also envision what that mouth would look like while saying goodnight to her just inside her building doors.  There would be a slightly crooked little grin on his face, then the upturned corner of his mouth would fall.  Suddenly, his jaw would tighten, then he would make this sort of growl-like sound, reach down to grab her backside, hoist her up into his arms, and kiss her like a king while she wrapped her legs around his waist.  Oh, she was rolling with this fantasy now, and she needed to stop. Eyebrows knitting together, she recentered herself in the here and now.

“By all means,” she said, smiling brightly, “please continue the story.  I promise to sit still.”

Still counting his breaths, Loki exhaled through his mouth.  Shit, he couldn’t even recall what he’d been talking about.  He pressed his lips together, frowning up at the ceiling.  Something about university, maybe?

OH! —the tutor from hell, that’s right.

“Okay, let’s see,” he said, tapping his finger to his chin, “right…so, listen, I didn’t complain about that guy to my parents, but it came up in a conversation with my mother, and—I’m dead serious here by the way—she dared to suggest…”

Sigyn stared at the moving shadows in his face, his words fading to white noise yet again.  Those cheekbones were sharp enough to cut her hand on.  Dammit! —how had she already zoned out again?  What had he said?  Something about his mum?  He’d been getting to the climax of this story, and now she’d have to ask him to repeat it.  She chewed her lip, trying not to think about “getting to the climax” in another scenario.  She squinted at him, catching the tail end of the last sentence.  Or was that a new sentence?

“…better than that, my mother assured me that this grad student only treated me like shit because he had a crush…”

She didn’t hear the next part.  Her mind had replaced his voice with different sounds—imaginary heavy breathing, the loud echo of thick boots and skinny high heels climbing three flights of stairs, the creaking of her front door swinging open on its old hinges before slamming shut, the lock clicking, the thud of a purse landing on the wood floor, the “clink” of a belt unbuckling, a zipper pulling down…

“Bloody hell, shut up,” she groaned under her breath, putting her face in her hands, completely unaware that she’d said it loud enough for Loki to hear her.

“…a crush…on…me…” he slowed his speech to a halt, opening and closing his mouth a few times, unsure how to respond, before finally asking, “Did you just tell me to shut up?”

Hearing the raised inflection in his voice, she looked up from her hands.

“Oh.  Uh…no,” she replied, gazing longingly at her ice water, wishing it were socially acceptable to dump it over her head.  Her face was about to melt right off.  She waved a hand. “That was aimed at me, actually.”

Head tilting, Loki looked sideways.  What in all the universe was going on with her?  It took him a second, but the answer did finally come to him.  He pushed a hand through his hair.

“Can’t believe it took me so long,” he muttered, rolling his eyes at his complete lack of awareness. “I’m not boring you, no no no.  You’re just caught up in some inner dialogue, and it centers around me in an inappropriate context.” He grinned at the sexy-as-hell blush on her cheeks. “Do tell.”

Shaking her head, Sigyn pressed her lips together to suppress an embarrassing nervous giggle.  She would not legit giggle (EVER!) in front of this man.

“You don’t want to know,” she said, pushing a shaky hand through her hair.

“I00 dollars says I most certainly do want to know,” he countered, sucking in his cheeks.  He pointed to her face. “You were picturing me naked.”

Her eyes blew wide open, though gratefully, the deer-in-headlights moment didn’t last long—two seconds, at most.  Obviously, he’d spoken in jest, but it was still blatantly sexual.  A bit bold for a first date, no?  Glancing sideways out the window, she pondered the question for literally one second before concluding the obvious answer— he wasn’t “bold” so much as just “reading the room” accurately.  She hadn’t exactly hidden her extreme interest in him.  She should be relieved to finally be on a date with someone who wasn’t afraid to lay his “I really like you too” cards on the table.

Unless…he could just be an incredibly convincing liar.  Maybe he only wants sex, and knows that shit wouldn’t fly with me, so he’s putting on the DREAMIEST SHOW EVER.  He’s baiting, and I’m suicidal enough to take it…

She looked back at him, her eyes flicking between his mouth and eyes.  Bloody hell, she would kill to kiss that smirk spreading across his face, partly because it would give her an excuse to examine his eyes up close.  It would be akin to gazing at rare, gorgeous gemstones backlit by a winter sunset breaking through the clouds after a snowstorm—translucent jade threads bursting from the glittering onyx cores of glowing emeralds.

His crooked grin morphed into a toothy smile, and he laughed quietly. “Are you looking for the answer to my question on my face?”

“No,” she said on an exhale, the clusterfuck of butterflies in her stomach migrating southin a collective, flittering rush of blood at the sound of his throaty laugh, “I’m…admiring your face.”

And your voice.  And your hair.  And your words.  And the way you look at me.

The word “magnetic” didn’t begin to cover it.  God, he was so dangerous.  Did he have enough self-awareness to recognize that?

“No, you’re stalling.  That’s what you’re doing, darling.  I see those clever gears grinding up there,” he said, pointing to her head, “cursing at each other for failing on the job.”

“My god, you’re so mean,” she snickered, though it was more from exasperation than amusement. “It’s an incredibly awkward question, you know? You’ve put me in a weird position, Loki.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Have I?  Then by all means, Sigyn, feel free to take the lead.  I’m amenable to any position.” The crooked grin appeared again. “I’m flexible like that.”

She couldn’t help but grin back at him.  No way in hell was he faking this.  Even the most experienced and talented charmer couldn’t pull this off.  Even Oscar-winning performances required scripts, and both parties had to memorize their lines, or it wouldn’t work.  Sure, many great movie moments had been improvised, but they still had to fit within the greater agreed upon context of the script or the scene prompt, right?  This scene, however— the “first date” scene playing out right here at Fanelli, only a few blocks from her building— was the real deal.

Loki wasn’t baiting her.  He wasn’t a pick-up artist.  He wasn’t a charismatic “yes man” telling her everything she wanted to hear just to get her in bed.  Quite the opposite, he was the most genuine man she’d ever met.  Guarded, but genuine, nonetheless. Her gut instinct told her that his “guarded” quality was related to past trauma.  Probably more than one instance of it.

Taking careful steps around his own personal broken glass (a justified decision, in her opinion), he’d still laid his cards out on the table in front of her.  He was all in with no chips left to flex, and that made him vulnerable to a huge loss—her, in this case.  In other words, he was confident that he could be vulnerable with her.

He’s confident that I’m into HIM, not the idealized Loki “Starboy” Odinson.

That meant he must be legit into her, right?  Was this just her being too hopeful? —Had his dazzling, pearly white smile blinded the rational part of her brain?  She suppressed a dreamy-eyed moan, her chest constricting and aching and melting and bleeding for this guy. 

“Cat got your tongue, Ms. Frey?”

“This is so embarrassing,” she answered immediately, knowing that another slow response would just make her look like a silly, blushing schoolgirl or something, “but I can’t remember the question.” She forced a weak laugh and lowered her eyes to her glass, stirring the tepid water with her straw.

Pursing his lips, Loki reached across the table, and her heart skipped a beat as he gingerly pinched her fingers to stop the stirring.  Her stomach flipped excitedly, absolutely thrilled with even that tiniest physical contact.  It was a barely-there sensation, but apparently, he could make her crazy with just his thumb and forefinger.  Her eyes nearly popped out of her head as the phrasing of that thought smacked her right in the face.

“Oh god, I wish,” she said without realizing it.

“You wish what?” He asked, removing her fingers from the straw, setting them on the table, then (unfortunately) letting go, and picking her glass up instead.  He lifted it to his nose, sniffing the contents.

Eyebrows knitting, she watched him curiously. “Wish?” She’d said that out loud? Yikes. “Why are you smelling my drink?” she asked, dodging the question.

“Checking to see if it was spiked with vodka or something,” he said, biting into a smile.

She laughed. “What? Why would you think that?”

“Because you’re suffering from short-term memory loss, apparently, and I’m terribly concerned,” he joked, setting the glass down in front of her once more as she laughed harder. “I asked…” he paused, relaxing into the chair back, “Well, I suppose I didn’t phrase it as a question originally, but rather suggested that you’d stopped listening to me because you were too busy imagining the perfection beneath this-” he tugged the lapels of his black leather jacket “-marvelously stylish getup.”

“The confidence with which you speak astounds me,” she said, trying to contain the dreadful giggling sound coming out of her mouth. “Not that you shouldn’t be confident in that marvelously stylish getup.”

“She evades the question, yet again,” he sighed, extending his legs, and crossing his ankles under the table.

He’d assumed she would scoot a few inches left to make room for him, but she didn’t.  Quite the opposite, she moved toward him, closing the slight space between his outer right thigh and hers.  Heart pounding, he produced a small grin, thrilled to feel the heat of her bare leg against his jeans.  Would he get slapped if he thanked her for choosing to wear a miniskirt sans tights in January? He watched her carefully, hoping he wasn’t misreading the situation.  He doubted it, though, since her chest had begun rising and falling more quickly in the last three seconds.  Still grinning, he took several deep breaths, reeling in the extreme desire to push his other knee between her legs.

BIG NOPE.  I am not a goddamn caveman.

His grin faltered then, considering the possibility that this was just his imagination showing him what he wanted to see.  Maybe the exposed skin above her shirt’s blessedly low neckline hadn’t turned a slightly darker shade of pink; maybe his mind had simply concocted a sexy hallucination starring this Sigyn Frey person who he’d only met yesterday.  Oh god, if such things were true, he might need to excuse himself to go into the men’s room, and…kick a trash bin or something.  Obviously, he’d fantasized about her while showering after that run yesterday, but this moment with her had better not also be an elaborate fantasy.  

Please tell me my hyper excited chemicals aren’t LYING to me. 

Lifting one eyebrow, Sigyn cleared her throat. “I was not picturing you naked.”

“You’re a terrible liar,” he sighed, smirking at the blush on her cheeks.

 True story—She put a hand over her mouth to cover a laugh as she sank lower down her chair. “I was not technically lying.”

“You’re going with the technicalities defense?” He asked, his shoulders shaking with silent laughter.

“Well, I mean…” she sighed, forcing herself to sit up straight even though she would’ve preferred to fall through the floor, “you accused me of picturing you naked, and I was not picturing you naked.”

Eyes narrowing, he hummed. “Hmm.  Question…”

She groaned—No further questions PLEASE, Loki!

Fuck, she was going to say something stupid.  Something honest.  Same difference.

“Why did you say you weren’t technically lying?”

She opened her mouth to respond, but he cut her off to elaborate. “Technically lying is not the same thing as being honest, is it?”

Again, she started to answer, and again, he spoke over her. “The subtext is entirely different, you know.”

Glaring at him, though not maliciously, she threw up her hands and answered honestly. “The insinuation within your accusation was that I was picturing you in a sexual situation, which would be correct, but you weren’t naked.  There’s your technicality, Loki.” Her mouth snapped shut, and she winced.  Oh, the regret.  The shame.

Hello, Sigyn’s Losing Hand, allow me to introduce you to the Table of Oversharing!

Loki’s eyebrows shot straight to his hairline, and he bit into a smile. “My god, woman.”

Honestly, if she’d literally shot herself in the foot, it would’ve been less painful than this “dying inside” embarrassment.

She rolled her eyes and mumbled, “I hate everything.”

He gave her a pointed look. “You don’t hate me.”

Shrugging her shoulders, she nodded once. “Well, one need not be an Einstein to figure that out.”

“The feeling’s mutual, I assure you,” he said, chuckling quietly when she bit her lip and pretended to fan herself in response. “So…” he continued, propping his elbows on the table and setting his chin on his hands, “would you be willing to share further details about the situation you were think-” he stopped abruptly, pressing his lips together when their server appeared next to them with a water pitcher.  He handed his glass to him, nodding his thanks while smiling at Sigyn, who was blinking lazily at him again.  

The server looked at her. “You too, ma’am?” When she didn’t respond, but only continued staring at the man across the table, the server shook his head at Loki, then he snorted. “Jesus, it’s like you don’t even have to try, m’dude.  What’s your secret, you goddamn sexual Tyrannosaurus?”

“If you think I don’t try, it then follows that you think I woke up like this,” Loki said, grabbing Sigyn’s glass to hand to the young man to save him the trouble of awkwardly reaching over their plates, “which couldn’t be further from the truth.  One could argue that I try too hard.”

The server set her glass down, and the movement pulled her out of her starry-eyed daze, her eyes snapping up to him.

“Oh god, I’m so sorry,” she said, offering an apologetic smile. “I swear I’m not always such a space cadet.”

“Seems to be a regular problem with the girls who hang out with this guy,” he said, gesturing to Loki, and setting their separate restaurant checks on the table. “No rush,” he added, then turned away to help another table.

Eyebrows pulling together, Sigyn watched the man’s back for a moment.  His words hadn’t been objectively offensive, not even close, but they’d triggered a highly juvenile internal response.  Namely, jealousy.  She heard Loki clear his throat, and she returned her eyes to him.

“I take issue with that lad’s opinion,” he sighed, stabbing at the chicken from Sigyn’s half-eaten entree. “As though only girls space out around me.  Come on, mate.  My appeal transcends gender.” He’d felt the shift in the air the moment that waiter mentioned other women.  Hopefully, that off-the-cuff gender quip had softened the blow.  See? —Trying.

“Mm,” Sigyn hummed, unsure what to make of the sudden tension in his jaw, the downcast eyes, the deepening crease between his eyebrows, and the slow, excessively methodical chewing of one small bite.

She tilted her head, silently counting 28 seconds until he finally swallowed.  Interesting—a mouthful of food was a convenient excuse for what would otherwise be interpreted as nervous silence.  She chewed her lip, watching him use the napkin in his lap to wipe his already clean mouth.  Was he upset with her?  With the waiter?  Had he seen someone whip out a phone to take a picture of him or something?  She looked over her shoulder, unsure what she was even searching for.  If she had to guess, and she absolutely was guessing, she would say that Loki was panicking at the thought of her possibly feeling like she was just another notch on his bedpost after that comment.

Just keep the conversation going.  You like this guy…a LOT.  Don’t scare him off with your own bullshit insecurities getting the better of you.

Turning back to him, she smirked. “Your appeal transcends gender, eh?  Agreed, and what a perfect segue back to the male Harvard grad student who was crushing on you.”

He raised an eyebrow, relieved to know that she was still willing to talk to him at least. “So, you were listening to the story.”

“I caught snippets,” she laughed.

“I’ll start where I left off…where was I?”

“You were telling me that your mum said that guy was into you.  I can hear the ‘well actually’ right now.”

“Impressive recall for a space cadet,” he quipped, shooting her a smile. “You must be a phenomenal multitasker.”

“I am,” she agreed, then held up a finger. “Except for 69.  It is impossible to do both of those things at once.  How am I supposed to focus on the hand and mouth work while a man has his head between my legs?”

His eyes blew wide open. “Jesus. Christ.  Don’t talk about that to me in public.”  He hoped his inseam could handle the onslaught of gloriously graphic images flooding his brain.

“Oh please,” she laughed, adoring the desperate, longing look on his face, “you were about to ask the specifics of my little daydream.”

He licked his teeth (behind closed lips, of course—he wasn’t a creep) and held up his hands. “Guilty as charged.”

Despite being nervous as hell to be this open with him, her stomach twisted excitedly.  If she didn’t get to roll around with him on her couch at the end of this date, she would be a sobbing mess of a woman tonight.  No no no, she should absolutely not do that tonight.  That would make her even more of a sobbing mess.  Right? Taking a deep breath, she chewed her lip.

Ugh, just SAY it.

“I was picturing us in my building lobby, and…um…trying to determine if you were strong enough to climb the three flights of stairs up to my third-floor apartment-” oh god, just breathe “-if you had to carry me up there.” He was an avid runner, right?  It only followed that he had strong legs.  Or did it hinge more on the upper body strength?

Raising a dark eyebrow, Loki bit into a crooked grin.  She wanted him to literally sweep her off her feet?  Alright, that was it—he needed to make Sigyn Frey his girl.  No question.

Giving her several once-overs (would one call that a four-over?), he smirked. “Uh…easily, darling.”

“I suppose there’s no way in hell you would’ve said anything else, unless you wanted to get smacked for judging my figure,” she laughed, genuinely amused by the smug yet offended expression on his face.

He gave her a withering look. “You can’t possibly think that your figure is anything short of absolutely stunning, right?  Also, if we’re judging figures, here are a few: I deadlift 350, hit the gym 6 days a week, 52 weeks a year, and give precisely zero fucks about whatever number you see on your scale.  Trust me, when I say that I can easily carry you up three flights of stairs, I’m not lying.”

She stopped laughing immediately.  Goddamn, no wonder his jeans fit him like a dream. Her heart was about to burst through her ribcage.

He held up a hand before she could respond. “Okay, admittedly, that sounded arrogant as hell, and I should probably be ashamed for what could very much sound like a god-complex, however, in my defense, overextended gym-use and subsequent gloating about it are just part and parcel for people with VASFPD.”

Lifting her drink to her mouth, she stared blankly at him. “I have no idea what any of that means.”

Straight-faced, he answered without hesitation, in the flattest voice ever. “Vain as fuck personality disorder.”

Aaaand…she literally spit out her drink. “Loki Odinson,” she croaked, laughing between coughs as she wiped tears from her eyes. “I swear to god, you are ridiculous,” she managed while wiping tears from her eyes.

He laughed in response, quickly jumping up and coming around the table to pat her back (as though that would help at all).

“You think I’m ridiculous?  Check out that inflatable dinosaur zipping by on a skateboard,” he said, pointing out the window and smiling when she started laughing all over again. “Bloody hell, I love New York.” He offered his hand to her then.

“Ready to go?” he asked, grinning crookedly when she took his hand, allowing him to help her to her feet.  He gestured to her bag, slung across the chairback. “Better not forget that.”

“Oh right,” she mumbled, rolling her eyes at herself as she let go of him to reach down and unhook the awkwardly placed strap.

For pity’s sake, she was coming across as a silly, helpless girl who couldn’t even remember her damn bag!  Wrenching the thing free, she unzipped it as she stood upright.  Before she could slide her credit card out, Loki placed his hand over hers, and she looked up to see him pulling a few clean, new twenties from a silver money clip.

“Oh my god, no,” she said, shaking her head resolutely, “that is generous, but you do not need to pay for-”

“I asked you out, Sigyn,” Loki cut her off, leaning over the table to stack their separate restaurant bills into a neat pile.  He then dropped the cash on top of them and picked up the pen that the server had slipped inside the receipt holder.  Clicking the pen, he quickly wrote “keep the change, Jesse. Take care- LO x.” and popped one of the free peppermints into his mouth.  Grabbing the other one, he handed it to Sigyn.

“Did you think I’d let you pay for your own lunch?  How else am I supposed to impress you?” He winked, snickering quietly at her dramatic eye roll as she unwrapped her mint.

“Mmmhmm,” she hummed, lips pursing as she quietly chewed and swallowed it.  “Indeed, after seeing you wield cash like a hero, I am now able to detect a hint of attraction toward you.  I mean, prior to this moment, you had nothing else going for you.”

“A hero, I am not,” he lowered his voice, leaning toward her, and gingerly slipping his hand into hers again, “but a villain who has successfully lured you into an attraction trap.”

She chewed her lip, forcing a “confident” smile even though he made her feel weak as hell.  Son of a—as though he hadn’t already melted her insides with each word, each smile, each pass of his hand through his hair, each bite of his dinner that showed off his jaw, or swallow of his water that made her want to put her mouth all over his neck; now his face was mere inches from hers.  She needed to say something, or else she might lean forward and kiss his mouth right here in the middle of a crowded café.

“The utter betrayal,” she managed, her voice shaking a bit as he wiggled his eyebrows in response.  Dammit—so much for dry wit—she was unable to stop a smile from spreading across her cheeks as he turned on his heel, pulling her with him toward the old glass-windowed door under the exit sign. 

Dragging her behind him, Loki pushed through the door, squinting from the sudden burst of late afternoon daylight blasting into his retinas.  He tightened his grip on her hand, smoothly descending the two steps down to the sidewalk, then began walking up Mercer Street without asking where Sigyn wanted to go.  He didn’t have a destination in mind, and he didn’t care.  He just wanted to take her everywhere with him, and if he asked her what to do next or where to go next, then he would be forced to admit he didn’t have a plan.  And that could easily turn into a “well, that was fun, see you some other time” situation, which was not okay because he wasn’t ready to end this date.

Even though he’d been with her all morning, starting with coffee at Ground Support on West Broadway, then walking nearly every block of Soho twice, and spent three hours making possibly too-intense eye contact and talking her ears off just now at Fanelli, he couldn’t stand the thought of saying goodbye yet.  He felt her thumb rubbing circles on his hand, much like she’d done to his arm yesterday when he’d caught her, but the sensation of it was far more deadly today.

Don’t be a coward, LO.

Blowing out a breath, he started to ask when he could please see her again, but she spoke first.

“Ugh, I hate this,” she sighed, her words sending Loki’s stomach plummeting to the ground.

Eyes popping, he stopped abruptly, accidentally yanking her with him.

WAIT…WHAT?

“Sorry,” he apologized, instinctively grabbing her shoulder with his free hand to steady her.  He released her hand and cleared his throat, trying to stop his face from falling to the concrete and landing with a dreadful SPLAT.

Head tilting, he pressed his lips together. “You hate this?” he asked, anxiety clawing at his chest.

Please say that you just meant you hate the cold, gorgeous girl.  You hate January.  You hate winter.  You hate Mondays.  You hate post-lunch drowsiness.  You hate SAYING GOODBYE.

“I hate that I have a huge meeting first thing tomorrow,” she grumbled, her shoulders slumping forward, “and I still need a solid six hours to prepare for it because I’m a fool who put it off until the last minute.  Which means that-”

“That you have to get home,” Loki finished for her, smiling weakly as she nodded.  He was tempted to ask if that was just an excuse to get away from him, but paranoia wasn’t a good look on anyone.  Instead, he faked a chuckle and shrugged. “Sometimes I forget that people have normal 9 to 5 jobs.”

Despite wanting to throw a tantrum like some silly little princess who couldn’t get the thing she wanted right now, Sigyn smiled up at him. “Well, mine is an 8 to 5, so…” she trailed off, her eyes rolling, “even better.”

“Right,” he said, scrunching up his nose.

Taking a deep breath, he exhaled slowly, annoyed that he was so damn nervous to ask for her number.  He hadn’t asked yesterday for obvious reasons.  No one with half a brain cell would share information that might turn into a slew of unsolicited dick pics from classy strangers showing up in their texts.  But after an actual date?  More specifically, a good date wherein he had hopefully destroyed any “is this a stalker-type guy” concerns in her head…?

“It’s what I get for being a pathological procrastinator,” Sigyn groaned, pushing her hair behind her ears one at a time with her left hand.

The movement reminded Loki that she hadn’t yet released his right hand.  Eyes flicking down to look at it, he pulled his bottom lip through his teeth, his heart skipping several beats at the sight of her fingers lacing with his.  He looked up, meeting her unreal silver eyes once again.  It was on the tip of his tongue—the offer to walk her back to her building.  If she said yes, that would be a solid indicator that she wanted to give him her number.  He eyed the sky, scowling a bit.  It was bright enough out here for her to safely go anywhere alone, removing any archaic chivalrous excuse to stick by her side.  Absent that, she probably wouldn’t be comfortable leading a man directly to her apartment after just one date, and he could hardly fault her for that.

Not that I’m the kind of man that she needs to fear…

“I want to see you again, Sigyn,” he finally admitted, relieved that he’d managed to keep his voice steady, then held up a hand, “only if the feeling is mutual, of course.”

The brightest smile in the history of everything split her face wide open, her eyes crinkling at the corners. “Um…” she paused, pressing her lips together, still grinning, “yeah, the feeling’s definitely mutual, Loki.”  To say the least—good god, if this man knew how much she wanted to see him again, he might walk back his offer out of concern for his safety.

Lowering his eyes for a split second, Loki bit into a smile.

THANK GOD.

“Good,” he said, the somersaults in his stomach making his head spin. “I need to have a look at my calendar before I set a specific date and time,” he added, letting go of her hand to reach into his pocket and pull out his phone.

However, he stopped when she abruptly pushed up onto her toes and pulled him into a full-body hug, her arms winding around his shoulders.  Mouth falling open, somewhat shocked, but mostly thrilled with the sudden gloriously close contact, he returned the hug in full.  He wrapped his arms tightly around her ribs, careful to keep his hands in PG-rated areas only.  Oh god, but her hips were pressing directly into his…

Absolutely not, LO! Initiating anything further on your part would be positively MORONIC. 

I KNOW.

Without considering the possibly…awkward…position it would put him in, Sigyn turned her head, burying her nose into his neck, just below his ear.  Good lord, he smelled amazing.  Was that cologne?  Shampoo?  Shaving cream?  She was two seconds from legitimately putting her mouth on this man’s throat, when she heard him inhale sharply.  Blinking rapidly, she immediately pulled away, scolding herself for being a thirsty, self-absorbed, inconsiderate woman.

“Sorry,” she muttered, her face burning, “it was just…you know-” she waved a hand “-a really good hug.  Got carried away.”

Scratching the back of his neck, he raised an eyebrow, then dropped his hand. “I’m not complaining.”

Feeling like she was on the verge of a heart attack, she lowered her eyes, grinning stupidly at the pavement.  She couldn’t believe she’d met this guy.  He was basically her dream boy…or…man…whatever.

“Don’t suppose you’d be willing to give your number to me?” he asked, 1000% confident that Sigyn would happily give it to him now.

HA! You WISH she would “give it to you” now, LO.

Well, maybe not right here on the street.

“Absolutely,” she said, smiling wide as he unlocked his phone and pulled up his contacts.  He held his phone out for her, and she eyed the “new contact” screen.  Rather than take it from his hand and enter her information, she blindly unzipped her bag, keeping her eyes on his as she fished around for a pen.

He tilted his head, confused.  When she produced a pen and stepped closer to him again, nearly closing the distance completely, his brain finally put two and two together.

Oh my god, she is NOT going to write her number on my hand.

Sigyn took his phone, slid it back into his jacket pocket, grabbed his hand, and flipped it over.  Clicking her pen, she wrote a series of numbers on his palm.  It was a good thing that she was too focused on her task to notice his eyes glazing over like a simpleton.  Or to see the hearts swirling around his head.  This girl would be the death of him.

You are 33, LO.  Act like it.

I’ll do whatever I want!

He eyed his palm as she signed her name beneath the numbers.  She’d written “Sig” (oh, he liked that), adding an extra flourish to the loop of the ‘g’ and underlining it.  His fingers felt like they were on fire as she blew on the ink.  He couldn’t help but stare at her lips as she used her magical mouth powers against his last few braincells.  Rolling his eyes at the phrasing of that thought, he pushed his free hand through his hair.  Magical mouth powers…heaven help him.

She finally released his hand and smiled up at him. “There you go.”

“How very old school of you,” Loki said, looking at her handwriting one last time before carefully pocketing his hand. “I’ll text you my number, then call you after I’ve had a better look at my schedule.”

“I shall wait with bated breath,” she replied theatrically, immediately cringing at the sound (ugh, DORK) then started to hug him again, but stopped herself and stepped back instead.

He’d already basically admitted that he really enjoyed that hug, and that was not good.  Well, no, it was extremely good, just for the wrong reasons.  If she tried that shit again, she’d end up dragging him back to her place to live out her “carry me up the stairs” fantasy, which as much as she wanted to, she should not do on a first date with someone that she was already feeling this emotionally connected to.  As much as she would kill to hit the gas with Loki Odinson, it was in her best interest to not push it with him.

Before she could change her mind, she turned on her heel, and rounded the corner back onto Prince Street.  She would walk straight home and bury herself in her little architect world—in technical drawings and 3D models and what not.  Well, first she needed a cold shower because she was dying.  But after that…work!

NEON DAYDREAMS CONTINUES IN CHAPTER THREE: MOONROOF SEROTONIN.

Visit the Neon main page HERE.

Neon Daydreams Chapter Links: ¹Caffeine Fireworks ²Silver Heart Eyes ³Moonroof Serotonin ⁴Wayfarer Winter ⁵(December 2021) ⁶(January 2022) ⁷TBD ⁸TBD ⁹TBD ¹⁰TBD ¹¹TBD ¹²TBD

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CHAPTER TWO THEME SONGS:

“I Like Me Better (Ryan Riback Remix)” by Lauve (for Loki)

“Plot Twist” by NIKI (For Sig)

What Readers Have Said

About CH 2 “Silver Heart Eyes”

“VdshhgdfhytjtegfebfdbDGgfmhthfdfdsfJyukgheithfdfwefrfwHhgnvdvdsfrytrhffdfgAgjytdhrgrsfgJudSeryJuyureffmuykGGgtm”

-Burningarbitterheart, on CH 2 “Silver Heart Eyes” (AO3)

“The chapter in which Sig is all of us. Seriously that man’s voice and hands should be illegal. And his eyes, and mouth, and…. Ok EVERYTHING, everything about him is too much for we mere mortals.”

-Ferbette, on CH 2 “Silver Heart Eyes” (AO3)

“I quite like the ‘happy’ vibe in the story, NYSH was a masterpiece but I love my fluff ”

-Bullla, on CH 2 “Silver Heart Eyes” (AO3)