“Are you impressed?” he asks with a wry smile.
“I am so fucking impressed. Now, can I have my groceries, please?”
“Sure. But first, how does it feel to be completely out of control? Are you enjoying it?”
“Well, I don’t know. I’ve spoken to five incompetent people, two chatbots that had no powers, and two ghost delivery drivers. Still no groceries or refund. But…”
“Yes?” He leans into the theatrics.
“I learned that I am completely competent and willing to fight for my snacks,” I admit. “I feel pouty.”
Loki’s grin spreads, butter-slick and maple-syrup-warmed.
“Mmm, kiss please!” I volunteer.
He leans down, eye to eye with me.
“Listen, if we are going to do this ‘thing,’” he gestures toward himself and me, “you’ve got to hear me carefully.”
“I thought I was!” I sulk.
“You were. I just like your poutiness and that you come for me over chocolate,” Loki sasses.