Son of Mischief (Loki/Asgard Fanfiction - Selig's Story)

Chapter Four

By the time Celia angled the Wrangler into a space, the lot was two-thirds full and her hair was nearly dry. She ran her hands through it, gathering it up at the top of her head and tugging on the elastic about her right wrist, she pulled into a messy bun. From the corner of her eye, she saw Selig staring at her, almost bug-eyed in the passenger seat. "What?"

"It's amazing how you get all that hair into such a tiny little knot," he chuckled, shaking his head. "It's like when you cram it all under a baseball cap. Amazing."

"Skills, I has them," she said, smiling at him as she hopped down from the driver's seat. "I hope no one cards you, Sel. You can't even conjure up a driver's license, can you?"

He wiggled his fingers. Nothing happened. For Celia, who spent her entire childhood watching him make things simply appear, this was odd. And to think that odd was odd in itself.

Actually, so much about her friendship with Selig was odd. She was just used to it.

"Never mind. I don't think anyone will card you. I know just about all the bartenders."

"I'm not planning on drinking anyway."

She glanced up at him as she set the Jeep's alarm and tucked the key into her wristlet. "Why?"

"It's probably just better if I don't."

She knew what he meant. The last time they were together and alcohol came into play...

Don't think about that.

"Okay. Yeah, you're probably right. And since you don't have a license, you can't drive me home, so guess I'll stay on the wagon tonight as well."

His brow furrowed. "The wagon?" He looked around. "I see no wagon."

"Selig, you're half-Midgardian. You have to know what that means."

"Sorry."

"It means I won't drink either. Yeesh," she rolled her eyes even as she tucked her arm through his and gave a light tug, "I thought I was long past having to explain things to you. You practically grew up here as well."

"Hardly. I was here until I was five. Then I was in Asgard more than anywhere else."

"Come on. I'm hungry. I'll gladly explain everything under the sun to you if it means I can have food soon."

The Pit was one of the best barbecue places at the shore, although Celia tried not to eat there more than once a month or so. She'd hate herself come tomorrow, when she was slogging miles on the elliptical or running an extra five miles to work off some of the delicious food.

But since Selig was there, she thought she'd splurge. Despite how that morning turned out, she had missed him and did think of him quite a bit. Trouble was, he had no idea how much that night meant to her, or why it meant so much. He probably didn't remember. And that made her sad.

So she vowed not to think about it as she smiled at the hostess, who was busy giving Selig a slow up-and-down appraisal. "Two, please."

"Right this way." The hostess grabbed two menus and turned to lead them into the darkened interior.

"Her ass is going to catch on fire if you stare any harder," she told Selig, who had the good grace to blush at her words.

"Sorry. I forgot how much I like Midgardian clothes."

She rolled her eyes. Typical. Men were the same, no matter what realm they called home. She grabbed him by the wrist, briefly taken aback by how thick his wrists were. The last time she saw him, he was only an inch or so over six feet tall, and although he had broad shoulders back then, he was slimmer than he was now.