Loki: Quarantine, Day 3

“Loki ate all the peanut butter,” Freddie seethes. He throws the empty container in the sink and slathers me with stink-eye. His tiara tilts left. “I hate you.”

I swallow hard, but the thick paste formerly known as peanuts coats my throat, making me cough.

“Cover your damn mouth,” Darryl Donovan snarls. “There’s a deadly virus flyin’ around up in here, and I ain’t interested in playing host today.”

“And wash your hands,” Freddie piles on. “Your hygiene leaves a lot to be desired, Trickster.”

All I wanted was a herd of goats. Even a small herd could’ve held me over for a few days, but the boys wouldn’t have it. So, I resorted to the next closest thing to filling protein. How was I supposed to know Freddie considered the substance his own personal power source?

Gunnar Magnusson ambles in from his run on Freddie’s treadmill, all wet and gooey and yummy. “Why are you pouting?”

“Freddie yelled at me.”

He pumps an eyebrow. “Did you deserve it?”

I look at Freddie, whose hands are hitched to his hips, the tips of his fingers glittering with rainbow paint. His mustache twitches.

“Maybe,” I say, wiping a blob of peanut butter from the corner of my mouth with my wrist.

Gunnar Magnusson’s gaze drops to my lips and settles there for three seconds. My pulse thunders in my ears. His tongue passes slowly over his lips. He gestures to the slimy smear on my arm. “You should get some jelly for that.”

“J-jelly?” I stutter.

“You don’t know what jelly is?”

I shake my head.

“Oh my god!” Freddie shouts. His condescension mocks me. “I can’t believe you’ve never had jelly.”

“What kind of god doesn’t know the magnificent, exuberant opalescence of jelly?” Alex asks with a tsk.

“Is it … good?” I ask. What am I missing out on this time?

“Is it good?” Darryl Donovan’s amber eyes widen behind his round spectacles. He guffaws, glances at Freddie, and points at me. “You believe this shit?”

Freddie shakes his head. The smugness is officially oozing from his pores.

I turn to Gunnar Magnusson for support. “What is this jelly?”

He grabs my arm, pulls my wrist to his mouth, and licks the streak of peanut butter. The hairs on my arm spring a million erections at once as his blue eyes meet mine. “You would LOVE jelly.” He licks his lips again, and I spring a leak. “Too bad we don’t have any.”

I whimper.

Must. Find. Jelly.

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