The club was loud. The club was packed.

The crowd was young. Too young to dream of taking anyone home for the night...

A man stood accosted by such young women. Style clashed with a slight tipsy stupor. His shoes shined with a lackluster radiance due to a certain blond who refused to leave his side who spilled her drink on them earlier.

Though his personal favorite sort of woman was everything she embodied physically, Loki Laufeyson couldn't understand why he wasn't all over her.

Since obtaining his master's degree, his endless want for sex had been quenched significantly. An occupational hazard when one enters the porn industry.

Loki celebrated his twenty-seventh birthday. There was no want for company; however, the man felt annexed from the circle of acquaintances he arrived with.

He came here every year with the hopes it would be the last time for the five-year tradition. This club was stale, dull, lackluster...like his shoes.

He sighed.

Why was everything so monotonous?

Hardly anyone recognized him from his deep portfolio of films he'd ben in. For that he was grateful.

Women responded in one of two ways when they discovered his actual career choice:

First, was she never spoke to him again (most likely after she slaps him). They always slap him because he sleeps with them without disclosing such information prior to their...engagement.

Second, they thought him a celebrity, so they try their best efforts to create their fifteen minutes of fame. Most of the time, this is generally women that crave attention his job truly doesn't receive.

He was a piece of the film industry, but he was not a part of it. At. All.

Loki wasn't a heartless womanizer, mind. He appreciated every woman that gave him affection. Affection was nice. Necessary, even. A woman's touch could be bested only by a minimal amount of other trivial pursuits among the world.

"You're a robot, Jane Foster," a woman whined behind him.

The name alone warranted an over-the-shoulder side glance. His attention was swollen with curiosity displayed by the high arch of his left brow.

His lips pursed instinctively when he heard that name. A warm sensation tickled at his stomach when the magnificent orange-toned lights highlighted her chestnut hair, which appeared more like a darker auburn hair in this setting.

The man turned around and smiled arrogantly, though his nerves refused to settle down. Lifting his glass, he bowed his head once and drank from his glass of scotch, "It's a funny sight seeing you here."

The glorious strands of copper danced in her eyes as her expression changed from pleasant laughter to shock. He even traced a small frown over her lips. Immediately, she righted her expression and nodded. "Hello, Loki Laufeyson."

Their eyes battled for more will or determination to be the one to blink last. It was a competition that extended back to the days during his undergraduate studies.

A spark ignited erratically when she rolled her eyes as per usual. A small victory for the man of mischief. His right eye twitched into a playful wink, and his lips smoothed over his mouth into a knowing grin.

Quickly, he reached for his phone in an inside pocket of his suit jacket. When the device flashed the date, he stilled.

He cleared his throat and slipped the phone back into its safe haven.

Jane sent a glance over her shoulder, clearly looking for someone. In her effort, she placed her lanky tanned arm on the bar. He followed and turned as if he would chat with the bartender. His hand covered hers, snatching her attention back to him.

As if his touch licked her skin like rampant embers, she withdrew her hand from his large hand to his displeasure.

After a moment, he drew closer and whispered, "Happy birthday, Foster."

She seemed dazed by his proximity, so before he pulled away, he swiped her phone the jacket pocket he slipped his hand into. Satisfied, he offered her a coy smile and left her.

In the mean time, he texted himself so that he would have her number.

Now to return her phone.

No, he'd wait for one of her friends called. Then, he'd have an excuse to see her again.