“Like I would buy a beer for some chick at a bar,” he said, shaking his head. I held up my beer, and he pulled up one side of his mouth into a half-smile. “You’re different.”

“A girl half my age swept by and slammed two giant tankard filled with beer on the table. Ragnvald held his up. I smashed my tankard against his. Beer splashed. We raised the tankard and pretended to take much bigger gulps than we did.”

“My legion!” Stanley said. “I have achieved an even greater level of mastery! Behold!” He held up his beer mug and pointed the open end toward a nearby palm tree. “Mulciber!” he yelled. Nothing happened. He shook the beer mug, and held it out once more. “Mulciber!” Once again he intoned the word, but with a slightly different emphasis. Again nothing happened.“Damn. Mulciber! Mulciber! Mulciber!” Suddenly a large ball of fire erupted from the end of the beer mug, nearly singed Stanley’s eyebrows, and flew up into the sky in a large, fiery arc, eventually plunging with a sizzle into the lake.”

“At the pub my dad was waiting for me, a black-as-night beer and his open laptop on the table in front of him. I sat down and swiped his beer before he'd had the chance to even look up from typing. 'Oh, my sweet lord,' I sputtered, chocking down a mouthful, 'what is this? Fermented motor oil?''Just about,' he said, laughing.”

“Should she slam his head into the bar or toss her beer on him? Damn shame to waste good beer.”

“You’re stubborn, aren’t you?” The fire gone from his eyes, his mouth pulled up into my favorite smile—that mischievous, I-don’t-have-a-clue-how-hot-I-am-when-I-smile-like-this-which-makes-it-that-much-hotter smile.”