Page 4 of Glad You're Here

Now, Jo had tasked me with watching her purse while she flirted with one of the rich-looking tourists. I snorted into my vodka cranberry and turned away from my not-friend. There had to be something more interesting to watch at The Station. If I got too bored, I’d see if my aunt was around. Good old Lenny always had an interesting story to tell.

Lenny wouldn’t like my tentative plans for Tuesday. She’d be really freaking pissed right now if she knew.

Maybe I’d keep hanging on for her.

I scanned the bar and caught sight of a dude who looked exactly like a fish out of water. He wore jeans and a plaid button-down shirt, but not in a sexy, lumber-jack way. It was more like an awkward kid trying to play dress-up with daddy’s clothes. He had short, dark brown hair and a clean-shaven face. His body type was difficult to discern under that baggy shirt, but I guessed dad bod.

The guy held a single shot of whiskey up to his lips, then set it back down. Then lifted it back up to sniff it, grimaced, and put it back down. I cracked a smile and continued to study him without his knowledge. Finally, he worked up enough courage to sip his whiskey. His face screwed up in disgust, and he coughed several times into his fist. Then he glanced around the bar as if searching for witnesses. When he caught my eye, my grin probably looked maniacal.

This poor, poor soul! Oh, I needed his story!

I scooped up my drink and Jo’s purse and headed straight for the adorable little misfit, who now gave me a sad and sheepish look. “Thea,” I said, sticking out my hand for him to shake. “What is going on with you, bro?”

The guy took my hand and cleared his throat. “Brigham.” He waved his finger in a circle and rolled his light brown eyes. “And I honestly don’t know what’s wrong with the whiskey here. I’m clearly a big drinker. I’m obviously very comfortable in this atmosphere. There’s something weird about this bar, Thea.”

I threw my head back and laughed at his deadpanned sarcasm. What a freaking delight. Oh, I was going to have fun with this— wait, what did he say his name was? “Brigham? What kind of name is that?”

Brigham tried to sip his whiskey again. After another cough, he replied, “Oh, it’s the name of a polygamist Mormon prophet. My parents are big fans.” He offered me a weak smile. “Me? Not so much.”

“Dude, that sucks. What’s your middle name?” I prodded.

“Levi.”

I burst out laughing. “That sucks big, hairy balls, too!”

Brigham laughed. “Gross. Why do they have to be hairy?”

“To illustrate my point of how bad your name sucks. What’s your last name?”

“Thompson.” Brigham playfully narrowed his eyes. “Wait, are you trying to guess my password and hack into my social media accounts?”

“Yes.” I nodded and then drummed my fingers on the bar. “Your initials suck, too. BLT? Are we sandwiches now? We could maybe call you Thompson. That might be okay.” I very rarely found people as interesting as I immediately found this guy. He had stories to tell. I could feel it, and I suddenly wanted to hear them.

It might help my art.

Brigham watched me with a grin. “No, thank you. Thompson is my family name, and things are a tad bitter with my family these days.”

“Brig? Let’s try Brig.”

“Like the brig on a ship? Stop trying to change my name if you’re not going to make it better.” Brigham laughed and put in an honest effort to knock back more whiskey.

“Fine. Levi is better than Brigham, though.” I let out an exaggerated sigh and twisted a strand of my dark purple hair around my pointer finger. “So, Levi, you’re a Mormon?”

“Used to be.” Levi gave me a pointed look. “Born and raised, but I no longer identify that way.”

“K, so are Mormons the nerdy kids that knock on your door and try to sell you their second Bible?” Who would want another Bible?

Levi nodded.

“And they’re the ones with five wives?”

Levi shrugged. “Not mainstream Mormons. The ones that still practice polygamy are offshoots. But there’s polygamy in heaven for the righteous men.” He smirked and shook his head.

I laughed while eyeing his whiskey. “Which wouldn’t be you because Mormons can’t drink, correct?” I didn’t know much about Mormons besides polygamy, two Bibles, and the no-drinking thing. There was one Mormon girl at my elementary school, but she moved away after a year.

“Correct, Thea!” He held up his hand for a high five. I stared at his raised hand until he finally dropped it in defeat, high-fiveless. “I’m going to have to settle for one woman. If only I could have stayed righteous.” Levi pretended to gaze wistfully toward the heavens.

“Dude, you fucked that up.”