Page 31 of Primal Urges

A tiny voice giggled.

Eyes shooting open, Lucas stared down at a little girl with golden hair and two matching pigtails.

“Oh! Where did you come from?” Lucas asked, striking a pose against the bar and totally pretending that he wasn’t just twirling around and shaking his ass like a professional dancer.

The little girl giggled again.

“You’re funny!”

Lucas stared at the strange little person sitting alone in a booth… in a bar… playing with some little plastic toys on the table.

Cautiously, he approached her, taking extra care in case the little one was a physical manifestation of some ghost child sent to haunt the bar and all those who worked in it.

Oh, great. He had just agreed to work overnight, alone, in a spooky, haunted bar.

Yup, his life sucked.

“Tell me, child, what is your favorite television show?” For some reason, he felt the need to speak to the potential demon child in an old-time British accent. He watched her suspiciously, which only made her laugh even more.

This was the most peculiar spawn of Satan he had ever encountered. Not that he had ever encountered ghost children before, but he assumed that television provided an accurate representation of how one would look and act if ever encountered.

“Bluey, of course,” the little girl finally answered. She held up a tiny plastic figurine that kind of resembled an annoying blue dog.

“Hmm,” Lucas said, rubbing his chin with his fingers as he pretended to analyze his mysterious visitor. “And what aboutPaw Patrol? Is that still a thing?”

“I’m too old forPaw Patrol, silly,” the little girl answered, proving once again that Lucas knew nothing.

“Nonsense, you’re never too old for laughter!” Lucas pretended to slip and fall to the ground, landing in the splits.

The child erupted into laughter. She stood up on the seat and began jumping up and down.

Probably not the safest thing for a child to be doing.

Neither was sitting alone… in a bar.

Climbing to his feet, Lucas pretended to rub his sore back. “Wow, how clumsy of me. Someone must have spilled some water!”

The girl continued to giggle, clapping her hands and still jumping up and down.

Lucas reached out and took the young girl’s little hand. “Tell me, sweet child, what is your name?” Still using a British accent.

He gently pulled the girl back down until her butt was once again safely planted in the comfy seat.

A seat, now covered in footprints.

It’s good that the bar had just hired a specialized cleaner who could easily take care of cleaning up such messes.

“Elizabeth. But everyone calls me Lizzy.”

“Well, sweet Lizzy. My name is Lucas, but everyone calls me Luc for short.” He was back to his original voice as he slid onto the bench across from her. “So, tell me, Lizzy, does your mom or dad work here in the bar?”

The little girl nodded, her pigtails flopping around like they were doing an interpretive dance or something.

“Does your mom or dad have a name?”

“Yes. Dad.”

Only a child could say that without a laugh. In all honesty, it wasn’t until Luc was ten that he learned his parents were not named “Mom” and “Dad.” Talk about earth-shattering news. He felt like his whole life had been a lie up until that point.

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