Page 47 of The Last Days of Lilah Goodluck

“I didn’t mean... The house is great. Can I check it out?”

“Make yourself at home.”

The house has two levels and is shaped like a C, surrounding the backyard with its pool, firepit, and hot tub. It’s no wonder it feels like a fortress. There’s a chef’s kitchen with stainless-steel appliances, gray stone countertops, and a smaller dining table seating eight. And more of those packing boxes shoved off to the side. Given how immaculate the rest of the house is, those boxes are an oddity.

Since he already knows I’m nosy and has accepted that about me, I open the stainless-steel double-door fridge. In the freezer, there’s a bottle of vodka and some ice. In the fridge is a half-empty six-pack of beer, a quart of milk, and an unopened bottle of champagne. No food. He’s a breatharian, apparently. Good on him for giving alternate lifestyles a go.

“Are you judging me?” he asks in an amused tone.

“I would never.”

“Of course not. You do realize your nose twitches when you lie.”

“It does not,” I say, reaching up to touch it just in case.

“Would you like a drink?”

“Not yet.”

Beyond the kitchen, the hallway runs off at an angle while a set of stairs leads to the second story. This house is a rich man’s hobbit hole. A sprawling aboveground bunker for those with a taste for luxury. There’s a distinct subterranean feel to the place. Standing inside these gray walls, the rest of the world might as well have disappeared.

“Down there are the three guest bedrooms,” he says, pointing down the hall. “Upstairs is my bedroom, an office, sitting room, and outdoor area.”

“What’s down the other end on this level?”

“Home gym, library, and a media room,” he says.Libraryis no sooner out of his mouth than I am racing in that direction. Because books. “Lilah, wait. You’re going to be disappointed.”

As promised, exercise machines and weights occupy the first room. There’s even a towel slung over the seat of an elliptical. It’s the most lived-in space I’ve seen so far. Across the hall is a bathroom with gray stone tiling and copper pipes. Very cool. Then at last I find it—the library. He’s right about being disappointed. Dark wood shelving to match the floor lines two whole walls reaching up to the high ceiling. But apart from the mountain of boxes stacked in one corner, all of it is empty. Though there is one of those cool ladders on wheels. I wonder if he’d push me back and forth if I asked nicely.

Imagine having your own library and not even using it. This is a travesty. A disgrace. It also makes absolutely no damn sense.

“This room is beautiful. Or it could be,” I say. “How long have you lived here?”

“A while.”

“Narrow it down for me.”

He leans against the door frame with his arms crossed. “I don’t know. Not quite five years.”

“Five years?” My eyes are as wide as can be. “Fuck me.”

“I was going to ask how you were doing with the ‘great sex’ thing,” he deadpans.

“Don’t change the subject.” I point a finger at him. “You do realize you bring that up every time we talk?”

“What do you want for dinner?” he asks, most definitely attempting another change of topic. He likes living dangerously. He should take me more seriously when books are at stake. I might joke about a lot of things, but never the printed word.

I rip the tape off the nearest box and peer inside. Just as expected...books. All these boxes are full of books. He obviously loves reading, and yet his library is in shambles.

He scratches at the dark stubble lining his jaw. “Feel free to just go ahead and open those.”

“Is there furniture in the guest bedrooms?”

“No. If a friend crashes, they just sleep on the couch. Unless they’re a special friend.”

“What about upstairs?”

“There’s my bed, of course. And a desk and table in the office.”

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