Page 11 of The Last Days of Lilah Goodluck

Tow truck on the way. All sorted out.

I reply:I’m so sorry I freaked out and ran.Thank you again.

Paul sends a thumbs-up emoji. He’s a good person.

Meanwhile, Alistair is still standing there with his coat in hand. “Are you really just going to sit here alone until the draw?”

“That’s the plan.”

He swears under his breath and sits back down. Then he picks up his glass of champagne and downs it in one gulp.

“You’re staying?” I ask.

“Apparently.” His forehead is wrinkled to heck and back. The man is not happy. He signals the bartender and orders a coffee. “Only for a while, and for the record, I am definitely not your soulmate. I just don’t like the idea of you sitting alone worrying yourself sick about this.”

I ponder his words and sigh. He has a point. Being alone with all of this is a lot. But I don’t want to worry any of my friends and family. Not yet, at least. “That’s nice of you. Even if you are breaking your word about leaving. But I would like to point out that I didn’t say we were soulmates. I just got out of a bad relationship and may or may not hate all men. I haven’t quite decided yet. It was the witch who—”

“We don’t need to keep talking about it,” he says, cranky as can be. “Any of it.”

“Fine.” I pour myself another glass of champagne. “Why don’t we sit here in silence, then? Let’s just not talk at all.”

“Sounds good to me.”

4

“You cannot be serious,” Alistair interrupts me. He’s such an entitled prick. Though the Scottish half of his accent gets stronger when he’s wound up. Which is hot.

I don’t really know much about his background. The bulk of it happened before I was born and on the other side of the world. How the future king of England was dating someone deemed unsuitable. Then she disappeared from the London scene, and nothing was heard from her for years. Not until news of her (mostly) secret baby was revealed. Then the press all but badgered them out of the United Kingdom. It must have been awful for them. I remember Mom saying once that it was all anyone could talk about. Even on this side of the Atlantic.

His mother moved them from her ancestral home in the Highlands to California when he was in his teens. But there’s no trace of the Golden State in his speech. “He killed his own father for no good reason. There is no coming back from that.”

“But he sacrifices himself in the end.”

“I don’t care.”

“Of course, if they got married, she’d probably keep her own surname. Otherwise, imagine having to answer the phone at work.”

He just shakes his head. Even the way he sips his coffee is graceful, in a brisk, efficient sort of way. There’s this confidence about him. “I can’t believe you’re telling me that all it takes for you to be okay with murder is for the killer to have muscles and floppy hair.”

“You have muscles and floppy hair.”

“I haven’t killed anyone lately.”

“But you also haven’t been in the situation that character was in. That I’m aware of, at least.”

He gives me a long look. “You’re problematic.”

“I am not problematic.” I scoff. “Well...maybe a little bit. But that’s beside the point. These are fictional characters we’re talking about. Kylo Ren is not a real person, and neither is Rey. We’re discussing Star Wars. An imaginary science-fiction universe, remember?”

He shakes his head and sneers. “I will never understand the allure of bad boys.”

“Um. Excuse me. You just finished telling me Han Solo was your favorite.”

“That’s different. He’s an antihero.”

“I see. Do you consider yourself to be a bad boy?”

“I’m thirty-eight years old. I’m a grown man.” Such indignation. He scowls and turns away. “Don’t believe everything you see on the gossip sites.”

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