Page 59 of The Last Days of Lilah Goodluck

“Your pool is heated?”

“Yes.”

“Ah, no, you didn’t mention that before.”

He just looks at me.

“That’s nice,” I continue. “I can see how it would come in handy during the cooler weather.”

Without another word, he bends at the waist and tugs off his boots. First one, then the other. Same goes for his socks. Then he straightens and removes his T-shirt. Just takes a handful of the fabric covering his back and drags it off over his head. It’s amazing I don’t swallow my tongue. My fingers itch to touch. From his pecs to his neat brown nipples and the trail of dark hair leading down from his belly button to the waistband of his jeans. He’s giving me a heart attack with this show of skin. Perhaps this is how I die. It’s a few days early. But not a bad way to go.

“Ali, what are you doing?”

He crosses his arms over his perfect chest. “You had ‘skinny-dipping’ on your wish list.”

13

“You want us to go swimming?” I ask. “Now? With no clothes on?”

“It’s where this is heading, isn’t it?”

“I actually thought we were moving more toward me leaving as opposed to us undertaking any naked aquatic adventures.”

He grimaces. “Maybe I wasn’t clear, but I don’t want you to leave. Especially not when you’re upset at me.”

“Um. Yeah. You’re not exactly subtle.”

In lieu of a response, his fingers go to the top button on his jeans anddamn. He needs to stop it with the striptease. Now.

I grab his hands and hold fast. “I would take it as a personal favor if you would please stop taking your clothes off.”

He peers down at me, and the side of his mouth kicks up. Oh, good. He’s happy again. My distress at his bare chest pleases him, apparently. And the moment I attempt to remove my hands from his, he starts back in on the zipper. His smirk is sly as fuck.Jerk.The backs of my fingers brush against his bare stomach and warm skin. A shiver runs through both of us. It’s like we’re connected. I can feel the heat radiating from him. With all of this on show, it’s also hard to know where to look. I settle for a freckle on his left shoulder. It’s lopsided and kind of cute. Like a little wonky smile.

“No one’s said that to me before,” he says. “Told me to stop taking my clothes off.”

“Correct me if I’m wrong—”

“You’re wrong.”

“Ha. You’re not funny.”

He lifts one thick shoulder in a half-assed shrug. “Matter of opinion.”

“Enough with the nonsense,” I say, gripping the waistband of his jeans and holding it together for dear life. “As I was about to say when you so rudely interrupted. Are you taking your clothes off because you lost the argument? Is this you trying to reassert control of the situation by wantonly flaunting yourself?”

“Of course not,” he says with much scoffing. “Why would you even think that?”

I just wait.

“Fine,” he concedes. “Maybe a little. But it’s more to do with what the argument was about.”

“Please explain.”

After a heavy sigh, he says, “You were right. I was jealous. You win, Lilah. We’re notjust friends. Therefore, this is the direction we’re heading in, right?”

“As in both of us taking our clothes off? I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?” he asks with much doubt. “Seriously?”

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