Page 124 of Manhattan State of Mind

“Have you had any other serious relationships since?” I ask, nerves knotting my stomach.

He drags out a tortuous pause. “Not really.”

My heart hammers in my chest, and I quickly take a sip of my drink.

“Is it that you don’t want to be in a relationship?” I venture, feeling like I’m standing on a ledge. It’s like I’m about to play Russian Roulette with my heart here.

His gaze intensifies, making me shift uncomfortably. “Quite the opposite, Lucy. But only with the right person.”

His declaration charges the air, like a loose live wire. I seize my glass once more, my brain scrambling for some kind of response.

Pick me!my heart shrieks.

Ask him. Get him to lay out the blueprint for his perfect gal. Have him sketch a detailed portrait.

He clears his throat, shifting uneasily. “I haven’t always been the kind of guy you could bring home to mom. I’ve made some poor decisions.” His voice deepens, roughens. “Got caught up in the Vegas lifestyle, forgot what mattered.” A grimace crosses his face, as if the admission is a physical blow. “But that’s all in my past.”

His words settle heavy in the silence. It’s not exactly reassuring. I can only imagine the implications of the “Vegas lifestyle.” Just what is he confessing to? Infidelity? Hookers? Sex parties? Criminal activities? Just how bad is it?

I swallow, my fingers tapping against the glass. “But you’ve changed now?”

“I won’t pretend to be an angel.” His gaze meets mine, unwavering. “I still have rough edges, but I’ve learned. I’m not the same man, not because my world changed, but because I did.”

I wet my parched lips, unease creeping in. “Could you fall back? Into old habits?”

His eyes darken. “I’ve worked too hard to become the man I am now,” he asserts, “Nothing and no one will derail that.”

I smile back at him, but a shiver runs through me. I came here hoping to know him better, but his words sound more like a warning to stay away.

THIRTY-THREE

JP

Ecstasy and torment. I’m no stranger to the dichotomy. The highs that made me feel alive always came with gut-wrenching lows. Every taboo pleasure, every sinful indulgence was laid out before me like a feast, and I gorged myself. Yet, the more I indulged, the hollower I felt.

Now, I find those very feelings watching Lucy’s gentle breathing, her chest rising and falling. The contours of her cheekbone under my finger, the sighs that ghost past her full lips—it’s a fucking tableau.

Her eyes flutter with dreams I wish I could peek into. I could spend a lifetime watching her sleep, and wouldn’t trade a second of it.

My love for her crept up on me. Unplanned. The unwanted proximity with her team led me to appreciate this quirky girl with her self-deprecating wit and down-to-earth modesty. It was merely physical at first, no emotional attachment. I never sought any sort of sentimental connection.

Yet, as the saying goes, familiarity breeds fondness, and soon I found myself hopelessly hooked.

Now, I’m tangled in a complex web of half-truths and hidden facts. Not outright lies, but a calculated evasion of the whole truth. A nagging guilt persistently gnaws at me, posing the inevitable question: Would she be sharing my bed if the accident hadn’t robbed her of her memory?

I got what I wished for—Lucy, back in my life, back in my bed. Trusting me. The doctors suggested reintroducing myself slowly, letting her hidden memories emerge on their own.

But damn, it feels like I’m handling a live grenade with the pin already pulled. Every decision is like skirting around a potential explosion. I hinted at my past, but conveniently left out the part where she was caught up in my personal mess.

Should I come clean now and brace for the fallout? With each moment we share, I can feel the impending disaster drawing near—the unavoidable day of reckoning. I’m terrified that when her memory comes back, she won’t forgive me. Terrified of the possibility that she’ll be gone forever.

A tiny whimper breaks my train of thought. Her eyes fly open, lingering dreams clouding them. She looks up at me, breath catching.

“Morning,” I say, keeping my tone light, hoping to set her at ease.

“Morning.” Her smile falters.

“Everything okay? You’re not having second thoughts about staying over, are you?”