Page 150 of Manhattan State of Mind

“Are you an addict?” I demand bluntly, shouting down to him.

He stares up at me. “You really want to hash this out here on the street?”

I stay silent, arms folded. It’s my way or the highway.

“No.” He sighs. “I don’t physically need drugs or alcohol every day. But sometimes I overindulge and go overboard when I’m stressed. No one reined me in, including myself. But those days are behind me now.”

“Bullshit,” I snap, another painful memory flashing through my mind. “You’re nothing but a big liar. I saw the woman at your apartment the other night. Admin, my ass. How stupid do you think I am?”

Confusion crosses his face. “What are you talking about?”

“Saturday night,” I state flatly.

“Saturday…” He frowns. “That’s my therapist. I couldn’t tell you until you knew everything.”

“Therapy? On a Saturday night? That’s almost as believable as admin.”

“I pay enough that I can do it whenever I want.”

Skepticism narrows my eyes. “Why should I believe that?”

“You can meet her yourself, ask anything you want.” He gazes up solemnly. “I have nothing left to hide from you.”

“Why would I believe that you’ll stick around? That you won’t go back to your old ways next time you’re in Vegas?”

His sigh seeps with desperation. “Believe me, Luce, I’ll stick around.”

I scowl down at him, my heart pounding with uncertainty. “You’re the pain my subconscious warned me about. You’re the stupid dog, Buddy.”

“I guess I am.”

More weird looks from passersby.

“How can I be sure you never had sex that night at your party?” I demand.

“You’ll have to trust me. No matter how messed up I was, I never betrayed you like that.” His jaw clenches, voice dropping an octave. “So get this straight—I’ve never wanted another woman since I had you.”

I snort and roll my eyes, even as his words pierce my chest.

His eyes darken with intensity, like a switch has flipped. “You clearly don’t care enough to fight for us. The truth is you don’t want to meet me halfway. You want to lose yourself in comics and live in Lucy fairyland because that’s easier than actually doing the hard stuff with me. We could have an incredible life together—it would be raw, challenging, exhilarating. Not some fairytale bullshit. But it would be a lot more satisfying and exciting than living apart.”

He runs a hand through his hair, looking genuinely anguished. “This isn’t easy for me either, Lucy. I’m not some emotionless fucking robot. You wiped me from your heart and memories like I was nothing. Even when you hated me after that night at my place, the party… at least you still cared deeply. Your pain meant I still mattered. Then you woke up in the hospital and I meant nothing to you.” He takes a breath. “I’m laying my heart on the line. Asking you point blank—do you want me?”

“No,” I sob, tears betraying my facade.

He nods slowly, jaw clenched. “If you don’t want me, I can’t force you. But know you have my heart.” His eyes blaze. “What you do with it is up to you now.”

The metallic glint of the saucepan catches my attention too late. I hadn’t noticed Libby’s disappearance.

As if in slow motion, the water propels from the saucepan out of the open window and lands all over JP’s face and chest, drenching him.

My hand flies to my mouth as Priya and I gasp.

“Libby!” I screech.

“He deserved it!” she shoots back.

JP doesn’t flinch, doesn’t retaliate. Just stands there, water dripping down his muscular frame.