Page 73 of Manhattan State of Mind

Then there were the music idols. The pop sensations and rock legends fighting for residency at our theaters, while the masses flocked to the city to listen.

But the hard truth is, Vegas owns me. And when the time comes, I hope I’m strong enough to walk away.

NINETEEN

Lucy

I’ve been floating in a weird bubble of hormones these past few days since the kiss with Daredevil—arousal and excitement mixed with fear and dread. My brain feels like it’s going to leak out of my ears. Now, I’ve met Daredevil, he’s left me with more questions than answers.

It’s Tuesday now and as the days go on, I start to question my sanity. Did that happen or did I just end up locking lips with a life-sized Daredevil doll, like Roxy the sex doll?

The girls were freaked when I came back in a flood of tears. I only perked up when I got a mouthful of sautéed meat at the Eritrean restaurant.

I’ve been in a daze ever since. Lucy land. No visitors allowed, no matter how much Matty chucks that dunce hat at me, or how hard Taylor clicks her fingers in my face, or how intensely Dwayne stares at me like I’m some sort of experiment, or how many annoying texts my mother sends, or how often Spider eats straight out of my jam saucepan.

Wolfe’s presence has been noticeably absent in the office these past few days. Rumor has it he’s taken off to Vegas.

Restless, I reach into my bedside drawer and pull out the photo of Daredevil. I trace my smiling eyes in the photo. How did he hurt me? Will I ever find out? Did he cheat on me, lure me into a false pretense? I replayed the conversation in my head a million times after the convention. I realized later he didn’t even react when I said I lost my memory. So that’s either bizarrely not a big deal to him or he already knew.

And he didn’t come after me.

I toss the photo back in the drawer. Maybe I’ll never discover the truth. Maybe it’s best to let it go, photo included.

The front door slams shut with a bang. Brilliant. 1 a.m. and Spider’s home and by the sounds of it, along with some poor woman he’s lured back. It’s his place too so I can’t exactly ban him from bringing guests.

I throw off my duvet with a grunt—no hope of sleep now.

A thud, followed by a muffled crash and a burst of swearing comes from the other side of the wall. Spider’s room.

A wave of dread washes over me. Seems like Lucy land isn’t as impenetrable as I thought.

“Turn around,” Spider commands the poor woman through the wall.

Oh God. I left my noise-canceling headphones in the living room.

More shuffling and grunting.

“Giddy up, baby.”

Did I seriously just hear that? I’m going to need therapy for more than memory loss.

The sound of skin being slapped makes me bolt upright.

“That’s it. You’re a dirty little cowgirl.”

Another smack reverberates through the wall and I bury my face in my pillow. I haven’t heard sex slapping in so long and now I have to hear it on someone else’s skin?

There’s a chorus of low, long moans followed by high-pitched feminine shouts that make it crystal clear what they’re doing in there right now.

“Yeehaw, baby!”

The headboard bangs against the wall, building tempo, along with unnatural grunts. It sounds like a donkey having sex. The grunts subside for a moment, and then he lets out a loud groan which makes me jump.

These sex noises make me want to join the Tibetan monks in abstinence.

Maybe this is what my subconscious was trying to protect me from: Spider’s hoedowns.

My ears. My poor eardrums will never be clean again after this violation.