Promiscuous

by Missy Johnson

  “So,” I asked, slipping my dress back over my head. “Are you going to tell me what all this was about?”

  “What do you mean? You looked like a girl who was after a little fun, so I provided you with some entertainment.” He smirked. I was more turned on than I had been with almost any other guy in my life, and he had barely put a hand on me.

  “Hmm, I think I was the one providing the entertainment.” I grinned. “And it looked to me that I wasn’t the only one getting a little excited.” I made a point of glancing downward.

  He laughed and shook his head. “What can I say? I appreciate the female form. What man wouldn’t be turned on watching two women? But this wasn’t about me, Beth.” God, the way he said my name made my knees weak. “Let me take you home,” he murmured, reaching for my hand.

  Holy mother of God. Had he felt that or was it just me? Maybe it was the alcohol. I was pretty buzzed. I nodded mutely. It seemed I’d lost the ability to speak in his presence.

  In the back of my mind, I told myself that letting some guy I’d only just met drive me home from a club may not have been the smartest move, especially after Ivan, but my mind wasn’t really in control of me right now.

  If it were, it would be screaming, “How does he know your name?”

  Right at this moment, those mesmerizing brown eyes had full control over me.

  Chapter Two

  Beth

  He pulled up outside my house, waiting for me to open the gates before completing the drive up to the front door. Thinking back, alarm bells should’ve been ringing—this guy knew my address—but the events of the evening were still playing over and over in my mind, and that tiny warning slipped from my thoughts like a speck of dust lost in a windstorm.

  “Thanks for the lift,” I whispered, not ready to move. His head cocked to the side and he stared at me, his hand working its way over to my thigh. I breathed in sharply, my skin tingling.

  Please kiss me.

  I know what you’re thinking: Why the hell would she let a guy she barely knows drive her home from a bar a month after being raped? I’d be screaming the same thing at me. I honestly cannot tell you what I was thinking, only that I wasn’t thinking clearly.

  This was typical Beth behavior. Who reacts to a sexual assault with more sex? Apparently, I did. According to the internet, I should be withdrawing from contact with people after an assault, but what I was feeling was just the opposite.

  All my life, sex had empowered me. It gave me control over something, and I loved that. Fuck Ivan for taking that away from me. I was so desperate to cling onto that tiny thread of me that I’d somehow become even more sexual after the rape—if that were even possible. Only, I couldn’t do it alone. I couldn’t block out the memories without a whole lot of alcohol.

  I didn’t give a damn how people thought I should behave. I used to enjoyed the feeling sex gave me, and I was obsessed with not losing that. If I lost that, then what did I have? I was stuck in a job with a manager who had raped me; I had no friends, no family, and no life. My life was a joke. I wasn’t after sympathy, and the last thing I wanted was pity. Thinking about it made me depressed, so I distracted myself the only way I knew how.

  “I’ll come in with you, make sure you’re safe.”

  He got out of the car and walked around to my side as I giggled uncontrollably. No doubt about it, I was drunk. I tried my best to look desirable as he helped me up the steps to the front door, catching me before I fell on more than one occasion. I’d be thinking back on this tomorrow and cringing, but I was doing a lot of that lately, anyway.

  “Do you want me to tuck you in?” he asked, his smoldering eyes laughing at me. I fumbled with my keys and turned to him with every intention of glaring, but what resulted was a giddy smile.

  “I’ll be fine, thank you,” I replied, tossing my long blonde hair over my shoulder. I stumbled inside as he stood on the porch, shaking his head, amused.

  “Thanks for getting me home safely,” I said, balancing against the doorframe. Before I could think about it, I stepped forward and kissed him. He raised his eyebrows, a smile appearing on his sexy lips, which had been as soft as I’d imagined them to be.

  A wave of nausea rushed over me. Here we go. This was about the time I began to regret drinking so much. In about an hour I’d be swearing off alcohol for life, and then the cycle would begin again tomorrow.

  “Are you sure you’re okay?” he asked, his eyes creasing with concern. “You’re looking a little . . . green.” I wanted to say yes. I wanted to tell him I was fine, and that he could leave, because the last thing I wanted was for him to see what I knew was coming. And if I didn’t hurry up and get rid of him, it would be coming up all over his polished black leather shoes.

  “I’m fine. ‘Night . . .” My voice trailed off as I realized I still didn’t know his name.

  “Goodnight, Beth.”

  I watched as he walked away, confused by what I was feeling, still no closer to knowing his name, and not in the least bit disturbed that he knew mine. This guy stirred up emotions inside me that I hadn’t felt for anyone since Coop—feelings of attraction that I wasn’t even sure I was ready for. Especially after . . .

  I shuddered, bad memories flashing through my mind. The alcohol, the partying, the sex—it was all I had to help me forget. In my stupid head, all these things I was doing that were destructive to my life were my way of trying to get back the control he had taken from me. The more out of control I got, the more in control I felt. At least, that’s what I told myself.

  ***

  I crawled my way up the stairs and fell onto my bed, still fully clothed and reeking of vodka and cranberry juice. My stomach ached like crazy, as though the alcohol was slowly eating away at the lining.

  The urge to vomit hit me. I jumped off the bed, making it as far as the tiled bathroom floor before the night’s contents spilled out of me. I groaned and sunk to the tiles, curling my legs up under me, and began to cry.

  “This has got to stop,” I muttered, clutching my stomach. I didn’t want to be this girl, but I didn’t know how to get over . . . it. I acted tough, but underneath I was scared as hell, and so, so alone.

  People were beginning to comment that I was acting differently. But maybe this was the real me. Maybe who they thought they knew was just a cover for the nightmare of a person I really was. I’d tried to escape my past before, yet I always seemed to end up back in a shitty situation.

  If only Coop had met me that night like he’d promised. I grabbed my phone and clicked on messages. Nothing. I’d begged for him to leave me alone, but when he did, I just ended up feeling worse. I couldn’t handle being around him, but the thought of not having him in my life was worse. I was walking a dangerous line. How long until he gave up and just cut me off forever?

  Chapter Three

  Roman

  My heart raced as I drove away, my mind struggling to process everything I knew about this girl. I could still feel her lips on mine. I hadn’t been expecting that, but holy fuck. I shook my head, speechless.

  I’d been watching her in the club as she slowly began to unravel, as if she were determined to spin out of control. I’d been content to just sit back and observe, but she changed that when she started throwing herself at anything that moved.

  Why was she hell-bent on fucking up her life? It didn’t matter. That wasn’t important. I’d kept her out of trouble. I’d kept her safe. Even if that had meant sitting there watching her fuck Scarlett. I groaned, my dick hardening just thinking about it. Thinking about her.

  Even though I’d been expecting her in the club that night, seeing her in front of me . . . the last thing I needed here was to be attracted to her. I had a job to do, and I was going to do it.

  But fuck, she was incredible. I saw behind the woman she was trying to be—behind the facade to the scared, vulnerable, lost girl who was crying out for help. There was something there that I just couldn’t ignore. I couldn’t sit back and watch her d
estroy herself.

  ***

  I’d spent the best part of the last month watching this beauty. She had been so free-spirited and happy to begin with. And then something had changed. It had happened so damn suddenly, and I was determined to figure out why. This had begun as just another job, a favor to an old friend. Back in those days, I’d been mixed up in some pretty heavy shit. But I’d turned myself around, and had actually taken my life somewhere.

  I was thirty-two, I had my own business, a nice place, and all the hard work of the last three years was finally paying off.

  Sliding the gearshift into drive, I maneuvered the car around and headed home. It was a fifteen-minute drive, depending on the traffic. It gave me time to think about things. This particular job was a big deal. Whoever was hiring Carlos had cash, and a lot of it. They also had a big investment in this girl. If I played my cards right, I’d end up with a big check at the end of all this—more than enough to cover the remaining loan back to Carlos.

  With my history, banks weren’t too forthcoming with their offers for lending me money. Having to settle for an under-the-table loan shark wasn’t ideal, but it got me what I needed to get the place up and running. The only problem was, he wasn’t so understanding if a repayment was even a minute late. I knew that from personal experience.

  Yep, this one single job would set me up for life. Providing I didn’t fuck things up. I was pretty sure that getting involved with the subject of my investigation would be fucking things up pretty majorly.

  But I was invested now, and I had to help her. Watching her slowly unravel from a distance had been something I’d been able to separate myself from. But now, after tonight? Not so easy. Now, she was a girl in trouble. A girl who I wanted to help, who I needed to help.

  The only question was, how much was I willing to risk to save her?

  Chapter Four

  Beth

  Groaning, I hit the alarm. Again. The high-pitched beeping piercing through my brain like a skewer for the best part of the last hour. The clock read seven. At least I think it said seven. It was hard to tell with the major blurred vision I had going on.

  Kicking back the covers, I sat up.

  Oh, crap. The room was spinning. I was sure I hadn’t gotten that drunk lathe night before . . . had I? The image of him, last night, floated through my head. And Scarlett. And me doing Scarlett. I cringed. Okay, maybe I had overindulged.

  As I got to my feet, rather unsteadily, I began to undress, taking off last night’s clothes. I stank of vomit and stale booze. In other words, I was a hot mess.

  After cleaning the puke off the bathroom floor, I took two Tylenol and got in the shower, leaning my back against the wall for support as I let the water drench me. I lathered my body up with soap, and then rinsed it off as my head slowly began to ache less.

  Stepping out of the shower, I reached for a towel and wrapped it around myself. I studied my face in the mirror. My skin was red and blotchy, and dark circles overshadowed my eyes. The makeup crew was going to hate me today. I made my way down to the kitchen and put on a pot of coffee—extra-strength.

  The thought of eating made me feel sick, so I settled on a glass of apple juice and my coffee. Black, no sugar. It took half the cup for me to begin to wake up properly, and even then things weren’t good. This was exactly why I needed to get myself under control: these drunken late nights were ruining me. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d felt this shitty.

  Wait, that’s right: yesterday.

  Throwing on the first thing I pulled out of the closet—a pair of black yoga pants and a blue tee—I dabbed a little concealer under my eyes and brushed my hair. Grabbing my bag and my keys, I rushed out the door, already running late. If there was one thing everyone in the music business hated, it was tardiness. Time was money, and even five minutes behind schedule could mean thousands of dollars at the end of the day.

  ***

  “You want me to what?” I gawked at Ivan, sure I had heard him wrong. He rolled his eyes and shook his head at the director as if to say here we go again. As if I were some kind of diva.

  “Beth, don’t pretend to be shy. You know sex sells. If you’re naked in the video, it will get more hype. And that means more sales,” he added. I hated that little condescending sneer of his.

  Who was I kidding? I hated everything about him.

  “Besides,” he added, leaning in, his voice still loud enough for everyone to hear, “it’s not like nobody here hasn’t seen that little body of yours.” He put his hand on my ass, and squeezed as I cringed.

  My face flushed. Ivan was a snake, and I wanted nothing more than to slap that grin off his face. Instead, I stood tall, aware that the rest of the production crew was watching us, waiting for me to react.

  “Fine,” I said through gritted teeth. I stalked off to my dressing room, annoyed at myself for letting him get to me. That little comment about my body had me furious. I tried to ignore the glances from the other crewmembers. I knew what was going through their heads. Has she fucked him, too?

  Slamming the door shut, I ripped off my jacket, my phone falling to the floor. I bent down to pick it up. A message. Coop. When was he going to take the hint that I needed space?

  Beth, please talk to me. I’m worried about you.

  Worried about me? Tears welled in my eyes and threatened to ruin my makeup. I quickly wiped them away. Where the fuck was he when I’d needed him? I deleted the message, and shoved the phone back in my jacket, trying to forget about him and that night.

  Slowly, I undressed. I stared at my naked body in the mirror, analyzing my features. My thoughts wandered back to Ivan and what a disgusting pervert he was. I didn’t doubt for a second that he would be taking a copy of the film home so he can jerk off to it. Oh God. The thought made me want to throw up. He made my skin crawl.

  Turning my attention back to Coop, I tapped out a reply, my fingers shaking so hard they were missing the keys.

  Please, just stop worrying about me. I don’t matter to you anymore. Move on with your life, and forget about me.

  Shoving the phone into my bag, I stalked out of the dressing room in only my robe, trying hard to ignore the leering eyes of Ivan. I thought about him thinking about me, and again, I wanted to hurl. I couldn’t even stand to be in the same room as him. Every glance, every sneer brought that night flashing back. My heart raced as I walked back over to the set. I curled my arms around my waist, and waited for the producer to tell me what he wanted me to do.

  I forced myself to focus on him. Sam Squires. I’d worked with him on some of my previous shoots. We’d gotten along well. The fact that he was gay made being naked in front of him that little bit easier. The only eyes I worried about being on me were Ivan’s, but it wasn’t like I could order him out of the room. If only I could order him out of my life . . .

  “Beth, I need you to enter from over there, drop the robe, and wrap yourself in the sheet.”

  I glanced at the mock-up bedroom, complete with a canopy bed made-up with cream-colored silk sheets, and I nodded. I could do this. I had to do this.

  As I walked over to the edge of the set, I forced myself to focus on something else. The first thing that popped into my head was him. Saturday night. Scarlett.

  The thought of not seeing him again made me feel nervous, which made no sense because I knew literally nothing about him. But there was something about him that drew me in. A connection. It wasn’t lust, or attraction; at least, it wasn’t only that. I couldn’t even explain it, but it was deeper. I felt safe around him. I felt around him the way Coop had made me feel.

  I wasn’t stupid. I knew my head was trying to replace what I had with Coop with someone who made me feel just as safe. Coop had been such a big part of my life for so long. Much more than he’d ever realized. For him, I was a client and a friend, but for me, he’d been my only real friend.

  In this business, everyone wants something from you. People don’t hang around with you unless you could give t
hem something. Coop had been different. He saw the real me, and loved me for who I was instead of what I could do for him. That was why I’d helped him out with his mom’s care. Despite my feelings for him, I did want him to be happy.

  And he was. Happy in the arms of another woman. God, I sounded so juvenile. It was so easy to forget that I was so young. I was only twenty, yet I’d been the person in charge of my life for as long as I could remember.

  We ran through the acts for the clip, most of which involved me rolling around, half-naked on the bed, trying to look sexy—which was very hard to do with Ivan standing on the corner of the set, a faint smile on his lips. I shuddered, chills running down my back, wishing I was anywhere but here.

  “Roll the other way for me, Beth. Can you show a little more leg?”

  I lifted the sheet higher, uncovering all of my left thigh. If I went any higher the sheet would be pointless. I glanced over at Ivan, just in time to see him shove his hand in his pocket. He narrowed his eyes at me and grinned.

  Was…was he touching himself? My eyes widened as I glared at him in disgust. His lip curled up and he grinned in response. Oh my god, he is sick!

  “Beth, just a few more shots, maybe smile a little more?” I turned back to Sam and nodded, determined to block Ivan out. But that was easier said than done. The fact that he would do that, here, in full view of everyone made me wonder what else he was capable of.

  ***

  Several takes later, we wrapped things up, the video finished—apart from editing. At least from a producer’s standpoint, today had been a good day. In spite of my partying, my pounding head . . . and Ivan, I’d managed to be professional, and fast.

  As soon as the final take wrapped up, I rushed to the dressing room, the silk sheet still wrapped tightly around my body. Tying my long blonde hair back into a ponytail, I stared at my reflection in the dressing room mirror. Huge dark bags hung under my green eyes—eyes that, to me, appeared empty and lifeless. If the eyes were the entry into the soul, then I was in some serious trouble.